JAILHOUSE ROCK

Jailhouse Rock

My nephew decided a few months ago that he was fed up with being a land surveyor, and wanted instead to become a prison officer, so that he could help rehabilitate criminals. We all applauded this socially-useful aspiration, and wished him well. To be fair, people who know people who have been in prison reacted with satirical laughter. He has now thoroughly investigated the prison service and finds that as a  married man with children and a mortgage he simply can't afford to do it. The pay cut (to some 60% of what he's earning now) would  be too great, and it would be 5 years before he was back to a similar pay grade, and sadly family life can't sustain that. It should come as no surprise that the prison service finds it hard to attract quality applicants given how poor the pay is. It is also no surprise that corruption results. Anyone with experience of "third world" countries will testify that the first step in eliminating corruption is paying public servants well enough that they do not need to be corrupt. Do we not learn these lessons when we dish out aid?

Meanwhile the young man of our acquaintance with the gunshot wound is still on remand. The good news is: he's been moved from Wormwood Scrubs. The bad news is: he's been moved to Pentonville. Yes, that Pentonville, where an inmate was murdered last week. News reporters sounded surprised as they announced that it seemed that gang rivalries were carried on inside the gaol. Really? You'll be telling me that it's news that prisoners can get hold of drugs inside next. This is a scandal, of which the Justice Department is well aware, and about which it chooses to do nothing. There are no votes in prisoners' welfare, and worse still, you'd provoke the atavistic bile of the Daily Mail. So clearly nothing can be done.


Widower of this Parish

When the Independent ceased its print edition I stopped buying a daily paper, but began to pick up the Guardian when I went to Waitrose on a Saturday. I was a little spooked to find a column in the "Family" section headed "Widower of the Parish". This (signed "Adam Golightly", an obvious pseudonym) is an account of life as a new widower in middle age. His wife died last autumn (I think) from cancer, in her forties, she was called Helen. In other respects he is quite unlike me; he has two children (and did have a nanny) and goes abroad for work. But several of the columns have made me cry, from recognition, I suppose. I promised that this wasn't going to be a "living with cancer" blog, though it didn't really get a chance since the living didn't last very long, but now I have to promise that it won't become a "life as a widower" blog. This is just life, though I suppose widowerhood comes through occasionally.


Opus Anglicanum

As a birthday treat I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum to see the show "Opus Anglicanum", which is of English medieval embroideries, mostly ecclesiastical. Obviously I was not the only cleric there drooling and making excited little whimpers, but actually it's for the general visitor as well, and is full of extraordinary stuff, works of exquisite beauty. I was struck by how far this felt from the Harrow Road, but of course it shouldn't, because St Mary Magdalene's was built precisely to bring that sort of beauty into these gritty urban lives. We even have embroidered seraphs after the medieval pattern (6 wings, standing on wheels) because Ninian Comper was such a thorough antiquarian. My companion remarked how amazing it must have been to step out of a medieval hovel and into a church full of beautiful things, to which I responded that this was exactly what St Mary Mags was all about. People's lives today contain a lot more colour and entertainment than in the slum 150 years ago, which makes our impact less, but I think there's still an absence of real beauty, which means our amazing building still has something to say. When our conservation work is finished (in maybe 18 months' time) I suspect the colour will make an impact too, once all the paintwork is cleaned. The sense of being enfolded in the worship of heaven should become very hard to avoid.