In memory of Meigh

At my office in Rodney Road, we were lucky to have the services of Martin Wright for a while, after we took over the firm opposite, Ticehurst Wyatt & Co. for which he worked. His wife Mary was one of the Meigh clan: she died a while ago, her brother Philip six years ago and her brother Walter last year. Now Harry Joseph Meigh, the survivor of his generation, has also died aged 90. His splendid requiem took place today.

Harry and Clothilde themselves presided over a large family, occupying a good proportion of the front of St Gregory's Church. Unlike at many Catholic funeral masses, however, there was nothing reticent or bewildered about the next generations' participation in the rituals. Indeed quite the reverse, Dominic leading the way both with his singing, and a very fine tribute: it was something I could not have begun to manage for either of my parents.

His father, Dominic told us, was said to have been blessed - as a child - with the face of an angel and the temper of a devil. A Christian Brother who taught at his school once admonished him: "Harry Meigh! Don't harry me." But he excelled in practical tasks, and in a career making aluminium bronze castings. More importantly, he and Clothilde worked out their understanding that the laity were as much called to holiness as the religious by bringing Equipes Notre-Dame (Teams of Our Lady) to these shores: of the 11,000 teams across the world, over 120 are in Britain. (The organisation's colourful fish symbol, with intertwined wedding rings, adorned the service sheet.)

In his homily, a monk from Prinknash described one of Harry's final acts - blessing each of his six children and asking them to forgive him. Having arranged a meeting, we were told, Harry was forever fixing a post mortem: we certainly gave him a good one.

I was sorry not to be able to track down a photograph I was sure I had taken of Harry in his prime. This one will have to do instead: it's of the representative of the local Normandy Veterans Association who attended the funeral. Harry having landed on Gold Beach on D-Day, his medals were placed on his coffin.

PS The family have now sent me this happy picture of Harry:

Powerless

Sara Maitland's column in this week's Tablet is headed, "Electricity is a pivotal example of and a rich metaphor for the Holy Spirit." Sara is always worth reading, based as she is in a remote corner of Scotland, and often reflecting upon the elements, in this instance causing power cuts. Both electricity and the Holy Spirit, she reflects, bring us light, warmth, joy and love.

Edmund (who lives in a world of computers) was for once powerless too this weekend: leaving his telephone (unintentionally) in the train, he went on a green woodwork course in the woods at Prinknash. No power tools, just a foot-operated lathe; but by the end of two days he'd made two beautiful stools, one for each of the boys. Excellent!

Walking to Prinknash

The forecast wasn't that good, but we need to do some serious walks ahead of our Camino, which starts on 3rd April. So, off we set bright and early, to walk to Painswick (from where there's a bus back hourly).

It turned out to be just right, not cold, some sun even and the only rain falling after we had abandoned our walking near one of Prinknash's lodges. (We and the dog were all exhausted by so much mud underfoot!)

We joined the Cotswold Way above The Crippetts. After stopping for coffee at the Air Balloon, and snarling at the traffic on the A417, we soon found ourselves in the magnificent escarpment woodlands which contined for the rest of the way. I specially like the look and feel of young beech trees after rain.

"Prinknash treasures"

This is the title of a loan exhibition at Simon Chorley Art & Antiques, Prinknash Abbey Park. You can only catch it until 14th August though. I recommend a visit.

It was news to me that the monks of Prinknash, always rather a low-key bunch as I perceived them, possessed so many beautiful objects. But a number of the monks have been - indeed are - artists, with friends and patrons who have acted as benefactors over the years. One member of the Community (a noted potter and stone carver) was the son of the cartoonist Heath Robinson: three of his delightful paintings featuring the monks are exhibited.

Moreover, the founder of the community at Prinknash itself was it seems a devotee of the Arts & Crafts Movement. This lovely Madonna and child on marble is by Eric Gill: I loved seeing traces of the censoring hand (shades of Silvio Berlusconi's Tiepolo) which applied the masking tape to Mary's right nipple!

Gill was also responsible for the rather severe drawing of the first Abbot of Prinknash, Wilfred Upson - left, below: Abbot Wilfred seems a little less daunting in William Rothenstein's seated portrait (right, below).

The tape residue and the crack across the Eric Gill tableau say much about the state of the "Treasures". Tender love and care has at some stages perhaps been in short measure; jewel-encrusted chalices could do with a polish, and if the caption wordings were expanded, that would assist those less familiar with the whys and wherefores of ecclesiastical hardware. The current Benedictine Yearbook lists only nine priests at the Abbey now, which must be part of the explanation. And anyway today's monks might have other priorities than to spend all their time maintaining the ornaments of a past era - which ties in with the substance of my controversial post of last Monday.

Nevertheless, there is a great deal to surprise and admire. For a Monday morning, the exhibition room was pleasantly full. Had the show been mounted - as well it could have been - by the V&A, thousands - rather than dozens - would have been delighted through paying a visit. There is still time!

Thanks to Simon Chorley's generosity, all proceeds from the exhibition go to the NSPCC.