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Visiting the Pyramids. Cairo, Egypt. Blog Four.

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It was Sunday, and we had booked a tour to visit the pyramids, so when I woke with a headache I was disappointed. The trouble is, I am a fairly anxious traveller — I force myself to visit interesting places because I really want to see them, but sometimes my body reacts and pretends to be ill. I have to try and decide whether I actually AM ill, or if it’s just nerves and my silly brain playing tricks. I took some pills, and felt very sick, but I was almost positive that this was all due to nerves. I don’t usually mention my anxiety in blogs, because I don’t want it to be what defines me, but if you suffer from nerves, take comfort in knowing you are not alone. I find that praying then forcing my mind to think about something unrelated (like playing Duolingo) usually makes me feel better. I forced myself to get up, slinking round the room like a slug while I sipped water trying not to be sick again, got dressed, and informed Husband that I was fine, no need to cancel. He gave me worried looks. At 9am we went down to the hotel lobby, and met the car we had booked. As soon as I was in the car, watching the streets of Cairo as we travelled through Giza, I felt better. That’s the thing with nerves, if I can distract myself, they disappear and I can be the person I want to be.

The car came with a guide, which isn’t my favourite thing because generally they talk too much. I let Husband (who is more polite than me) chat to the guide, while I looked at Egypt. We drove through various districts that are poorer than central Cairo, where the hotel is. It reminded me of India, though I didn’t notice the same abject poverty, the same despair, that I have seen in India. Then we left the city and entered the desert.

As we arrived at the pyramid area, I was surprised to see another city — a sort of satellite city, out in the desert. I had assumed the pyramids would be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but sand, plonked deep in the desert. It was a shock to glimpse them between buildings as we drove through the edge of a town. We came to the parking area, and went to buy tickets. Our guide was very helpful here. He seemed to know everyone, and he stopped people approaching us to offer horse rides and camel rides and photographs, and a myriad of other offers. I have read that touts can be a problem by being overly persistent, but he shielded us from all of that, so I forgave him for talking too much. He was called Samii, by the way.

Husband wanted to go inside the Great Pyramid, so he paid an extra £20 and joined the long queue. I knew it would be a steep climb down a narrow shaft, deep into the inner chamber of the pyramid. Not something I will ever want to do. Instead, I walked round the edge with Samii and tried to ignore all the facts he told me, as I wanted to soak up the atmosphere of the place. Actually, there wasn’t much atmosphere worth soaking up, as the sky-scrapers of the nearby city distract from the desert, and there are too many tourists. The pyramids of Giza are wonderful to visit, but it’s hard to find any romance there. We wandered round the area where the workers (Samii didn’t call them slaves) lived. There were ancient carvings around the doorposts, but some had modern graffiti on them. Shame.

Samii showed me the round indentations in the stones, where rivets would have held them in place. There is something awesome about the pyramids, even with all the tourists. They would have been bigger (you can see the edge of where they would have reached) but stones were removed over the ages to build other buildings. A bit like the Colosseum in Rome, which had bricks pilfered over the years. The age is astonishing. Way back, in the time of Moses (if we date him about 1400 BC) he would have seen pyramids that were already a thousand years old. The Romans would have seen them as ancient structures.

I also hadn’t realised how many pyramids Egypt has. As we wandered round the Great Pyramid at Giza, we could see other pyramids in the haze in the horizon. Different Pharaohs from different ages built pyramids in places convenient for them.

We drove down to the Sphinx (which is on the same site, but a long walk in hot desert sun). At one time, a canal from the Nile would have lapped around the Sphinx, and you can see where the limestone has been worn away. He would have had a beard too, but I think it fell off and is now in the British Museum in London. And he once had a nose, and there are several rumours as to where that might be!

We left via a little souk (a market) selling various statues and carvings. On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a papyrus shop. Guides often take you to visit their friends rather than to what you want to visit! This was interesting though, and we saw a demonstration of paper being made from strips of papyrus, as they would have made it in ancient times. Samii offered us a drink, and I managed to ask in Arabic for a cup of tea with sugar (and actually received a cup of tea with sugar, which was by no means certain!) It was hot, and very black, and it arrived in a tiny glass. Perfect.

Returned to the hotel exhausted, but extremely happy. Sometimes, it is definitely worth forcing yourself to do things that seem scary.

Hope you have a great day. Thanks for reading.
Love, Anne x

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Cairo, Egypt. Blog Three.

