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This is a place of worship, meeting and quietness in a distracted world.
Its people are seeking to grow together in the love of God revealed in Jesus Christ and are working to extend his kingdom of justice and peace.
You are welcome to join in our fellowship and service of others.

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Holy Trinity Church
Hoghton Street
Southport

Vicar:
Revd Canon Dr. Rod Garner
Tel/Fax: (01704) 538560

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Vicar's Viewpoint

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November 2008

A careless brush of my wrist against a lamp post produced a large crack on the face of my watch. It had to be repaired. I had bought it years ago in memory of the Sherratt family from my time in St. Helens in the 1980s. Ernie was blind and would spend summer days in the backyard listening to cricket on the radio. Nellie, his wife, was in poor health but kept her spirits up by rowing regularly with Ernie. Daughter Eunice, in late middle-age, was the go-between and a devout Roman Catholic. I loved them all in different ways. We came together each month to share a house communion service. Walking to church one Christmas Eve to conduct a Christingle Service, I was caught in an incredible downpour. I called at their house for a change of clothes. Ernie gave me a pair of trousers that would have been a generous fit for Cyril Smith but at least I got to church on time and dry enough to perform! Mercifully, the congregation never saw what was underneath my cassock!

I took the watch to Wesley Street and I'm hopeful they can fix it. "It's got sentimental value" I said anxiously. "It'll cost you £8.50" came the reply "unless we find anything else wrong". I get a decision on Wednesday. The man behind the counter was surrounded by time. Clocks everywhere - every shape and size from the serene and stately to noisy bedside alarms. The sound of ticking that marked the passing of time was not too intrusive and for that I was thankful. I don't like aggressive timepieces. Cuckoo clocks have a certain charm but I find myself mentally reaching for my revolver once they cease to be entertaining.

I'll be happy when I get my watch back. I can consult it for the time and remember with affection days long ago and a family now departed this life. There were days when time moved too slowly for the Sherratts: ill health, bad weather or jangling nerves got them down. It moved too fast for Eunice: as a nurse by profession she wanted to return overseas to serve the sick and poor but increasing age and her own poor health clipped her aspirations. When I think of them I am aware that all of this happened more than twenty-five years ago. It remains fresh and real however as though that period of my life was just over my shoulder. Time plays tricks on us. The past is never really past, rather, it walks by our side, sometimes silently but often reminding us of what we have loved. Times past and times present are really one thing. Memory tells us who we are, what really mattered, and what continues to count.

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