A Blessing In Disguise (41 page)

‘It's been such a busy term,' Ann said. ‘I've been working late most evenings and arriving home exhausted. I'm so sorry, Venus.'

‘I'm sorry I haven't called
you,'
I said, ‘and my reasons aren't as good as yours. I can't say I've been overworked and I can't say I've been exhausted. I think it must be because everything is new and I'm not quite organized. And then Becky hasn't been the happiest girl in the world, though she's fine now. Anyway, can you come over one weekend? I'd love to see you. It's a bit tricky for me to come to you. I'm too new to know where to look for cover for services.'

‘Of course I'll come to you!' Ann said. ‘No question!'

So we fix for her to come in ten days' time, Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, and I'm looking forward to it.

Yesterday Becky and I went to the Rescue Centre to see Missie and take her out for a walk. Well, it was certainly the highlight of the week for Becky. She's such a lovely little dog. She wagged her tail frantically when she saw us. ‘She knows me!' Becky cried. ‘Oh, Mum, she knows me!' I wasn't sure whether that was true, but who knows, it might have been.

The best news of all, however, came from Imogen.

‘We've decided,' she told us when we returned from our walk, ‘that you can take Missie home with you for good next weekend. Everything seems to be going well and there's no real need for her to stay here any longer. That's partly because she's a dog who's always been looked after, she's not a stray. Also, she's been well trained.'

‘We're very lucky,' I said.

‘So is she,' Imogen said, smiling. ‘And the other reason is, frankly, we're short of room here. She'll make way for another dog. So you could pick her up next Saturday morning.'

That was yesterday. I don't think Becky has stopped talking about it since. It's her only topic of conversation. What a wonderful capacity a dog has for healing hearts!

So here I am, Sunday again. I've done the eight o'clock, which was, predictably, the same as ever. Nothing seems to ruffle them and if they have heard anything of last Sunday's to-do they showed no signs of it. I told them about Thursday evening's meeting. ‘I do hope most of you will be able to come,' I said. ‘Apart from the fact that I think you'll find it interesting, it will give me a chance, which I'd appreciate, of getting to know you better.' Whether they'll come or not I don't know. I think they're probably happy as they are as long as I don't rock the boat and perhaps some of them might come out of curiosity. Or perhaps concern about what changes I might make. My feeling is that they won't like change.

The ten o'clock congregation, as I stand in front of it to give them the opening greeting, is no smaller than it was last week, in fact it's perhaps marginally larger and there are some new faces. Have some come in the expectation of another ‘happening'? If so, I hope they'll be disappointed – and since Miss Frazer isn't present I daresay they will be. I greeted little Mrs Bateman as she came in. I didn't ask her any questions and she gave me no information, which I hope means there was none to give.

Standing in the pulpit – which, by the way, I have plans to abandon any Sunday from now on in favour of preaching from the nave – I intend to make no reference to last Sunday's event in my sermon, I have better things to talk about, but at the end of the service when I give out the notices (and for my first time ever in St Mary's read some banns, for John Carter and his fiancée, Jean, who, as I told you, are going to be married here before Christmas) I tell the congregation about the meeting I've planned.

‘It's very important,' I say. ‘There are things to discuss and things to plan. I want you all to have your say. So please come! And if there's anyone who isn't here this morning, or indeed anyone you know who might be interested in what we hope to do at St Mary's, please invite them. Thursday evening, seven-thirty at the Vicarage. And if a couple of people would like to give me a hand with the refreshments I'd be grateful!'

When I go for coffee Carla Brown immediately offers to help on Thursday. ‘Will you be wanting to borrow some of the cups and saucers from the hall?' she asks. ‘If so, I'm sure Walter would bring them round to the Vicarage on Wednesday evening.' Carla, I've discovered, is very good at offering Walter's services, but he's an amiable man and never seems to mind. Now, he nods agreement. Trudy Santer also says she'll lend a hand, as does another woman whose name I must find out. I want to talk to Trudy. I have a guilty conscience because I've not yet discussed the Sunday School with her, as I promised to. Also, I have some ideas about it which I want to put to her.