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We set off to explore another part of Cairo. This is always fun, except for crossing the roads, which I was never comfortable with. Basically, central Cairo has many four-lane roads, with a variety of cars and bikes and lorries constantly filling. Everyone honks almost continually (one driver told us that brakes in Cairo are optional, but a horn is essential!) It is the music of Cairo. Traffic ignores lights (unless there is either a camera or a policeman) and switches lanes, and sometimes direction, at random. Crossing the road is an artform, like a dance, and the man who shouted to us that we should shut our eyes and just wander across was not far wrong. You have to wander out, into a space, and allow the traffic to flow around you. I spent hours on our balcony watching the busy junction below, where traffic whizzed and stray dogs and elderly ladies and striding men, all wandered across the road. No one ever seemed to be hit, no one seemed to be angry, it was expected that the traffic would never stop but nor would it hit you. As I said, I never grew comfortable with this, but we did get better at it.

View from our room.

We walked up river (which is South) to University Bridge. The bridge was covered in sand (we later learnt that sand from the desert blows in, but also any road repairs sometimes leave sand, so I don’t know which had caused it). Men were setting up plastic chairs, ready for an evening of sipping tea from the stalls and watching the sunset over the river.

We walked to Al Mahial Palace (Prince Mohammad Ali Palace). We paid £5 entrance, even though it was closing in half an hour and lots of it had shut for weddings (they did tell us this, but did not lower the price). There was a mosque, and the Imran showed me round. I left my shoes with Husband, and went into a large public space, with beautiful tiles on the walls, and an indent to show which direction is Mecca. There were rugs on the floor (though not in the corner where the women pray. Women are definitely lower status here – more on that in a later blog).

We wandered round the gardens. There were several wedding parties having photographs taken. All the women were very covered, no hair showing (except for the brides, in their flouncy silver-white dresses). The Islamic style of covering heads seemed threatening until I got used to it. But when I smiled at people, they smiled back, and the young bridesmaids were posing and giggling just like they would in England. I felt an unspoken bond with the women here, as if they know that the male-dominance thing is there, but they have great unity as women. Even a woman wearing full-burkha can smile with her eyes, and I found them friendly and welcoming. If you come, I recommend wearing a scarf rather than a hat – you will be less obvious, it feels polite, and it’s nice to protect your hair from the sun and pollution. It’s too windy for a hat anyway.

Bridesmaids from one of the bridal parties.

We went back to the hotel, crossing the bridge and walking along the Nile (not that we could see it as there are lots of clubs along the water’s edge). After thousands of years, the River Nile remains the focus here. A satellite map shows the life that clings to the water’s edge, and when we went further from the centre of Cairo, we were never far from the river. Anything a distance from the Nile is just desert, and it’s hard to live in a desert.

I like Cairo. I like the friendly people, the way everyone smiles at strangers. The tipping and the roads are hard to learn, but everything else I like. It feels very safe here, which is unusual for a culture that is so very different to England. I’ll tell you more in my next post – we went to see the pyramids up close. Wow!

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a safe day.
Love, Anne x

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Cairo, Egypt. Blog Two.

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Our first day in Cairo, Egypt. After breakfast, we decided to visit the Egyptian Museum, which is about half an hour’s walk from the hotel. I donned a long-sleeved shirt and trousers, and wrapped a scarf over my hair. Although many women wear western clothes, most people wear very conservative clothes, and I didn’t want to stand out too much. We also followed the guidebook advice, and carried valuables in money-belts, and things like water bottles in cheap bags slung over our shoulders. (This was one of several good tips—I recommend the ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook.

We stopped at an ATM to withdraw some Egyptian pounds. It’s a closed currency here, so we couldn’t buy Egyptian money before we came. They will accept dollars in most places, so it’s worth bringing some, especially one-dollar notes, as they make good tips until you have some local currency. In Egypt, everyone expects to be tipped, it’s how things work here. Another good thing to carry is toilet paper. When you use a public toilet, an attendant will try to sell you toilet paper as you enter. If you learn enough Arabic to say ‘No, thank you,’ politely, then you avoid paying an extortionate amount. You will then be shown to a cubicle (these vary, but most were very clean). There were no locks on the doors, but as everyone is shown to one, a closed door is enough privacy. Then, as you leave, it’s good manners to give a tip and say thank you. This is rewarded with nods and smiles. Taking your own paper means you can decide on the amount you want to tip, and you don’t appear rude. Politeness is very important in Egypt.

