On the Today programme's Thought for the Day (BBC Radio 4) the Curate of St Mary's Amersham talked nonsense about the nature of evil and seemed to contradict the words of the Scriptures (this is so commonplace among Anglican clergy that it is hardly worth mentioning - they seem to have lost their way and are mostly interested in being social workers or corporate administrators or diversity awareness lecturers).
What interested me was the mention of St Mary's Amersham.
As a shy ten-year-old I travelled by 'bus from Chesham to Amersham and entered this church and sought out the incumbent (I can't remember if he was a Rector or a Vicar).
Eventually a towering (to me), grey-haired and formidable figure in a black hassock appeared and irritably asked me what I wanted.
Perhaps I had dragged him away from writing his sermon. Or interrupted his prayers. Or brought a halt to a sherry and gossip session with the head of the Mothers' Union.
Timidly (I was very timid in those days, my voice so quiet that most people could not hear me) I asked if I could see inside the Tyrwhitt-Drake chapel.
No, he could not admit me to the chapel. It was a private mausoleum and the family wanted the door kept locked. No, it was never open to the public.
I must have persisted as eventually he relented and said I could poke my head round the door for a few seconds.
The huge key rattled in the lock, the colossal door opened and the priest stood aside while I looked into the mysterious interior - experiencing a stab of excitement akin to what Howard Carter must have felt when he first broke through into the tomb of Tutankhamen.
I can't remember what I saw. I have dim memories of marble shelves crowded with marble urns but these must be false memories as Google Images tells me the chapel is actually full of sculptures and memorial tablets. Perhaps in my mind the Tyrwhitt-Drake chapel has become jumbled up with later recollections of the Capuchin Crypt in Vienna.
I am sure, however, that my brief glimpse saw dazzling white shapes and scintillating white lights. The dazzling shapes and lights may have been all in my imagination. But to me, at that moment, they were real.
What interested me was the mention of St Mary's Amersham.
As a shy ten-year-old I travelled by 'bus from Chesham to Amersham and entered this church and sought out the incumbent (I can't remember if he was a Rector or a Vicar).
Eventually a towering (to me), grey-haired and formidable figure in a black hassock appeared and irritably asked me what I wanted.
Perhaps I had dragged him away from writing his sermon. Or interrupted his prayers. Or brought a halt to a sherry and gossip session with the head of the Mothers' Union.
Timidly (I was very timid in those days, my voice so quiet that most people could not hear me) I asked if I could see inside the Tyrwhitt-Drake chapel.
No, he could not admit me to the chapel. It was a private mausoleum and the family wanted the door kept locked. No, it was never open to the public.
I must have persisted as eventually he relented and said I could poke my head round the door for a few seconds.
The huge key rattled in the lock, the colossal door opened and the priest stood aside while I looked into the mysterious interior - experiencing a stab of excitement akin to what Howard Carter must have felt when he first broke through into the tomb of Tutankhamen.
I can't remember what I saw. I have dim memories of marble shelves crowded with marble urns but these must be false memories as Google Images tells me the chapel is actually full of sculptures and memorial tablets. Perhaps in my mind the Tyrwhitt-Drake chapel has become jumbled up with later recollections of the Capuchin Crypt in Vienna.
I am sure, however, that my brief glimpse saw dazzling white shapes and scintillating white lights. The dazzling shapes and lights may have been all in my imagination. But to me, at that moment, they were real.
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