Of all islands.....

Mad about Madeira

Sitting, slightly cramped, on an Airbus about to take off on the runway at Cristiano Ronaldo Airport in Madeira, we are told to shut our eyes and cover our mouths as it apparently is the law in Madeira that planes have to be disinfected to avoid the possibility that disease-carrying insects could be stowaways aboard.  I am struck by two things: the crew seem to spray the cabin without covering their eyes or mouths, and that we didn’t do this when we left Birmingham a week ago.  So, planes coming in can carry whatever, but those going out have to be fumigated.

 
Yes, there is a certain madness about Madeira, which ironically may derive from the name. When a ship full of jolly sailors from Portugal, pupils of Harry the Navvy, first set foot on this archipelago in 1419/20 they found it was covered in wood – Laurasilva (subtropical forest characterised by broadleaf trees with elongated, evergreen leaves, which may, or may not, include laurel).  In Portuguese the word for wood is madeira (from the Latin materia – material/timber/wood) so I guess it was a no-brainer to call this island Wood......  However, if you will forgive a stretch of etymological fun, wood in English at the time of this discovery also meant mad, or crazy.....  So it’s not hard to be (slightly) crazy about Madeira.....

 
This is my first visit.  My parents had visited many years ago and sang its praises.  I had long thought about making the journey, based on my received knowledge:  it was warm, floral and scenic.....  Research showed, however, that it was a long way away (it is about 500 miles south of Portugal, 300 miles west of Africa and 250 miles north of the Canaries) and also that getting around the island, despite its relatively small proportions (it is 35 miles long and 14 miles wide, with an area of 286 square miles) it is very mountainous, with ten peaks all taller than Ben Nevis, of which three are about 6,000 feet high.

The Angel of Madeira - Pico do Arieiro, 1,818 m

 
When Winston Churchill came here in January 1950, invited to stay at Reid’s Hotel as a marketing freebie, the island was struggling in the post-war doldrums.  In many ways he is still here, as his brief visit put the place on the tourist map, even though he had to rush back for a snap general election (on an Aquila Airways seaplane, 19 hours at an equivalent cost of £27K – I wonder who picked up that tab?)

 
When my parents visited, probably about the same time that Margaret Thatcher was unravelling here, people were still living in caves on the hillside above the capital Funchal (which, by the way, means Fennel) and the road system was a tortuous network of steep and winding narrow roads.  It is now a much-increased tortuous network of 125 miles of steep and winding slightly wider Vias Rápidas, with over 100 tunnels boring through some 50 miles of rock.  In the 20th century it would take 3 hours to drive from Funchal to Porto Moniz – it can now be done in 45 minutes.  

 
My visit is with a group of ‘solo’ travellers (generally speaking older people, quite a few of whom being solo through the same sad route that brought me here) organised by Riviera Travel.  We were very well, and kindly, looked after by Meryl, with a wonderful, knowledgeable local guide in Cristina, and the superb driving of Carlos.  If ever I return, I shall personally seek out Carlos again, as I wouldn’t dream of trying to pilot myself around the bends here, even though I have driven the Amalfi coast road, navigated Sicilian towns, and raced through the Dolomites....  Madeira is mad in many ways, and the roads contribute to this!

 

Prior to a trip I build up an image of wherever I am going from an assortment of sources – people who have already visited, guide books, the internet and sometimes TV. Very often I find that this image is fundamentally incorrect, or at least out of date. In the case of Madeira, my preconception was vague, but not entirely mistaken. It is warm, and mountainous, and has lots of gardens, with greenery, flowers and shrubs. Bananas and palm trees abound on the lower slopes. Sugar cane (once the main crop) grows here, and vineyards cling to the hillsides. The Laurasilva is much depleted, but it still gained UNESCO World Heritage Site status. In addition my visit is conveniently timed to coincide with extensive snowfalls, and Storm Bert, in the UK and it is great to find that the sea (which is the Atlantic Ocean) is warm enough to swim in, and that I generally only need to wear shorts and a T shirt.

 
I am, however, surprised at how sprawling Funchal is - I imagined something much more mature and contained.  The island population is just over 250K, with an average density of around 800 per square mile.  Just for comparison, the English Lake District (at 912 square miles, over three times the size of Madeira) has a population of around 40K and a density of 5.4 people per square mile.  However, the Lake District had about 18 million visitors in 2023 and Madeira had only about 2 million (half a million from Portugal, 340K from the UK and 325K from Germany all by air, and c600K who came in on cruise ships).  I don’t quite know why this makes Madeira seem so busy, but it is probably to do with the fact that so much of the island is uninhabitable.