‘Thank you, Trudy,' I say. ‘I'd be very grateful for your help, but aside from that would you be able to pop round to the Vicarage – or I could come to see you? We haven't talked about Sunday School – and I'm sorry about that. When would be convenient?'

She chooses Tuesday evening. She works part-time on the check-out at Marks & Spencer's in Brampton so daytime is a bit tricky. She has to be home to give the children (she has two daughters) their tea when they get home from school, and then there's her husband's supper and hers when he gets in from work, but she'll be free by eight o'clock.

‘That's fine,' I say, ‘but as it's in the evening will you mind coming to me, because of Becky? I won't keep you long.'

Becky has gone home. Coffee in the parish hall isn't her scene.

Just before people start to arrive on Thursday evening I say ‘Good-night' to Becky, who has elected to retire to her room and watch television rather than mingle with whoever comes. I've seen her through bathtime and left her sitting up in bed in her pyjamas. I've also lent her my mobile phone so that if she wants to she can call Anna, though with warnings about very long calls, which she assures me she won't make. Becky is so amenable these days. I put it down almost entirely to Missie, but not totally since she continues to be very pleased about her grandparents coming to live in Thurston. I suggest that she might like to phone them also.

There are twenty-seven people in the Vicarage now, all somehow squeezed into the sitting room. Places to sit have been the problem. I have brought chairs from every room in the house, including the kitchen, plus the plastic garden chairs which had been put away in the garage for the winter; and when I run out of chairs I put cushions on the floor.

Carla, except when I manage to beat her to it, answers the door to everyone. Trudy Santer and the other lady who had offered to help (and whose name I've discovered is Violet Moore) serve coffee and biscuits. And now I want to get started on what we're here for. Well, I do and I don't. When it comes to the point I'm as nervous as a cat and for a second I ask myself why I ever decided to have this meeting. I could have sat back, dealt with the usual services, carried out weddings, baptisms and funerals as and when required, chaired the PCC meetings, and that would have been about it. Some worshippers might have left St Mary's, gone elsewhere, new ones might or might not have come, but as I'm not paid according to numbers I could have ignored that too. But what sort of a parish priest would that make me?

I could also have ignored Miss Frazer, right from her very first demonstration. Now
there's
a thought!

But I'm pretty sure that to hear about Miss Frazer is what some of these people are here for – certainly to talk about the leaflets. Is it possible that there's anyone who doesn't attribute those to Miss Frazer?

I have no agenda, except what's in my head, and this I've discussed with the churchwardens. I'm not sure they agree with everything, in fact I'm sure they don't, but they won't try to stop me saying it. There will be others, I'm sure, who won't agree with everything and I shall consider their views carefully. In the end, though – make no mistake – it's I who am parish priest and it's my responsibility to lead these people forward to the kingdom of God.

It's an awesome responsibility, frightening sometimes, but I shouldered it willingly, and I would do so again. In some ways it is more important than my laid-down duties of taking the services, baptizing, marrying, burying. Important though those are, and they are my privilege to carry out and they must be done well, they are milestones. Living in the kingdom of God is an everyday thing.

‘Good-evening!' I say. ‘How very nice to see you all. I'm going to begin with a short prayer.' People are perfectly happy with prayers said in church, it's the right place, but less so with them said in a house, even though it's a Vicarage and a bit more holy than average, so there's a sort of slight shuffling; a moving of legs, easing of backs. When I've done it everyone is still, waiting for me to say my piece.

‘There are several things to discuss,' I say, ‘all with their own importance, but some more pertinent than others. Let's start with what I daresay has been on the minds of most of you, although I don't regard it as the most important of this evening's topics – so, last Sunday's leaflets. But not just the leaflets; things took place on previous Sundays which, to my mind, were far more damaging and more important. First of all, though, is there anyone here who has
no
idea who is behind these happenings?'

