The Basilica de Nuestra Señora de los Descamparados … often overshadowed by the neighbouring Valencia Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
Patrick Comerford
The interiors of Valencia Cathedral and churches such as Santos Juanes and San Nicolás made this week’s visit to Valencia an architectural and cultural delight. But there were many other churches that I briefly visited and that provided interesting glimpses into the history and life of the city.
The Real Basilica de Nuestra Señora de los Santos Inocentes Mártires y Descamparados is the long and full name for a church that seems to live in the shadow of Valencia Cathedral. In English, I imagine, it might be known as the Royal Basilica of Our Lady of the Holy Innocent Martyrs and Homeless.
This church was built on the ruins of the Roman forum and gravestones, funerary monuments and inscriptions from Roman times can be seen on the stones used in the building work in the 17th century.
The basilica, built in 1652-1667, takes its name from the statue of the Virgen de los Desamparados or the Forsaken, the patron saint of the city, known affectionately known as La Jorobadita or ‘the humpback’ because the statue tilts slightly forward.
The statue dates from the founding of the hospital of Santa Maria dels Ignocents in 1409 and its brotherhood five years later. The statue was moved to a chapel in the cathedral in 1489, but growing popular devotion created the need for a chapel or church of its own.
A plague epidemic killed about 18,000 people in Valencia in 1647, and many people turned to the Virgin in prayers for help and shelter. The foundation stone for the new basilica, designed by Diego Martínez was laid on 27 April 1652.
Inside, the basilica has the appearance of an oval-shaped church with a dome standing on eight pillars of red marble. The internal decorations, from 1763-1767, were designed by the architect Vicente Gascó Masot (1734-1802).
The frescoes in the dome were painted by Antonio Palomino in 1701. He also painted the vault in the Church of Santos Juanes in 1697 and designed the pictorial programme of the dome of the Church of San Nicolás, which was completed by Dionís Vidal.
Other frescoes are the work of the Valencian painter Francisco Llácer (1781-1852), and works of art in the church include a bust by Octavio Vicent of Pope Alexander VI, who was born Rodrigo de Borja in Valencia.
During the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), the church was damaged in 1936, but its fabric and treasures, including the statue, were rescued and saved by the Republican mayor of the city, José Vano Coloma. The basilica was declared a national artistic historic monument in 1981.
San Agustín Church … founded for Augustinian hermits over 700 years ago (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
San Agustín Church or Saint Augustine Parish Church on Plaza de San Agustín dates from a convent built on this site for the Augustinian hermits in 1307. It was once one of the biggest monastic houses in Valencia, but only the church remains today.
The church was originally dedicated to Saint Catherine the Martyr and Saint Augustine. It was built in the Gothic style and has a single nave with side chapels between the buttresses and a choir. The five large pointed arch windows of the presbytery create a sensation of lightness.
French troops used the church as headquarters during the War of Independence in 1812.
During the Spanish Civil War, the church was destroyed in 1936. It was restored and remodelled in 1940 by the architect Javier Goerlich Lleó, and was renamed simply as Saint Augustine Church. The façade and the tower facing onto Guillem de Castro Street date from this restoration.
The most important treasure in the church is a Byzantine icon known as ‘Mare de Deu de Gracia’ (Our Lady of Grace).
Santa Catalina Church stands in the heart of the former Jewish quarter of Valencia (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
Santa Catalina Church stands in the heart of the former Jewish quarter of Valencia and dates from the Catholic conquest of the city from the Moors, when King Jaime I built the church on the site of a mosque. Behind the baroque façade, the church has an early Gothic interior. The church has one Gothic nave divided into eight sections, which gives the church its enormous width.
The church lost part of its Baroque decorations during the War of Independence.
Santa Catalina Church has a beautiful, baroque bell tower, which is said to be a reworking of the original minaret of the mosque that stood on this site. The baroque tower is a contrast to the more sober bell tower of the cathedral, known as El Miguelete. According to a popular local legend, the two towers are husband and wife.
