Felburgh

by Ivan B

  “Bryan I can do two things for you.” He said gently. “Firstly I can put you in touch with a lady who specialises in talking to young people who have suffered bereavement. Don’t expect any miracles, but she will help you through the anger and grief. Secondly I can help you get rid of some of the anger. How does that sound?”

  Bryan nodded and sniffed.

  “Do my mates have to know?”

  “Not unless you tell them.”

  Peter wrote down a phone number and name on the back of one of his calling cards and handed it to Bryan.

  “Jane will only talk to you if you phone her as she then assumes you’re serious about talking to her and not mucking about. I’ll ring her when you leave, so she will know who you are. OK?”

  Bryan nodded.

  “And the anger?”

  “Come with me.”

  Peter took him round into the double garage. When he had first arrived he had noticed an old boxer’s punch bag lying in a corner of the garage. He tied a piece of rope on the bag and hoisted it up over a garage beam. He handed Bryan a cricket bat that had found its way to the garage.

  “Now,” he said to Bryan, “you can come round any time during the day from about eight in the morning till eight at night. Just imagine that this bag is whoever you are angry with and beat the hell out of it.”

  Bryan looked dubious, but to be obliging took a half-hearted whack at the bag.

  “No, no”, said Peter, “Show some aggression.”

  He took the bat off of Bryan and yelling at the top of his voice hit the punch bag as hard as he could several times. Then he handed the bat back to Bryan. Bryan grinned and said, “I can imagine that the bag is anybody?”

  “Or anything.”

  Bryan gave a blood-curdling scream and hit the bag so hard that dust flew out of all the seams.

  Peter patted him on the back.

  “I’ll leave you to it, by the time you come again there will be a baseball bat here, they’re much easier to use.”

  He then walked off, as he rounded the house he heard Bryan start again on the bag. When he got to the house he phoned Jane and told her that a boy called Bryan would be ringing; he gave her no details – that would break confidentiality – except to say that Bryan had suffered the sudden bereavement of a close friend.

  Peter spent Friday off as usual and took it outside the parish. He spent the day in Norwich looking round the cathedral and browsing the bookshops. Come Saturday Peter was hoping for a quiet day so that he could finalise his sermon for Sunday and prepare the agenda for the Annual Meeting in two weeks time. He had still not got a list of the church investments from Sam and was beginning to wonder if Sam was being deliberately obtuse. He managed to work on his sermon for a couple of hours when Mark arrived. After the usual pleasantries Mark came to the point of his visit.

  “We have another funeral in the graveyard on Tuesday.”

  “I know, it’s for Norma. I’m not taking the service; Revd Jones is. Apparently they were friends for a long time. But I shall be performing the committal. Norma left instructions about her funeral and one of them was that I should do the final honours.”

  Mark looked hesitant.

  “You do realise that funerals in the churchyard are rare; last year we had only one and the year before none at all.”

  Peter was not sure where this was going.

  “So?”

  “So if we wanted to bury anything then this is our chance. By a quirk of fate Norma’s grave is adjacent to the grave I opened up last week.”

  Peter gave him a blank look.

  “The paper Peter, the paper. We can’t just use it or even give it away: it is of special quality and it has metal strips in it.”

  Peter sat down, burying something under a grave of a person he did not know was one thing, but using Norma’s grave seemed to be quite another.

  Mark sensed Peter’s reluctance.

  “I’ll dig the grave real deep on Monday afternoon; we can put the paper in Monday night and I can half-fill the grave and pack it down Tuesday morning.”

  Peter was still not sure.

  “I think we probably pushed our luck last week, do you think it is wise to use the same trick so soon?”

  “We may not get another chance. Have you had any ideas on how to get rid of the paper?”

  Peter knew he didn’t.

  “But we take no risks. Disposing of a body is one imperative; disposing of paper, however specialised a paper it happens to be, is quite another.”

  Thankfully for Peter the rest of the day passed uneventfully and Peter finished both his sermon and the Annual Church meeting Agenda.

  Sunday went well. Peter and the congregation were getting the measure of each other and beginning to work well together. Dan was as accomplished as ever and as a bonus it had been a parade service with the local corps of sea-cadets; they had loved singing two of the hymns to the sound of two concertinas. After the service, The Major and Henry cornered Peter in the vestry. The Major started, “Today is the last day for posting names for church members who wish to stand for the Church Council.”

  Peter smiled at them guessing what was coming, “I know.”

  “There’s only Henry and myself standing for Churchwarden.”

  “I know.” Peter began to feel a bit like a parrot.

  Henry chipped in.

  “We thought that you might try and put up a selection of candidates who you consider more acceptable.”

  Peter decided to lay some of his cards on the table.

  “I believe that such actions by a minister are wrong. It is a church council and as far as I am concerned I will work with whoever is elected by the church. However I would reserve the right to say before an election took place if there was anyone, whom if elected, I could not work with.”

  “And scupper their chances of election?”

  “Possibly.”

  The major made a harrumph noise.

  “And is there anyone about whom you would make that statement here?”

