There are improbable saints for just about every improbable situation
Marking All Saints Day, the adorable Rev Richard Coles has been talking about his new book Lives of the Improbable Saints, of whom there are hundreds. I’m glad he has given some attention to the saint for parking spaces, Mother Cabrini.
St Francesca Cabrini was, I was once told in America, chosen as the patron saint of parking because she was a “hot-shot Italian-American momma”. In truth, she was a frail Italian schoolteacher, born in 1850 and who, having been refused entry to two established convents, enterprisingly started her own. She ministered to the needs of immigrants – and to prisoners at Sing Sing – and thus became the patron saint for immigrants. Quite how she took parking into her portfolio is not clear, but she is said to be reliable.
I disagree with Rev Coles, however, when he claims that St Anthony of Padua is “the patron saint of lost causes”: that honour goes to St Jude. Jude was a 1st century apostle, and has long been the intercessor “for those in desperate straits”, as we are all apt to be sometimes.
St Anthony is the saint for lost objects. The remedy for lost glasses, misplaced keys, missing wallets, was traditionally a prayer to Anthony, which might be even more efficacious if you promised you’d put a cash offering in his poor box. I have indeed found St Anthony often delivers, although there may also be a psychological explanation.
On the Today programme, Sarah Montague laughingly suggested that some of the “Improbable Saints” were bonkers cases: e.g. that most improbable infant saint, Rumwold of Buckingham. Rumwold was born in 662, spoke from birth, preached a sermon, and died at the age of three days. There are six English churches bearing his name, including an exquisite little gem at Bonnington, near Ashford in Kent.
As Rev Coles says, saints’ tales made sense to the magical realism of past times. Many of the girl saints made sense to me as a teenager, because their stories were often, Cinderella-like, about poor and unhappy young girls who overcame their difficulties and were an inspiration to others. One of my favourites was St Germaine, an impoverished Swiss simpleton who was mocked by everyone in her village, but whom God favoured with dazzling miracles. She was somewhat unlike our own Germaine Greer, but remembered in the annals of saintly history just the same.
Making merry in Derry
I found myself recently explaining to a younger person the phrase “trunk call”. Before the Seventies, you made a “trunk” (long-distance) call by going through the operator. In Ireland there was often an argument when the Dublin operator asked for a number in “Derry” and the Northern operator said she only recognised “Londonderry”. Adversarial words could be exchanged down the line.
But it’s cheering that nowadays, Foyleside City of Culture 2013 is accepted by all parties as “Derry/Londonderry”. Their cultural programme is impressively inclusive, and honour is satisfied all round. Ghastly things still happen in Northern Ireland – like yesterday’s murder of a prison officer – yet Derry/Londonderry is a symbol of peace, and success.
The queens' speech
Does anyone know what language the European Royals speak when they get together at events like the splendid Luxembourg Grand Ducal wedding last month? When Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands embraces Queen Margrethe of Denmark, how do they converse? When Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden speaks to her cousins among the Belgian royals, in what tongue? English? French? Swinglish (a Swedish/English mixture sometimes used by the Nordics)? Only some Almanach de Gotha insider can reveal.
Marking All Saints Day, the adorable Rev Richard Coles has been talking about his new book Lives of the Improbable Saints, of whom there are hundreds. I’m glad he has given some attention to the saint for parking spaces, Mother Cabrini.
St Francesca Cabrini was, I was once told in America, chosen as the patron saint of parking because she was a “hot-shot Italian-American momma”. In truth, she was a frail Italian schoolteacher, born in 1850 and who, having been refused entry to two established convents, enterprisingly started her own. She ministered to the needs of immigrants – and to prisoners at Sing Sing – and thus became the patron saint for immigrants. Quite how she took parking into her portfolio is not clear, but she is said to be reliable.
I disagree with Rev Coles, however, when he claims that St Anthony of Padua is “the patron saint of lost causes”: that honour goes to St Jude. Jude was a 1st century apostle, and has long been the intercessor “for those in desperate straits”, as we are all apt to be sometimes.
St Anthony is the saint for lost objects. The remedy for lost glasses, misplaced keys, missing wallets, was traditionally a prayer to Anthony, which might be even more efficacious if you promised you’d put a cash offering in his poor box. I have indeed found St Anthony often delivers, although there may also be a psychological explanation.
On the Today programme, Sarah Montague laughingly suggested that some of the “Improbable Saints” were bonkers cases: e.g. that most improbable infant saint, Rumwold of Buckingham. Rumwold was born in 662, spoke from birth, preached a sermon, and died at the age of three days. There are six English churches bearing his name, including an exquisite little gem at Bonnington, near Ashford in Kent.
As Rev Coles says, saints’ tales made sense to the magical realism of past times. Many of the girl saints made sense to me as a teenager, because their stories were often, Cinderella-like, about poor and unhappy young girls who overcame their difficulties and were an inspiration to others. One of my favourites was St Germaine, an impoverished Swiss simpleton who was mocked by everyone in her village, but whom God favoured with dazzling miracles. She was somewhat unlike our own Germaine Greer, but remembered in the annals of saintly history just the same.
Making merry in Derry
I found myself recently explaining to a younger person the phrase “trunk call”. Before the Seventies, you made a “trunk” (long-distance) call by going through the operator. In Ireland there was often an argument when the Dublin operator asked for a number in “Derry” and the Northern operator said she only recognised “Londonderry”. Adversarial words could be exchanged down the line.
But it’s cheering that nowadays, Foyleside City of Culture 2013 is accepted by all parties as “Derry/Londonderry”. Their cultural programme is impressively inclusive, and honour is satisfied all round. Ghastly things still happen in Northern Ireland – like yesterday’s murder of a prison officer – yet Derry/Londonderry is a symbol of peace, and success.
The queens' speech
Does anyone know what language the European Royals speak when they get together at events like the splendid Luxembourg Grand Ducal wedding last month? When Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands embraces Queen Margrethe of Denmark, how do they converse? When Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden speaks to her cousins among the Belgian royals, in what tongue? English? French? Swinglish (a Swedish/English mixture sometimes used by the Nordics)? Only some Almanach de Gotha insider can reveal.
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