Wildlife Notes
We were kept awake on the Estate a few nights ago by a very loud and determined fox, evidently walking up and down between my house and the flats. There seemed to be another fox, somewhere distant, answering. It's very hard to describe the noise, but once you've heard it you recognise it. This time it was exceptionally loud. I eventually got out of bed, and from a front window watched the fox come out in front of the church and saunter away up the road, presumably in the direction of the other fox. One of my callers (from Golborne Road) remarked that she had been kept awake by what she was told were foxes, "Sounded like a baby!" she said, "Why do they do it then? Are they talking to other foxes?" I replied that I believe their intention is to meet up with other foxes. "Why's that then? I thought they didn't like other foxes!" I explained that I believe they want to get to know each other better. "Ooohh, yeah."
This is a real St Luke's Summer, for which God be thanked! In the late afternoon sun one day last week I was able to watch a lesser-spotted woodpecker on a rather weedy tree, and then on the wall of the flats behind me, which was a pleasant surprise.
The Ascension of Our Lord
Some of you will remember the War Memorial Calvary ("What have you done with Jesus?") and its structural problems that required it to be taken down three years ago (having been held up by scaffolding for more than fifteen years). The plan had been to restore it quickly as a visible sign of our intent for the whole church, but of course it didn't work that way. In fact that was just as well, because when we came to scaffold the outside of the church the whole of the sunken area over which the Calvary stood was filled with scaffolding, and the wooden cross had to be carefully placed against a wall. The cleaning of the exterior brick and stonework also produced a huge amount of dirty run-off, and it became obvious that if the Calvary had been re-erected in its place it would have got absolutely filthy. So, the fact that the (cast-iron) corpus was waiting in a forge somewhere in Sussex was a good thing.
The exterior scaffolding came down some time ago, and the specialist contractors began the process of reconstruction. Meanwhile, the corpus was restored to his original state. Martin Travers (who designed the Calvary in the 1920s) never stinted on bling if he got the chance, and so our cast-iron corpus was gilded. Now, Travers was more of a designer than an architect, which is perhaps why he had fixed the wooden cross onto a cast-iron beam. It was the rusting and subsequent distortion of this beam that had caused all the problems. So our contractors had to cast a nice new concrete beam, in situ, as the new base, which meant that lots of brickwork had to be taken down, making it quite a task. Then the old stone plinth had to be restored and re-erected, and then the wooden cross was oiled and put in place (which involved more scaffolding and a block and tackle).
Finally, last Friday, the corpus returned, in the back of a van. The gilder came with him, in case of touching up, and there were the men from the forge, and the contractors, and a man with a lorry with a hoist. They had the unenviable task of moving an extremely heavy cast-iron figure that was now covered in very delicate gold leaf and hoisting him up onto a cross about fifteen feet off the ground. Matters were not made easier by three cars ignoring our parking suspension; the contractors told me that one had actually been parked there while they were there, and the driver had just shrugged when told the bay was suspended. The result was that the hoist couldn't get very close, and they decided not to lift the corpus over the cars. Instead they carried him round in a circle, rising to a considerable height to get him round behind a streetlamp. Frankly, I held my breath. All was accomplished beautifully (though not without acute anxiety for the watching Vicar). They fixed his hands in place, but then came an alarming moment when the cross-beam flexed, and indeed the whole cross moved, which worried the contractors sufficiently for them to call the architect. They were reassured, and when his feet were fixed the whole structure became rock-solid. So now, for the first time in decades, the gilded figure of Christ presides over Rowington Close. Best of all, the job has been done in time for the centenary of the end of the Great War.
Back Home
We returned to worship in the main body of the church this weekend. Our Sunday Mass was exactly 150 years after Fr West celebrated the first Mass in the newly-built chancel, and 145 years after the building was consecrated by Bishop Jackson. It's not all finished, with three significant bits of repair work still to be done, and the lights not sorted out properly, but at least we are back, and you can see the brilliant ceilings. It was a deep joy to celebrate the Dedication Festival, and (I hope) to do it as Fr West would have wanted. We had a decent crowd, and a nice party afterwards, and people's joy and relief was palpable. The next thing is to get the new extension finished, so that the parishioners who have waited so long for level access and lavatories can finally come back as well.
