Westminster Cathedral
Not Westminster Abbey but the secret, sacred jewel of London.
On my way back from Brixton, where I met up with a friend from years back, having been taken to his graveside, I stopped in at Westminster Cathedral to say a prayer for him. He was a Catholic, and had a Catholic burial, and laid to rest in St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cemetery.
When you walk, it feels like you walked outside. The roof of the Cathedral is brickwork, looks like brick, and gives a feeling of the Cathedral not being finished. I like to think its left this way to avoid the grandeur of Westminster Abbey.
Walking into the Catholic Cathedral one can only feel at peace with oneself. There’s no sense of stepping into another, richer, grander, church. Hard to imagine but I suspect very many people walk in and feel at one with God.
I read somewhere inside that the Cathedral is a stunning example of neo-Byzantine architecture. I don’t really care who goes there, but I couldn’t help but be struck by its grandeur. The intricate façade, the mosaics and ornate detailing, immediately captured my attention. The towering campanile (bell tower) added to the cathedral’s majestic presence.
Churches normally give off weird vibes to me, but not this one. I was enveloped by a sense of serenity. I took my time, because Reggie’s only been dead a year, and I figured I’d hang on in case he had something, you know a message, or a happening that told me he knew I was in this place, the place he came to mass. Well, he chickened out, unless the candles blowing out when a side door opened was his hello. I lit them all again. I kid you not, it cost a quid to light a candle. I was merely relighting them, so I figured I didn’t have to pay.
The above image fascinated me. If the above image is Mary and Joseph with a young Jesus, (I have no idea) but doesn’t it seem odd that Jesus is holding what looks to me like a cell phone. Who wouldn’t want that number, right?
Reg was 87 when he passed. At the time he passed, I was having fish and chips in Padstow. The phone rang, it was Sid, another mate from way back. Reggie’s gone, Harry. I couldn’t finish the chips, but the fish was amazing, so I forced myself.
I sent flowers, and a card. It was his birthday three days after he died, so I sent that. Seriously, it was already filled out and I know he would have appreciated it.
Reggie was a butcher; it was a good living, and he left his family well off and gave a gift to the cathedral. Clearly it wasn’t enough to finish the roof.
Jack Herlocker | James Michael Wilkinson | Karen Schwartz | Pamela | John Hansen | Whye Waite |
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