Idle ways

I notice how moving to a new place has given me a new interest in Facebook, basically because I hardly know anyone down here. I do have a lovely cousin, Joy, who lives with her husband in nearby Guiseley (pronounced, most definitely I am assured, like disguise (at first I got it wrong, doh)), an aunt, Ann, in Leeds, and my venerable godfather Arthur, who teaches at Bradford University and lives in the village of Addingham. And a friend of my house-mate Neil has been up since Wednesday night, doing some paintwork on the house, kipping in the living room and joining us for communal feeds in the evening; including, fittingly enough, on Friday night my 'legendary' lentil curry.

In short, I'm not utterly friendless and alone :)

But this morning, Sunday, I made my first serious foray into the local community, walking round the corner to Holy Trinity Parish Church, Idle, whose gothic flank is clearly visible through the trees from my bedroom window, and whose bell I hear softly tolling on the hour.

I'd heard the Thursday evening bell-ringing practice, and at ten o'clock this morning the fruit of this labour tumbled and cascaded in joyous melody across the village. Such an exuberant call to worship, such a resonant symbol of English religious heritage; but also, I couldn't help imagining, for the New Inn Saturday night revelers and other godless Idle hordes:), possibly a right nuisance.

The service itself was a pleasure. Within this ancient frame of buttresses and bells - not so long ago the church celebrated its 175th birthday - the life of the Spirit evidently bubbles. While my initial impression was of a bit of a congregational split, with an exuberant youthful band of arm-raisers at the front and more venerable members sitting in scattered reserve further back, a feeling of collective warmth grew. Warm purple carpet and chairs replaced pews (I learned) a few years back, and the reader's long rich blue scarf - someone tell me the proper word - echoed the ornate blues and reds of the arching stained glass window at the front, depicting the ascending Christ with worshipful disciples and angelic hosts...

What an intriguing little place Idle village is. On Wednesday afternoon, after a monthly prayer morning with the HCJB team, I took a short wander. I'd already noticed at the junction at the top of the high street, across the road from my bus stop, the 'Idle National Spiritualist Church'. Gold lettered 'Stage 84' marks out a blackened converted church hall in the middle of this crossroads, and moseying a little further, I discovered a plaque reading 'Stage 84 Yorkshire Performing Arts School', of which this building was evidently the original venue.

Just behind is the Idle and Thackley Conservative Club, with patron only parking. Further on is the 'Cambing Cricket' ground, a green field which, while smooth enough, has a gradient and general lumpiness affording the impression it is unlikely to have seen a game for some years. But summer could prove me wrong.

Idle also boasts a collection of olde English pubs, the general character of which has been sketched to me by colleague Nick who's local to the area: the 1840 one's called 'The Oddfellows Hall', then there's 'The Coniston', 'The New Inn' - fronted by garish boards advertising its disco, karaoke and sports nights, and 'The White Bear' and 'The White Swan'. Apparently Bear good, Swan bad (drugs). We'll see. Nearer central Bradford I've also spotted the 'Horse and Farrier', 'The Lord Clyde' (I thought I'd left Glasgow); and my favourite so far, 'The Corn Dolly'. Cute.