We should be angry

I was at a meeting on Thursday, discussing social media. I happened to say to someone there how hard it was to express our negative thoughts together to God. And then came along a third major atrocity in France within 18 months. 

Back at home, I heard that 84 people, including 10 children, had been killed by a man repeatedly driving a lorry into a crowd watching a Bastille Day fire​work display in Nice. At the time of writing, 54 children lie in hospital fighting for their lives. And so-called ISIS gloat over one of their "soldiers" committing an act of such deluded barbarity. How can we tell God how awful it is? How dreadful and demonic? How much we hate it? Are we allowed to? Can we find words that match the moment? Well, I think we may, we should and we can.

Photo: Huffington Post twitter

In the days when psalms were a regular part of daily Anglican worship, I've never once heard the most difficult one sung or said in its entirety. It's Psalm 137. It's one of several laments which come in the book of ​Psalms - the Jewish hymn book. It expresses the most raw pain and anger of any worship song I know.

Here it is:

By the waters of Babylon,
    there we sat down and wept,
    when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
    we hung up our lyres.
For there our captors
    required of us songs,
and our tormentors, mirth, saying,
    “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” 
How shall we sing the Lord's song
    in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
    let my right hand forget its skill! 
Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth,
    if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
    above my highest joy!
Remember, O Lord, against the Edomites
    the day of Jerusalem,
how they said, “Lay it bare, lay it bare,
    down to its foundations!”
O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed,
    blessed shall he be who repays you
    with what you have done to us!
Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones
    and dashes them against the rock!

It seems so unChristian, doesn't it? Especially those last lines. And yet... and yet, to be candid, that is the way that we feel in our inner, secret depths. "Give them exactly what they dealt out to us and our loved ones." That's natural justice. ​​​​It's a cry of utmost pain. It's how much it hurts - or it should be. It's appropriate.​ For a time anyway. And if it is​ what we feel, then pretending to God that we don't is pretty pointless. ​​Perhaps it would be good at times like this to share this psalm, even say it together, and then listen to familiar words of Jesus in Matthew 5:

 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven…" 

And then be quiet for a very long time.

Diverse Church six months on

One of the many downsides of MND is that it limits one's freedom of movement, not just in the small matter of daily living, but also in the bigger things of choosing how often to go out. It's a major operation, comparatively, to get out to a meeting, for example. I was sorry, last week, to miss two quite different meetings.

One was on Thursday, organised by the Oxford Diocesan Evangelical Fellowship, entitled, "Evangelical witness in this diocese in the light of Pilling, Bishop Alan Wilson, and the appointment of a new Bishop of Oxford." In the light of the accompanying write-up and attached paper, this promised to be a meeting resisting any ground being given to the gay/equal marriage move in the Church of England. I wouldn't have minded saying a bit. I don't know whether I will hear any feed-back from that meeting. The other meeting was on Saturday in London organised by the Two:23 Network, a group who describe themselves: "Two:23 is a network of Christians, connected by LGBT (Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) issues, who have discovered that God loves us just as we are. This realisation frees us unashamedly to include and encourage all to discover the love of God for themselves, pursue the call of Christ and live in a way that cherishes others just as God cherishes us." I suspect the two meetings could scarcely have been more different - except that they both included worship. Now that's interesting....

I did listen to the talk given by Sally Hitchiner at the Two:23 meeting, which you can find on their website. She was talking about the group she was instrumental in founding for young Christians struggling with the faith and sexuality, called Diverse Church. It's an impressive and widely encompassing group, which supports and gives hope to youngsters who had none before. I can't give an adequate account of its scope. For that I recommend listening to Sally's talk (on http://two23.net/). Here are two contrasting quotes from it. "Being gay and a Christian is rather like finding you have incurable cancer." "Finding Diverse Church and discovering that you can be gay and a Christian is like finding Narnia."

Two things I picked up are that it's a pastoral group, rather than a political one. In other words, it exists to care rather than campaign. The other is that it's undogmatic, except for insisting that God loves each of us as we are and as we were created. And so the group includes gay young people who live together or want to find a life-partner, those who have decided to stay celibate and one married to someone of the other sex. They all accept and affirm each other. Something they have in common is that they have all suffered acutely, usually from hearing the message that God considers them, or their feelings, an "abomination". Not surprisingly many have felt or been excluded from their churches - and it seemed from God Himself. You can see a couple of their stories in this film: Christian, it gets better.