The Church of Monteolivete holds the icon of Our Lady of Monteolivete (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
Close to the Ciutat de les Arts I de les Ciencies, which is straddled by the Puente de Monteolivete, the Church of Monteolivete, which gives its name to the bridge, is the surviving legacy of an old hermitage and dates from the 18th century.
The Church of Monteolivete was built in the neoclassical style in 1767-1771 for an old hermitage of priests who had come from Naples. The church is built in the shape of a Latin cross and has a single nave. The façade is flanked by twin towers with a square base.
Inside the church, the icon of Our Lady of Monteolivete stands over the main altar on a base from a small olive tree. The monks of the Congregation of Saint Vincent de Paul took over the hermitage in 1826, but were forced to leave in 1835 under the laws of confiscation.
The church became an independent parish in 1941. Although it has been heavily restored, it is among the best-preserved churches in Valencia.
The Church of Saint Francesco Borja … a reminder of a saint among the Borgias (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
The Church of Saint Francesco Borja is a modern church on the corner of Calle de Cuba and Calle del Litorato Azorín in Rusaffa, the district where I went strolling each evening. Despite its modern appearance, it is a reminder of the ancient connection between Valencia and the Borgia family. The Borgias moved to Valencia after it was conquered from the Moors by James I of Aragon.
Borgia is the Italian spelling of the Valencian family name Borja. Because of the lifestyle of Pope Alexander VI, the name Borgia is a byword for libertinism and nepotism. Family members included Pope Callixtus III (Alfonso de Borgia) and Pope Alexander VI (Rodrigo de Borja), who had several children with his mistresses, including Cesare Borgia, who was a major inspiration for The Prince by Machiavelli, and Lucrezia Borgia, who is the subject of allegations of incest, poisoning and murder.
Saint Francis Borgia (1510-1572), who gives his name to this church, was born Francesc de Borja or Francisco de Borja in Valencia. He was the 4th Duke of Gandía, a Spanish Jesuit, the third Superior General of the Society of Jesus and a grandee of Spain, and was canonised a saint by Pope Clement X in 1670.
His father, Juan Borgia, 3rd Duke of Gandía, was the son of Giovanni Borgia and the grandson of Pope Alexander VI (Rodrigo Borgia); his mother Juana was a daughter of Alonso de Aragón, Archbishop of Zaragoza, who, in turn, was an illegitimate son of King Ferdinand II of Aragon; his brother Tomás de Borja y Castro was Bishop of Málaga before becoming Archbishop of Zaragoza.
Francesco was very pious as a child and wished to become a monk. Instead, his family sent him to the court of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, who was also King Charles I of Spain. He was known as a composer of church music, and it was said that before Palestrina, Borgia was one of the chief restorers of sacred music.
He married a Portuguese noblewoman, Leonor de Castro Mello y Meneses, in 1529, and they were the parents of eight children born between 1530 and 1539.
He brought the body of Isabella of Portugal, the mother of Philip II of Spain, mother, to her burial place in Granada in 1539. He was appointed Viceroy of Catalonia that year, although he was still only 29.
When his father died in 1543, Francis became the 4th Duke of Gandía. His diplomatic skills were questioned when he failed to arrange a marriage between Prince Philip and the Princess of failed, ending an attempt to bring the two countries together in a marital alliance. By then he was 33, and he retired to Valencia.
When his wife Eleanor died in 1546, Francis decided to join the newly formed Society of Jesus. He made provisions for his children, put his affairs in order, renounced his titles in favour of his eldest son, and he became a Jesuit priest.
When Francis returned from a journey to Peru, Pope Julius III planned to make him a cardinal. To prevent this, Borgia agreed with Saint Ignatius to leave secretly and go to the Basque Country, where could live a life of seclusion and prayer. But his Jesuit colleagues persuaded him to leave his seclusion and in 1554 he became the Jesuit commissary-general in Spain. There he founded a dozen colleges and was given responsibility for Jesuit missions in the East and West Indies.