 
It isn’t just the sprawl: there seems to be little in the way of characteristic, old-fashioned domestic building.  Elsewhere in Europe (Portugal and Italy being examples, but the Canaries another) you can come across villages with a nucleus of old houses around a church and a square, ancient and quaint, despite the inevitable spreads of concrete, hotels and such that also exist everywhere.  But here, although my visit is of course limited, parishes seem, generally, to be less concentrated and essentially more modern.  

Yes, I know the island was only settled in 1425, but that is six hundred years ago!  Somethings must be old?

One of a few wheat straw thatched houses in Santana

 
As for cruise ships, the least environmentally friendly way to see the world, while strolling in the Parque de Santa Catarina, overlooking the Port of Funchal, I am reminded of a picture one of my pupils once drew.  This was a long time ago, but I can see it now.  The young boy, who, I believe, had suffered some brain damage at birth, but who was charming and always keen, took a large piece of sugar paper and some chalks and was busy for a while.  Then, with great pride, he showed me his work.  On the paper was a circle, filled with white chalk, and around it was all grey.  ‘That’s great,’ I said.  ‘But what is it?’  He beamed, and told me in an excited voice that it was the QE2.  Trying not to dampen his enthusiasm, I suggested that he could have drawn a bit more of the ship.  ‘Oh no!’ he exclaimed, and stretching his arms out as wide as possible, he almost shouted, ‘The QE2 is that big!’ 

In 2023 a total of 624,400 cruise passengers and more than 241,042 crew members, on 279 ships, registered in the Port of Funchal, with eight ships here for the fireworks display on New Year’s Eve.

 

So, anyway, what do we do?  In a nutshell we explore Funchal, which includes sampling excellent Madeira wine, and some interesting food – Espada (Black Scabbard fish) 

and Lapas (limpets); swim in the sea and in specially constructed sea pools; climb the heights, including Cabo Girão 

Don't look down: Cabo Girão, 580m

and Pico do Arieiro:

 go to Porto Moniz in the west:

 and Machico and Santana in the east:

visit the gardens at Quinta do Palheiro (the home of the Blandy family, English wine merchants since 1808 and majority shareholder of Madeira Wine Company) 

and the Monte Palace Tropical Garden (as well as the nearby Church of Our Lady of the Mount, where Emperor Karl I of Austria – Beato Carlos de Habsburg -  who had secretly tried to negotiate an end to WWI in 1916, is buried) 

and finally spend time in Curral das Freiras (Nun’s Valley) 

Where I am struck by how very Madeiran Santa Chiara (St Francis's sister)

actually looked (if only she wore the habit):

and Câmara de Lobos (which was Churchill’s favourite spot). 

 
The scenery is spectacular.  Parts of the island are not unlike Teide, on Tenerife, with sharp formations of reddish lava (the archipelago is entirely of volcanic origin) eroded into deep ravines.  But it isn’t all dry – we arrived just after a storm and our last day was very windy and wet.  The island is criss-crossed with levadas – man-made channels that conduct water from the wettest parts to irrigate crops, power hydro-electric plants and to provide domestic drinking water.  

The mountains are frequently obscured by clouds, even though the south and west may be bathed in glorious sunshine.  There are no long stretches of sandy beaches (the best is at the neighbouring island of Porto Santo) though there are bays with black pebble or sand.  The sea can be fearfully rough, smashing against the piers and rocks with massive force, 

though when it is calm it is wonderful to swim in deep (it gets to 10,000 feet deep near the island), clear water.  Just watch out for jellyfish......

 

The light is great - rain or shine.  Whether at the coast:

Or in the gardens:

In the morning:

Or later in the day:

Our hotel is full of character (Are you sure? Ed):

As is our bus (Shome mistake?  Ed):

The natural world, as ever, is fascinating.  Here, clinging to a brittle cliff, is a Francelho, or Canarian Kestrel:

And the human world is full of character too, whether formal:

Informal:

Or professional:

All the people we meet are very friendly and most speak English, which is a real bonus as Portuguese is not an easy language to pick up (I know – I have tried.  Ed).  Listening in to a conversation is like hearing several languages scrambled into one, with the majority of words sounding a little like rhubarbo cushstarda neow said very fast.  

An interesting fact is that the average age of the population of Madeira is just over 45 years.  According to CRAP (the Centre for Reasonably Approximate Percentages) the average age of visitors to Madeira is 72 – which makes me, I am proud to say, just above average (For once. Ed).