We left the hotel, and walked across the Nile (The NILE! Oh wow! Can’t believe I am writing this!) Even at 9am in October, the sun was hot. At Tahrir Square (which is not a square, it’s a roundabout, famous for the Arab Spring protests) anyway, at Tahrir Square you can see the Egyptian Museum. It’s prawn-pink, and fat. The lines weren’t too bad, though there were several. You queue to go through a metal detector into the complex. Then you queue to go through another security check at the gate, then you queue to buy tickets. If you are a tourist, it costs more than a local ticket (this seems to apply everywhere in Egypt – which I think is good). If you want to take in a camera, you pay extra (but taking photos on a mobile is free).

The museum was brilliant, even though I don’t usually like museums. Built about 1900, it really hasn’t changed much, with old-fashioned display cases and typed information cards next to them. There are wooden bannisters, and windows that don’t quite shut, and a maze of corridors. Some parts were too dim to see properly (so take a torch if you’re serious about seeing something particular). Other rooms were flooded with sunlight, which shone directly on ancient artefacts ( presumably fading them). There were signs saying ‘Do Not Touch’ but lots of people ignored this, and the guards didn’t seem to stop them. It was all wonderfully relaxed and dingy and more like Grandma’s loft than a major museum. (There’s a lot I could write here about who should own world history and how it should be preserved, but for now, just enjoy the jumbled atmosphere of the place.)

Ancient Egyptians wore flip-flops too!

We walked back to the hotel. Attempted to stroll in a park, but a man told us we needed to buy a ticket. This was probably a lie, but we were too hot to care, so simply left. Being tourists here makes us a target for scams, but I think if we are careful there’s nothing threatening about it. Mostly they are trying to persuade us into giving them money, or selling their services as a tour guide, though it’s all very polite and good-humoured. Many people who speak are simply being friendly, and we found that answering politely, and always smiling, worked much better than a rude rebuff. Lots of people said hello and asked where we were from. When we smiled and said ‘London’ they usually ended the exchange with a big smile and a Welcome to Egypt! I expect there are conmen – most cities in the world have them – but in Cairo I only encountered people who were friendly and polite. (Actually, that is not quite true, but I will tall you about my airport experience another time.)

We showered and changed. While we were here, we found going outside to be a hot, sticky affair. The sand from the desert has coated all the buildings in dingy brown, and lots of men and dogs pee on the street, so when we returned to the hotel we wanted to change into inside clothes. We went to the lounge and drank cold cokes, then realised that we could see the pyramids through the haze on the horizon. This was very exciting!

Thanks for reading. I will tell you more in another post. If you sign up to follow my blog you won’t miss it.

Hope you have a lovely day. Take care.

Love, Anne x

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Visiting Cairo

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I have always wanted to visit Cairo, to see the pyramids. I have heard about Egypt, that mysterious place that people in the Bible ran to whenever there was trouble, ever since I was a tiny child in Sunday School. As I study the Old Testament, and learn about Moses, and the Hebrews living in Egypt and then miraculously leaving, it makes me want to visit even more. Our trip to the British Museum, to look at all the stuff the English took from Egypt in the past, and my knowledge of Pharaohs and how they were buried, has all fueled this longing. So, when Husband suggested a trip to Cairo, I leapt at it!

I prepared by downloading the Duolingo Arabic app, and practising my Arabic every day. I mainly wanted to know how to ask where the toilets are, and to be able to recognise which door has ‘Ladies’ written on it. Unfortunately, neither Duolingo, nor the CD I bought, ever got to this essential information. I set off for Egypt able to say things like, ‘Hamid is from Oman’ or ‘The house has a new door.’ Not as helpful as I had hoped.

I read a few guidebooks, and chatted to friends who have visited Egypt, and packed things they recommended. My case was full of long skirts, chaste shirts, and tatty bags to carry a water bottle and an umbrella, without appearing ‘rich.’ I took my money-belt, as apparently pickpockets are common in Egypt. I also ordered a hijab and hair cap from Amazon. In Dubai, I disliked being stared at, and found the best thing was to dress like a local. I decided I would watch from the taxi from the airport, and see whether most women covered their hair or not, and then I would copy. Warned Husband I would not be looking my best during the trip. I showed him my hijab, and he laughed, told me I looked exceedingly grim, and no one would dare to come near me with that face. I’m sure he meant it kindly.

I also bought some books, mainly about the Exodus, and whether it could possibly have happened or not. They were hugely interesting, but too heavy to take, and I only read a little before it was time to go. Might have to plan another trip. Many of the places mentioned were several hours drive from Cairo, and this was slightly less secure. The travel advice was that touristy areas were safe, but possibly not other places. We decided we would stay in the city, and see what we could. (I secretly told myself I would visit again if I like it.) Husband booked The Sheraton, which also has a casino, so I hoped it wouldn’t be too tacky. It was walking distance from the Nile (Oh wow! Can’t believe I am going to see the Nile!) and right next door to the Russian Embassy (which perhaps wasn’t quite so good, given the current politics).