There's a general shaking of heads, but one woman says, ‘But we don't actually
know
it was Miss Frazer, do we?'

It comes as something of a relief to have her name said out loud.

‘We don't know one hundred per cent that Miss Frazer was responsible for the leaflets,' I agree. ‘Though the opinions expressed on them were exactly the ones which she said to my face on my first Sunday here. She made no secret of her opinions.'

‘I can vouch for that!' Carla Brown says fiercely. ‘I was there, sitting at the same table. She was abominably rude!'

She would have continued, but I hold up my hand to stop her. ‘That she was rude to me wasn't pleasant,' I say, ‘but it's something women priests are used to. With regard to the leaflets, though my name wasn't mentioned, they were clearly aimed at me, though that matters far less than the fact that they upset some of you, and others in the congregation, and at the very moment when you were coming in to your worship.'

‘But we don't
know
that it was Miss Frazer!' the first speaker repeats.

It's then that I get one of life's surprises!

‘Oh yes we do! At least I do. I know for certain!'

It's Mrs Bateman speaking. All eyes immediately turn in her direction.

‘How do you know?' the first speaker says. I don't think it's that this woman actually has anything against me. That isn't in the tone of her voice. I think she sees this as some sort of a debate where every point of view must be presented.

‘I know because she told me!' Mrs Bateman says. Her voice, which had been surprisingly strong when she first spoke, now has a tremble in it.

‘Then why didn't you tell Venus?' Carla Brown demands, turning round and glaring at poor Mrs Bateman. ‘She could have done something about it.'

‘Because she didn't say exactly,' Mrs Bateman replies. ‘She said, “Just you wait until Sunday! If you're traitor enough to go to that so-called priest's church then you'll see her get her comeuppance. I've seen to that!” That's exactly what she said. I remember every word! I couldn't sleep for it!' Mrs Bateman looks at me, her eyes full of tears. ‘I'm sorry, Vicar!' she says. ‘It's all my fault! I should have told you! But you see I didn't really believe her, I told myself she wouldn't dare to do anything really awful. I suppose I didn't want to believe her! It's all my fault. I'm ever so sorry!'

She fishes in her handbag for a handkerchief and then dries her eyes. The room has gone quite quiet.

‘That's all right, Thora!' I say. ‘Don't upset yourself. Nothing was your fault, you did what you thought was best. And as I said, to my mind the leaflets were far less serious than the times when Miss Frazer deliberately turned her back on the sacrament. The leaflets were against me; the other occasions were against God.'

‘But can't someone report about the leaflets, tell them our suspicions? She shouldn't get away with it!' It's another woman who says this. It's interesting how much more vociferous the women are than the men.

And then the Blessed Henry speaks.

‘The church can't officially do anything. It didn't take place on church land, it was on the public pavement.'

‘And in any case,' I chip in, ‘I wouldn't have wanted a complaint to be made. To draw attention to it would give it more prominence than it deserves. So let me tell you the rest of the story and then we can move on to something else.'

I've already noticed that there are two or three, not more, eight o'clockers in the room and I'd like to know what they're thinking. Is it ‘Who would have thought that this kind of thing went on at the ten o'clock?' Will some of them be thinking how right they are to stick to the earlier service, and will any one of them rather envy the excitement of the later one?

‘Miss Frazer,' I say, ‘wrote to the Bishop about her strong objections to women priests. She asked that I should be removed from this parish forthwith.' There's a gasp from several of those present. ‘The Bishop pointed out to her that I am legally a priest in the Church of England and that my ordination is every bit as valid as if I were a man. He told her that I had his full support and that there was no way I was likely to be asked to leave St Mary's. She threatened the Bishop with taking away all her not inconsiderable financial support of St Mary's unless I was removed and he, while thanking her for many years of such support, said that was a matter for her own conscience.'

I pause. There's another silence, which I break.