Serendipity

About a year after my mother died my Dad felt well enough to start clearing out some of her things. Amongst them were a couple of carrier bags of magazines and travel brochures Mum had accumulated from their shared travels.  If there were old guides to stately homes I would send them back to the homes with a covering letter as if it was from my Dad and every so often when I went to visit him he would show me a thank you letter from one of the houses the brochures had gone to.  It was light relief for him from utility bills and junk mail.

While these clear outs were taking place I was working on a project at a theological college cloistered away in the grounds of Salisbury Cathedral.  At lunch time all the lecturers, visiting students, resident monks and administration staff would congregate for a meal.  One day I would be sitting between two monks, or sharing a table with resident students and lecturers and even the occasional bishop.  It was during one of these lunches that I first met Brother Patrick.  He never wore a habit but was always very dapper in tweed jackets, collar and tie.  He looks more like a retired business man than a monk.  His accent, despite having lived in the UK for thirty years already resonated with the clipped intonations of Boston and New England. Precise, measured and always polite.

We spent many a happy post lunch thirty minutes discussing art, politics, world affairs and life in general.  Brother Patrick took a a keen interest in me when he found out I was just completing my BSc in International Studies.  He has a unique way of giving people energy and stimulating thoughts with an engaging smile that was always followed by a probing question.

'Alan, you are studying international affairs.  What would you do about the situation in Syria and Iraq?'.

'Alan, do you think the UK should stay in Europe?'.

These seemingly innocuous questions would be the prelude to a healthy discussion over coffee and biscuits while the refectory was cleared ready for afternoon tea. Lunch with Brother Patrick is never tiring.

In one of the carrier bags my Dad gave me was a pamphlet from St Nicholas Church at Moreton in Dorset.  For those of you who do not know about this church it has two very distinctive claims to fame.  One, that it is where TE Lawrence was buried in 1935. And two, it's windows are unique in that they are etched glass rather rather than the traditional stained glass making the interior full of light.  From memory, there is an etching of an aerial view of a cottage in Moreton, a Judas Cross and if I am correct one of a bird of prey that has RAF type rounders on the undersides of its wings. These were designed by Lawrence Whistler.

I thought Brother Patrick would enjoy this particular brochure so I took it into college for him.  He was away at a seminar for a couple of days so I left it in his mailbox in the post room.

At lunch later that week I sat with Brother Patrick. As usual we sat down over coffee and biscuits with the background noise of plates and cutlery being cleared away.  He looked at me with his usual smile and twinkle in his eye.

'Alan, do you know what serendipity means.'.

That was a more difficult question than asking about solving Syria but I did my best.

'I don't know the exact definition but I do understand it to mean something along the lines of coincidences, fortunate coincidences, positive chance encounters, that sort of thing'.

'Exactly Alan. Exactly.  I saw the brochure you gave me of the church in Moreton....St Nichloas and its most beautiful windows.  They really are beautiful but do you know, do you really know or even appreciate the moment of serendipity when I saw that brochure you gave me?'.

'I am really sorry Patrick but, I am afraid not'.

'Alan, I have a student who is currently working on a dissertation about Lawrence Whistler and those very same windows in the brochures.  Isn't that marvellous?'.

Brother Patrick does not drive so he is unable to make his way to Moreton to see the church, it's windows and Lawrence's grave.  So, having run out of time in 2015 we have agreed to make the pilgrimage there in January 2016.

'If you don't mind driving Alan I will buy you the best English tea in the Old School House in Moreton village'.

'And Patrick, I will take you to Clouds Hill to see where Lawrence lived after tea'.