Tuesday 23 October 2018
Thursday 18 October 2018
FROM WESTMINSTER, WITH LOVE
Loves, Labour's Won
Our "heritage pioneers" at St Mary Mags are an excellent lot. They have been researching local history (and aspects of the history of the church) for the Project website, and to provide us with the raw material for future exhibitions, and some have been trained in the techniques of oral history (by a professional) and have been out interviewing people. These interviews will provide an archive of local experiences, but will also be the material for the recordings in the "whispering walls" in the new building, places where you will be able to learn more about the recent history of Paddington from listening to people tell their stories.
The excellence of the heritage pioneers was demonstrated by the fact that they wanted to do more, and organised a pub quiz (partly to ask questions based on all the things they had found out), which they called the "Keeping It Local" quiz. This was held a couple of weeks ago in the Eagle in Clifton Road. This is the pub that used to be the Robert Browning, but I imagine Eagle was an older name, so I'm all in favour of that reversion to tradition. It seemed generally a fairly traditional pub, but they were happy for us to take over their upstairs room, which was a good venue for a quiz attracting thirty-five people. We organised ourselves in teams, and I was quite positive about the make-up of ours, with a wide range of knowledge and several people who were Paddington born-and-bred. I hadn't bargained with the presence of the Westminster Labour Party team, but when I spotted Cllr Dimoldenberg (who is an even bigger geek than I am) my heart sank. I also shouldn't have had that pint of beer (shockingly unprofessional, but I was trying to look relaxed). They beat us by three points, and maddeningly we knew three answers that we had got wrong through pure silliness and indiscipline. Helen didn't like me doing quizzes because I am such a bad loser, so when we have them, I usually help set the questions; here I enjoyed myself but came away sore. Did I shake Paul Dimoldenberg's hand? I did not.
The Heart of Westminster
The Dean of Westminster, Dr John Hall, is one of the smoothest and most charming clergymen in the Church of England (though Helen once got under his skin by asking too-probing questions after a lecture he gave about religious education). At Westminster Abbey he has assured his place in history by building the "Weston Tower" which gives public access to the Triforium, part of which is now a gallery to display some of the Abbey's treasures, and by commissioning a window from David Hockney, just installed. The Weston Tower is a very clever piece of work (designed by Ptolemy Dean, the telegenic Surveyor of the Fabric) which is tucked into a corner formerly occupied by some loos, and which gives astonishing views along the south elevation of the Abbey as you go up the stairs. I suspect that the conceit of using specimen pieces of every type of stone used in the Abbey's history will look rather twee in the future, but it's a pleasing touch. I can't say I like the metalwork that loops across the glazing; neither Gothic nor contemporary, but kitsch in my view. But, as I say, Dean Hall's place in history is assured (even if he misses out on a coronation).
In my view, though, the most important thing he has done is to raise the profile of religion at the Abbey. It's a building with tremendous history, it's always referred to as the church of kings, and is in fact the burial place of most of our medieval and early modern monarchs, and it also functions as a sort of national pantheon, as the actual burial place of such as Chaucer, Newton and Darwin, and the place of commemoration of countless other national heroes of one sort or another. It also contains, in Henry VII's Lady Chapel, the finest piece of renaissance sculpture in Britain (Henry VII's tomb, by Torrigiani), and indeed the Chapel itself is one of the most important works of art of its period anywhere. So it's not unreasonable that the Abbey should be a tourist attraction, and as a "Royal Peculiar" it doesn't have a very clear spiritual function, beyond ensuring that a daily round of worship is celebrated (not a trivial thing, but an alien concept for the managers who run the contemporary C of E). So, it's never been a great surprise to me that it mostly feels like a tourist attraction in which worship occasionally takes place (it's not alone in that) but Dean Hall has ensured that religion has been brought back. I don't know how much income the Abbey expects to make on a Saturday in October, but they have chosen, under Dean Hall's leadership, to forego one Saturday's receipts by closing the Abbey to tourists and making it a place of pilgrimage for the day. So it was that I went, with an intrepid band of parishioners, to the National Pilgrimage to the Shrine of St Edward the Confessor last Saturday.