One of the most moving initiatives Diverse Church has started is handing over its Twitter feed to one member each Friday who uses the day to tell their story. I regularly follow it. It is a brave thing to undertake, as although it is done using only initials, the potential is there for hostile reactions. For many, I understand, it's the first time they have "come out" telling their story, 140 words at a time. Somehow the gradual way the stories unfold echo the tortuous journey many of the members have traveled, and emphasise the joy they experience when they discover acceptance for who they are. In my view, Diverse Church (which is not a church in the conventional sense, but encourages the Church to be as diverse as was intended) is a remarkable group of young Christians. I've learned from them. I think the Church needs to listen to them.

Saturday was World Aids Day, and Diverse Church's Twitter feed led its followers in a moving prayer, sentence by sentence, with which I finish. I felt as if the person tweeting was praying from his experience and his heart.

Lord,

I'm glad I can talk to you.

You’re always there -

even when my head is somewhere else.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed,

ashamed, afraid to face the future...

It’s hard living with a stigma.

It’s not what people say.

It’s what they don't say.

It’s the knowing smiles,

and the sheepish looks.

They all add up to a feeling of accusation.

Lord,

I’m glad I can talk to you

Nothing surprises you.

You’ve been where I’ve been

You’ve felt the discrimination

Experienced the betrayal

the hurt

the name calling

the whispering in corners

the religious prejudice.

Lord,

You make me feel whole again

You include me in

You make me feel understood.

Your extravagant generosity

leaves me speechless.

Words fail me as I try to say

Thank you.

You draw me

You give me a place in the picture

You tell me

I belong even when I can't believe.

Lord, you’re unbelievable!!

Heavenly Father, tonight we pray for those whose lives have been overshadowed with the fear of HIV. The prejudice they fear they'll face...

Tonight we pray for the people who are living with HIV/AIDS. Here. Abroad. Anywhere. We pray for protection over them. Love them.

Place your tender hand over them and let them know your presence. Let them know that you're carrying them through the darkest days

and walking with them even in the days they're feeling better. Heavenly Father, help to eliminate the stigma attached...

Help us to stress the importance of being tested, the importance of talking about it, and the importance of living without fear of being discriminated.

Heavenly Father, give us the courage to speak out to those who think the illness isn't 'their problem'. Let them know it is their problem...

It's their problem, because we're all brothers and sisters in Christ. We are all created in one image, we all eat of the same bread...

we all pray to the same God. The same God who created us all in His image.

Tonight, and in the days and nights to come, just give those whose lives have been affected the love and courage they need...

Give them someone to talk to, someone who will listen and someone who will just make a cup of tea when things get too tough...

Show them your love that way. Use us to do your will.

In your name, we ask this and pray. Amen!

Ashburnham

As I announced on Facebook we've just spent a couple of nights at Ashburnham Place, near the site of the Battle of Hastings - well, the nearest town is Battle in East Sussex. Neither of us has been there before, so we didn't know what to expect, though we had seen the brief comments on its website:

"For nearly eight hundred years Ashburnham Place was the home of the Ashburnham family. In 1953 the last member of this family, Lady Catherine, died and the inheritance passed to a young clergyman, John Bickersteth. Seven years later he gave the house and the surrounding parkland to the Ashburnham Christian Trust. The purpose of the new Trust was to promote the study of the Bible and the training of people in the principles of the Christian faith. Much of the original house had to be pulled down and new facilities have been added. The Trust continues, under new leadership, to work towards the same goal - encouraging people to come to a personal faith in Jesus Christ and to live their lives in the service of God....

Turner's sketch from the Tate Collection

"The centre is located in 220 acres of beautiful grounds landscaped by 'Capability' Brown, with three large lakes and much interesting wildlife; the area has been designated a site of special scientific interest (SSSI) by the Nature Conservancy Council. Four campsites are used in the summer months by church, family and youth groups. The grounds are not open to the public,  but we do consider requests for visits from local interest groups. Visitors are always welcome to the Ashburnham Parish Church, which is located in the grounds."

