Day 4
Bablock Hythe to Port Meadow
A jolly party consisting of two loyal friends – who deserve a gold medal for cheerfulness and endurance – and daughter Clare, the Chaplain of Christ Church in Oxford. She brought Layla with her, so she and our dog Moses palled up, and they ran all day. Moses lies like a corpse now, as tired as are we.
Another rather gloomy pub lunch served in that offhand way that is the norm nowadays. I wonder how these undistinguished pubs that punctuate our walk can last when the pinch caused by rising inflation and tax increases is felt by middle England.
The Five Regrets of The Dying
Death’s a dark subject. Peter Pan’s “To die must be a big adventure” is a far better approach than deciding the subject’s so morbid that we should smother it with gin and small talk about the weather. Some men – in particular, men – are so afraid of death, they only go to funerals to tank whisky with chums at the wake.
You wonder if that’s fair? Okay… just check the body language when you’re next at a funeral. Look to see who’s gazing steadfastly at a phone, the ceiling, the order of service, a woman’s legs – anything but dear old Henry’s box.
None of us is going to get out of this alive. Funny that Christians seem to be as fearful of this harsh fact as anyone else. Not a good look for the faith, that. Maybe they think Larkin’s gloomy verse, “That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade / Created to pretend we never die” may, at least, have a sliver of truth in it?
But if no one can escape the scythe, how best shall we live with as few regrets as possible when the light’s growing dim?
Old Time Is Still A-Flying
I read The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware, an Australian palliative care nurse. She got permission from a few of her patients to summarise their intimate regrets in a fascinating book. Here’s a summary:
One patient, Grace, regretted she’d failed to embrace the preciousness of life while there was still time. She’d lived as if life were a “dress rehearsal” and deeply regretted that “all the dreams I’ve waited all my life to live are never going to happen for it’s just too late.” Grace did not mean this in a self-interested way – she was a dutiful mother and wife. Rather, her words reflected her astonishment that she had regarded life as “normal” or “routine” when it is, in fact, miraculous. As Richard Dawkins writes in Unweaving the Rainbow, “We privileged few, who won the lottery of life against all the odds, how dare we whine at our inevitable return to that prior state from which the vast majority have never stirred.”
“Look at me now,” wept Grace, “I’m dying, bloody dying, I’ve waited all these years to be free and independent and now it’s too late”.
Personally, I think that those with an awareness of the preciousness of life experience less regret when they come to its end. They enjoy a subtly different quality of experience whilst still alive. This was Jean-Paul Sartre’s main point in his book Being and Nothingness, where he encouraged readers to embrace the “existential miracle” of life, even while confronting its finite nature. “This,” he exhorted, “should not lead to hopelessness but to a thrilling kind of meaning.”
Another patient, David, wished he’d had the courage to live a life true to himself and not waste his time living out other people’s expectations. We shoot out of life on fixed steel rails set by our genes, family traditions, upbringing. But if we have sufficient courage, why don’t we climb off those rails and tackle the tasks that God meant us to carry out? For example, as a youth, John Betjeman rejected point blank his parents’ expectations that he work in a shop and thus lived his life as the poet he was created to be. It doesn’t always end so well. Our eldest son taught in a top London school; he was sad to see how many brilliant budding actors and those with marked creative talents march steadfastly into the city as bankers or lawyers to satisfy the wishes of insistent parents instead of following their obvious but more hazardous calling. I went into the army – not a career that matched my gifts by a mile – to fulfil parental expectations. Not that I regret it now, the experience proved valuable, but at the time I knew I was in the wrong job.
Here and Now
Laura’s regret was that she hadn’t allowed herself to be happy. “For goodness’ sake” she pleaded, “happiness is right now, not at a rainbow end. Why did I work so hard at vast cost to my loving relationships with my family and friends?” Laura wished she had lived a simpler life, not one revolving around possessions or the imperative need to “succeed” and make money – just to prove the folly of the saying, “The guy who dies with the most toys wins!”
Markus mourned that he hadn’t bothered to stay in touch with his true friends. Then he wondered if he actually had any real friends? On reflection, he realised that so many of his so-called “friends” were just a cloud of good-time acquaintances from work or the golf club. There was nothing to be expected from them but fleeting emotions, which leave no trace behind them.
Robert’s profound sadness is a commonplace for men: emotion had been filleted from him by frozen parents and the harsh disciplines of school. “Real boys don’t cry, or read poetry or books”, all that nonsense. Robert ended up without the courage to express his feelings. He had never told those people he really cared about – particularly his sons – just how much he loved them. He had never even hugged them. Was it too late? Did he have the courage to start now?
“Do they really know I love them?” he asked. “Can I express this so late?”
Then Robert paused, and he wept.
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)
Day 5
Port Meadow to Abingdon
Talked to Jacqui on the way and she is a delightful English teacher from Oxford. She tells me her mother is a ZANE supporter and she wondered what else her Mum might do to help the cause? I suggested she might leave a large chunk of her estate to ZANE. Jacqui looked thoughtful.
A long brisk walk with three jolly ZANE supporters.
Long Live Stigma
To boast “left” sends a virtuous signal of being warm and kind, earnestly embracing social justice. On the other hand, mention “right” and you run the risk of being branded a Nigel Farage type on a bad day.
This concept is arrant twaddle. The truth is that the “left” are tribunes of “non-judgmentalism” who demand “lifestyle choice”. And they have taken an axe to the roots of the nuclear family, once the bedrock of society.
All major institutions swing left: look at the Church, Amnesty International, OXFAM, the National Trust and the Church of England. Nothing annoys the left more than the stigma created by “judgmental morality”, but that’s the only kind of morality there is – and the removal of morality has radically gutted the concept of family.