He was elected the third Father General or Superior General of the Society of Jesus in 1565, and he has been described as the greatest General after Saint Ignatius. He founded the Collegium Romanum, which later became the Gregorian University, advised kings and popes, and closely supervised Jesuit affairs. Yet he led a humble life and was widely regarded in his own lifetime as a saint.
Francis Borgia died in Rome on 30 September 1572. He was beatified by Pope Urban VIII in 1624 and was canonised by Pope Clement X in 1670. His feast is celebrated on 10 October.
Inside the Church of Saint Francesco Borja (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
The Palace of the Borgias, built by the first Duke of Gandia and son of Alexander VI, Pedro Luis Borgia, is now the headquarters for the Valencian Parliament. Since 2007, the Route of the Borgias is a cultural route linking sites associated with the Borja or Borgia family in Valencia. The route begins in Gandia, passes through various towns where the Borja family members left their mark, and ends in the city of Valencia.
Pope Callixtus III was the Rector of the Church of San Nicolás in Valencia before becoming Pope. He built the Chapel of San Pedro in Valencia Cathedral.
Before becoming pope, Pope Alexander VI commissioned Paolo da San Leocadio to paint frescoes for the dome of the apse in the cathedral, introducing Italian Renaissance painting in Spain. Pope Alexander VI also founded the University of Valencia by Papal Bull in 1500.
The cathedral also has a chapel dedicated to Saint Francis Borgia, with two Goya canvasses dating from the time he was Duke of Gandia.
San Agustín Church has survived confiscations and civil war (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2020)
01 February 2020
‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by’
Charles I, executed on 30 January 1649 and remembered as king and martyr … a copy of the triptych by Sir Anthony van Dyck in the High House, Stafford (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Patrick Comerford
I do not particularly want to sit in this evening, watching the countdown to Brexit. Instead, two of us are going to dinner, although there is little to celebrate this evening, and I hope all the television commentaries and discussions are over by the time I get back to Askeaton.
Many recent cartoons compared Brexit to a man sawing off the branch of the tree he is sitting on, or sawing off his own arm in order to stop shaking the arm of an old friend.
I am not a royalist, by any means. But I cannot fail to notice the coincidence that Brexit is ‘being done’ the day after the Church of England recalls the execution of Charles I on 30 January 1649.
I was invited last year to take part in the commemorations in Tamworth marking the 400th anniversary of the visit to the town of James I and his son the future Charles I. My talk in Saint Editha’s Church, Tamworth, on the Comberford Family and the Moat House in Tamworth [9 May 2019], was organised by Tamworth and District Civic Society.
During that visit in 1619, the King stayed with the Ferrers family at Tamworth Castle while the Prince of Wales was a guest of the Comberford family at their town house, the Moat House on Lichfield Street.
On that occasion, the Comberford family had the long hall or gallery in the Moat House redecorated with heraldic illustrations of the family tree, showing how the family and the future king shared a common ancestry, albeit a very distant one.
Perhaps, in some ways, Charles I personalised the new unity that was being embodied in a new kingdom: he was seen in England as the next king, yet he had been born in Dumferline in Scotland. In another way, he also embodied the new, outward-looking vision of a new country claiming its place in Europe: his mother was from Denmark, he would marry a French princess, his sons would marry Portuguese and Italian princesses, his daughters would marry French and Dutch princes, his sister became Queen of Bohemia, a miniscule European Union brought together in one family.
There is no doubt that Charles I was a bumbling and incompetent monarch. However, his political genealogy links him more to the ‘one nation’ Tories who are Europhiles, while Johnson and Farage, who although appearing cavalier in their approach to politics are in truth more like the Roundheads, willing to slash and burn anything in the name of a parliament and people they truly despise.
Indeed, who could not fail to compare Dominic Cummings with Oliver Cromwell?