The artist, J M W Turner, sketched and then painted a watercolour of the Vale of Ashburnham in 1816, where you can see the three-storey Italianate stuccoed mansion in the centre distance. Later it was clad with fashionable brickwork. Sadly during it was damaged following a crash of a fully laden bomber nearby which to the start of dry rot, and the eventual removal of floors. 

Turner's watercolour from the British Museum

Well, Gill said she was looking forward to my reflections - so here goes. The first thing to admit is that we were not staying in the big house, but in Carpenter's Lodge where our son and his family have just settled. He's just started as one of two new directors there. 

We travelled down on Sunday afternoon and arrived in the sun. As you turn in at the imposing gates, you drive through old deciduous woods, past a lodge and then you round a corner and catch a view of the house across the lakes, which no doubt was the first vista Capability Brown wanted to greet you. The trees have now encroached on the panorama, which is a shame, though perhaps in these motorised times we might not linger to admire the view as we should.

That evening we joined the community for their Sunday evening celebration. There is something uplifting about joining an international group united in worshipping a God whom they clearly love. The community is international because it includes a good number of young volunteers from all round the world who come to improve their English and to serve God, which they do primarily in looking after the needs of the guests who come on retreat, for conferences or simply for rest and refreshment. From my point of view the worship led by four of the volunteers was refreshing and personal including as it did one of my favourite modern worship songs, "This is my prayer in the desert". 

On Monday I was loaned the house's mobility scooter (rather nice all-singing vehicle) and we toured the house and grounds. I must say it's all remarkably wheelchair friendly. The grounds and house are more accessible than any National Trust property I've visited - which is nice since the gardens and grounds are good places to find tranquillity as well as creation's beauty, both God- and man-made. I'm told that there are disabled-friendly rooms with wet-rooms to stay in, which is unusual. I'm hoping to find out more about these facilities since it seems to me that really disabled-friendly places to stay are few and far between. 

Andy and Paul, new directors,
with the old church behind

It is a remarkable estate, quite near the coast, with 200 acres of parkland and woodland, but it's more than that. I suspect it's one of those "thin" places, sites where the division between heaven and earth seems thinner than normal. Whether that's because of the house's recent history as a praying community, or because of a tradition of faith in the Ashburnham family, or whether because in the centre of the estate, cheek by jowl with house, stands the ancient village church, I don't know. My guess would be it was the last that broke the barrier - rather as T S Eliot describes Little Gidding in The Four Quartets: the "place where prayer has been valid", "the intersection of the timeless moment". I'm not much of a one for "sensing atmosphere". But Ashburnham was for me one place where hope seemed close and the spiritual seemed to matter -

"You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid."

I was sorry to have to leave.

(PS I apologise for the photos. I'd left the camera on the wrong setting. So my pictures were overexposed and don't give a true indication of the rich colours.)

Could there be anything better?

It's exceeded all our expectations, I think it's fair to say - the first week of the Olympics, that's to say, for "Team GB", and it looks like continuing that way. I'm told we even top the athletics medals table for a time... Could there be anything better for our rather depressed nation?

We're just back from our annual visit to New Wine. That's not, as a friend once thought, a festival of tasting the latest Bordeaux vintage. It's in fact an association of churches and church-leaders who believe that the divine person of the Holy Spirit was neglected in the life of the Church - much to its detriment. Every year they hold annual conferences near Shepton Mallet and Newark in England, attended by about 30,000 people, plus more in other countries. A week ago on Sunday we had tea with one of my oldest school friends, Alan, and his wife, Jo. It's many years since I've seen them and Jane had never met them. Jo, as it turned out, had visited New Wine for one day the week before. In an email later she wrote:
"...Would love to know how you found it.
I'll follow what you write on your blog…"

With that challenge etched on my mind, this posting is dedicated to you, Jo! However, I'm going to try and explain how I found it for those of you who may be sceptical or "iffy" about the whole faith thing, and especially of what's been conveniently and quite inaccurately caricatured as "happy-clappy religion". So here goes.