Because of course the medieval abbey was intended as a place of pilgrimage, housing the shrine of England's royal saint, (famed for his gentleness and radiating the love of God for the poor) and it functioned in that way until the dissolution of the abbeys. At that point the shrine was destroyed, but the Confessor's royalness trumped his saintliness, and so his remains were not scattered (as happened at most English shrines) but reverently buried. Hence, the reconstructed shrine still contains the saint's remains, and the modern Abbey has created a day of pilgrimage, around the Confessor's main feast day, at which the Abbey is absolutely given over to prayer, devotion and worship. We walked down from Paddington (which took an hour and a half, on a beautiful warm, sunny morning) and arrived in time for one of our number to make herself a pilgrim badge, while others used the facilities. We then took our seats for the Solemn Eucharist, which was very well done (Mozart was sung and the Bishop of Ebbsfleet preached). Afterwards there was the opportunity to visit the shrine, behind the high altar, where incense was burning, candles were being lit, and people were kneeling in prayer in the niches beneath the saint's tomb, and around the space. Genuine devotion. Real prayer. That absolutely brought home why all those kings wanted to be buried as they are, in a ring around the shrine, close to the holy man, so full of the grace of God. After the vergers finished clearing up from the service the east end of the Abbey was opened up again, and you could pray in the chapels. The highlight was praying before the Blessed Sacrament exposed in the Lady Chapel. Actually you could see the Sacrament in the monstrance from a particular spot in the Sacrarium (the space around the shrine) which I would never have imagined, but was itself a very revealing detail, because the monstrance was placed on the Lady Chapel altar, that lovely little gem under its baldacchino in front of Henry VII's tomb. To be able to pray before our Lord, present in the Blessed Sacrament, in the very centre of power in this land (knowing that beyond the window in front of you was Parliament) was intensely moving and impressive. The silence there was stunning. That experience on its own was enough to justify all the nonsense. Last Saturday, for a few hours at least, the Lord was truly the heart of Westminster.
Our "heritage pioneers" at St Mary Mags are an excellent lot. They have been researching local history (and aspects of the history of the church) for the Project website, and to provide us with the raw material for future exhibitions, and some have been trained in the techniques of oral history (by a professional) and have been out interviewing people. These interviews will provide an archive of local experiences, but will also be the material for the recordings in the "whispering walls" in the new building, places where you will be able to learn more about the recent history of Paddington from listening to people tell their stories.
The excellence of the heritage pioneers was demonstrated by the fact that they wanted to do more, and organised a pub quiz (partly to ask questions based on all the things they had found out), which they called the "Keeping It Local" quiz. This was held a couple of weeks ago in the Eagle in Clifton Road. This is the pub that used to be the Robert Browning, but I imagine Eagle was an older name, so I'm all in favour of that reversion to tradition. It seemed generally a fairly traditional pub, but they were happy for us to take over their upstairs room, which was a good venue for a quiz attracting thirty-five people. We organised ourselves in teams, and I was quite positive about the make-up of ours, with a wide range of knowledge and several people who were Paddington born-and-bred. I hadn't bargained with the presence of the Westminster Labour Party team, but when I spotted Cllr Dimoldenberg (who is an even bigger geek than I am) my heart sank. I also shouldn't have had that pint of beer (shockingly unprofessional, but I was trying to look relaxed). They beat us by three points, and maddeningly we knew three answers that we had got wrong through pure silliness and indiscipline. Helen didn't like me doing quizzes because I am such a bad loser, so when we have them, I usually help set the questions; here I enjoyed myself but came away sore. Did I shake Paul Dimoldenberg's hand? I did not.
The Heart of Westminster
The Dean of Westminster, Dr John Hall, is one of the smoothest and most charming clergymen in the Church of England (though Helen once got under his skin by asking too-probing questions after a lecture he gave about religious education). At Westminster Abbey he has assured his place in history by building the "Weston Tower" which gives public access to the Triforium, part of which is now a gallery to display some of the Abbey's treasures, and by commissioning a window from David Hockney, just installed. The Weston Tower is a very clever piece of work (designed by Ptolemy Dean, the telegenic Surveyor of the Fabric) which is tucked into a corner formerly occupied by some loos, and which gives astonishing views along the south elevation of the Abbey as you go up the stairs. I suspect that the conceit of using specimen pieces of every type of stone used in the Abbey's history will look rather twee in the future, but it's a pleasing touch. I can't say I like the metalwork that loops across the glazing; neither Gothic nor contemporary, but kitsch in my view. But, as I say, Dean Hall's place in history is assured (even if he misses out on a coronation).
