A week ago while resident at Holyrood, The Queen visited a place
called Niddrie.
This may come as a
surprise to those who know this area; it’s not what you’d call affluent, situated
on Edinburgh’s inner-city, otherwise known as the ‘outer-ring.’ Nor is it the
sort of neighbourhood where you’d leave anything in the back of your car –
valuable or otherwise.
While much has been done to improve the area over the past
ten years, knocking down most of the grey tower-blocks and building new, colourful
housing, there are still stretches of wasteland, boarded-up shops and pubs, and
signs of urban poverty that are hidden from, or largely unseen by Edinburgh’s tourists,
Royal Visitors, and Festival-attendees.
There are also around Niddrie and Craigmillar various
community centres and projects, the odd bit of modern art, a new library, and some
hidden gems of historical and spiritual interest, some of which only come to light
on Doors Open Days in September. One such place is the Thistle Foundation, a
community for adults with special needs.
When only-child Robin Tudsbury (of the Blues and Royals –
whatever that means) was on duty in the 2nd World War, his parents
Lord and Lady Tudsbury were planning to set up a centre for ‘disabled
ex-servicemen.’ Shortly before the war ended, Robin was killed in action, so
his parents decided to build a chapel in his memory, naming it The Robin
Chapel.
This Chapel – apart from being of great artistic value and
beauty, with its simple, Baronial architecture, exquisite carvings,
and stunning stained-glass depicting scenes from Bunyan’s A Pilgrim’s Progress – is a fitting tribute, in that it was set up
to be a ‘non-denominational’ (what we now call, ecumenical) ‘temple of
reconciliation.’
Glossing over the Royal connections, which interest me less
than the military background, my part in this Official Visit – celebrating 60
years of the Thistle Foundation – was because in my ‘other life’ (as a
professional singer) I am part of the choir that sings regularly in The Robin
Chapel, performing music of a cathedral-style choral tradition.
I’ve made my thoughts clear on things Military and Monarchy
elsewhere on this blog. Suffice it to say, I found the experience of singing
God Save The Queen with the very women sitting a few feet away extremely surreal.
Whether God (again, for my views, see elsewhere) poured bounteous gifts on her
as we sang, it is hard to say. But I can report that for the duration of this
ridiculous anthem, God did indeed save the Queen. Which was nice of God.
After The Queen and Prince Edward (who was kind enough to
personally thank the choir) went off to visit less privileged people of
Niddrie, we all got on with drinking The Thistle Foundation’s wine and eating
salmon sandwiches. With her entourage of high security, accompanying military brass
and heavy police presence dissipated, Niddrie-normality returned. One of our
visitors (a former Robin Chapel musician) had had his car window smashed.
I guess The Queen, God, or any of Robin’s former Division
couldn’t save that from happening. God’s promises to humankind are pretty vague
without the vagaries of Church and State staking their claim. When God tried to
wipe the slate clean with a cataclysmic flood, the subsequent rainbow was some kind of promise, apparently.
I see it this way: whatever social category, strata, or economic
grade we belong to; whatever belief-system, or philosophy we subscribe to: we
are all the same. God rains and shines on everyone. The amorphous rainbow is a
sign perhaps that humans have the capacity for peace and reconciliation. That
is why I choose to sing at The Robin Chapel. Long may it reign!
But while we wait for Kingdom Come, here’s this month’s
offering from my poem-cycle:
Twelve Tones of Blue
Canto VII: Seven is a
popular numeral, but flawed by the imagination’s limitations.
Canto VII
The Joys of Mary
The Days of the Week
The Deadly Sins Seven
The Layers of Heaven
The Plagues of Israel
The Trumpets of Wrath
Th'Amorphous Spectrum that Bows
across the Damp Blue Sky
