Mudlarks & Meadowlarks

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Book excerpt

London

I wander thro' each charter'd street,

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,

In every Infants cry of fear,

In every voice: in every ban,

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry

Every blackning Church appalls,

And the hapless Soldiers sigh

Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlots curse

Blasts the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

            William Blake

William Blake, visionary, artist, poet, was born in Soho, London, England in 1757.  Blake was profoundly affected by his mother’s role as his teacher and with the consequences of the Industrial Revolution.  Unrecognized and unappreciated during his life, Blake now stands as one of the most outstanding artists and poets of his era.

Harry Westley, youngest of eight children, writer, musician, father, was born in Mile End New Town, London, England in 1882.  Harry’s London, the Cockney slums of squalor, disease and workhouses, was the London Blake foreknew.  Harry’s gift to his progeny was to establish life in Canada and to take the family Bible with him across the Atlantic.

Every line of Blake’s “London” is also Harry’s London.  It is time for his story to be told.

Nell Westley, Toronto, 1994

Chapter One - There are times when ancestors make themselves known

Ah!  The sense of completion was profound.  After sitting on the steps and becoming encapsulated in un-time, I moved into the sanctuary.  I took the Schoolboy in.  And I whispered to Harry!  I went up to the dome, and I whispered into the whispering gallery so that I could be heard 45 metres away, across the dome.  “Are you happy to be here, Grandpa?  Are you?”  And Harry heard me.  I knew it.  And probably Sarah heard me.  Only I didn’t know her then.  Bless Sir Christopher Wren and his harnessing of angels.

And so I now “see” that the angels of St. Paul’s heard me.  And I know it was meant to be.  For Harry’s soul and Sarah’s soul.  And for mine.  I can do this “seeing”… because I’ve heard the whispering energy of angels in other places.

(Nell Westley, April, 1980)

Nell sat down at her desk to write an email.  The keyboard clicked away as she established a rhythm.  It was after 11:00, her best time to write.  Happy “night hawk” that she was, she was intent on something important.  With unruly blond hair and in blue pyjamas, she looked as though she were trying to meet a deadline for a university course.

May 3, 1999

My dear friend,

The time has come, your body says.  And you wonder if you’ve been with an angel and if you’ve had the omen you’ve been looking for in this long migration of your soul, and I tell you, yes, you have been in communion with an angel, a particular angel.  And I have reasons for knowing.

So, the other day, when you were waiting for more tests, and that man peeked his head around the screen?  Well, you were right on both counts.  He was an angel.  And the event was an omen.  Here was this ordinary, soft-spoken man, appearing out of the blue to tell you to go West, of all directions, for your transplant.  In less than five minutes, you had the crucial choice of your whole life to date presented to you through this man who appeared on the other side of the hospital curtain and disappeared, leaving nothing but everything.  And doors are opening.  Dare I say once more, “Out of the blue”?

And the most I tell you initially is that I know exactly what angel it is.  Your angel, I say, is the hospital angel who visited me in a Toronto hospital a few years ago, wanting an end to an old pain.  I knew your experience was with this angel from the moment you began to tell me what happened at the hospital.  Once you opened the door with your wonder about an angel and an omen, I knew I would eventually have to tell you.  The truth.

Now it’s time for the truth.  Let me tell you about my hospital angel before you decide.

And all of this will be woven into a story, for you, the consummate story-buff.

Let me introduce you to the hospital angel.  You need an understanding of this before I let the story unfold.  I’ve never attempted any unfolding with this story, so I have no idea where we’ll be going.