Rejoice but remember: the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom
To open a newspaper today is to enter a world of such horror, cruelty, vulgarity and corruption that one cannot imagine why almighty God does not decide, here and now, to put an end to it. But God knows better. There are many fine people around, and beautiful objects, and worthwhile activities, and as the year comes to an end we ought to remember them and give thanks. Just as there are 12 days of Christmas, so there are 12 blessings and here is my list for 2007. By a curious chance they all begin with the letter 'F'.
First of all I give thanks for Family and Friends. Modern governments hate the family and seek to stamp it out. In China it is a criminal offence to have more than one child. Imagine the misery of a country where the phenomenon of an only child is a million strong. Here New Labour, as the latest scandals show, does not recognise a friendship unless qualified by a cash nexus. But we can show how much we value family and friendship by kneeling down each night by our beds and saying a prayer for each member of our family, and all our closest friends, by name. If this takes a long time, we can count ourselves lucky.
Then there are the Five Horse Chestnuts, great, big, burly, noble and straightforward trees, that stand in dignified formation at the entrance to Kensington Gardens, at the Queensway gate. I admire them every day of my life, for they represent stability in an age when most things constantly change for the worse. They are not immune from attack, for ten years ago the park rangers lopped off some of their lower limbs, presumably as a result of the infamous Health and Safety Act. But I have got used to this mutilation and so have the Big Five. Happily I did a careful watercolour of them before it occurred so I can still see them in their pristine splendour. Thank God for all big trees!
Next comes the sense of smell. Coming from Lancashire, I am not averse to the whiff of a Fish and Chip Shop. In Blackpool you can't smell anything else there are so many of them. When I was a child in the Hungry Thirties, my mother used to say to me: 'Don't look down on fish and chips. There are many poor families for whom a good meal of fish and chips, with a nice dollop of mushy peas, is a rare treat, which they thoroughly enjoy.' I pray for a time when nobody will go to bed hungry. Well, that time has come, I suppose, but the pungent presence of these old-style eats, in thin warm wrappings, is a useful reminder how recently real hunger has disappeared, and how easily it could come to haunt us again.
The Fieldfare. Never heard of it? It is a handsome blue-grey Scandinavian bird which, since the 1960s, has been coming here in the winter months. It is here now, and will remain till the warm spring weather. Whoever said the Swedes had no sense of humour? The great thing about the fieldfare is that it chuckles. It does not titter, or snigger, or teehee like Alison in The Miller's Tale; it has a broad, rich, warm, friendly, earthy chuckle, like an old-style Northern music-hall comedian before Political Correctness destroyed the English joke. What is it laughing at? Why, global warming, of course, and the way we're all being conned. The fieldfare has to know the real facts about weather — its livelihood and life depend on it. So it chuckles at how easily poor humans are taken in.
And on the subject of jokes, thank God for Benjamin Franklin, inventor of the one-liner, a form of humour special to America, and later augmented and perfected by Henry Clay, Mark Twain, Dorothy Parker and, above all, Ronald Reagan. He had over 2,000 of them, many of which he had invented himself. Most jokes are too long, and few people can remember them properly to tell them with effect. They forget the punchline, or what Mark Twain called the Snapper. A one-liner requires no punchline because it is one. I'm proud of the fact I was present when Reagan coined one of his best: `I'm not too worried about the deficit. It's big enough to take care of itself.'
Thank God for Fingers. They do so many things, from the useful to the sublime. I first thought seriously about fingers when I heard Myra Hess play Grieg's Piano Concerto in A Minor, and wondered how she could make hers do so much, so quickly, so skilfully and so beautifully. I am grateful I have fingers to paint and to write things like this. Let us never take fingers for granted. Nor should we take for granted the human Face. The more I think about it, the more wonderful it seems to me: its infinite variety, its extraordinary ability to show you what is going on in the brain behind it. I caught a glimpse, the other day on the Tube, of a face of such exquisite beauty and serenity that I am certain its owner is a holy woman. What I saw was not an appearance but an epiphany.
At the other end of this moral scale is St Francis of Assisi. He is the patron of animals but also, we forget, of the cheerful and patient acceptance of suffering. He was only 45 when he died, and for some years before that had experienced great trouble with his eyes, eventually going blind. His sufferings were appalling, especially from the attempts to relieve them by the primitive medicine of the 13th century. He bore everything with fortitude and resignation. St Francis makes us think of the infinite, unrelieved suffering of this world, and to hope that, if we ourselves have to face huge pain, we will submit to it with his courage and patience.
Next comes Felix, my latest grandchild, aged one, just. If ever a child was well named, he was. I do not say he has never cried, but I have certainly not heard him do so. On the contrary, he always smiles. And he laughs, and chuckles like the fieldfare. He is a delight to hold, and to play with, and to watch. What constant, unalloyed and innocent pleasure small children give us! As I rejoice in such happiness, I think of those who, through no fault of their own, have no children or grandchildren with whom to commune. But they will be compensated — if not in this life, then in the next. Felix is a well-chosen name. My father, at that time passionate in his Anglo-Saxon studies, had a plan to call one of my sisters Frideswide. My mother vetoed it. Instead they compromised on Elfi-ide, and she is still around, aged 86. But Frideswide was a very remarkable and saintly woman, whose remains are buried in the cathedral at Oxford. Indeed, she is the patron saint of the university. Her prayers and intercession have never been more urgently needed, now that my old university is in danger of being taken over by atheist dons who are doing everything in their cunning power to drive the thought of God out of the minds of the young men and women entrusted to their care.
So my penultimate blessing is a call for Fidelity. I love faithful people, those plain, good, humble and modest worshippers I see in the churches I frequent, of all shapes and sizes and colours and cultures, but united by their faith, and their fidelity to it. In the old days, they would have been martyrs and have given their blood. Now they have the less exciting task of struggling on, saying their prayers and doing their duty when all the wealth and resources of a world where Satan rides high are devoted to stamping out religion. So my final blessing this end-of-year is that we may Feast, but feast seriously and serenely, earnestly and gravely, rejoicing in the good things but aware too of the wrath that is surely coming. 'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.'
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