In my view, though, the most important thing he has done is to raise the profile of religion at the Abbey. It's a building with tremendous history, it's always referred to as the church of kings, and is in fact the burial place of most of our medieval and early modern monarchs, and it also functions as a sort of national pantheon, as the actual burial place of such as Chaucer, Newton and Darwin, and the place of commemoration of countless other national heroes of one sort or another. It also contains, in Henry VII's Lady Chapel, the finest piece of renaissance sculpture in Britain (Henry VII's tomb, by Torrigiani), and indeed the Chapel itself is one of the most important works of art of its period anywhere. So it's not unreasonable that the Abbey should be a tourist attraction, and as a "Royal Peculiar" it doesn't have a very clear spiritual function, beyond ensuring that a daily round of worship is celebrated (not a trivial thing, but an alien concept for the managers who run the contemporary C of E). So, it's never been a great surprise to me that it mostly feels like a tourist attraction in which worship occasionally takes place (it's not alone in that) but Dean Hall has ensured that religion has been brought back. I don't know how much income the Abbey expects to make on a Saturday in October, but they have chosen, under Dean Hall's leadership, to forego one Saturday's receipts by closing the Abbey to tourists and making it a place of pilgrimage for the day. So it was that I went, with an intrepid band of parishioners, to the National Pilgrimage to the Shrine of St Edward the Confessor last Saturday.
Because of course the medieval abbey was intended as a place of pilgrimage, housing the shrine of England's royal saint, (famed for his gentleness and radiating the love of God for the poor) and it functioned in that way until the dissolution of the abbeys. At that point the shrine was destroyed, but the Confessor's royalness trumped his saintliness, and so his remains were not scattered (as happened at most English shrines) but reverently buried. Hence, the reconstructed shrine still contains the saint's remains, and the modern Abbey has created a day of pilgrimage, around the Confessor's main feast day, at which the Abbey is absolutely given over to prayer, devotion and worship. We walked down from Paddington (which took an hour and a half, on a beautiful warm, sunny morning) and arrived in time for one of our number to make herself a pilgrim badge, while others used the facilities. We then took our seats for the Solemn Eucharist, which was very well done (Mozart was sung and the Bishop of Ebbsfleet preached). Afterwards there was the opportunity to visit the shrine, behind the high altar, where incense was burning, candles were being lit, and people were kneeling in prayer in the niches beneath the saint's tomb, and around the space. Genuine devotion. Real prayer. That absolutely brought home why all those kings wanted to be buried as they are, in a ring around the shrine, close to the holy man, so full of the grace of God. After the vergers finished clearing up from the service the east end of the Abbey was opened up again, and you could pray in the chapels. The highlight was praying before the Blessed Sacrament exposed in the Lady Chapel. Actually you could see the Sacrament in the monstrance from a particular spot in the Sacrarium (the space around the shrine) which I would never have imagined, but was itself a very revealing detail, because the monstrance was placed on the Lady Chapel altar, that lovely little gem under its baldacchino in front of Henry VII's tomb. To be able to pray before our Lord, present in the Blessed Sacrament, in the very centre of power in this land (knowing that beyond the window in front of you was Parliament) was intensely moving and impressive. The silence there was stunning. That experience on its own was enough to justify all the nonsense. Last Saturday, for a few hours at least, the Lord was truly the heart of Westminster.
Thursday 11 October 2018
THE CONCRETE AND THE CLAY
On the Road
An unpleasant accident on the Harrow Road yesterday evening caused traffic chaos. It was clear that a car had struck a motorcycle. It didn't look good for the motorcyclist. not least because the police were still doing their investigations two hours later. If it's only a collision they are keen to get the traffic moving again, but here a large section of road (and pavement) was taped off for a long time, and people in high-vis were using cameras and surveying equipment. What I couldn't understand was how the car came to be sideways on across the road, nowhere near a junction. That appeared to be the place where the accident had happened, as the motorbike was there under his front wing. The natural conclusion is that the car was executing some strange manoeuvre when the collision happened. In truth, it is surprising that there are not more accidents with motorcycles and mopeds, given how rashly many are ridden along the Harrow Road.