The Moat House on Lichfield Street, Tamworth … redecorated by the Comberford family for the visit of the future Charles I (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
I have always been comfortable with the English part of my identity. In her novel Hannie Bennet’s Winter Marriage (2000), Kerry Hardie includes a number of key characters who are members of a Comerford family in West Waterford and the south-east, including John Comerford who has given recognisably Irish names to his daughters. ‘Bloody stupid name,’ says one of the figures in the book. ‘Don’t know what's come over people. Bloody stupid fashion for Impossible Blood Irish Names. Surprised at the man. Nothing Irish about Comerford. Good Norman name, papist or no.’
In an Irish context, Comerford is unmistakably English in its origins. I was always comfortable with that part of the family story, and was merely following in my great-grandfather’s footsteps when I went in search of my family roots and found myself in Lichfield and Tamworth in my teens.
My Christian faith and my Anglican spirituality as I now understand them and express them were shaped as a teenager in Lichfield, in the chapel of Saint John’s Hospital and in Lichfield Cathedral. I still remember the yearning I had for a full-time staff position with the Lichfield Mercury or the Tamworth Herald. Instead, I went to the Wexford People.
I only ever travel on an Irish passport (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
I am in England every month or second month. Although I only ever travel on an Irish passport, I have never been a foreigner in England. I feel at home in Lichfield in the way I feel at home in Wexford; I am spiritually at home in Lichfield Cathedral; in moments of insomnia, I can imagine being able to walk through the streets of Lichfield, or Cambridge for that matter, with my eyes blindfolded.
There have been many times over half a century or more that I have wondered like Robert Frost, had I taken the other road where would I be today:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
At times the variations in the calendars of the Church of England and the Church of Ireland catch me by surprise, and I recall how I was not prepared recently during a residential conference for the commemoration at the Eucharist of ‘Charles King and Martyr, 1649.’
Charles, King and Martyr, or Charles I, was king from 1625 until his execution on 30 January 1649, and his feast day in Anglican calendars falls on 30 January, the anniversary of his execution.
This observance was one of several ‘state services’ removed from the Book of Common Prayer of the Church of England and the Church of Ireland in 1859. But there are churches and parishes dedicated to Charles the Martyr in England, and the former chapel in the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham, Dublin, was also dedicated to him.
King Charles is still named in the calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship and is commemorated at the Banqueting Hall in Whitehall, Pusey House in Oxford, and by some Anglo-Catholic societies, including the Society of King Charles the Martyr founded in 1894.
King Charles is regarded by many as a martyr because, it is said, he was offered his life if he would abandon the historic episcopacy in the Church of England. It is said he refused, however, believing that the Church of England was truly Catholic and should maintain the Catholic episcopate.
Mandell Creighton, Bishop of London, wrote, ‘Had Charles been willing to abandon the Church and give up episcopacy, he might have saved his throne and his life. But on this point Charles stood firm: for this he died, and by dying saved it for the future.’
The political reality, though, is that Charles had already made an Engagement with the Scots to introduce Presbyterianism in England for three years in return for the aid of Scots forces in the Second English Civil War.
However, High Church Anglicans and royalists fashioned an image of martyrdom, and after the Restoration he was added to the Church of England’s liturgical calendar by a decision at the Convocations of Canterbury and York in 1660.
The red letter days or state commemorations in the calendar of the Book of Common Prayer included the Gunpowder Plot, the birth and restoration of Charles II, and the execution of Charles I. These were marked with special services and special sermons.
The State Services were omitted from the Book of Common Prayer by royal and parliamentary authority in 1859, but without the consent of Convocation. Later, the Anglican writer and liturgist Vernon Staley, Provost of Inverness Cathedral, would describe the deletion as ultra vires and ‘a distinct violation of the compact between Church and Realm, as set forth in the Act of Uniformity which imposed the Book of Common Prayer in 1662.’
