St David’s Day.

As many blog readers know I have a fascination with lesser known saints and the often flimsy accounts of how and why they became Saints. Today I discovered that even the big hitters in the Saints world have their Saintliness based, in part on less than credible miracles or all but pointless selfless acts.

Growing up in a non-religious household, St David was the first saint of my acquaintance. On my first day at primary school I was put into St David’s House (Team). Good behaviour and Sporting prowess were rewarded by points awarded to  St Davids House, one of four Saint led groups that every child in the school belonged to.

St David is a Welsh Saint and by pure co-incidence my genetic make up includes a lot of Welshness mixed up with East Saxon. ( North East Essex)

Back to Primary School. On Sports Days and Celebratory Days I wore a yellow sash or yellow badge. On March the 1st the ‘ Yellows’ led the school assembly. Sport dominated the House system at my school, the good behaviour points largely forgotten about by the competitive types.

Diligent and nerdish, and a natural loner. I only gained house points for good behaviour, reading and creative writing. I turned up for sport, never excelled, but I was loyal to St David.

Every March the first I give a little nod to St David. This morning I sent a Happy Saints Day message to a partial Welshman. And for the first time ever I googled St David…

You might think for a big hitter in the Saints World there would be something  fabulous about him.

He is as flimsy as any other saint. His bones are contested and his miracle! I am surprised anyone ever noticed.

When St David was addressing an outdoor audience, preaching perhaps or just doing stand-up . Who could possibly know? A small hill appeared beneath his feet. Now if there is one thing Wales does not need it is another small hill. Apart from all the big and small hills that litter the land there are the industrial piles of slag, left over from a highly successful mining industry.

Happy St David’s Day. Do not read the P.S if you are squeamish.

P.S

My small obsession with Saints started when I discovered my grandparents collection of encyclopaedias. To be honest I have always read anything  and retain the oddest things.

St Christopher the Patron Saint of Travellers caused me an awkwardness when I was about 14 or 15.

A girl in my class was missing from school for a few days following the death, in a road accident, of her sister. She returned to school wearing her sister’s St Christopher charm necklace. Not exactly a boast but among her close cohort of friends it was said that you could still see the blood on the charm. I was not in her inner circle but commented that surely that was a sign that St Christopher was not very effective on that occasion. Maybe not my finest hour of being intrigued, but not in awe of Saints…