We arrived Friday evening. As we drove from the airport, I saw faded villas that had once been beautiful, mingled with ornate minarets and tall concrete apartment blocks. Cairo is busy and noisy and has a faded charm. I loved it.

Our hotel room was lovely, with a tiny balcony that gave a glimpse of the Nile. Oh wow! I am looking at the actual NILE as I write this! When I was a child in Sunday School, listening to stories of Egypt, I never imagined I would actually see the river Nile. Amazing.

I will tell you more about our trip in another blog. Thanks for reading. Stay safe.

Love, Anne x

The River Nile
View from our room.
I didn’t need to cover my hair, but a scarf was a good sunshade.

How Should the Bible Form Our Ethics?

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A review of The Moral Vision of the New Testament by Richard B. Hays, continued.

As discussed in my previous blogs, I have found Hays’ book to be insightful as well as very interesting (and easy to read, which is not always the case with theological books!) However, when he starts to discuss actual ethics that he has gleaned from the Bible—that is, the final conclusions of his study, I disagree with him. I agree with his evidence, the way that he has formulated his views, but I don’t agree with where he lands. Not always. As the book was published in 1996, maybe he has now changed his position, but chunks of the book I disagree with. It’s still worth reading though.

Hays writes that even if we say that we form our ethics from the Bible alone (referred to as Sola Scripta by theologians) this is actually impossible, because everyone brings their own understanding and we all live in a culture that influences us. He suggests then that we should be aware of other factors when we form our ethics. He lists these as: Tradition (what the Church has believed for centuries—this is what the Reformation struggled with) reason (what we know to be true from science and logic—this is what the Enlightenment struggled with) and experience (what we have personally learnt about God, and what our church has experienced of God—this is what I struggle with!). These three will influence the type of authority we give to the teaching of the Bible.

The teaching itself falls into various categories. It might be a rule (it’s obvious what this means!) Or it might be a principle (like when Jesus explained about love). Or a paradigm (which is when a story or character teaches us something—like the parable of the Good Samaritan). Finally, it might be the symbolic world (for example, throughout the Bible we learn that humans get things wrong, though this might not be specifically stated).

The most important point that Hays makes (in my opinion) is the more pragmatic one: what is the outcome of our ethics? It’s all very well claiming they are Bible-based and the result of genuinely seeking God’s will—but what actually happens? What, in other words, is the fruit that these ethics will produce? The good ‘fruit’ is listed as: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Do our ethics illustrate those things? (Notice that ‘being self-righteous’ is not one of them!)

Hays then takes various teachings from the New Testament, and looks at how five different theologians have interpreted them in light of the above. Which is very interesting. He then forms his own conclusions about certain ethics, which is also very interesting, though I strongly disagree with some of his conclusions.

One such view is that Christians should be pacifists. Hays explains very clearly how he has formed his view, how the life and teaching of Jesus show that we should not retaliate when wronged, that we should ‘turn the other cheek’ when hurt. He shows that Jesus never used force, and rebuked his followers when they did, even when in defence of someone else. Hays logic is very clear, and I cannot argue with it—but I think he is wrong. I believe that in certain situations, force is correct. For example, I do not believe that God would have wanted Christians to remain pacifists when Hitler was gassing all the Jews. If people had not fought, then Hitler’s evil would have continued unstopped. I agree with Hays that often nations fight when they shouldn’t, that economics are often the motive, and innocent people are hurt unnecessarily due to greed or power-hungry politicians. But sometimes, I think it is necessary to fight.

I also find it telling that the only time we read of Jesus being slapped in the face, he did not ‘turn the other cheek’ but instead told them they were wrong. I think this teaching is a principle, something we should strive to follow, whilst knowing that there are situations when it does not apply.

I also strongly disagree with Hays that homosexuality is wrong. Again, his logic is sound, but I feel he has come to the wrong conclusion. He looks at the various biblical passages that are used to condemn homosexuality, and concludes that only the passage in Timothy is definitely written in condemnation of homosexuality (as the other passages are either unclear or are discussing other issues). He then makes a strong case for homosexuality being wrong. I disagree.

