Felburgh

by Ivan B

  “No problem; a lady called Marjorie has invited me back to hers.”

  Peter was truly amazed. Since his arrival Marjorie had been polite and helpful to Peter, but she had kept her distance. Come two o’clock Peter was back at the church welcoming the baptismal party for the afternoon baptism.

  Peter had the night before given strict instructions.

  “I don’t care how you come dressed. I don’t care if you come straight from football. But I do want you to be sober - not a drop of alcohol is to pass your lips on Sunday until after the service; then you can do what you like. I do not want people to be sick in the font or over me!”

  His words had obviously had effect. Everyone was obviously sober and remarkably well dressed. People poured in the church; it seemed that everyone who was being baptized, or a Godparent, had brought their family. Seeing all the children passing through the doors he was glad he’d roped in Harriet and Jo to be available in the north aisle for child care should the need arise. Halfway through the run-up Peter stiffened; Kimberley’s parents walked into the church. Given the previous encounter between Kimberley’s father and Damian this could spell trouble. However, Kimberley’s father came up to Peter and apologized once again for his behavior at Kimberley’s aborted wedding. Peter swallowed nervously.

  “Is Kimberley expecting you?” Peter asked.

  The father nodded and replied in short staccato sentences.

  “We’ve sorted things out. Couldn’t leave them as they were. Sarah is my grandchild. Damian is working out better than I expected. T his baptism is a bonus.”

  They then went and sat next to Kimberley; her mother almost immediately picked up Sarah and held her in her arms. At about two-fifteen Peter was beginning to wonder where Charmian was when she arrived with Marjorie, who went and sat at the back of the church.

  “Good lunch?” said Peter.

  “Marvelous. She took me to the Grand Hotel, she’s obviously well known there. Did you know that she used to be an undercover journalist and now owns two ladies magazines?”

  Peter shook his head.

  “No idea. You’d better go and get robed up and I’ll be along and tell you how we are going to work this.”

  As Peter was taking a last look around the congregation, now well over two hundred he had to smile. They were noisy,boy were they noisy, but they were all obviously looking forward to the service. Peter was also pleased to see a number of his normal congregation, including the Major, sitting in the church. As he turned to go someone tapped him on the arm; it was Hannah.

  “Thank you for giving me the tip off.”

  “Thank you for the exposé.”

  Hannah gave a broad smile.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to caused trouble; since the article on funerals the paper has made me their religious affairs correspondent. Should I sit anywhere in particular?”

  Peter pointed to a vacant seat next to Marjorie.

  “Try sitting there.”

  He then escaped to the vestry. The baptism itself could have been a logistics nightmare as nearly all the adults involved were there in more than one capacity. For example; Bronwyn was three times Godmother; Damian was being baptized and a Godparent, and a girl called Jasmine was having her two children baptized as well as being baptized herself and being a Godparent. It had taken Peter a whole afternoon to write out the Baptismal Certificates and Godparent cards. But he had a cunning plan, especially now that he had Charmian to help him. They went through the service and when they got to the actual baptism section Peter baptized the adults first and then Charmian baptized the children. Everyone said the vows. It did however take a long time; the service lasted almost an hour and three quarters, but no one seemed to care. Some children played in the north aisle; some sat with their parents. One three year old sat on the chancel steps and watched everything while messily munching her way through some sort of chocolate bar. They finished with the children’s song ‘God is so good’; it was sung with enthusiasm and joy. After the service, as Peter was clearing up, the Major came up to him.

  “Unusual service,” he said.

  “But wasn’t it great to see so many baptized and have so many come to support them?”

  The Major nodded and replied.

  “But do you think the adults will go on to confirmation?”

  Peter put down the hymnbooks he was holding.

  “To be honest George, I don’t know. Baptism is seen as a familiar rite of passage, but confirmation to most people remains a bit of a mystery. I have booked the Bishop for a confirmation service in October anyway as some of the teenagers want to be confirmed; we will have to wait and see what else matures.”

  The Major stood still for a moment clearly having difficulty in finding the words for what he wanted to say, eventually he gave an harrumph.

  “I must say that I thought your work at the pub was a dubious enterprise; in fact I’m still not so sure that it is wise. But I must admit today has made me think that there may be some merit in it; providing that it does not all end in tears.”

  Peter realized that this was as near to a compliment as he was liable to get from the Major .

  “Thank you, and thank you for coming today.”

  However, the Major had not finished.

  “And this morning, I meant what I said; I have no problem with Woman Anglican Clergy; but please be careful what you involve her in; it might not just be your career that gets ruined.”

  With that the Major left. Peter glanced round the church; nearly everyone had left apart from Kimberley’s family, Marjorie and Hannah who were deep in conversation, and Dan and David who were looking at a piece of music together. Peter went and put away his chattels and locked the vestry. When he reappeared Hannah was waiting for him.

  “Can I come to the Fisherman’s Friend Meeting at some time?”

  Peter thought.

  “Can you wait a few months as I don’t want too much publicity or it all turning into a novelty item.”

  Hannah nodded. Peter relaxed.

  “Did you enjoy the service?”