Of the three commemorations, only that of King Charles I was restored in the calendar in the Alternative Service Book in 1980, although not as a Red Letter Day. A new collect was composed for Common Worship in 2000.
Collect:
King of kings and Lord of lords,
whose faithful servant Charles
prayed for those who persecuted him
and died in the living hope of your eternal kingdom:
grant us by your grace so to follow his example
that we may love and bless our enemies,
through the intercession of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
This evening, however, I am reminded of the lines of John Donne, poet, priest and Caroline divine, that are worth re-reading of ‘Brexit’:
No man is an island,
entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thine own
or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
for I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
for whom the bell tolls,
it tolls for thee. — John Donne, Meditation XVII
‘A depiction of King Charles I in Saint Mary’s Cathedral, Edinburgh (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Like me, perhaps many people tonight are also thinking of Robert Frost’s poem. What might have been had the vote been 48-52 rather than 52-48?
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Patrick Comerford
I do not particularly want to sit in this evening, watching the countdown to Brexit. Instead, two of us are going to dinner, although there is little to celebrate this evening, and I hope all the television commentaries and discussions are over by the time I get back to Askeaton.
Many recent cartoons compared Brexit to a man sawing off the branch of the tree he is sitting on, or sawing off his own arm in order to stop shaking the arm of an old friend.
I am not a royalist, by any means. But I cannot fail to notice the coincidence that Brexit is ‘being done’ the day after the Church of England recalls the execution of Charles I on 30 January 1649.
I was invited last year to take part in the commemorations in Tamworth marking the 400th anniversary of the visit to the town of James I and his son the future Charles I. My talk in Saint Editha’s Church, Tamworth, on the Comberford Family and the Moat House in Tamworth [9 May 2019], was organised by Tamworth and District Civic Society.
During that visit in 1619, the King stayed with the Ferrers family at Tamworth Castle while the Prince of Wales was a guest of the Comberford family at their town house, the Moat House on Lichfield Street.
On that occasion, the Comberford family had the long hall or gallery in the Moat House redecorated with heraldic illustrations of the family tree, showing how the family and the future king shared a common ancestry, albeit a very distant one.
Perhaps, in some ways, Charles I personalised the new unity that was being embodied in a new kingdom: he was seen in England as the next king, yet he had been born in Dumferline in Scotland. In another way, he also embodied the new, outward-looking vision of a new country claiming its place in Europe: his mother was from Denmark, he would marry a French princess, his sons would marry Portuguese and Italian princesses, his daughters would marry French and Dutch princes, his sister became Queen of Bohemia, a miniscule European Union brought together in one family.
There is no doubt that Charles I was a bumbling and incompetent monarch. However, his political genealogy links him more to the ‘one nation’ Tories who are Europhiles, while Johnson and Farage, who although appearing cavalier in their approach to politics are in truth more like the Roundheads, willing to slash and burn anything in the name of a parliament and people they truly despise.
Indeed, who could not fail to compare Dominic Cummings with Oliver Cromwell?
The Moat House on Lichfield Street, Tamworth … redecorated by the Comberford family for the visit of the future Charles I (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
I have always been comfortable with the English part of my identity. In her novel Hannie Bennet’s Winter Marriage (2000), Kerry Hardie includes a number of key characters who are members of a Comerford family in West Waterford and the south-east, including John Comerford who has given recognisably Irish names to his daughters. ‘Bloody stupid name,’ says one of the figures in the book. ‘Don’t know what's come over people. Bloody stupid fashion for Impossible Blood Irish Names. Surprised at the man. Nothing Irish about Comerford. Good Norman name, papist or no.’
In an Irish context, Comerford is unmistakably English in its origins. I was always comfortable with that part of the family story, and was merely following in my great-grandfather’s footsteps when I went in search of my family roots and found myself in Lichfield and Tamworth in my teens.
