Easter

I cannot remember a prettier Easter, or a more frustrating one. This was no time to be in town. But there is a way of strangling self-pity at birth: military history. That brings a sense of perspective. Better to be locked-down in a London flat than charging across a D-Day beach. Bulletins from those lucky enough to be rusticated all make the same point: how well everyone is behaving. Over most of the countryside, there seem to be more volunteers than there are duties to perform. When the call came in Dorset, one mildly octogenarian Brigadier sprang into action. Appointing himself GOC North Dorset, he chose his battalion commanders and

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, “you have large tumours in numerous places. We can’t operate or cure you. You have 18 months to live”. With those words, I burst into tears. In that mundane hospital room, my life changed. The job I love – I worked as boss of a private bank – was gone. My priorities shifted immediately. Nobody on their death bed wishes they had spent more time in the office. When my time comes, I was determined I would not have that regret. I wanted to make the most of however long I had left. Nearly four years on, I am still alive thanks to my wonderful

The bravest thing I’ve ever seen was 93-year-old Albert’s decision to die and the days after in which he stuck to his resolve and sank away from consciousness, like a swimmer turning tail and just diving down into the dark. Albert was not religious, but I’m writing this now because though I’ve been Catholic for a decade, it was only after his final week, in the spring of last year, that I began to understand Easter and the Passion of Christ. I first met Albert when fate decided to call my bluff. For years I’d bored on to my husband about the need for a scheme to put locals in

Earlier this week the world watched in horror as the Notre Dame went up in flames. Although the roof and its spire were lost, the main body of the cathedral survived. So did most of its holy artefacts, and the gleaming, golden cross above the altar – which graces this week’s magazine cover. The outpouring of grief and sympathy around the world – from Christians and atheists alike – showed how beloved the Notre Dame is as a historical and architectural icon. However, Damian Thompson, Spectator Associate Editor and host of the Holy Smoke Podcast, says we must not forget that the Notre Dame is primarily a  Catholic place of worship. And

Hannah Roberts, an English Catholic friend, was once telling me about her family’s long history in Yorkshire. She spoke with yearning of what she had back home and how painful it is to live so far away. I wondered aloud why she and her American husband had emigrated to the United States from that idyllic landscape, the homeland she loved. ‘Because we wanted our children to have a chance to grow up Catholic,’ she said. It’s not that she feared losing them to the Church of England — it’s that she feared them losing Christianity itself. She and her husband Chris, an academic theologian, are now raising their four young children

Are you counting the hours until home time and a glorious four days without work? Join the club. Just think of it – the beautiful British bank holiday, a Spring mini-break, and the chocolate. Oh my lord, the chocolate. New research suggests that the average UK household spends more than £6,000 on chocolate in a lifetime – the equivalent of 1,500 large Cadbury Easter Eggs or more than 10,200 Crème Eggs. That’s according to financial planner Tilney’s Cost of Tomorrow report. People aged between 30 and 49, many of whom will be parents to young children, are the biggest spenders when it comes to chocolate (I can attest to this), blowing