My mother was raised Methodist, Primitive Methodist to be precise. Even though, much to her father's disgust, she had converted to Anglican in her early twenties she maintained a suspicion of Christian festivals that are not Christmas or Easter. Thus she did not approve of the annual gathering of the diocesan youth at the cathedral on Ascension Day. For a start it was at the cathedral which in itself was a relic of Papism. Secondly it celebrated an event in Christ's life that was peripheral and unnecessary for the Christian walk. Lastly school was all important and should not be missed for a frivolous day of enjoyment at church and beach. Yes the cathedral is a couple of miles from the beach and so any excursion to the cathedral usually included a visit to the beach. My mother did not even approve of the beach as Whitesands Bay has fatal undercurrents.
At eight years old I announced that I was leaving the 'chapel' Sunday School and going to the new neighbourhood church. I discovered the Ascension activities. Three years and I wore down my mother. I was allowed to go to St David's. I do not remember the service, I do remember sitting on the cross in the City Square and I do remember the sun shining on the expanse of sand. These are reasons enough for me not to forget the often overlooked verse at the end of Luke's gospel "While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven."
Jesus blessed his disciples before he left them. My memories of Ascension Day 1961 is a blessing. In a brief moment I am reminded of Sunday School members, teaches who held spreading the Good News as important, the many saints who have walked the aisles at St David's over the last 14 centuries, the Creator of the golden sands and of course my mother, who I did not appreciate at the time.
