Getting
into the cathedral was not easy. The security cordon surrounded all
sides and the only entrance was through Temple Bar from Paternoster
Square. Under that decorative, Wren designed, stone arch were trestle
tables where the police half heartedly searched your bags. It was a
case of 'Open the top and lets have a look in' rather than any high
tech scanners. The required photo ID was glanced at in a superficial
manner by the officer who must have been very short sighted if he
thought that I looked anything like the photo on my driving licence.
As
I came into the building, I saw that it was full of people in military uniforms
or posh frocks and hats. I was told to go to the deans aisle where
the clergy were assembling and smart elderly gentlemen in full
morning dress were happy to point me in the right direction. In the
relative quiet of the deans aisle were the gathered clergy milling
around and donning their posh frocks too.
After I had changed into my posh outfit, though not a frock, a guy about my age
in a cassock came up to welcome me, shook my hand and asked where I
was from and who I was representing. I told him and smiled. He
seemed nice and exuded real warmth in his welcome. I thought he
looked familiar and realised he was the spitting image of one of my
neighbours! A few minutes later I realised who he was – I had just
shaken hands with the Archbishop of Canterbury and not recognised
him! Is that a mortal sin?
The
two others from Scotland were the Primus and the moderator of the
General Assembly of the kirk. I had words with both and was
introduced to the Bishop of Down from Ireland. We shared some
interesting discussions about ecumenism and the role of the “churches
together” bodies and some strong opinions were expressed.
It
came to time to process in and we lined up. I was next to the RC
bishop chaplain to the forces. The canons of the cathedral were all
wearing identical robes in what would be nice curtain material!
Protocol
and precedence is strange – by the time we processed in the Prime
minister, and other political leaders were in their seats, as were
the minor royals. After we had taken our seats the Archbishop of
Canterbury and Bishop of London with the Dean of the cathedral
processed in with the Lord Mayor of London holding a pearl sword
aloft followed by the Queen and the major royals.
So
what of the service itself? The acoustics were dreadful – there was
a reedy echo when anyone spoke. There were readings, prayers, hymns,
an address and the dedication of a cross made of shells from camp
Bastion. The choir was everything you would expect from a world class
cathedral and the organ and trumpeters who played the royal fanfare
were fantastic.
It
was a great privilege to be at this event to represent ACTS in such
an impressive setting. But the service of commemoration of the
Afghanistan campaign stirred up many conflicting emotions and
thoughts:
-
as a pacifist in the midst of so much gold braid and so many spurs
(though the instructions did say "no swords"),
-as
a Scottish nationalist at the heart of the British establishment,
-
on seeing so many individuals left limbless or otherwise disfigured
by conflict,
-of
the stark reality of the long list of the names of the fallen,
-of
sitting close to the Royal family (faces I've been familiar with my
whole life) yet separated from them by a huge chasm,
-seeing
messrs Cameron, Clegg and Milliband sitting on the same
hard cheap wooden chairs that everyone, except the royals, had to sit
on, (Looking at those three sitting close together on the front row made me
wonder what they really think of each other. They looked remarkably
alike in their smart dark suits!)
-the
depth of comradeship seen in some reunions I witnessed of people who
had probably been through hell together,
-the
sight of marching bands being escorted by police officers with
machine guns,
-the
thickness of the bullet proof glass in the politicians' cars.
It
was a day that I will remember and continue to reflect on for a long
time.
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