  “No.”

  Both Henry and the Major raised their eyebrows, so Peter continued.

  “I am happy to work with you; I rather felt that it was you who are unhappy to work with me.”

  The Major instantly became all stiff and starchy.

  “That is true, we are standing for the good of the church, not to support you.”

  Peter somehow maintained his smile.

  “Well at least we know where we stand.”

  Peter spent the Monday visiting various people in the parish and giving home Communion to some of the more elderly members who could no longer make it to church. One of these, a woman of over ninety called Gracie, who lived in a nearby retirement home, was in the mood to reminisce. She talked to Peter about her childhood in Felburgh and her wartime experiences. Suddenly she said secrectively.

  “I used to work at your vicarage you know, but they swore us all to secrecy.”

  “In the house?” He asked.

  “No, in the basement. There used to be a number of us Wrens down there.”

  Peter could not help asking.

  “Is there just the one basement?”

  “Oh yes, they tried to dig a lower level, but the water table was too high and they gave up.”

  Peter relaxed, just the one basement then. But Gracie continued.

  “But that didn’t stop them digging the tunnel.”

  “Tunnel?”

  Gracie looked confused for a moment.

  “I’m not supposed to tell, it’s all part of the secret.”

  Peter said softly, or as softly as he could manage with someone whose hearing had deteriorated over the years.

  “Then don’t say, you’ve kept the secret all these years and there’s no need to spoil you’re record now.”

  Gracie sat quiet for a time then she said to Peter, or rather commanded Peter, to stay put why she went and got something.

  Gracie was not the fastest mover in the world and it wa
s a full half-hour before she returned with a small attaché case in the netting on her Zimmer frame. The case had ‘Lt G Harris/Cedd’ written across the lid in faded black ink; she handed it to Peter.

  “Put that somewhere safe and don’t open it until I have passed on to wherever I’m going.”

  “Heaven,” said Peter, “you’ll be going to heaven.”

  Gracie looked at him.

  “They’re my diaries I kept them during the war, we weren’t supposed to, but I did.” She looked Peter in the eyes; “We planned some dreadful things down there in that basement. We did it for King and Country, but I sometimes wondered if the King knew what we were doing in his name. At the time they seemed reasonable but looking back…”

  She paused and then composed herself; “do you believe God really forgives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then pray with me Peter I want to be at peace with God, but I can’t stop remembering. I can’t remember what I had for breakfast but every moment in that basement is etched in my mind and I wish some of it wasn’t.”

  Peter prayed with her for some time, and gave her an absolution.

  Peter arrived home late afternoon and as he passed the church he noticed Mark working in the graveyard. When he went to park the car there was a bicycle leaning against the side of his garage and blood-curdling noises, interspersed by thumps, coming from inside. Peter stopped to have a word with Albert, who was working in the garden, against the background noise from the garage. Albert smiled when he saw Peter.

  “Young ‘un seems to have a lot of energy.”

  Peter grinned back.

  “He just needs to get rid of some excess anger in a safe way.”

  Albert nodded. Peter waved an arm.

  “Thanks for what you’re doing in the garden, it looks better already.”

  “Long ways to go,” replied Albert, “but we’re beginning the journey.”

  “Anything you need?”

  “Not yet, might like to buy some bedding plants next month, but lets wait and see what nature brings first.”

  Peter started to walk away, but Albert grabbed his arm.

  “Peter, could I ask you a favour?”

  Peter nodded.

  “Your flat over the garage; does anyone ever use it?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Harriet will kill me for asking, but could our grand-daughter stay there over Easter? She’s coming down from university to visit us and the guest room at the home is already booked. She would eat with us and… ”

  Peter stopped Albert in mid-flow.

  “Of course she can. But there’s no food there although there is a drop-down bed, but no bedding.”

  “That’s all right, we’ll pop a few breakfast things in, and Samantha uses a sleeping bag when she visits anyway.”

  “Then be my guest, you’ve got the key.”

  Albert just smiled.

  Early evening it began to rain. The wind was from the sea so the rain was cold and intense. Peter wondered again about the wisdom of paper burial. He spent the evening inspecting the basement. Regardless of what Gracie had said there was no sign of a tunnel, unless she had meant the one from the air-raid shelter, but that was above the water table. About eleven Mark phoned, he got straight to the point.

  “It’s no go, believe it or not there’s some sort of brick sarcophagus below where we are burying Norma, it’s deep down and obviously sunk over the years, but it will prevent us from using the grave for other purposes. I didn’t realise that that part of the graveyard was so crowded, our graveyard map shows absolutely nothing.”

  Peter was actually relieved.

  “And it’s raining.”

  “Yes, I dug a drainage hole from one side of the grave into the sandy soil below, I hope it will act as a soak-away.”

  “Thanks for trying; we’ll just have to think of something more inventive.”

  Peter then had a good nights sleep.

