149. My Neighbours By Night
Partying in the garage of a neighbour’s house improvised for the occasion as a kitchen, after Mass in honour of the Valley’s Patron Saint Pancras.
I’ve used the magic words “By Night” in the title so as to lure the less godly among us to read on, as such words suggest something spicy and peccaminous going on. But do we really need the forbidden deeds wrapped in the shadows of the night to make us happy? I ask myself this because someone in a light-hearted sort of way said to me at the party “When are we going to see something really “nice” in your blog?” Alluding to some female part of the body without much wrapping around it.
Inside the Chapel built in honour of Saint Pancras. The children who made their first Communion last Sunday are entering.
Yesterday was May 12th feast of Saint Pancras, Patron of our valley, or hillside, whichever one prefers when we all gather together in our chapel for evening Mass and then off to a neighbour’s house who happens to have a large garden, partying until the food, wine are finished and throats are sore from singing.
The Priest says Mass as in times of pre Vatican II, with his back to the congregation since there isn’t room to change the altar round.
Some, and not only some, but quite a lot turn up their noses at the fact that my neighbours consider celebrating their Patron Saint first in a spiritual way and then in what seems akin to a mundane way as if the two could not possibly go together. Some may think, it is just and proper to honour a saint in a religious way while others, many others prefer to simply dedicate themselves to the mundane part.
People following Mass from the outside of the chapel with the microphones the priest had set up on his car.
And this in many areas of our society is where the confusion arises- we separate the religious from the mundane as if there is a distinct line between all that is good on one side- God, and all that is bad on the other- the world. And the confusion provokes terrible misunderstanding resulting in the fact that if you are caught out on your knees in church you risk getting passed off as a Miss goody goody true shoes, or whatever it is you say for a “holy Joe”. 
Yet when I look at my neighbours, I don’t see this separation- to them, Mass, religion, the spiritual seems to go alongside the red wine, dancing on the grass, home cooked ham, cakes and living it up generally... it certainly seems that their body is well integrated with their soul or vice-versa whichever you prefer.
The priest giving out Communion, first to the children. There is a statue of Saint Pancras behind the altar.
Long before I was born, this community built the chapel to Saint Pancras to gather together and give the valley an identity. Why Saint Pancras was chosen as Patron, I have yet to discover as it is an out of the way choice for an agricultural community to make. Saint Pancras was born to a wealthy family of Roman origins at the end of the 2nd century AD, whose mother died giving birth to him and a mere eight years later was also orphaned by his father, who before his death entrusted his son Pancras to an uncle. Pancras was wholly attracted by the new faith and fascinated by the person of Jesus.
Hymn to Saint Pancras, written time back by the congregation.
When Pancras was 14 years old he was asked by the Emperor Diocletian who considered himself a living god, to burn incense in worship of the gods. In declining to do so Pancras impressed the people all around him, including the emperor, by his ardour, courage and beauty that they remained enchanted, except for the emperor who looked upon the youth as a threat to his credibility and ordered that Pancras be executed.
All off to a neighbour’s garden for food, wine, song and chat.
In our society it would probably be asking too much for a teenager to willingly admit with ardour that he is drawn, not by the disco “by night” type of thing, but by totally other things- the spirit, books, sensitivity towards the needs of others and the weak, sane wholesome things that at the end of the day gives one a reason for being.
This is the sort of garden one has to have to host all the community, children included.
Fortunately in some places in our world, the deeds of the night are as much wholesome as the deeds of the day- one of those places is right here on our hillside, since villagers do not wear two faces, one for inside the church and another outside it. But of course there are always exceptions since the Devil is never idle.
A table full of men singing pre-war folk songs since after the war modern technology wiped away homemade entertainment and new songs weren’t made up anymore.
Most of the men may be outside in the dark but women prefer the light and sing along separately with their own repertoire of folk songs which require some amount of expression. This song is about dealing with an unfaithful lover.
Whereas this song is about the joys of love...
While the men have decided it’s time to gargle one’s throat.
Although my neighbours let themselves be photographed knowing they will end up on my blog, they made me promise I would end up there myself too- so here I am, all in pink.
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