The power to inspire...

St Oliver Plunkett. Wednesday 1st July, 2020

I remember seeing the letters written by St Oliver Plunkett as he waited his trial and execution. He wrote to various friends, if I recall correctly, and I remember being utterly overwhelmed. Here before me were the paper, ink and thoughts of a man within weeks of his gruesome martyrdom at Tyburn. The content of the letters were about his willing acceptance of death for the Lord he loved, his calm and utter trust in God and his request for forgiveness from any he had hurt. The fact of the letters, of the human being writing them as he awaited death with equanimity was mesmerising. 

On the whole I am not a collector of souvenirs and memorabilia yet there is something very powerful in them. I recall my Mother's brooch which had hair from her great grandmother in it, encased beautifully in gold with a black onyx surround. It was a tangible relic of a much admired family member. When my Mother was given the gold watch worn by her Mother in law which had belonged to her Mother in law I remember the delight, the handing on of a family heirloom. When it was stolen I recall the extra sadness: yes, it was financially valuable but the family link meant far more. 

I'm fortunate in not particularly wanting possessions. Yet one or two cuff links, a watch, a painting do have the power to jog my mind and heart in to a profound area of gratitude, happy memories and some form of numinous warmth.

The letters of St Oliver have the power to inspire. Seeing them physically gives the inspiration a further jolt and impetus. This too, for me, is true of family traditions and stories and objects. To have the love letters written to my maternal grandmother by the man she was to marry are personal to her. Yet they are also an impetus to us. The story attached to them is so sad as she had been widowed and was to have re married. However her fiancée died in the R101 conflagration at Cardington in Bedfordshire. He was the inspiration and engineer behind the airship. Granny would not, I am certain, have minded us having those letters. They gave her the strength to persevere for they reminded her that she had been deeply loved. That type of love never dies but is an eternal timeless force for good.