Alexander

Today seemed to be a lot about spectacular buildings, the kind that were designed ages ago and built to point upward. Remember steeples? The church buildings back home don't seem to come with steeples much anymore, but the ones here were made to last.

As promised to you yesterday, I made my way (after a splendid breakfast) down the hills of Falmouth toward the ferry. Suddenly to my right there was a spectacular building, which I very nearly missed seeing. It had no neon signs announcing its magnificence; it just stood there, humbly watching as the world went by. St Mary Immaculate Catholic Church was its name and I had to stop and gaze, ferry or no ferry. There were no cars parked around it and no people going in and out, so it wasn't having a Mass at that moment. If they had been having one I would have been hard-pressed not to go in.

When I reached the end of the Pier, there stood the ferry ready to load passengers for Truro. You can drive to Truro; you can take the train or the bus to Truro; but none of those conveyances are as fascinating as a ferry ride promised to be. I glanced out at the water (which is fed by the English Channel) and saw that it was acting up. There were waves, and some of the waves had little white tops on them. This did not reassure me, for my one qualm about a ferry ride was going to be whether or not it made me sick. 

I quietly asked the ferry lady, "Um, have you ever been sick on this ferry?" 

She smiled knowingly. "Oh, no, Madam, not a bit sick."

"That's good," I said. "Was it a day like today is? Kind of windy and wavy?"



"Well...no, it wasn't like today is. There was a clear blue sky with no wind." She paused. "But I'm SURE it will be no different for you."

I was glad she was so SURE, but the assurances didn't help me much.

The ferry took 1 hour 45 minutes to reach Truro, and there were only momentary inkings here and there, of, well, you know. But nothing came of these inklings, and we all piled out just yards from the next spectacular building of the day. Truro Cathedral. You can see it peeking through at you here, between the buildings of the street that leads up to it. I went in.

But what was this? People were pouring in and finding seats in order to watch and listen to a young organist giving a free concert. It would start in 10 minutes! How lucky was I?

The young organist's name was (and I thought they were joking) Alexander Hamilton. It really was! And he had just finished at Cambridge and was taking up the job as organist for Westminster Abbey. Better and better! As he played, no one spoke; no one even whispered. You can see in the photo here, the back of Alexander's head; below him sits a listener, seemingly mesmerized by what he hears as the music points him upward. For a moment, the cares and concerns of this brief life were lifted.

It was how we all felt.


See you along the Way!
the SconeLady