a penny in the foundations

 The first Christmas I remember in detail is one of which I cannot possibly have any recollection. The festive season which lies behind that riddle was my second. I was aged 17 months and I received some wonderful gifts, not least 'Big Ted' who is still my companion! That Christmas morning I discovered him in the top of a big, Santa adorned paper sack. It was propped up in front of the TV and as a rosy cheeked, unstable toddler I tottered towards him and grabbed hold of the toy which was pretty much the same size as me. I know exactly what the rest of the family ate for Christmas tea, and can even describe the pattern on the china tea set brought out for the occasion. I recall all this with such clarity because it was recorded on my dad's new fangled cine camera. The footage was shown countless times over the years and most of it still exists even if it now in a digital format. Those old pennies are still shiny in my mind. Sixty years later I have spent the last three weeke

So it was inevitable! Digging for the 'pennies' that form the foundation of who I am was always going to lead something railway related. As hinted at in a previous post, my earliest days were spent just a few feet from the East Coast Mainline. The steam and diesel fumes literally the air that I breathed. Just as we arrived in Scarborough I spotted an advert asking for volunteers to work on the historic Scarborough North Bay Railway. The bit of me that had resolved not to take on new things for a little while as I adjusted to a new way of life started fighting with the part of me which knew this was an opportunity made for me. So a few weeks ago I started my training as a guard on what is dubbed 'Britain's biggest miniature railway'. Opened in 1931 the line runs for a little under a mile from the former Northstead Manor Gardens (now the site of Scarborough Open Air Theatre), along North Bay to Scalby Mills. The 20 inch gauge line operates with the original locomotive

 It was on the charity shop floor, surrounded by plastic toys and mismatched crockery. A plain plastic binder, closed with a simple clasp and complete with a carry handle. Suddenly I was 8 years old again, sitting on the floor at home, opening that clasp and poring over the contents within. I had spotted a copy of the 'Readers Digest - Complete Do It Yourself Manual' Not traditional childhood reading matter, but  a reminder that with a few notable exceptions I have never been one for fiction. Within these grey covers lay a real world of possibility. Opening out to reveal two loose leaf sections, to the left pages of instruction on a myriad of techniques, to the right a series of brightly illustrated projects for every room in the home. I was gripped by the right hand side, often wanteddad to bring them to life, from a funky music centre to an indoor swimming pool. I don't think any ever materialised despite his constant DIY activities, but more significant were my dreams th

  As the number of weeks until my final acts as an itinerant Methodist minister enters single figures, I realise just how uncharted the territory ahead seems. Our new home near Scarborough will be my 25th place of residence. The 24 so far have had one thing in common, they were never likely to be a ‘forever home’, not least because itinerant ministry means each new job requires moving home. Though once again we must move on , this time it might just be the final time we have to strike camp and set off to a new place. Looking beyond where I lay my head, I am however very much experiencing something new. Throughout my adult life there has always been a clear next step and it has begun to have shape long before the actual move. From school to university, to teacher training, to teaching jobs, theological college and then the discipline of Methodist stationing. At each stage I have had some idea of what I would be doing, and the diary has begun to form long before hitting the new groun

  I remember in detail my initial stationing form completed as I was ready to come out of Lincoln Theological College in 1991. I drew a line across the map and asked to be stationed north of it, have two or more congregations, and hopefully significant chaplaincy in hospital or prison. Retford circuit lay just north of the line, I shared pastoral responsibility for eleven churches with the superintendent and spent two days each week on the chaplaincy team at the very secure Rampton Special Hospital. So itinerant ministry began with everything I wished for! Rampton provided the most formational and fulfilling context for ministry I could have experienced, a unique community where I got to know some incredible people, staff and patients, like the bank robber who arrived late one night from prison where that morning he had discovered his son hanging in a neighbouring cell, and who turned out to be a talented wood carver who was commissioned by one of my churches to carve a beautiful cro

 We yearn for the past - because it is somehow enveloped in a rosy glow. You know the sort of thing - 'it was always warm and sunny in the summer and life was much simpler when we didn't have a hundred TV channels to choose from'. So my memory tries to convince me that during my early childhood, it was always sunny and warm and I played outside all the time and bedtime was when 'the lines went up' (our family pet name for the credits) at the end of Coronation Street on one of the two available TV stations. There is certainly a glow around these memories, as rosy as my cheeks on the many photos and cine films which no doubt colour my recollections. My bedroom was a place of warmth and safety, where dad read me a story and fed Big Ted with fruit gums each evening. So, it came as a surprise to find that first bedroom featured on Zoopla  4 bed detached house for sale in Widdrington, Morpeth NE61 - Zoopla . Only it is no longer a bedroom, but the family bathroom in a spe