First I have to say this is not the assessment of a brief in-out journalistic foray. I reckon we've been going for the last seven or eight years. For some years we went with members of our church and since retiring we've "freelanced". So I suppose you could say we've had some in-depth exposure. Secondly, although I try to see the best in people, I'm not an utter sucker. My critical faculties haven't retired. So I have seen some imperfections in some vintages - but this year, in my opinion, was an impressive one. Not that it started that way for either Jane or me. Maybe we were tired, but, if we were, we were more tired when we left. For me the visibility was poor and the music was too loud in the main venue. Fortunately there was an escape route in the form of the Olympics marquee which was streaming various channels most of the time - not that Great Britain got off to a good start either. In the mornings we opted for the second main venue where the music didn't seem so loud and cheerful Scottish pastor from Northern Ireland, called Scott, was talking about the book Ephesians, which might not sound that interesting, but proved to be extremely so. Alan Scott's theme, which echoed that of the book, was that the Church's rôle was to love the world as God does and in fact to take that love out to communities and society. There was no quarter for a cosy clique mentality. It was a call for social engagement at every level, starting with individuals. Although I concurred with the sentiments, I can't say I was stirred. 

By the Wednesday when we drove to Sidmouth to celebrate her father's 90th, both Jane and I were, as it transpired, separately feeling this would be our New Wine swan song. We stay in a delightful self-catering cottage within easy reach of the showground, but it's an early start and a late finish. On the site - it's where the Bath and West Agricultural Show takes place - Jane pushes me in my wheelchair over rough tracks, up awkward ramps, across grass and it's hard work. The previous week had enjoyed glorious sunshine; our week had quite a lot of rain - and so sometimes Jane was splashing through streams in her flip-flops. (It was fine for me, of course, six inches in the air!) We were, I think, both feeling our ages and not inspired enough to make the effort again. It would have taken either one of us to suggest staying in for the night to keep us from going in for the evening that day.... But, as Mr Scott memorably invited us to tell the person sitting next to us (only Jane, in my case - what a relief!), "Your but is too small." 

What happened that evening? Well, there were two of my favourite worship songs, "Amazing Grace (My chains are gone)"  and "Bless the Lord, O my soul (10,000 Reasons)", and certainly a challenging talk given by Charlotte Gambill from Bradford's Abundant Life Church. But Jane had a personal spiritual experience and I was prayed for, and from then on things were different. There had been a seismic "But". I think it's reasonable to believe it was a "But God" - and that's for two reasons: first, that we'd not gone with any expectations or even hopes. We'd not turned up wishing for some special revelation; in fact, I'd say it was rather the opposite, a bit disgruntled and a bit sceptical. I even stuck ear-plugs in to damp down the invasive music! And Jane had commented that she didn't want to be challenged that evening. We weren't exactly suggestible. Secondly, neither of us invited what we experienced. It came "out of the blue". I should explain that New Wine has a tradition of "ministry", that is inviting people to come forward to be prayed for, usually at the end of a meeting. I'm not averse to the practice. But neither of us felt inclined to that evening. God, it appears, simply and unexpectedly responded to Jane's personal prayer before it was completed where she was standing, and afterwards sent some stranger to embrace her sadnesses. I was heading to leave, unprayed for, when a friend of Jane's and two others asked if they might pray with me. I don't remember their prayers, but I do recall the sense of God caring about me, that he'd not consigned me to the scrapheap - which that night was important in view of Jane's being "surprised by joy".
That's not the end of the story by any means. However it did mark a sea-change for me - which, as it turned out, was a good thing.

My sleep was not the best that night, in that I woke quite a bit. But next morning I seemed none the worse, and we headed up the road again for another day of chance encounters and planned sessions. This time Alan Scott’s teaching stirred me more, and he showed this uncanny knack, or sensitivity to God’s voice, of knowing what was wrong with people. No doubt cynics would say that simply on the law of averages in a group of more than a thousand you’re bound to have a number of people who’ve had reconstructive surgery and have metal causing them problems. But it was more specific than that. It did occur to me in this connection that second-hand accounts aren’t sufficient. Even seeing miracles with your eyes still leaves room for disbelief. I could tell you of individuals I saw doing things they couldn’t previously, people out of pain for the first time, scar-tissue restored, but I don’t suppose it would convince you - but then I don’t believe that was the point at all. If miracles have a point, it is, I think, to show the individual that the God who loves the cosmos also cares about them. And that is something which is very hard to credit.