 

On my last morning, I am shown round Blandy’s Wine Lodge by Daniela, 

who kindly teaches me Madeiran etiquette (and into the bargain furnishes me with me two glasses of joy) .....  And then I pay my respects to Cristiano Ronaldo, Madeira’s most famous son. 

I have never really forgiven Ronald (he was named after Ronald Reagan.... It is true!) for his brilliant free kick goal against Portsmouth (my home town) during the 2007/08 Premier League season, but he is decent enough to invite me for a poncha tradicional in his favourite bar in Câmara de Lobos 

(even though he doesn’t drink himself) ..... But, unfortunately, I am a bit late, and he had to jet back to his family in Saudi, so......  Next time.... Siiuuu!  [Is that ‘See you!’ Ed?]

 
So, having been fumigated on the tarmac, our flight back is insect free.   A farewell touch of Madeira madness came with us, however, as in row 39 a young man is celebrating having made the Guinness Book of Records by circumnavigating Madeira, in a pedalo!  Surely one of the crazier ways to travel 100 miles in the middle of the Atlantic!  [As it happens this turns out to be a merry jest.....  Which just goes to add to the madness that surrounds Madeira! Ed]

 
And then we land.  Birmingham is dark and cold, and the two-and-a-half-hour drive home is cold and dark.  My house is cold.  And dark.  I feel a (dark) cold coming on and crawl into bed. It is cold.  It is dark.  I miss having a Coral beer watching the sun sink towards Brazil.

 
I need a holiday.....  
 
Now where is nice and warm?

Madeira, Das ilhas, as mais belas e livres

*****

With very many thanks to Meryl, Cristina and Carlos (and the rest of the gang) 

Without whom I would be very lost.....

 

 

 

 

Let us prey....

Gratia dei sum id quod sum....







Many years ago, before I discovered East Anglia, I (occasionally) drank at Ye Old Mitre Tavern in Holborn. This fine old pub (established in 1547) hides away in Ely Court, between Hatton Garden and Ely Place which was, from 1290 to 1772, the London home of the Bishops of Ely, and also, until fairly recently, considered a part of Cambridgeshire.

It took me until 1984, however, when escaping for a day from a course in Cambridge, before I visited Ely itself and had lunch with a young lady friend at The Lamb.  About all I knew then was that Ely was an island 

(my guide was the Venerable Bede: Elge is in the province of the East Angles, a district of about six hundred families, of the nature of an island, encompassed, as has been said, with marshes or waters, and therefore it has its name from the great plenty of eels taken in those marshes.....) and I had heard tell of Hereward the Woke [Wake?  Ed] who is said to have roamed the fens and slept in a reed bed.

At that time, as an impoverished student, I could not afford to enter the cathedral, but since I became eligible for a bus pass and winter fuel allowance, and moved nearer, I have managed to return to the Isle of Ely a number of times in recent years.  So I can now safely say, I Love Ely.....

The town (it was long considered a city as the seat of a diocese, but was officially granted a charter by QE2 in 1974 - it is the second smallest city in the UK , after Wells) has a population of 18,000, and has existed since 673, when Saint [Surely not then a Saint? Ed] Etheldreda, daughter of King Anna [? Ed] of the East Angles, founded a monastery here. The monastery was destroyed by Danish invaders in 870, but was rebuilt and became a famous abbey and shrine.

The 'Ship of the Fens' (as the cathedral has become to be known) took some 300 years to complete, partly because the central tower over the crossing collapsed in 1322 as a result of messing around with the foundations of the new (and glorious) Lady Chapel.

But not to be daunted, Alan de Walsingham (Sacrist, or Clerk of Works at the time) had the brilliant idea of hoisting eight 63 foot long, 17 tonne timbers up to support an octagonal lantern, which, with some later tweaks, still survives as one of the wonders of the medieval world.

Once upon a time the top of the octagon was the belfry, but it was noted that the whole construction creaked and swayed whenever they hit the clappers, so they gave that (ap)pealing idea up.... Nowadays there are just two hundred tons of timber and another two hundred tons of lead capping what would otherwise be a monumental hole in the roof.

In August this year, the artist Sean Henry exhibited 28 sculptures of variously sized human forms, created with bronze, steel, plaster and ceramics and painted with oil and exterior paints, in and by the cathedral. The exhibition, under the title Am I my brother's keeper? reflected the brightly coloured effigies that once were displayed on plinths and tombs in the cathedral but which were hacked and destroyed in 1539 by the minions of King Damian Lewis [I think you mean H8? Ed]

Ursula's Dream (2001)

The curator of the exhibition, Jacquiline Creswell, suggested that it could be interpreted as an enquiry into one's moral responsibility towards others.  The Very Reverend Mark Bonney, Dean of Ely, notes that the niches of the Cathedral would once have been inhabited by sculptures of saints with a capital 'S.' 

