easter in Christchurch

Easter Sunday.

Not a hot cross bun. Not a Cadbury’s Easter Egg.  Not even a rendition of

“ There is a green hill far away.”

But there was homemade peach jam. My brother has been saying Melocoton like some sort of mantra all day yesterday when he was looking for a worthy baguette. He says it like a waiter of a fictional Spanish holiday camp.

This morning, we had the worthy baguette, the best butter we could find and the melocoton jam he made from the fruit of his peach tree.

He says ‘melocoton’ as opposed to peach, because as a family we spent our holidays in the north of Spain in a tiny flat. And because we spoke very little Spanish, the words like mantequila and melocoton were thrown about with confidence and abandon.

So, as we talk about our Easters in Spain, about the jigsaw puzzles and the games of Totopoly, we cut the bread and spread it with butter and slather it with melocoton jam. Cadbury’s be damned.

Stephen and I went for a walk this afternoon to a place called Taylor’s Mistake.

It is one of my favourite walks. Starting in the bay called “Taylor’s Mistake” up around a promontory to Godley Head. Black sand to crashing waves to caves and flowers and views across an ocean to nowhere other than water.

Taylors mistake

Lyttleton Harbour

It is so called, because a man called Taylor brought his frigate into this little bay thinking it was the port of Lyttleton. He jumped ashore and made a big noise before learning of his mistake… and there you go……

proof of stupidity

And then I forced Stephen to come with me to the cathedral for an Easter Evensong. This odd plastic A-frame. Looking like an oversized greenhouse for a tomato plant or two. But when we got inside and sat down whilst the choir practiced and looked at the design that felt ephemeral and from found objects, it all changed.

Stephen…you remember….the one who makes people light up…..knew the Dean. Lawrence was his name. 

He had been on a school board with my brother.

He came up to us, “ Stephen….” he said….. “ Just a regular old evensong.”

And Stephen and I read the “reflection” he had written in the hand-out.  “ when we give voice to those who are powerless, to those who have been silenced, and when we stand with them and empower them to speak the truth, we answer the cry for justice and healing.” And then he walked by us with his embroidered robes on a hanger. “ We get to wear fancy dress here too.”

We drank wine that we bought last Sunday from a wonderful woman who worked at a vineyard up in Blenheim. “ Sisters” it is called. They grow vines and give support to local women who are struggling.

The flooded road from New Brighton

Easter Sunday in Christchurch. Coming to an end.

The Totopoly horses were called, “ Priory Park, Dark Warrior and Marmaduke Jinks.” By the way. My brother looked it up on the internet.

It was that kind of day. A resurrection of sorts…….