When I was a lad and in the choir of Trinity Church, next door was the house of a local doctor whose son Ian and I became friends and their house although only half of the old vicarage was huge, each half with tall Tudor like brick towers for chimneys. It had a wonderful kitchen garden where Ian and I would pick young Brussels sprouts and eat them raw, fresh raspberries from the canes and loads of strawberries in season.

In the grounds was a large summerhouse where Ian’s mum bread Liver and White Springer Spaniels, but the piece de la resistance was a stable block with a loft above where the fruits from the garden were overwintered with a secret trap door leading down to the stables below. Not so secret really, but like all things if you didn’t know it was there …

Wow what stalls! Each with heavy timber doors with iron railings to the top half so that you could look in and see that all was well, but sadly no horses, just a great place for two young lads to play and live out their fantasies.

Strange how words take on different meanings through the experiences of our lives!

Miles away from the stables and basically there are the stalls in the public lavatories which travel tells us vary in their design from country to country, like from the UK through France to India, but the mind blower was when in the cadets and I spent summer camp on board a Cruiser in the Royal Navy moored off Spithead, England where the separating doors between cubicles are at waist height!
No privacy there for obvious reasons.

When we rise from the basics to the dizzy heights of politics we begin to understand the tactics of stalling the passing of legislation to follow the agendas of those in the house of representatives or parliament whose toilets are no doubt of a superior quality and design for every stall. There are still the old but elaborate Victorian public toilets underground in London with separate entrances for Ladies on one side and Gentlemen on the other. One even converted to a restaurant I’m told! I wonder what surprises the menu holds!

Apologies for the seeming lapse into the level of schoolboy toilet humour, but as has been said many times: ‘We all have to pee!’ Which I guess is an attempt to bring us all down to the same level.

Nice try! But little chance of that ever happening in the foreseeable future however much we all hope for the Oneness of mankind, mind you, travel does help if only to broaden the mind and help us to see and appreciate how the other half lives.

In my student days in Brighton, England I was often a ‘First Nighter’ at the Theatre Royal for pre London productions, but we could not afford the Stalls, so me and my flat mate queued under the colonnade and paid our half crown to be in the gods, with a shilling, pre-decimalisation you understand, for the hire of binoculars or theatre glasses so that we could see the stage, we were so far away!

I wonder if that was an omen for the way my life turned out? I hope you weren’t thinking that I became a loo cleaner or a stage sweeper!  Although, come to think of it life might have been a lot simpler if I had.

So returning to my time in the choir at Trinity, sitting in the beautifully made Choir Stalls, in those days we had to take it in turns to pump the organ by hand since replaced by an electric method I hope! I am indeed hoping to return their one day soon to see once again the beautiful folding Reredos over the altar which I loved.

Now returned to Devon there will be no stalling, I promise!

Of course the other beauty of the place where I was born is the Pannier Market where the market stalls are set out twice a week with local produce and handicrafts. See Photo above.

Unfortunately we Humans are all too prone to the inner stall!

Whether through fear or uncertainty, but basically I believe unknowing, having for the most part in my experience been led or should I say pushed along an erroneous path leading to a dangerous misinterpretation of our inner wisdom and corralled into stalls of various kinds, similar to the Cattle Market, so that we can be inspected and our every act controlled and monitored by our overlords who take on many guises at the various stages of our lives.

Is it any wonder then that we stall along our spiritual pathway when there are so many outside influences and controls urging, insisting and demanding that we stay where we are? We need freedom in order to choose the path we wish to take and to break out of our imposed, often self imposed stalls.

Is it any wonder that so many will risk life and limb just to get to England, having been fleeced of their money and papers en route by unscrupulous people traffickers, good old Blighty seen by the world as the land of freedom?

We must be allowed to discern for ourselves what we consider to be true or false, right or wrong only taking our place in a stall of our own choosing, using our Free-will to stall if we wish, but otherwise to pursue our purpose through freedom of speech, freedom to assemble and free to love through our compassion without any kind of stall imposed on us by others, becoming aware through grace of everything and everyone. Wouldn’t you agree?

With Love from Hanukah & the Angel and thank you for following us in the past as we look forward to your reading us in the coming year of 2016.


About David

Devonian writer
This entry was posted in ANGEL, HAPPINESS and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to THE STALL.

  1. No stalling within your excellent essay here David.. particularly enjoyed enjoyed the school-boy humour :-D,, and your descriptive opening brought the images of that Stall to life..
    A splendiferous post my friend 🙂 Sue


I value your comments, please tell me what you believe

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s