Imagine that your son or daughter is a student at Durham University. Their authorities have decided to make it easy for little Jemima or Piers to participate in the sex industry – how nice for your family. The aim is to remove the stigma faced by prostitutes by rebranding them as “sex workers”. But the blinding reality is, of course, that all people involved in that pernicious trade are hookers, rent boys and “escorts”. Durham is acting the pimp, ignoring the fact that prostitution is rightly stigmatised because the trade is disgusting, immoral, exploitative, illegal and spiritually demeaning. This is not to say that the people involved should be regarded as outcasts, of course not – we must draw a distinction between the sinner and the sin, and we must hope they will turn away. But for goodness’ sake, we must be able to condemn the trade itself as sinful and ghastly and refuse to cast a benign gloss over it. Stigmatising whoring is a good thing, and I suspect that for most people the stigma will not abate.
Everybody’s Doin’ It
Next, the stigma that once surrounded divorce has all but been expunged. People today just shrug as if it didn’t matter. I am sorry if this offends any ZANE supporters who may have suffered divorce as the innocent party (ZANE supporters are always innocent). However, experience tells us that divorce is usually accompanied by mendacity, guilt, sadness, bitterness, and financial hardship, as well as the incalculable damage inflicted on children. As the stigma abates, of course, the number of divorces rise.
Nor is there any stigma now to “living in sin”. Remember the old song “Everybody’s doin’ it, doin’ it”? Today, “hooking up” outside marriage is what everyone’s doing and anyone who claims it’s a bad idea is mocked as an old-fashioned Victorian prude. But’s it’s us who are paying the price, not the Victorians. They knew what they were doing. The stigmas that used to exist surrounding promiscuity, divorce and living in unmarried sin were inherited from Christian teaching and existed mainly for the protection of children. That protection has gone with the wind. The bleak indicators are damning, with children born to cohabiting unions more likely to see their parents separate than if they were married. Parental separation damages a child’s education and future life chances – those brought up by a single parent get worse grades at school, are more likely to suffer addictions or from mental health issues, are far less likely to secure a high-earning job and are more likely to end up in prison. This all costs a fortune, to be paid by the poor old taxpayer.
For years, the left has been sawing at the branch on which the family sat. It has now fallen, not into a bed of scented roses but into a pool of raw sewage, crisscrossed with barbed wire. It will cost a fortune to hook it out.
Long live stigmas! And, oh yes – cross out Durham from your list of preferred universities.
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)
Day 6
Abingdon to Shillingford
Name Dropping
With apologies to Mark Twain, I have been involved in many startling events in my time – some of which actually happened!
On 10 April 1994, I took tea with Mother Teresa. She had heard from a friend that I knew the Minister of Housing (I did), with whom she wanted a meeting. She hoped he could facilitate the purchase of a house in North London to shelter what she described as “fallen women”. (Incidentally, I would like to hear today’s cancel culture trying to correct Mother Teresa’s politically incorrect language. What sanitised name “fallen” women are given today is anyone’s guess.)
Such was Mother Teresa’s fame that she didn’t need me to facilitate a meeting with Sir George Young – or anyone else for that matter. She only had to tilt her rosary and the entire government would have danced a gavotte before her if she had demanded it. But I was told she wanted to see me – and who was I to refuse such a request?
Tea With Mother T
Mother Teresa answered the door of a non-descript house in Tottenham and led the way to tea in the lounge. By that time, I had rung the housing minister and he soon arrived with a buzzing swarm of anxious civil servants. The nun stared unblinkingly at George.
“I need a million pounds… I should tell you the French were generous. The Germans gave me twice what I requested, and the Italians gave me a row of houses in Milan. Now, in the name of God, I appeal to you for a million pounds!”
George muttered something about times being tough and there being no money available. He would need to consult.
With a laser look, the nun knelt down and announced she would pray. Meanwhile, George “consulted” with his team.
After 10 minutes of busy praying had passed, Mother Teresa gazed at George expectantly. He muttered something about only being able to find half the million. She decided to pray for the other half.
Then the photographer from the Sun newspaper arrived. A short time later, George announced he had found the additional funds in a contingency reserve: game, set and match to Mother T! George’s misery was now complete. Meanwhile, the nun gave thanks.
“Allelujah! Praise the Lord – the power of prayer be praised!”
After George left, Mother Teresa prayed for me and my family, and presented me with several medals of the Blessed Virgin Mary. My umbrella began to grow green shoots.
Some years later, I heard that HMG’s offer of a million quid was never taken up because there were too many conditions. Instead, Mother Teresa managed to persuade some allegedly corrupt Irish builder to stump up the money.
Mother Teresa never minded too much if donations to her causes came from dubious sources. She claimed good works would sanctify the money – and I’m sure they did.
I should add that I have photos of my meeting with Mother T. Beat that for name dropping!
* Names and images may have been changed for privacy reasons
If you are already a ZANE donor, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts. If you are not a donor but would like to be, please follow the link below and know that every donation, however big or small, goes directly to where it is most needed. If you would like to help but can’t donate, please join the ZANE family and ‘like’ or ‘share’ our posts or write us a Google review – every positive step helps spread the word about the life changing work ZANE does.
Thank you – Nicky Passaportis ZANE Australia
Please donate to support pensioners struggling to survive in Zimbabwe
Any assistance is greatly appreciated and goes a long way to giving our pensioners a better quality of life and lift the pressure of money worries which is very debilitating emotionally.
(Donations made to ZANE in Australia, are tax-deductible)