Not just an ordinary saint

In my teens, I wore a St. Christopher pendant round my neck. Not because I had any kind of affinity with St. Christopher, or even any idea of who he was, but because it was a craze going round at the time. When I got older, and better able to make an informed choice, I got rid of St. Christopher and took up with St. Michael. It was a sort of epiphany, I suppose, and it happened in M&S’s Barnsley branch, that’s where I became a disciple.

Marks & Spencer didn’t cater for spiritual needs but a great many of my material ones were catered for there. M&S was a rock on the High Street that was, to me, what the church is to any Christian. Their lack of facility for redeeming my soul was more than compensated for by their ability to supply me with a decent quality pair of jeans at a reasonable price.

Their range of stock was neither the most diverse nor cheapest but you knew that whatever you bought would be of good quality and very unlikely to give any cause for complaint. For years, virtually every stitch I wore had St. Michael on the label.

And their food department was no less reliable. Again, the range was limited but what they did sell could be counted on to be first class. They used to sell wedges of cheesecake that I have never elsewhere been able to get the like of, and ice cream that was, likewise, not to be found anywhere else. The first and finest yogurt I ever tasted came from M&S. But I should have known it was all too good to last. One day when I went into the store everything looked different; something seemed to be missing, or rather, somebody.

It was a dark day when St. Michael got his marching orders, and hardly brightened when the likes of Per Una and the M&S Collection breezed in and tried to fill his shoes. How is a man supposed to feel any pride in wearing Blue Harbour under pants? What happened to the food department was no less than tragic. Gone was the small but select range of top notch fare; replaced by a far more extensive but inferior collection of stuff you would expect to find in any run off the mill supermarket. And, horror upon horror, they now also stock popular brands. They even sell date expired items at a reduced price. My God, one could be forgiven for thinking one had wandered into Asda.

Now, as I bemoan the lost salad days of M&S, the only straw of hope left to clutch at is that, if the saints do one day go marching in, St. Michael will be leading them.