Although Hays’ evidence is sound—and I do agree that Paul probably believed homosexual activity was wrong—I believe that this should be interpreted in the light of today’s culture. Paul lived in a different culture in a different age, and what he wrote was applicable then, but today, when loving same-sex couples can live in monogamous relationships, the world is different. In the same way that I would agree that Paul believed women should cover their heads in church—but I think this no longer applies (and he possibly believed that slavery was acceptable, as he never explicitly wrote against it). As Hays said, one test of our ethics should be the fruit they produce. When the church preaches against gay relationships, it alienates a whole sector of society, it encourages gay people to look elsewhere for guidance, it causes untold harm to gay people who are taught they are ‘wrong’ (not infrequently leading to suicide of gay teenagers within the church). None of this can be right.

Hays discusses several other issues, including divorce and remarriage, abortion, anti-Judaism. Whilst you might disagree with his conclusions, I would still recommend this book to you. I think you will learn something, and that is always good.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day, and try to think about what ‘fruit’ you are producing today.

I’ll let you know if I read anything else that’s especially interesting. To be honest, many of the books I read are pretty boring, and they tend to use a lot of language that sounds very intelligent but I suspect is more to do with the pride of the author than actually necessary. If I ever meet of the the theologians who write like this, I will ask if they would like feedback. (Unless they will be marking any of my assignments of course!)
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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The Moral Vision of the New Testament by Richard B. Hays

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As I read different theology books, there are some authors who I find very easy to learn from. Richard Hays is one of them. In The Moral Vision of the New Testament, Hays discusses various books in the New Testament, showing when they were written and why, and then uses them to form his ethics (‘ethics’ is things like: ‘is lying always wrong?’) I enjoyed the book, found his ideas interesting, agreed with his method of forming ethics and disagreed with some of his conclusions. Although his process for deciding ethics is a good one (in my opinion) I didn’t always agree with what he concluded. The book is meaty, so I will write a few blogs, picking out the especially interesting bits.

Chapter on Mark. I will give you the main points.

The Gospel of Mark was written as a whole, and the order of events matter. Mark begins with a declaration, that Jesus is the Son of God. The reader therefore reads the book knowing this fact, whilst watching all the characters in the book grapple with the question—who is Jesus? It’s not until the end, when he dies, that the centurion declares the same statement: ‘Truly, this was the Son of God.’ Mark is making the point that to understand who Jesus is, we need to understand the way he died.

There is, midway through the book, a scene when Peter declares that Jesus is the Messiah. In Matthew’s Gospel, he is praised for this, but in Mark’s book, Jesus rebukes him. The word for ‘rebuke’ is the same word used when the demons are ‘rebuked.’ The point is, Peter’s declaration is linked to the expected political power that the Messiah would have (Jews of the time didn’t think the Messiah was a spiritual saviour). Mark shows that Jesus is teaching the disciples (and the reader) that Jesus’s mission was a spiritual one, not to get rid of the Romans.

Another interesting point is the healing of a blind man, when Jesus asks him what he can see, and to begin with, he can only see dim shapes, people look like walking trees. Jesus then heals him completely, so he can see clearly. Hays makes the point that this account is linked to Jesus describing people as being blind, as ‘having eyes but not seeing, and ears but not hearing’. It seems to be an illustration that he will show people the things of God, but gradually.

When Jesus explains that his disciples must be prepared to ‘take up their cross’ to follow him, he is explaining that he can only be understood in terms of the crucifixion, and that when his followers recognise this, they are recognising their own destiny too. Jesus explains this again in chapters 8, 9, and 10. Each time the disciples misunderstand, and need to hear it again. The second part of the Gospel is less about big miracles, and more about the preparation for death. The healing of Bartimaeus happens all at once (not like the previous blind man) which signifies that the disciples now understand who Jesus is. The miracle ends with Bartimaeus ‘following’ Jesus, which mirrors the same verb used in chapter 8, about his disciples following him. (The miracle is an illustration of the theological point.)

The Gospel then gives examples of all the disciples failing to ‘follow’ Jesus. But despite their failures, they are still disciples, the call to follow is still there. In Mark’s Gospel, the key to following Jesus is obedience, not love. He does mention love, when he quotes Deut.6;4-5. These verses are known as the Shema and they were (and are) recited by Jews morning and evening. Jesus adds a Leviticus quote, about loving people, and Mark uses it to give an overview of the Law (but not especially as a definition of being a follower of Jesus). The Gospel gives fairly vague hints about future hope, basically teaching that this is in God’s hands, and we should trust him. He teaches that the Son of Man will return soon, before the disciples have died. In Chapter 13 Jesus tells them to watch, and stay awake (spiritually), in Chapter 14 there is a scene in the garden, when they fall asleep (physically).

