Chapel centenary memoir

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIO CHAPEL!

Diocesan Alumnae Association President Penny Tucker looks back on some of her fondest memories of the Chapel of Our Glorified Lord as we celebrate its centenary.

100 years – that’s pretty stellar! It’s funny how some anchors keep one floating in place despite changing tides, fair and feisty winds, and all the hazards that can knock you off course.

I was sitting in the Chapel at Dio recently at a pretty service to commemorate and celebrate the centenary of the big chapel whose formal, sanctioned name is the Chapel of Our Glorified Lord. One of my daughters was giving out service sheets and so I was there early. I sat in my seat and looked around.

I remember going there for the first time for one of my sister’s services and being a little overawed by all the big girls in their floral frocks (yep, that era). I recalled the redoubtable and lovely Stanley Jackson always playing the organ with such commitment, physical engagement and vigour that my dad, a neurosurgeon, was perpetually worried that something might explode.

I reflected on the time that Canon Cameron was so enthused by his retelling of a story about camels that he fell off the altar step and came a cropper. I burst out laughing and a teacher, not entirely sure who it was (thanks, Ms Bellamy), clipped me from behind – deservedly, I might add.

Every day I was at school, we went to chapel. Every day the anchor was put into the water, efficiently, with little drama and utter predictability. Even for those not interested in the content, there was a degree of security. I didn’t really see it at the time, but it was the foundation for each day and chapel embraced us every morning. As I floated through my schooling, being pushed to and fro by different currents and working out how I would navigate the next part of my journey, the Chapel just stood there, watching and welcoming. I joined the choir so, at big services, I didn’t have to sit with my mum who sang hymns with a degree of exuberance and tonal dysfunction that I viewed as deeply embarrassing. Having escaped the confines of her pew, I proudly contributed my own singing attributes; right up until the day Mrs Lawson realised I was the one making the entire outfit sound so bad and chucked me out.

Rev’d Jim took over and we were all intrigued by the changing of such an important crew member. On a hot day when the asphalt by A Block was decidedly unappealing, I once sat in the cool and calming Chapel to write a debate. Rev’d Jim asked me what I was doing, and I braced myself for being told off. I explained. He said something along the lines of: “This house is good for thinking and, by the way, I want to come to your debate.” After that, he attended nearly all of them. We used to exchange ideas and he got me thinking about many interesting things. I volunteer with debating at Dio now because Jim taught me that a bit of investment in kindness and korero goes a long way and makes people stronger. I pulled up the anchor, set sail for a bit and became a diplomat. On that intrepid journey, the storms could be fierce, the barometer more uncertain than a kid with money in a sweet shop, and I roamed around. When I asked Rev’d Jim whether he would marry my husband and me in the School Chapel, he said: “Come and see me in Ponsonby and we’ll discuss it.”

Mum picked the hymns for the wedding, and I heard her from the altar. Jim married us and on we went. The anchor was still just there and waiting to be put into service for us. We were drawn away again and went on a different and longer voyage overseas. But my third daughter was baptised in the Dio Chapel with the entire extended family there. Her paternal grandad was delighted with the service and my eldest two annoyed everyone by insisting on ringing the Chapel bell.

Ministers will always say that the physical structures of a church don’t actually define the value of faith. They are not the house, they just put a roof over it. I agree with that, in principle, but our Chapel is still an anchor. And, as I sat in my seat watching and listening, I had nothing but best wishes for our lovely old Chapel.