I hesitate to tell you about my own minor miracle which happened the next morning. Although I describe it as “minor”, I have to say its impact on me has been major. There’s a phrase in the prophecy which Jesus applied to his mission: “to bestow on them... a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair”. You’ll understand that deep in diseases like MND lurks “a spirit of despair”. For me it’s symbolised in the longing to dance. My friend, Louise, who has Muscular Dystrophy, introduced me to the song by Lee Ann Womack “I hope you dance”: 
“Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance  I hope you dance.” 
I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, but when someone crossed the aisle and asked me to dance, to be honest, my mind freaked out. “You’re joking me, aren’t you?” I thought to myself. “Have you any idea what’s wrong with me? You’re not very tall, are you? Do you know I had a fall this morning and it took three people to get me back on my feet? You must be joking.” I’ve no doubt my fear was obvious in my eyes, as I desperately looked at Jane to rescue from this madness. However, Heather didn’t seem phased in the least. “I think I’ve heard God telling me, ‘Go and ask that man over there to dance with you.’” She didn’t look mad, I must say; just kind and calm. As she and Jane helped me to my feet on rigid legs, she said with a smile, “I am a physio. I won’t let you fall. Don’t worry.” Easier said than done! Yet it wasn’t too many minutes before I did stop worrying, and actually relaxed! She held me in a waltz hold. I admit my leg muscles were obdurate, but I can find no better expression than that my spirit danced - which is something I have not for a long time, if ever, experienced - a simple sense of being in time and in tune with praise. I discovered that it’s possible to stand and enjoy worship, even with a body like mine. And I trust that if and when the time comes that my body cannot stand at all my spirit will still dance. I’m told I was standing there doing the soft shoe shuffle for more than ten minutes. Sadly Heather was leaving before the last day, and so that was my one and only dancing lesson, but not my only trusting lesson, of New Wine.

My reflections for my sceptical self (who has admittedly shrunk) include these: what on earth possesses someone to think of dancing with a stranger she’s only seen from behind in a tilt-in-space wheelchair (i.e. which shows his muscles are feeble)? What gives her the courage to go and ask him? And to risk being rebuffed? Now the obvious thing would be to pray for healing. But where did this very specific insight come from? I wasn’t sitting there at that moment wishing I was dancing. No one else was jigging about. It wasn’t a case of mind-reading - from behind! It was almost as if someone knew better than myself what I most needed. After all, physical healing, great though it would be, would at best be temporary - and, I hasten to say, I’m up for a cure whether through scientists or intercessors anytime - but to dance in worship would last somewhat longer. So, sceptical me, what’s the answer? (Sotto voce) I guess it must be God - and a woman who trusted. And what confirms that answer is the change from the shadow of hopelessness to hope, which you may recall is one of the three great gifts of the Holy Spirit which Paul writes about, “Now faith, hope and love abide, and the greatest of these is love.” Hope says, You have a future, and it’s a good one.

However, as Alan Scott enjoyed saying, “And if that was all, it would have been good....” But it wasn’t. I lost count of the signs of God’s concern after that, like the chiropractor who prayed with us in the car park. Two final incidents are enough. On the last morning our great friends, Anne and David, were up as day visitors. They’ve been friends many years and been great encouragers to say the least. Before we came home in the mid-afternoon, we were in the worship venue and I wanted to stand to sing, with Jane on my left. Suddenly David came on my right and supported me. I could think of few better scenarios, in worship between good friend and best of wives!

The man in the wheelchair wearing a green top

The last scene to report happened a few hours earlier. We were on the way out of Venue 2 when one steward asked us if we wanted prayer. Jane said no; I said yes, as there’d been mention of backs needing realignment. As people know I’ve developed a right-hand list, caused by weak muscles. I’d noticed it when I “danced” the day before. So, duly closing my eyes, I was prayed for by a couple of helpers and felt heat down my back. I’m not making a claim about the result, but what happened when I opened my eyes was this. I was faced by serried ranks of children. They were a group from the Rock Solid children’s club, who’d been looking for a man in a wheelchair wearing a green top to pray for. Why? Because in their group they’d been looking for “treasure”, i.e. asking God what he wanted them to go out and do. And that was what they “heard” him saying. And there they’d found their treasure. Would I mind them praying for me? Of course not. So Jane explained what was wrong, and some of them prayed for me. Again the sceptical could find ways to explain away the specifics of the “word” they had. I was simply moved, and stood in appreciation.

I have to say that, even in the euphoria of Great Britain’s medal success in the Olympics, I find the impact of the kingdom of God (as theologians call it), as I experienced it last week, as even better. What the week was trying to say and model was that God whose creation is the universe wants to communicate with and cares for every individual, whoever they are and whatever their needs. That’s exceedingly exciting. Furthermore it showed that human distinctions, such as gender and colour, class and education, are irrelevant in the "kingdom". What matters is the One who is at the centre. It's a very liberated and liberating world, which is worth finding. And I have to say that it's clear to me that an outbreak, or perhaps I mean "inbreak", of that kingdom would, and I trust will, be even better than a permanent Olympic summer.

The Middle East, Isaiah and good worship

I realise I've apparently not been aware of the historic events taking place in the North Africa and the Middle East. My Facebook friends will know, however, that I did sign up on the Cancel the Bahrain Grand Prix group. I hardly think the 143 of us made a great impact on the decision which was quite soon made! In truth the domino succession of protests starting from Tunisia has been extraordinary to watch, and to understand. The factors of militant Islam's presence in the region and Israel in the middle are what contribute to the sense of international moment to the pictures on TV. These are not mere domestic upheavals. They could involve us all.


At the height of the protests in Cairo and with a new government in Jordan, Andrew White, vicar of Baghdad, pointed out the intriguing prophecy of Isaiah 19. 23-25: 'In that day there will be a highway from Egypt to Iraq (Assyria), and Iraq will come into Egypt, and Egypt into Iraq, and the Egyptians will worship with the Iraqis. In that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Iraq, a blessing in the midst of the earth, whom the LORD of hosts has blessed, saying, "Blessed be Egypt my people, and Iraq the work of my hands, and Israel my inheritance."' And he commented: 'Today it is beginning to happen. We do not know what will happen next. I can only say the words at the beginning of each service the “The Lord is here and His Spirit is with us." Keep your eyes on Isaiah 19.'

Vicky Beeching 

Talking of Isaiah, I've been thinking about churches and worship recently, and I came across an interesting chapter in Micah's Challenge written by Tony Campolo. It was about Isaiah 58. He points out that worship not only reflects but also shapes theology; and he asks: "Will this new kind of worship music mould our theologies so that our religion in the years that lie ahead will be likened to that of the people of ancient Israel, devoid of social justice concerns and, therefore, unacceptable to God? Will we have worship music that has Christians... with uplifted hands singing love songs to God, while failing to 'seek justice, correct oppression, defend the fatherless, and plead for the widow?'"


There is a great YouTube clip where Vicky Beeching, who studied theology under my brother in Oxford, introduces her new worship album, Heaven Invades. I think she has it just right. Vicky Beeching talks about worship

More friends

Otto and Mirjam catching up with emails
'Golden Rain', overlooking Nürburgring Drive, as I call it. Boy racers seem to regard it as their testing ground especially at anti-social hours of the night. The speed limit is meant to be 30 mph.


We've had our friends, Otto, Mirjam and Anne, staying with us over the weekend. They're from Holland and we met them last year for the first time at New Wine in Somerset, when it rained rather a lot. They came in the middle of the week and sat right in front of us, because Anne, like me, was in a wheelchair. She has had one leg amputated after having bone cancer. She is 17 and has acute special needs, but we got on very well. She loves worship music and even having a prosthesis doesn't stop her dancing. We are delighted because in September they are coming to study in Bristol for a term, so we should see more of them.

We learned from them that the Dutch for Laburnum is Golden Rain, which is rather apt. At the moment, there is a couple of amorous pigeons trying to nest in our laburnum, who have been making a bit of an exhibition of themselves. I think they may have been raided this morning in the early hours, as there was a great hullabaloo in the garden about 4.30. Birds alarm calls all over the place, the dog barking, the whole house woken. In the morning there were strands of laburnum on the grass, signs, I imagine, of a treetop struggle, and today there's no sign of them on their nest.... It's a harsh world out there.