The original ending of the Gospel describes the death of Jesus and the empty tomb, but no sightings of the risen Jesus. This illustrates the futuristic element of Jesus’s mission, that the Kingdom of God is still to come. In brief, the Gospel is about the disciple’s calling to follow as servants, the replacing of the Jewish Law with the teachings of Jesus, the promise that Jesus will return in glory. Mark gives a picture of the ‘world torn open by God’ and a new order established. History is re-established, but in an unexpected manner. Old prophecies are fulfilled, and there is a ‘sense of urgency’ in the book. Mark writes about Jesus’s ministry like someone today might describe having an ice-bucket thrown over them. It is lowly, suffering people who receive the message, and the power of God is expressed by suffering and death. (Which sort of makes no sense logically.) People constantly fail to understand Jesus, especially the people trying to follow him. (I really like this point. Sometimes today, the church, and Christians, are way too smug about thinking they understand God. Mark mainly shows how the disciples didn’t understand, and they had direct access to Jesus. We should remember this when we think we understand something. God was, and is, unexpected.)

There is lots more to Hays’ book, I have just summarised one chapter, and will tell you more next week. Definitely a book worth reading.

Thanks for reading my blog. Hope the rest of your day goes well.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E. Thompson
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I like starting clubs…

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I like starting clubs. Always have. Some have been more successful than others.

One of the first clubs I started, aged about 7, was the SSO Club. I made badges, and put a pot next to the telephone labelled with SSO Club Funds, please give generously in bright letters. I figured that when people came to borrow our telephone (which happened a lot) they might mistake the club funds for the telephone donations box. Club funds would be spent on snacks (sweets) for our club meetings. SSO stood for: Secret Service to Others and the plan was that we would do ‘good deeds’ without anyone knowing. I devised a series of merits that could be earned when the good deeds were revealed at club meetings (while we ate the copious amount of sweets earned through misdirected telephone funding).

We never actually had a meeting, as no one else ever joined the club (my brother was meant to, but he was an awkward little wotsit, and was never easily persuaded into playing my games). Nor did we ever earn any funds. I do still have the badges somewhere though.

At Junior school, I once joined another club, a song-and-dance group that my friends invented. I could neither sing nor dance, so they put me in charge of costumes. This was a mistake, as I have never been even slightly interested in clothes. I think they had visions of Pans People, shimmying in shiny sexy outfits. I asked my mother if I could borrow the jester’s outfits that we had worn in the Letchworth carnival that year. When I arrived at the practice studio (Carol Watkin’s garden shed) they were less than excited to be dressed in bright yellow and red shapeless tunics—one size fits all—more tent than bikini. I don’t remember whether I was actually fired, but I don’t remember attending any rehearsals after this. They were never famous.

Letchworth Carnival in the 70’s

As an 18-year-old, I took over the church youth group (not sure whether this counts as ‘starting’ a group). I ran it in the exact same way that they youth club from my previous church had been run, with a variety of social events, light refreshments, and a 10-minute religious talk at the end. I was quite a stickler for the religious talk, and insisted that the embarrassed adult who had agreed to drive us all to bowling in Crawley also did a talk in McDonald’s afterwards. That club was more of a success than the SSO and when I left for uni, I handed over a group of about 20 teenagers (I think my sister led it after I left, and then my brother—same genes).

The adult Anne still likes starting clubs. I have run a breakfast club for teenagers, a baking club on Sunday afternoons, and have been involved in running various other groups and clubs in the town and at church. At present, I am doing nothing…though I feel the village is crying out for a cake-eating discussion club (because I like making cakes and discussing things). We will see.

Anne E. Thompson
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The Prison Camp in La Thuile

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At one end of La Thuile, away from where most tourists would wander, is the remains of a prison of war camp. There are a few worn signs, which are all in Italian, so I photographed them and typed them into Google Translate. It seems that the camp was in use during both wars, and the prisoners worked in the local mines. During the second world war, prisoners came from Yugoslavia. I’m not sure who they would be, though I have read elsewhere that Jewish prisoners were used as slave labour in Italy, for things like keeping the mountain passes open, and in mines. I guess it’s possible they were also part of the camp in La Thuile, and used in the mines here.

There’s not much left of the camp, and it’s hard to see whether the buildings were barracks for guards or dormitories for prisoners. Most of the buildings are on private land, so it wasn’t possible to get very close. Below are some photos, and the translation of the information signs. It’s hard to glean many facts from either.

I believe the site was later used as a holiday camp for young people.

Translation of Prison Sign:

First World War

Already during the First World War it is known that over 50 prisoners of war were employed in the work of the mines. In 1918, “the 31 prisoners of war were awarded a wage of just under 1/3 of the normal worker, ie 3,400 lire per day. By making a downward calculation it is possible to establish that, at the end of the First World War, the prisoners of war who find employment in the anthracite mines of La Thuile amounted to about one hundred units. They were guarded by military personnel and housed in special barracks in the Villaret region.”