  In fact, the next two weeks passed peacefully. Peter continued his round of pastoral visiting; there were those he was visiting on a regular basis and he was also trying to work his way through the electoral role, but he knew that would take him several months. He did visit Gracie again, but this time she did not want to reminisce about the war, but showed Peter her photographs of her children and grand-children. It took some time, but somehow Peter didn’t care; he always enjoyed listening to people. There was however one increasingly sour note, no matter how had he pressed he could not get an investment portfolio out of Sam.

  Finally the day of the Annual Church Meeting arrived and with it, on the doormat in the morning, was a letter from Sam. In it was a list of typical investments from Porlock, Whitby, and Scanes, but there was nothing specific; it was really a piece of advertising blurb and not the specific list that Peter had asked for. Peter gritted his teeth, he hadn’t wanted a battle, but now it looked like he had got one.

  That evening the meeting convened. Peter was surprised at how many members were attending. In his last church only about 10% of the congregation turned up, here it was more like 80%. He, of course, had no idea that the high turnout was because people had sensed that this would not be the usual boring AGM, but that there might be some fireworks. He opened the meeting in the usual way and there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary for the first half of the meeting. That was exactly the way Peter wanted it; he wanted to make a clear statement that he would not interfere with the election of Church Council officers, but he did intend to depart from the normal run of things later. That moment came when they reached the item before last labelled ‘Vicar’s summary of the previous year.’ Peter stood up.

  “This item is entitled ‘Vicar’s summary of the previous year’ but I have only been here for less than a quarter of that time. However, I have done my homework and want to divide the résumé of the year into four sections, Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats.”

  “Let’s start with the less than positive and work towards the positive. So I’ll begin with weaknesses. One obvious weakness has been the conduct of the Church Council.” Peter paused for murmuring to die down. “They have met seven times in the past year; on three of those occasions they made decisions without a quorum being present and on four of those occasions made decisions where they had no mandate. I do not propose to rescind those illegal decisions, though I have the power to do so, but I do give notice that we will re-visit those areas over the next year so that a full discussion can take place and legitimate decisions taken. A second weakness lies in our money-management. As a church we have allowed an investment firm, namely Porlock, Whitby, and Scanes, to make investments on our behalf; but it seems that the firm are reluctant to say exactly where our money is being placed. The church needs to know exactly where its money is; none of us would place our life savings into the hands of someone who would feed us no information on its use. Neither should we as a church place our money in an investment house that gives little or no information back to us. A third weakness is that we have come too much to rely on the income generated from the use of the tower to the apparent detriment of personal giving. I’m not just talking about money here, but also time. We use the money for instance to have the church cleaned on our behalf, but that denies those of us for whom cleaning the church is an offering to God the opportunity to give. It also means that we stop thinking too deeply about using money wisely; the phrase ‘easy come easy go’ springs to mind. It is also apparent that the generosity of giving on the church’s behalf is also severely lacking; for a church with well over a third of a million pounds in the bank to have given nothing away - absolutely nothing away - is a large blot on our copybook of Christian care and concern.” Peter paused and took a sip of water.

  “Then to threats. The biggest threat we face is that of complacency. Yes we have a large congregation of over two hundred, but the church can seat well over five hundred. Yes we are financially viable. Yes we are a worshipping community. But, we represent only a smal
l cross-section of the town’s population; that is the fairly affluent and articulate middle-class. God’s kingdom is open to all and our church should be open to all. We are open to the imputation that we are neglecting a large proportion of the community when the Christian hope is for all. A second threat is that of not listening to the needs of others. We must be careful that we do not make decisions based on our own prejudices or our own comfort because we have not listened to the cries of those outside the church. Those very voices will rise up and condemn us if we continue to ignore them.”

  “Now, to the more positive, strengths. Firstly the church is packed with talent. I have seldom come across a church where so many of its members have so much potential and so many gifts. Secondly, as I have mentioned before, we do have a large congregation; people attract people and if we each asked one other person to join us in worship during the year the potential for growth is enormous. Thirdly, as I have visited I have come across many of you who have Christ’s love in their hearts. The strength and capacity of that love is an asset worth more than mere gold.”

  “Lastly, to opportunities: and here there could be an endless list, but to name a few there is: The possibility of using our money not only for ourselves but also for the community at large: The possibility of enjoying Christian generosity together and sharing our abundance of gifts and talents with others: The possibility to put our financial punch behind ‘love thy neighbour’. But above all, the possibility for us to journey together on the road that Christ has set before us; sharing together in worship, supporting each other in times of trouble and above all sharing the love of God together.”

  Peter finished there and sat down. He had carefully not mentioned any of the Church Council by name, nor had he directly opposed any individual decision from the past, but he hoped that his message was clear.

  The rest of the evening was interesting for Peter and painful for the Major and Sam. Peter opened up the meeting for questions and several members were clearly unhappy about the lack of investment information. A little grey-haired old lady whom Peter had never seen in church effectively roasted the Major; nevertheless she asked him repeatedly how come he had let the council make decisions when a quorum was not present. She also asked Henry how come he, an eminent lawyer, had let decisions be made that were inappropriate. After a sufficient time Peter declared the meeting closed and coffee/tea available.