My Christian faith and my Anglican spirituality as I now understand them and express them were shaped as a teenager in Lichfield, in the chapel of Saint John’s Hospital and in Lichfield Cathedral. I still remember the yearning I had for a full-time staff position with the Lichfield Mercury or the Tamworth Herald. Instead, I went to the Wexford People.
I only ever travel on an Irish passport (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
I am in England every month or second month. Although I only ever travel on an Irish passport, I have never been a foreigner in England. I feel at home in Lichfield in the way I feel at home in Wexford; I am spiritually at home in Lichfield Cathedral; in moments of insomnia, I can imagine being able to walk through the streets of Lichfield, or Cambridge for that matter, with my eyes blindfolded.
There have been many times over half a century or more that I have wondered like Robert Frost, had I taken the other road where would I be today:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
At times the variations in the calendars of the Church of England and the Church of Ireland catch me by surprise, and I recall how I was not prepared recently during a residential conference for the commemoration at the Eucharist of ‘Charles King and Martyr, 1649.’
Charles, King and Martyr, or Charles I, was king from 1625 until his execution on 30 January 1649, and his feast day in Anglican calendars falls on 30 January, the anniversary of his execution.
This observance was one of several ‘state services’ removed from the Book of Common Prayer of the Church of England and the Church of Ireland in 1859. But there are churches and parishes dedicated to Charles the Martyr in England, and the former chapel in the Royal Hospital in Kilmainham, Dublin, was also dedicated to him.
King Charles is still named in the calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship and is commemorated at the Banqueting Hall in Whitehall, Pusey House in Oxford, and by some Anglo-Catholic societies, including the Society of King Charles the Martyr founded in 1894.
King Charles is regarded by many as a martyr because, it is said, he was offered his life if he would abandon the historic episcopacy in the Church of England. It is said he refused, however, believing that the Church of England was truly Catholic and should maintain the Catholic episcopate.
Mandell Creighton, Bishop of London, wrote, ‘Had Charles been willing to abandon the Church and give up episcopacy, he might have saved his throne and his life. But on this point Charles stood firm: for this he died, and by dying saved it for the future.’
The political reality, though, is that Charles had already made an Engagement with the Scots to introduce Presbyterianism in England for three years in return for the aid of Scots forces in the Second English Civil War.
However, High Church Anglicans and royalists fashioned an image of martyrdom, and after the Restoration he was added to the Church of England’s liturgical calendar by a decision at the Convocations of Canterbury and York in 1660.
The red letter days or state commemorations in the calendar of the Book of Common Prayer included the Gunpowder Plot, the birth and restoration of Charles II, and the execution of Charles I. These were marked with special services and special sermons.
The State Services were omitted from the Book of Common Prayer by royal and parliamentary authority in 1859, but without the consent of Convocation. Later, the Anglican writer and liturgist Vernon Staley, Provost of Inverness Cathedral, would describe the deletion as ultra vires and ‘a distinct violation of the compact between Church and Realm, as set forth in the Act of Uniformity which imposed the Book of Common Prayer in 1662.’
Of the three commemorations, only that of King Charles I was restored in the calendar in the Alternative Service Book in 1980, although not as a Red Letter Day. A new collect was composed for Common Worship in 2000.
Collect:
King of kings and Lord of lords,
whose faithful servant Charles
prayed for those who persecuted him
and died in the living hope of your eternal kingdom:
grant us by your grace so to follow his example
that we may love and bless our enemies,
through the intercession of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
This evening, however, I am reminded of the lines of John Donne, poet, priest and Caroline divine, that are worth re-reading of ‘Brexit’:
No man is an island,
entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
as well as if a promontory were,
as well as if a manor of thine own
or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
for I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
for whom the bell tolls,
it tolls for thee. — John Donne, Meditation XVII
‘A depiction of King Charles I in Saint Mary’s Cathedral, Edinburgh (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Like me, perhaps many people tonight are also thinking of Robert Frost’s poem. What might have been had the vote been 48-52 rather than 52-48?
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Labels:
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