Unfortunately there is no other news, it is not known where they were housed, where the special barracks were, but the presence of prisoners and their work in mining are attested in the first as in the second world war. Surely it was a place near the mouth of the mine, perhaps the place was already this … [sic]

Second World War

The set of buildings that insist on this area were born between 1941 and 1942 when the Cogne, “for exceptional needs, had to undertake the construction of barracks for housing prisoners of war, militarized workers from the army and military surveillance personnel at the concentration camp for prisoners” who will work in the mine. The building project is dated November 1941 and the request for the concession is presented by the Cogne Society to the Municipality of La Thuile on May 28, 1942.

The document shows that the constructions are “partly carried out and partly to be carried out. […] These are temporary barracks raised to a single floor above ground and will be built in timber with walls covered in” Eraclit or Populit “slabs. 2 cm thick, plastered, with a roof covered in Marseilles tiles on a timber frame.” The camp consists of the dormitories, the refectory, the prisons and a small infirmary inside the fence as well as the building for the guard, offices and lodgings of the Commando, non-commissioned officers and troops. From military archive documents it is clear that this is the camp for prisoners of war called Campo P.G.N. Porta Littoria.

The opening date is not known but on 1 March 1942 there are 250 ex-Yugoslav prisoners of war, more precisely 131 Serbs, 113 Montenegrins and 6 annexed Italians; in the following months the number and the provenance will be constant. The P.G. 101 and a mandatory work camp in the mine. The prison camp was closed on August 8, 1942 ‘following the cessation of use of labour by prisoners of war in the mines of the Soc. in Cogne.

Consequently, they are probably sent back to the camp, where the interpreters return. It is therefore open for a few months, a part planned on the south side will not even be built. [sic]

***

If you happen to know anything about the prison camp, please let me know. It doesn’t quite fit with the beautiful village in the Alps that is La Thuile today. I suspect in a few years, all remains will be removed, as the new houses being built are gradually getting nearer. LaThuile is beautiful, but I wonder what secrets it holds.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day.
Love, Anne x

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Having a Laugh in Turin

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Continuing my travel blogs, written whilst in Italy.

Taken from next to the Roman wall. The big dome with windows is part of the cathedral.

Some friends from England were staying just across the border, in the French Alps, so we arranged to meet them in Turin. It was such a fun day.

They were arriving by train, and we drove from La Thuile, so I used Google maps to search for a nearby car park. It directed us to one very near the station. As we approached, it was difficult to find, then at the last minute, we spotted a ramp descending under the buildings, advertising parking. We took a ticket, went through the barrier, and disappeared under the building. It was all a little scary. There were spaces, and nothing to indicate they were reserved for residents, so we parked. Checked the prices on the pay machine (just in case) and it all looked fine, so we left and hoped the car wouldn’t be clamped when we returned.

Met friends and wandered towards the old part of town (which was very near to excellent car park). We came to a square, with two nearly identical churches (this seems to be a thing in Italy) and found the cathedral, Cattedrale di San Giovanni Battista. This is where they keep the Shroud of Turin, the shroud that some think wrapped the body of Jesus after he was crucified. I knew that it wasn’t on display, but I was interested to see where it was kept. There is also a replica shroud, in another church, so I hoped to see that too. Just out of interest. I am not sure what I think about the shroud (other than that it’s interesting). Some people claim the shroud is miraculous. Others say it’s a hoax, and dates from mediaeval times. I understand that several universities tested it, and all found it dated much later than Christ, but it was also thought to have been in a fire at some point, which would mess up carbon dating. Personally, I have no idea. If a shroud was ever used (I’m not sure how bodies were wrapped in those days) then it’s possible that it never decayed because Christ was holy—but it’s equally possible it did, as I don’t think everything he touched still exists today.

Anyway, the cathedral had a special side chapel where people could sit and muse the idea. I think the shroud was in the box in an alcove, but I’m not sure—the signs were all in Italian.

Then we went for lunch. We found a café in a square, and ordered focaccia. Some ordered enough for six people, and then ate them all. (No judgement.)

Perfect size for a normal appetite.
Some people ate the six-person portion…

Our next stop was Galleria Sabauda which was accessed via Musei Reali Torino and we had to buy a ticket that included several different things. Our friends were keen to see a particular painting (Passion of Christ by Memling) which none of the guides seemed to realise was there. We found it eventually (it looks smaller in real life than online!)

