The bells...the bells..

DAY 2 at the Monkery

Ah the bells, the bells… They rang at 3.45am for the first prayers at 4am. Not that I had slept much. Someone, somewhere, was snoring their horrible head off. Despite earmuffs and exhaustion, the noise of the bells woke me good and proper. In fact, I thought there was a good chance that the residents of the local cemetery had been woken up as well…

Did I want to get up and flit through the Guesthouse, through the secret door, across the silent chapel, along the cloister and into the big chapel for the 4 am prayers? No I did not. I wanted the bells to stop, I wanted the snoring to stop and I wanted to sleep.

Eventually I dozed off, to be woken by the next Carillion heralding the 8am prayer and chanting. I gave in and got up. Sat in the church with my head on my arms, trying not to fall asleep - and out of the hard wooden pew. All I wanted to do was go back to bed.  As soon as the religious observances and breakfast were over, that’s exactly what I was going to do. The reflection, meditation and whatever you’re having yourself would have to wait till I was less tired and less damn cranky.

Breakfast was a buffet affair. Jugs of orange juice and packets of cereal from which you helped yourself, were then followed by heaps of bread, butter and jam and gallons of tea. Like the Dormouse in Alice in Wonderland, I was in danger of falling asleep with my head stuck in a teapot. Breakfast conversation proved to be as interesting as the previous night’s supper conversation; this time it was the likelihood of aliens as well as foreign governments watching us, and whether tinfoil was sufficient to keep their alpha waves out of our brains so we didn’t inadvertently get brainwashed… A very nice man took an  interest in me; he offered to sit with me in church and explain all about the psalms, chanting, and so on. He also said he was going to give levitation lessons in the pretty Summer House on the lawn. “Isn’t there a health and safety issue there?” I said. “Shouldn’t crash helmets be obligatory in case people hit their heads off the ceiling?”

So…dishes handed back in through the serving hatch and table wiped, I headed for the bed.  I stayed there till lunchtime alternately dozing and reading “When things fall apart” – the accompanying book recommended to me by the person who had recommended I come to the monastery.

I got up in time for dinner served at lunchtime; hearty vegetable soup, heaped plates of potatoes fresh out of the ground with bits of clay still sticking to them here and there, bowls of steaming cabbage freshly picked and boiled, and dinner plates holding 2 thick slices of bacon followed each other out of the hatch. Delicious. Followed by home made apple pie and lumpy custard, just like you’d make at home. Well, I would. Some people’s custard isn’t lumpy. Their lives probably aren’t lumpy either.

Afterwards I sat in the garden. Too antsy to stay there long, I hopped in the car and went for a drive. So much for sitting in the tranquil grounds and meditating. I went to the seaside instead. Then I did a tour of a castle. Then I went to an Art Exhibition. Then I stopped in a village and bought sweets. Then I went back to the monastery, arriving just in time for the 4 pm session.

The sun streamed through stained glass windows. The monks chanted, their voices rising and falling. My new friend sat close beside me, sharing his Psalter and explaining what each section of plain chant signified. I left the church feeling very peaceful.

All the guests walked back to the Guesthouse Kitchen for a cup of afternoon tea. Somehow things ended up in a heated discussion. Somehow I ended up in the middle of it. I couldn’t sit there and hear people deny that child abuse had gone on in church-run schools. I couldn’t listen to them state that victims were only people looking for a way to get money. I had to speak up.

I found myself in a minority of one. Luckily the conversation changed to people who can talk in tongues. (As opposed to with tongues in the normal way of things?) Some of the guests had witnessed such happenings. More stuff about spirits and demons! I was getting very spooked. My newfound but short-lived serenity shredded along with my nerves.  What did my new and learned friend and the young priest with the penchant for ballet pumps think?  They were of the opinion that you had to invite such bad things in. So I was safe, apart from the fact that I was beginning to think I was surrounded by lunatics. And I’d been worried about coping with 4 days of silence and retreat from the world…Things were getting more bizarre by the minute.

My new friend asked for my room number. He wished to escort me to the 4am session next morning…apparently it was something special to be part of… As a child I’d gone to the 6am Christmas Mass with my father. I wasn’t mad about that either. But yes, it certainly would be special for me to be getting up at 3.45 am.  I’d only ever gone to bed at that hour and then only after a night out on the tiles.

So…No thank you, I said, the bells will wake me (nothing surer) and I’ll fly along the corridors and make my way to the chapel myself. (Thinking; if I can manage to rouse myself). 

I went to bed, having double checked the door and windows locks. If I‘d had salt I might well have sprinkled it on the doorstep...