Perceptions

I love watching antique shows, always the thought that I might find something of great value in a charity shop. I suppose if I did I would feel honour bound to share the proceeds with the charity. But a car boot might be a different proposition. Another thought would be to get a metal detector and make a fortune by finding something like the Staffordshire hoard. These things are many people’s perceptions of treasure.

My tangible treasures are few, costume jewellery once owned by my mother, pieces of glass bought at auction, paintings and photographs, birthday presents, all treasures to me but none of them valuable in monetary terms.

Real treasures are ones that cannot be lost or stolen, memories, events, experiences. These, hopefully, are added to as we continue life’s journey. I have my store of ‘treasures’ which I occasionally take out and examine, usually when something has prompted that memory.

A Summer holiday taken in August and to the island of Crete, a very hot August with a biro left on the dashboard of the hire car melting and becoming banana shaped. We had read about a monastery near our self catering “accommodation which was well worth a visit. Not wanting to experience the same fate as the poor pen we decided that an early start was needed.

Alarm set, sun just up, coffee and toast to fortify us, we set off. Driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road is always a challenge but at that hour there were not many vehicles around. To reach the monastery we had to leave the tarmac and continue along a rough track with many lumps and bumps and gradually climbing up hill. Eventually we arrived, the only ones there. We parked the car prettily and got out to explore. The only sound that of birds and there was a light breeze. The sea a thin turquoise line in the distance. Prickly bushes, of unknown name, peppered the rocky landscape, and that curry smell which seems to be everywhere in the Mediterranean.

 We approached the building, surrounded by olive and fruit trees, there was no sign of life, all doors appearing to be locked and bolted. We were about to give up when we heard voices, voices joined in unison singing in praise of God. Gregorian chant, such a beautiful sound and in such a special setting. The sort of sound which makes the hairs stand on end, even the hairs of a non believer. Sounds which held so much, history, belief, love and companionship. It didn’t matter that the words were not understood, the meaning for all was there.

The voices stopped and the birds once again took over. The doors opened and the monks came out to greet us.

A treasure, a real treasure which still gives me a great deal of pleasure.