BLESSING THE THROATS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 68, 21 March 1934, Page 6

BLESSING THE THROATS.

FEAST OF ST. BLAIZE. ('By NELLE M. SCANLAN.) LONDON, February 5. "Eleven o'clock and all's well!" If you turn to the right at Holborn Circus you will find two large iron gates barring the way to Ely Place. From eight in the morning till ten at night the gates are open, but there is a watchman on guard in the little gatehouse. At nine o'clock on Sunday, and ten o'clock every other night of the week, these gates are closed, but the watchman remains on guard. If you should be passing that way between sunset and sunrise, or usually from nine till six, when the clock strikes the hour, the watchman walks up and down outeide the gates four times, calling the hour. It is the one place in London where this old custom still continues.

"Why do you do it now?" I askod the watchman on guard.

"This is a little bit of Cambridge—it is not London," he said with -pride. He had a gnarled face and a missing front tooth, and though he didn't wear an old school tie, no scholar from that ancient seat of learning could outshine that loyalty. He was a Cambridge man to the soul, and the London of the Mob, which he excluded when he clanged and bolted: his gates at night, were a far inferior race.

It was noon on a wet Saturday, and London streets were slimy with mud. The week's work was over, and crowds were hurrying home from the city, glad of a respite from its gloom and toil and worries.

But Saturday was the feast of St. Blaize. j Probably you have never heard of him, but , he has an important place in the European calendar, and many churches on this Continent arc dedicated to him. I met a surgeon the other day, who professed no Christian faith, but he told me ho had faith in St. Anthony, and when he had lost a swab in a man's lung he had invoked St. Anthony's aid in his desperate effort t<> find it. St. Blaize is the patron saint of woolcombers and weavers, and in the Midlands of England, in the woollen districts, he is greatly revered. But his name is particularly _ associated with the ceremony of the "Blessing of . the Throat," which is carried out on his feasit day, February 3. I passed into that little bit of Cambridge, Ely Place, at noon on Saturday, and, turning left, through the cloisters, T came to the old and famous Church of St. Etheldreda, one of the historic churches of All day long people had been coming and going; they had been to St. Etheklreda's for the "Blessing of the Throat." This beautiful little church was once the chapel of the Bishops oif Ely. It w«s founded in 1250 by John le Francis, Baron of the Exchequer. Many distinguished Plantageneits attended service here. During the Civil War, Ely House, which adjoins the church, was used as a prison. But the crypt of the church had been used for storing casks of wine, and even as a drinking house, until 1R74. After 250 years it was ajrain acquired bv the Catholic Qhurch and dedicated on St. Etheldreda's Day, from which it now takes its name. Men and women of all ages and classes come here for (the "Blessing of the Throat on St. Blaize's Day; more than 3000 had been there this day. With two long, wax candles, tied with scarlet ribbon in the form of St. Andrew's Cross, the priest blessed each throat as the congregation t-ielt at the altar rails: "May the Lord deliver you from the evils of the throat, and every other evil," is the simple blessing.

St. Blaize, who was martyred in the year 310 by the Governor. Agricolaus of Cappadocio, Lower Armenia, was a physician before lie became a bishop. On his way to martyrdom lu> met a woman with a dyinjr child in her arms, and she besought hift help. The child had a fish bone in hifi throat, and sSt. Blaize touched his throat, arid he was cured. That •is the origin of the ceremony on his feast day. Like St. Francis, he was a friend of wild animals, whose wounds and maladies he also cured, and there are many extraordinary legends Aurroundin-j his life and activities. It was dark at nijrht when the last person left the little. Church of St. Etheldreda on Saturday, and the big iron gates clanged behind him as the watchman, so proud of his charge, shut out the world of London from his "little bit of Cambridge." and called tho ho\ir. But it is only the hour that he qills now, for, as he told 'me sadly, "You get your weather on the wireless to-day."