The Humble Type

 

St Michael's Mount

We are in Oxford now, and it is hot. The temp started to rise yesterday somewhere around Reading, just as the train's air conditioning went south. The idea of a First Class ticket had been ignored when mentioned, but we are now its biggest devotees. That whole section of the train was wonderfully cool. We noticed this while walking to the first class toilet that looks like a throne. You have to be careful or it might open while you are resting there. 

As the atmosphere in our train car began to ripen, my two traveling companions kept their cool. They were reliable, dependable, and funny when things tried to get the better of us. Together they discussed and dreamed of the future, even though this world is just a tad bit nutty right now. 

Kindness is a gift, and it is being given to me every day by these two. Yesterday we climbed high above the waters off Marazion to the great Mount, at last reaching the Castle. We visited the statue of St Michael himself as he offered Lucifer the hand of Mercy. 

One young visitor asked, "Did Lucifer accept?"

"Ah... no," replied the Docent. "He didn't." And although we knew this, it reminded us again of the great tragedy that has wreaked havoc upon us ever since. And yet... are we not ourselves offered the hand of Mercy, every moment of every day? So when someone asks if we accept the offer, I hope and trust that the answer has been a firm 'yes!'

We learned from another Docent that the Mount is jointly owned by The National Trust and the St Aubyn family. The family continue to live on the island (there is a basement!), and manage the visitor experience. The National Trust is responsible for the conservation and upkeep of the property, and so it's a win-win. There was never enough money to keep that magnificent place from crumbling, until in came the National Trust - everyone sharing and receiving something of what they had wanted. (although some might say living in a basement isn't all it's cracked up to be).

At the bottom of the Mount, we were getting ready to leave before the tide came in. A workman saw us and said, "Be sure and look inside the milk house! A lot of cows used to live here, grazing and chewing their cud." Then he added, "The milk house has wonderful acoustics, too. Have a listen to those."

We went in.

"How do we have a listen to the acoustics?" I asked. Then the sound of a deep baritone voice echoed around us in the most beautiful tones. Surprised, I looked around and saw that it was the voice of Hudson, singing and echoing. It sounded like a group of Benedictine Monks! Pretty soon, people began to filter in to the milk house (they had heard Hudson from clear up in the church!), looking for the wonderful voice. They searched and searched, but because Hudson is the humble type, they never discovered the source! 

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady