Wednesday of Holy Week. Govan Old, now closed for regular worship, opens its doors to a Community Service. Govan New and Linthouse has a new minister. A previous commitment means she can't be there, so the service is conducted by a major from the Sally Army's Govan Citadel. He rather spoils the singing by joining in through a microphone at every crescendo (or what he thinks ought to be a crescendo). Annoying
Father Peter, from St. Anthony's across the road, is invited to read a story and offer the benediction. wow. I wonder how the ghosts of times past are feeling about the priest in the black cassock standing on the steps to the chancel, softly speaking in a southern Irish lilt.
Earlier in the evening Ned and I go into the PI to check if the service starting time was on a poster. I ask the janny if he knows.
"Eh, is it the Adonai church service?" he asks, bemused.
"Em, no, what's that? I don't think so . . . "
"It's the Africans," he says, "They've got their church here every Wednesday."
"No, it's the kirk, you know - Govan Old. "
"And they've got another one on a Sunday."
He shrugs his shoulders and starts telling me about all the things on at the PI.
"You could come down and volunteer," he says, "at the cafe, or come to dance classes. There's a tap dancing class on a Monday and belly dancing on a Tuesday night."
I make a face and look doubtful.
An African man comes in and remarks on how cold it is outside. We nod and he goes upstairs to Adonai.
A couple of African girls come into the Pearce and go upstairs.
We leave and the janny follows us out to the front step. A Polish speaking couple pass us. They look young, trendy (Eastern European fashion that is) and the janny tells us that the whole of Rathlin Street is getting done up for the Poles. The whole street - top quality. They're getting everything - right down to the last knife, fork and spoon.
Right down to the last knife, fork and spoon.