Lots of different scenes from The Passion of Christ, all in one painting. By Hans Memling.

There was another painting, which Husband said was called ‘The Shocking Spectacle Following Unexpected Gust of Wind’ but I’m pretty sure he was lying.

We then wandered back towards the royal palace (because we had tickets). On the way, we popped into what we thought was a chapel, and it turned out to be an amazing part of the cathedral, where originally they had kept the shroud. There was a massive dome, with a dove at the top (which Husband said was a leftover Christmas decoration that the caretaker had refused to get down because it was so high). We considered the possibility of smuggling a helium balloon in and releasing it before running away. It was very opulent, with lots of black and gold. It didn’t feel very holy, I didn’t feel inspired to pray, but it was impressive.

A really cool dome. There is a glass dove, right at the top.

The royal palace was the same as every other royal palace that allows tourists—lots of interconnecting rooms, lots of gilt and dusty curtains. The sort of place that makes you feel glad you’re not royal and forced to live there.

We were then at saturation point with museum/galleries, so went in search of ice creams. I ordered a bicerin (pronounced ‘bich-er-in’) which is a traditional drink in Turin. It’s basically very rich hot chocolate with a shot of espresso and topped with cream. It was delicious.

Bicerin. Delicious.

Then we sat near the river and chatted, very lovely. We had a quick McDonald’s (very nice, but probably not what you should do when in Turin) before our friends left to catch their train back to France. We found our car (not as easy as it sounds) and it wasn’t clamped, so we paid (17 euro) and drove back to La Thuile.

Turin is a lovely city, and there’s lots more to see. Definitely worth a second visit, would make a good weekend away.

Hope your day goes well. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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anneethompson.com
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When the Queen Dies

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Tributes left to honour Queen Elizabeth II

We were in Italy when the Queen died. (I will continue my travel blogs next week, but in respect to the Queen’s funeral, I felt I should write something different today.) Messages started to appear on our family online chat, so I was aware that ‘something’ was happening at Balmoral, and we watched BBC news, waiting for the expected announcement. Even though we could access the news online, I wanted to be in England while it was happening. I wanted to hear discussions in the supermarket, and hear announcements and prayers at church, and to share the news with people around me. Instead, we were in Italy, eating in restaurants where people were untouched by the news.

We came home the Sunday after her death. I watched the coffin procession on television, and wondered how it would feel, to follow the coffin of someone you loved while the world watched. Maybe it helps when everyone understands. Maybe it doesn’t.

On Thursday I went to London. I wanted to see the flowers, to be part of history while it unfolded, part of the community. When the train reached Croydon, I began to notice people carrying flowers, the station was full, there was a sense of people who had a purpose. There were more flowers at Victoria Station—a pop-up shop selling bouquets at inflated prices.

I followed the crowds towards the palace, and we were soon directed between barriers, filtering towards Green Park. We passed Buckingham Palace, the flag flying at half-mast, the guards on duty, extra police standing at street corners. There were signs, and toilets, and marshals wearing purple vests who were directing people and answering questions. We walked along the edge of the park, to Wellington Arch (so we had walked two sides of a triangle!) then back into Green Park, to an area cordoned off for flowers.

There were a lot of flowers. There were flowering orchids in pots, and arrangements, and bouquets that had been unwrapped and were lying in lines. Cards and letters were secured on top, damp and smudged, carrying messages from school children and people who had met the Queen and people who had watched her from afar. People were respectful, there was no shouting or laughter, but neither did I see any tears. The atmosphere was peaceful, grandparents showing the flowers to children, young people placing bouquets along the line.

Some people had left candles, others left cuddly toys. Especially Paddington Bear.

To be honest, I find the Paddington Bear messages slightly perturbing. I enjoyed the video clip for the Diamond Jubilee, and I understand that people want the Queen’s death to be peaceful, for her to be in a better place. But it’s like they have replaced angels with a fictitious bear from a storybook. Have we, as Christians, done such a bad job of preparing people for death? Has the Church not explained that death is not the end?—Not because a pretend cuddly toy will collect us—but because Jesus himself said he’s preparing a place, that he’ll collect us when it’s time, and there will be a new world, with no more suffering. Have we made angels and Jesus so rule-based, so frightening, so detached from the reality of our lives, that people prefer to think of Paddington collecting the Queen? Is that safer somehow, less demanding of us perhaps? When we are trying to make sense of death, coping with all the upheaval and insecurity that even the death of a distant person will bring, surely that is the time we need to know where to turn. I’m sad that Paddington Bear seems to be filling that spot. I feel it’s time we turned round, and tried to find God again.

Anne E. Thompson
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