In retreat

On Monday I retreated. I went on a ‘contemplative day’ based at a religious retreat in London’s East End. What I was doing on a religious retreat when I’m not religious and have very little to retreat from I don’t know. In fact, I was so worried that people might think I had spiritual aspirations that I hid the ankh pendant I was wearing under my jumper. To be honest, it was pure self-indulgence. I really liked the idea of spending an entire day in relative silence doing exactly as I pleased. I had books with me, writing materials (so retro) and even a diagram of tai chi exercises so I could practice if the spirit moved me. Obviously more spiritual than I care to admit.

I was at the Royal Foundation of St Katharine, which is now in Limehouse, but was founded in the 12^th century close to the Tower of London. In medieval times, St Katharine’s hospital and church were surrounded by a fairly squalid warren of narrow streets and lanes containing breweries, factories, prisons, courts and tiny cottages and tenements. In the early 1820s, however, a group of businessmen hatched a scheme to develop the area into a dock. Despite many objections they achieved their aim and the whole precinct was demolished and flooded to form St Katharine’s Docks, leaving three thousand people homeless. It seems that property developers, like the poor, will always be with us. In 1948, the Foundation moved to its current location on the site of St James Ratcliff Church, which had been destroyed during the war. Originally the Foundation was based in the surviving Georgian vicarage, but over the years new buildings have been added and it now forms a courtyard around a central garden full of greenery, sculptures and benches.

I like to be well prepared for everything, so I had arranged to spend the previous night there so I could case the joint beforehand. By the following morning I knew every nook and cranny, every comfortable chair with a garden view. Best of all was the old sitting room in the original Georgian building, whose walls were covered in painted murals. The afternoon before I had happily camped out there in a lovely squidgy chair by the window, admiring the garden. Imagine my outrage when I arrived there the next morning, book in hand, to discover that someone else had beaten me to the prime spot. I knew that going to morning prayers had been a mistake.

I don’t think I’m really the contemplative sort, though, despite the fact that I had attended morning prayers at 8am and I was the only one. Nevertheless, I quickly ran out of deep thoughts and turned on the walk meter on my phone to see if I could rack up a mile walking around the retreat without retracing my steps (not quite). So there I was, left with my usual shallow thoughts for company. And I skipped afternoon prayers, feeling quite smug watching everyone else filing into the chapel, especially when I realised that it would be a good time to dash over and reclaim my perfect chair.

So, if I wasn’t thinking profound thoughts all day, what was I doing? I read an awful lot, wrote in my notebook, learned some Spanish, practised tai chi and ended up feeling remarkably serene. And I noted down the details of a very profound-looking book on dying, which I’m going to buy so that I can read it next time my thoughts run out of depth.

Would I go back? Of course, I absolutely loved it.

Visit Royal Foundation of St Katharine Retreats if you want to find out more.