  Hannah nodded again.

  “Very much so, it had freshness about it.” Then she went on, “and I’m not sure, but I think I’ve just been commissioned to write an article on funerals for the Élan Mode Magazine.

  The after baptism bash at the Fisherman’s friend was an amazing affair. Taffy, who had elected not to come, had hung bunting all over the church and Bronwyn had prepared a buffet tea, compete with a giant cake, in the back room. People seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves and no one seemed to be drinking excessively, except that is for Charmian. When Peter had arrived she already had a gin and tonic in her hands and had got through three more by the middle of the afternoon. On the positive side she was mixing well and seemed to have obtained an almost instant rapport with Tracy and Kimberley. As Peter was surveying this, and wondering whether or not to have a quite word with Charmian, Taffy whispered in his ear.

  “I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

  “Worry about what?”

  “Young lass and her drinks.”

  Peter looked at Taffy.

  “Am I missing something?”

  Taffy grinned.

  “She’s used to the Navy. She had a word with me beforehand. Only one in four drinks is actually gin and tonic, the rest are just tonic. She told me if people buy her drinks to charge to full amount and put the excess in whatever charity box I like. She’s a canny young one that one.”

  Peter relaxed. Taffy fixed his cross-eye gaze on Peter.

  “Don’t believe in religion,” he said, “but I will say that you’ve brought one thing to this pub that I didn’t expect to see.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Joy. Just look at the young ‘en’s; instead of moping over their lager their enjoying life.”

  Peter chatted to Taffy for a while and then ambled over to where Damian and Kimberley were sitting with her parents. He wondered briefly about Damian’s par
ents and then sat down. Charmian and Damian were in the middle of a lively discussion about fitness with Damian trying to convince Charmian that the football kept him fit.

  “Might do,” she said, “if you didn’t absorb all those carbohydrates from the lager you throw down your throat. Good hockey player would see you off any day.”

  They argued some more and then Damian thumped down his glass.

  “Come on then, put your money where your mouth is, I’ll race you to the church and back.”

  Charmian backed off.

  “You’ve got trainers on, I can’t possible run in these.”

  Kimberley butted in.

  “What size feet?”

  “Eight.”

  Kimberley left through a door behind the bar and came back with a pair of trainers.

  “I left these behind by accident when I moved; Bronwyn found them in the washing machine. Try these.”

  Peter grinned to himself; Charmian was being neatly set up. Peter had seen Damian play football one Saturday afternoon, he seemed tireless.

  “I won’t bet, mind,” said Charmian, “but last one back has to help with the washing up.”

  Soon they were standing side by side outside the pub doorway. Peter clapped his hands and they were off. Damian shot away like a scalded rabbit and Charmian chased after him. Kimberley followed on Charmian’s mountain bike to ensure fair play and they all disappeared from view after about two minutes. Ten minutes later Charmian ran into view hotly pursued by Damian, who was obviously loosing ground. Then when Charmian was about a hundred yards from the doorway she seemed to stagger, gave a few bunny hops and slowed considerably. Damian rapidly caught up and they reached the pub simultaneously. Charmian rubbed her left leg and said, “Cramp.” The only problem for Peter is that as she did so she gave him a knowing wink and he had a great deal of trouble in suppressing his laughter.

  Sunday evening Peter traveled to the Cathedral at Bury. The Cathedral was holding a special service for the scouting movement and some of St Cedd’s pupils were attending. Peter had volunteered (been volunteered?) to undertake simultaneous signing as the service progressed. He was actually more than happy to do so, but was amazed at just how much concentration it took. By the time he got home he was completely bushed. It had been a fruitful day, but a long day.

  Monday morning Peter was just getting ready to see Roger and Muriel again when he noticed Jasper striding up the drive like a yacht in a force nine gale. Peter smiled to himself; at least this time there were no nude ladies around. He should not have smiled so soon. When Jasper was half way up the drive Kimberley appeared going in the other direction and pushing her baby-buggy. She was taking full advantage of the sunny weather and had on a skimpy pair of shorts and a small bikini type top. She obviously said something to Jasper as she passed him, but Jasper did not break step. Kimberley moved on and then stopped to talk to Roger and Muriel who had also appeared. Peter opened the front door and let Jasper in.

  “We need to talk,” said Jasper.

  Peter thought ‘oh no not again’, but said politely.

  “Sorry Jasper I’ve got a couple just arriving to see me. They shouldn’t be here very long, would you like to wait?”

  Waiting was obviously not on Jasper’s agenda, but he nodded.

  “Where,” he asked.

  Peter licked his lips.

  “I’ll be using the sitting room and Mothers and Toddlers are due to use the lounge from ten o’ clock, but you can wait anywhere else. But you might like to go and stand in my attic.”

  Jasper looked at Peter in total disbelief.

  “Stand in your attic!? Is that what you call hospitality?”

  “You might find it a rewarding experience.”

  Jasper eyes fairly bulged.

  “Have you lost all your marbles or are you just trying to get under my skin? You needn’t try too hard, your most of the way under anyway!”

  Peter did his best to smile.

  “I’m serious. Try standing in my attic.”

