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The new biography of Prince Charles, The Heart of a King, calls to mind an England on the brink of invasion. 1588. I am “resolved...” Elizabeth said, “to lay down for my God, and for my kingdom, and my people, my honour and my blood, even in the dust. I know I have the body of a weak, feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king, and of a king of England too.” The Heart of a King. Our centre, our soul, our being. The seat of courage and commitment. The heart. Steadily over the winter my father’s heart became weaker and weaker, until he could barely reach the bathroom for breath. I’ll call a doctor, I said; they can do amazing things. Oh, I don’t want any of that nonsense. So all his family of twenty or so prepared our goodbyes, in our hearts. And a fortnight ago his heart did indeed fail him... fortunately, just after I had ignored his instructions and got him into hospital. Is there anything you can do for me? He asked without hope. Absolutely! the Registrar replied robustly, and the next day my father was given a new heart. A brand spanking pacemaker now beats beneath his breast. Praise God for the NHS. ��ѿ��ý on Friday, studying on Saturday, down for lunch on Sunday. Back at church two days ago, first time in months. Well, yes, a cardiologist friend said: it is one of the few things modern medicine really can do. A new heart, a new life. A miracle. For the next ten days the flower shops, card shops, stationers’, will all be full of hearts; every High Street looking like the Forest of Arden, its tree barks marred with Orlando’s love ditties. Will you receive any? Will I? Will someone send you his heart? And will you give yours for the barter? My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a better bargain driven. New hearts for old. What a risk to take. My father had no idea what it would involve or how painful it would be; and it was, he tells me. One thing is sure: without my father’s recent change of heart, he wouldn’t feel any pain now... or ever again. Indeed, if he hadn’t given his heart away to my mother three quarters of a century ago, he wouldn’t feel any pain this coming St Valentine’s Day. (Nor would I ever have felt the sun on my face.) Not scientifically accurate, perhaps, but universally understood. If you want love, you have to give your love away: no new life in your veins without losing the old. My two favourite carols end with the same message. Offer thy heart to the infant king. Yet what I can I give him – give my heart. There’s no knowing where it could lead, or what pain it might entail. But, A new heart also will I give you, and put a new spirit within you: and I will take away your heart of stone, and give you an heart of flesh.