Man Lying On His Side (2000)

Sean Henry makes us think again about who are the 'saints'....  The sculptures in this exhibition are not named individuals, they are representative of us all and speak of the interconnectedness of us all and our responsibility one to another.

Hedda  (2018)

Am I my brother's keeper?  Mark Bonney asked himself - yes very definitely I am - and I am deeply challenged by that.

Lying Man (2020)

I am sure that others have been asking themselves the same question since the independent review into the Church of England’s handling of allegations of serious abuse by the late John Smyth was published the other day. Keith Makin, who led the independent review said, The abuse at the hands of John Smyth was prolific and abhorrent. Words cannot adequately describe the horror of what transpired.

Seated Figure (2016)

Many of the victims who took the brave decision to speak to us about what they experienced have carried this abuse silently for more than 40 years.

Despite the efforts of some individuals to bring the abuse to the attention of authorities, the responses by the Church of England and others were wholly ineffective and amounted to a coverup.

So what has this to do with Eels, you ask?  Well.... Eels are slippery.  

And Stephen Conway who was Bishop of Ely for 13 years, before being translated to Lincoln in July 2023, had this to say on November 11th:

The victims and survivors of abuse are at the centre of my prayers as this Review is published.

In light of the Review, I understand that there were further actions I could have taken following my reporting of the disclosures made to us in the Diocese of Ely about John Smyth. I am sorry that I did not pursue these actions at that time.

The Bishop's House

On November 12th Stephen Conway published another statement, saying: I am clear that I did all within my authority as a Bishop of the Church of England, bearing in mind that I had no authority over an entirely independent province on another continent.

I acknowledge fully that my fault was in not rigorously pursuing Lambeth about that province-to-province communication, and for this I am deeply sorry.

On November 13th the Rt Revd Dr Dagmar Winter, Bishop of Huntingdon and currently Acting Bishop of Ely, responded to the resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury following the publication of the Makin Report. Any of us who have read even only parts of the Report, he said, will be sickened and saddened beyond words, also angered, both by the abuse and by the failings within our church in effective safeguarding..... At times like this, it can be hard to be a committed member of the Church of England. This kind of moral trauma to the church's faithful servants is part of the wickedness of what has happened.

Yesterday afternoon saw the resignation of the Archbishop of Canterbury. His decision shows the seriousness with which he takes the criticisms contained in the Report and demonstrates his willingness to take personal and institutional responsibility for the failures identified. I am grateful to him for this, as I am also conscious of his burden of leadership and his achievements over the years.

We should be clear that the Archbishop’s resignation does not alter the safeguarding challenge for the whole church. Our only proper response can be a renewed and ever more determined commitment to safeguarding, to the implementation of new recommendations, to our support of our Parish Safeguarding Officers and to our Diocesan Safeguarding Team.....

Am I my brother's keeper?  

I came late to the TV series, Wolf Hall [Woolfall?  Will ful? Ed] and am only now catching up.  I won't offer an opinion on the quality of the entertainment, but Peter Kosminsky, the director of the series, said: This is a first for me..... It is about the politics of despotism, and how you function around an absolute ruler....

Does that ring any bells?

Ring them bells St Peter

Where the four winds blow

Ring them bells with an iron hand

So the people will know....

Bob Dylan

Ring Them Bells

Although I have been enchanted and fascinated by the magnificence of The Ship of the Fens, Perhaps visiting these places should make us think a little more about some of the darker corners of human experience?  It is estimated that 300 workmen died whilst working on Ely cathedral.  And how many others have suffered at the hands of one religion or another?

Perhaps it is no longer acceptable to say: But by the grace of God I am what I am.  Those words, in Latin (Gratia Dei sum quod sum) are inscribed above the entrance to the Bishop West Chantry Chapel in Ely Cathedral, which dates from 1534 and lies at the end of the South choir-aisle.  Sean Henry placed several figures in this chapel in conversation with each other in his exhibition.  

Jacquiline Creswell suggests that within the context of a sacred space, Am I my brother's keeper? [was] a portal through which bridges may be built between people both inside and outside the community, helping to open up discussion about our shared humanity.  OK. Fine. But the idea that we are what we are by the grace of God seems like an excuse to me.

Not one of Sean Henry's

Whatever happened to mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa? 

Let us prey......?

******

Ely Cathedral - December 2020

******