Now that the country has returned to work and Jubilee fever has subsided, it's time to reflect on the small part I played in helping the north east to celebrate, and on the place of the tea urn in my subconscious. Here goes.
The first event was as Jubilee tea in the local library, free for all (in most senses). I was here not to sample a service but to help provide it - Grace on the other side of the counter as it were. We spent a happy morning arranging tables and other furniture, folding napkins, buying cake (my favourite), worrying whether or not we had enough cake, decorating, filling the tea urn.
Ah, that was the moment! Suddenly I was back at the chapel teas of my youth. The religious services were simple and without ritual but the preparation and use of the tea urn was governed by complex rules and hierarchy that only the women of the tribe were initiated into. The Baptist Women's League china was kept in a locked cupboard and only revealed on certain days to certain people. Tea towels were treated with sanctity that other denominations reserve for altar cloths. But they were happy times in general. Food had a calming influence, no one argued at the tea table, perhaps our church meetings should have been conducted there.
So when the good folk of the district descended for tea later on, it felt quite natural to be out there passing plates around, offering tea or coffee (coffee was heresy at the chapel btw). And the atmosphere was great. When do we sit and eat together anymore, especially since the chapels are mostly gone now?
The second event was billed as a garden party, so naturally it rained incessantly and we had to put up the gazebo indoors and pretend. No tea urn here but plenty of cakes to be passed round. Her Majesty would have been proud of us. Let's not wait another sixty years to have this much fun again.
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