  Jasper threw up his arms in despair,.

  “Where’s your attic. No don’t tell me it must be at the top of the house, unless in this madhouse it’s in the basement.”

  He then proceeded to climb the stairs.

  Peter let Roger and Muriel in and took them to the sitting room.

  “Good of you to see us at such short notice Father,” said Muriel.

  Peter had decided not to try and change Muriel’s mode of address.

  “What can I do?”

  “You’ve seen the papers?” Interjected Roger.

  “Yes.”

  He looked at Muriel, “I am very sorry. It must have come as a shock.”

  Muriel nodded.

  “I knew he was getting worse, but no-one realized that the old wound had opened up in his head until it was too late.”

  She paused.

  “But in reality I lost Jim some time ago; it’s just the final part of him that died last week.”

  They were silent for a time, and then Roger spoke.

  “We were wondering if you would marry us.”

  Muriel interrupted.

  “And I’m not sure how soon we can get married.”

  Peter replied.

  “How soon do you think you will be ready to be married?”

  They looked at each other and said almost together.

  “Next Saturday?”

  Peter laughed.

  “No can do. The Banns have to be read for three weeks in advance so four Saturdays away is the earliest I can manage”.

  Peter then spent some time taking details and eventually showed them out. The meeting with Roger and Muriel had taken three quarters of an hour, but Jasper had not reappeared.

  Jasper did not come down for another half an hour, by which time Peter had a pot of coffee and some fancy biscuits ready. Anything he thought to try and soften Jasper up; they could not continue as they were. Jasper came in the sitting room and sat down. He did not speak but poured himself a cup of coffee and took a Jammy Dodger. He nibbled the biscuit for a while.

  “It was the second mural that caught me out. I looked at this crowd all looking at me and then I realized they were all looking beyond me. I turned round and…”

  He stopped and reached for another biscuit.

  “You could charge for that,” he said, “just for people to stand in your attic.”

  “I don’t think Carola Massey would be very pleased. The main mural is merely a test piece for what she is going to do at Alnwick. It’s a privilege to have it, but I can’t exploit it.”

  Jasper reached out for another biscuit. After he had eaten that he gave a half-snort.

  “By all accounts you are a dark horse. You’ve got not one but two genuine Carola Massey murals in your house. I hear that you baptized more than two dozen people yesterday and have another dozen to go next week. You’ve managed to grab a female curate right under my nose when I am doing my best to give you a male curate to cramp your style; and you are running an innovative type of church in the roughest pub in Felburgh.”

  Peter began to wonder; was this a prelude to a peace treaty?

  Jasper flicked a crumb off of his cheek.

  “On the down side I keep hearing rumours about you I don’t like and whenever I come here there seems to be nubile young ladies around. Just who was that who told me you were in?”

  “That’s Kimberley and Sarah, they live above the garage.”

  Jasper swiveled his eyes round to meet Peter’s.

  “Above your garage? You have a young lady and her offspring living above your garage?!”

  Peter wanted to take Jasper off the boil quickly.

  “I agreed, but I didn’t arrange it. The Diocesan Housing Department drew up the contract and Bunty set it all up.”

  Jasper cooled down slightly.

  “By Bunty you mean Barbara Vearmouth the ex-headmistress.”

  “Yes.”

  “And was Harriet Splines also involved.”


  “Up to her neck.”

  Jasper shook his head slightly.

  “I’ve come across that pair before; they stitched me up rather nicely and I ended up as a school governor at St Cedds.”

  “St Cedds School for the hearing impaired?”

  “Yes. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve been on a sort of trial there as their chaplain.”

  Jasper could not have been more surprised.

  “How?”

  “Caroline, that’s Henry’s wife who is Carola Massey the painter, urged me to try it because I can sign.”

  “You can sign?”

  “Yes, my father was deaf.”

  Jasper rolled his eyes and poured himself another coffee.

  “I tried to learn when I became governor there, I might as well have tried to understand astro-physics.”

  Jasper started on yet another biscuit.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Badly. I’m not cut out to work with children.”

  “So are you going to give it up, or persevere?”

  Peter was quiet for a moment.

  “Actually I have a plan. Charmian signs, not very well, but well enough to be understood. She will probably improve with real practice. She also was a schoolteacher before she came into the ministry and has that knack of relating to children that is elusive to me. I was going to take her along with me on Wednesday and see what happens, but I won’t force anything on her; she’s here to learn not to be flogged to death.”

  Jasper sat back and dunked the final biscuit in his coffee. He finished the biscuit and coffee and put the cup back on the table.

  “Last time I was here I said that I would not support you and that I thought things were destined to go wrong. To tell you the truth I was a bit miffed that the Bishop appointed you while I was away; I was hoping to get a young curate from the other side of the diocese placed here as his first appointment. In hindsight I may have been considering the needs of St Nathaniel’s above the needs of the curate. Don’t get me wrong, I am still dubious about some aspects of your behaviour, but in the main I think you’ve made a good start here. Please, please don’t ruin it by some stunt like you pulled in your last parish. This parish doesn’t need the scandal and neither do you.”