When I was about 8 years old, my parents forgot me at church after Mass on a Sunday. Our church was usually full in the morning, for the lengthy three hour service and for the shared meal after. But in the afternoon, it turned into a sanctuary of silence and sunshine, filtered through stained glass panels. My dad returned about an hour later and got me, before anyone feels too sorry for me.

I don’t remember feeling forgotten or scared though. I was safe inside the empty church. Then our elderly caretaker found me and in the silence of the nave, she whispered stories to pass the time. All I remember is the quiet, the leftover incense smell and her raspy voice. 

Even now, my favourite time at St Mary’s is when I come in early in the morning, before anyone else and just sit in a pew and enjoy the quiet. Or when I'm closing at night and the only light comes from the painting of the Virgin and Child at the top of the chancel, the whole nave shrouded in moving shadows. Of course, these days, it feels a bit tongue-in-cheek to display the sign of silence for private prayer in the chancel, given the roof works.

I’ve always been a bit quiet, though in specific contexts, I am socially confident and yes, loud. I am a big fan of one-to-one conversations but what I treasure most is the quiet companionship of working alongside others. When there’s no need for talking but we are each active in our respective pursuits. The quiet coziness of shared spaces.

One of the most insidious effects of the lockdowns last year was their effect on our perceived need for social interaction, which became heavily curtailed by our responsibility to keep others and ourselves safe. When restrictions were lifted, I am sure I wasn’t the only one left exhausted by a single hour of conversation. Even now, I sometimes struggle not to cancel on my social engagements and cozy up at home with a book or Netflix, by myself. 

So the concept of quiet companionship really comes into its own, particularly now, in the murky waters of new variants and the different expectations and obligations of sharing spaces. There’s less pressure for social interaction and with social distancing, it accommodates all sorts of social needs and abilities.

Tomorrow, I’m hosting this term’s Quiet Creativity morning. Going through various name changes, it’s an activity I really missed in this season of pandemic, sharing a space with others, working on something, like writing or painting, or sometimes, nothing at all. 

In previous years, I used to really enjoy it because it offered me a chance to focus, to really dedicate a set amount of time to an activity that was relaxing but felt productive as well. This is the first one I’ve been able to run in two years and I’m really looking forward to it. We shall try to be cozy, with projects, pastries and little chats. 

Join me on Saturday, 5 December, 10am-1pm in the Old Library.