Fall of an Emperor
Councillor Robert Davis has resigned. Robert Davis has been a towering figure in Westminster for years, a councillor for more than twenty years, Deputy Leader for years, a past Lord Mayor, but most significantly, Chair of Planning for seventeen years. An enquiry has found that while he did not do anything illegal, he breached the councillors' code of conduct. This was after he referred himself to the City Council's monitoring officer back in February, after the scale of the gifts that he had received from property developers had been revealed. He had registered receiving more than five hundred gifts (or instances of hospitality) over the past three years, some of which were of the scale of trips to five-star resorts. Why were property developers (admittedly not a rare breed in Westminster) so keen to lavish gifts on Councillor Davis? Perhaps because he had been chair of the Westminster Planning Committee for seventeen years. It should be pointed out that the laws against corruption in local government are very strict, and the enquiry has found that Councillor Davis did not break the law, but the monitoring officer makes reference to the impression that was given being a bad one. Because the sense was that you needed Councillor Davis to look kindly on your planning application if it was at all controversial; he did not sit on every panel, but as chair he chose which applications went to which panel, and the belief was that if he liked your application he would see that it came to his panel. In my (very limited) experience, Councillor Davis seemed a pleasant man, though rather grand, but anyone who made planning applications to Westminster (as we had to for our extension) was conscious of his shadow over the whole process. It did all feel a bit imperial. I see that the current Council Leader has "welcomed" his decision to resign, "Et tu, Brute?"
Concrete
Wherever you look in London there are tower cranes, and then there are all the building sites (like ours) where it is impossible to install a crane. Building is constant. As well as cranes, the indicator of construction activity round here is the scale of traffic generated by the concrete batching plant at Westbourne Park. It's not an aesthetically pleasing building, but it's inconspicuously placed between the main railway line and the Westway. Now when it was built all its raw materials were clearly transported by rail, so it made perfect sense, next to Paddington New Yard, but now it appears that the cement no longer arrives by rail. You never see freight trains of bulk powder wagons on the sidings. In fact, I'm not sure that there even are any sidings any more; I suspect that they may have got in the way of Crossrail. So now, not only do we have constant movements of concrete mixers taking the concrete to building sites, but we have the "goods inwards" as well, huge lorries carrying cement and aggregate. I constantly grumble to myself about what these exceptionally heavy trucks are doing to our roads (and how dangerous they are to cyclists) but I have to remind myself that you are obliged to have batching plants like this reasonably close to construction sites, because the concrete only has a limited lifespan once it has been mixed, so no-one is going to close one down that is so convenient for the builders' promised land, which is central London.
The Benefits of Landfill
There are, however, no waste disposal sites in central London. Rubbish has to be transported out. Historically, the Dust Wharf on the Grand Union Canal (just behind Paddington Station) was where the street sweepings were collected before being shipped out on barges. There is still a very big waste disposal contractor based right next to the canal at Willesden Junction, though nothing now travels by barge, certainly not from the Dust Wharf. "Dust" is a Victorian euphemism for faecal matter, which used to be piled up, higher than a house, on the Dust Wharf. The "dust" was carried out into Middlesex and spread on the vegetable fields. Yum, yum! Now, of course, we produce mountains of waste that can't be spread on the fields, and that generally goes into landfill sites, which are mostly old worked-out gravel pits, located in a ring around London (it's one of the useful things the Green Belt accommodates). If you think that's not very nice, try visiting a city in the developing world where nothing has been planned, and the housing has encircled the landfill (which wasn't even in a pit to start with, and so has become a mountain). The landfill sites are at places like Thurrock (where the new Thames tunnel will start) and Sipson, where the third Heathrow runway may eventually be built. A few years ago the government imposed a landfill tax to discourage the use of these sites, and the resulting money is meant to be applied to projects of public benefit. So, we have been after it for years. When we were first planning the project landfill money seemed like a good bet, but you couldn't apply that early, and by the time we were at the right stage, the rules had changed. Finally, we have managed to qualify for some, and the diligence of our fundraisers has been rewarded. So, benefits can come from landfill.
An unpleasant accident on the Harrow Road yesterday evening caused traffic chaos. It was clear that a car had struck a motorcycle. It didn't look good for the motorcyclist. not least because the police were still doing their investigations two hours later. If it's only a collision they are keen to get the traffic moving again, but here a large section of road (and pavement) was taped off for a long time, and people in high-vis were using cameras and surveying equipment. What I couldn't understand was how the car came to be sideways on across the road, nowhere near a junction. That appeared to be the place where the accident had happened, as the motorbike was there under his front wing. The natural conclusion is that the car was executing some strange manoeuvre when the collision happened. In truth, it is surprising that there are not more accidents with motorcycles and mopeds, given how rashly many are ridden along the Harrow Road.
