Cutting the Apron Strings

Te Deum large window

My main purpose in writing these diary entries is to introduce you—and me!—to the ups and downs (mostly ups!) of my new position with Aid to the Church in Need. I try not to dwell needlessly on my personal details, but it is inevitable that my life will impact on my work and vice versa; that symbiotic relationship between work and life, the past and the present, the public and the private is what makes our lives so rich and varied and interesting. Yesterday evening I had one of those experiences where my past life collided with my new ACN life and, much to my amazement, it all suddenly made sense. Here’s what happened:

I worked for Lancaster Cathedral for the past ten years. When I say ‘worked’ I don’t mean the 9-to-5 arrangement that one might expect; I mean WORKED. I laughed; I cried; I fell asleep at my desk; I dragged my husband and children in to set up chairs and act in plays and hand out flyers; I went in at 6:30 am to water flower displays and spent the night there when the priests took the parish on pilgrimage to Rome and someone had to stay on the premises because the fire alarm was acting up. I could go on, but I won’t (you may breathe a sigh of relief now!). When I decided that taking up my new post with ACN was the right thing for me to do and that it was time to leave the Cathedral, I cleared my desk, I left lists everywhere and I took off two weeks early so that I could stay home and answer the phone to help with all of the things that I was sure no one else knew how to do. I disappeared—‘cold turkey’ as they say (why do they say that?)—and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I needed to shift my focus and the only way to manage it was to shine all of my light (however dim!) on to my new job. Someday I shall begin to help again, but for now all that is going on with ACN deserves my full attention.

Anyway, two weeks ago I received an email from the person who has taken over school visits (yes, I used to run those, too!). She asked if I would come and talk to the new guides about the Cathedral’s west window. Years of touring groups around the Cathedral means that I know it like the back of my hand—every image, every cupboard, every smell and every creak; I even dream about it sometimes. I agreed; actually I was pleased to be asked. I walked up the hill, like I have done for so many years, and arrived at 7pm to a room full of old friends who were all desperate to know all about my new job—“Read my blog,” I told them! Then I showed them which keys they would need to prepare for a school tour. As we stepped inside my (former) office, it began to pour outside. When it pours outside and the wind is coming in off Morecambe Bay, what I affectionately refer to as the office ‘water feature’ starts up. Water began to stream from the beautiful gothic arched windows down the wall and on to the bright, shiny new boxes of A4 paper. Sadly the tea towels I always kept there (not because I am a slob, but because I knew all about the water feature) had been removed,  so I calmly headed to the kitchen to grab some; such is the fabric of the regime change! However, no one was hurt—except a couple of reams of paper—and now people know for future reference. I realized that my Cathedral is fine without me there to take care of things; things won’t go so smoothly for a while, but it will be ok. My job there is done.

Next we headed into the Cathedral and up the spiral stairs into the organ loft. I then set about talking about the west window—as I have done hundreds of times to families, school groups, architectural historians and local history buffs. The late 19th-century window is a beautiful depiction of the Christ enthroned surrounded by the Communion of Saints. The window is a tour-de-force; it displays superb craftsmanship, excellent balance, marvellous use of colour and great attention to detail. All in a window so high off the ground that no one inside the church can actually make much of it out! This is a point I always make to people: “why create such a beautiful, complex composition and put it where no one can actually see it?” The answer, I have always maintained, is simple. Jesus and Mary and the Saints are always there with us and for us even when we don’t realise it. You can’t begin to imagine to how many people I have made that statement over the past decade. The strange thing was that, yesterday evening, with the evening sun streaming through and knowing that this might be the last time that I ever talk about ‘my’ window, I finally took this on board myself. Wherever I go and whatever I do, I know that they are watching over the Cathedral and me and my family and my friends and all of you. A very comforting thought.

Yesterday evening I walked into Lancaster Cathedral as (slightly jaded) Cathedral Caroline, but I left as invigorated, calm and collected ACN-NW Caroline. Maybe not quite as catchy, but a very significant shift for me.

Thanks for reading!  Caroline