Fall of an Emperor
Councillor Robert Davis has resigned. Robert Davis has been a towering figure in Westminster for years, a councillor for more than twenty years, Deputy Leader for years, a past Lord Mayor, but most significantly, Chair of Planning for seventeen years. An enquiry has found that while he did not do anything illegal, he breached the councillors' code of conduct. This was after he referred himself to the City Council's monitoring officer back in February, after the scale of the gifts that he had received from property developers had been revealed. He had registered receiving more than five hundred gifts (or instances of hospitality) over the past three years, some of which were of the scale of trips to five-star resorts. Why were property developers (admittedly not a rare breed in Westminster) so keen to lavish gifts on Councillor Davis? Perhaps because he had been chair of the Westminster Planning Committee for seventeen years. It should be pointed out that the laws against corruption in local government are very strict, and the enquiry has found that Councillor Davis did not break the law, but the monitoring officer makes reference to the impression that was given being a bad one. Because the sense was that you needed Councillor Davis to look kindly on your planning application if it was at all controversial; he did not sit on every panel, but as chair he chose which applications went to which panel, and the belief was that if he liked your application he would see that it came to his panel. In my (very limited) experience, Councillor Davis seemed a pleasant man, though rather grand, but anyone who made planning applications to Westminster (as we had to for our extension) was conscious of his shadow over the whole process. It did all feel a bit imperial. I see that the current Council Leader has "welcomed" his decision to resign, "Et tu, Brute?"
Concrete
Wherever you look in London there are tower cranes, and then there are all the building sites (like ours) where it is impossible to install a crane. Building is constant. As well as cranes, the indicator of construction activity round here is the scale of traffic generated by the concrete batching plant at Westbourne Park. It's not an aesthetically pleasing building, but it's inconspicuously placed between the main railway line and the Westway. Now when it was built all its raw materials were clearly transported by rail, so it made perfect sense, next to Paddington New Yard, but now it appears that the cement no longer arrives by rail. You never see freight trains of bulk powder wagons on the sidings. In fact, I'm not sure that there even are any sidings any more; I suspect that they may have got in the way of Crossrail. So now, not only do we have constant movements of concrete mixers taking the concrete to building sites, but we have the "goods inwards" as well, huge lorries carrying cement and aggregate. I constantly grumble to myself about what these exceptionally heavy trucks are doing to our roads (and how dangerous they are to cyclists) but I have to remind myself that you are obliged to have batching plants like this reasonably close to construction sites, because the concrete only has a limited lifespan once it has been mixed, so no-one is going to close one down that is so convenient for the builders' promised land, which is central London.
The Benefits of Landfill
There are, however, no waste disposal sites in central London. Rubbish has to be transported out. Historically, the Dust Wharf on the Grand Union Canal (just behind Paddington Station) was where the street sweepings were collected before being shipped out on barges. There is still a very big waste disposal contractor based right next to the canal at Willesden Junction, though nothing now travels by barge, certainly not from the Dust Wharf. "Dust" is a Victorian euphemism for faecal matter, which used to be piled up, higher than a house, on the Dust Wharf. The "dust" was carried out into Middlesex and spread on the vegetable fields. Yum, yum! Now, of course, we produce mountains of waste that can't be spread on the fields, and that generally goes into landfill sites, which are mostly old worked-out gravel pits, located in a ring around London (it's one of the useful things the Green Belt accommodates). If you think that's not very nice, try visiting a city in the developing world where nothing has been planned, and the housing has encircled the landfill (which wasn't even in a pit to start with, and so has become a mountain). The landfill sites are at places like Thurrock (where the new Thames tunnel will start) and Sipson, where the third Heathrow runway may eventually be built. A few years ago the government imposed a landfill tax to discourage the use of these sites, and the resulting money is meant to be applied to projects of public benefit. So, we have been after it for years. When we were first planning the project landfill money seemed like a good bet, but you couldn't apply that early, and by the time we were at the right stage, the rules had changed. Finally, we have managed to qualify for some, and the diligence of our fundraisers has been rewarded. So, benefits can come from landfill.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)