CONSTABLE ABOUT THE PARISH a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 17)

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘Like a shepherd with his sheep? And cowman and his cow?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, exactly. I would like at least one representative of the various professions who make use of animals in the course of their work — a police dog-handler and a police dog, for example, a donkey from the beach with its owner, a racehorse and its trainer, a greyhound and its owner, a heavy horse and a ploughman, a pet-shop owner with something from his stock, an aviary keeper with a specimen from one of his cages and I was even hoping the zoo would produce something spectacular like an elephant or a zebra.’

  ‘It’s certainly a novel idea and it would add a new dimension to the service for animals.’ I felt he had a point but wondered if he expected a beekeeper to bring a bee, a snake charmer to bring a snake, a poultry farmer to bring a hen, a fisherman to bring a fish or a rat-catcher to bring a rat. And it would be interesting to see what vets and butchers brought along, and then there were fox-hunters and rabbit-catchers to consider.

  ‘I need to find new methods of filling the church, ways of getting bums on pews,’ he said. ‘We’re always in need of funds too and I am sure that every time we filled the church with people attending a special service, we’d get a useful income from the collection. But my motives are not entirely mercenary — I want to make the people more aware of the varied means that God has provided for us to earn our living, and I want people to thank Him for that. And I want them to appreciate the animals which support us in our endeavours.’

  ‘You could always hold a service for tradesmen,’ I heard myself say. ‘And you could have a blessing of tools — a carpenter and his chisel, a painter and his brush, a policeman and his truncheon, a builder with a brick, a surgeon and his scalpel . . .’

  ‘Actually, that isn’t a bad idea! A road sweeper with his brush, a blacksmith with his anvil and a washerwoman with her poss stick.’ He began to enthuse over that proposal so I had to bring his mind back to the issue of the day.

  ‘I’ll have words with my friends in the dog section,’ I promised him. ‘And I’m sure we can persuade one of them to come to church with a well-behaved animal. We do have police horses as well, you know.’

  ‘Well, if a horse and rider came as well, it would be a bonus.’ He was getting very enthusiastic about his idea.

  ‘But if I do get a good response, I will have to find somewhere to position all the animals — we couldn’t get them all into the church.’

  ‘You’d need some drinking water for those outside, I would think. And they do make a mess, you know, if you’re thinking of allowing them inside.’ I had to remind him that big beasts made big messes. He’d probably need someone on hand with a shovel or two. ‘And you’d have to segregate dogs from cats, and cats from budgies and I’m not sure where you’d put the elephant if the zoo produced one, or a lion . . .’

  ‘Oh, I know there will be problems to sort out in advance, and indeed on the day. But the idea is not new, Nick. In the past, people used to take their animals to church with them, you know,’ he said. ‘It was a regular event, not restricted to special days.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and there was a minor official called a dog-whipper. His job was to move among the congregation with a whip to keep the unruly dogs under control — and perhaps some of their owners,’ I smiled. ‘And there were dogs known as turnspits too; they were taken to the church, rather in the way you are suggesting for modern working animals.’

  ‘Turnspits?’ he grinned. ‘What on earth were they?’

  ‘Working dogs,’ I told him. ‘They were small ones, like terriers, and their job was to operate a treadmill which turned the spit which was cooking the roast over the log fire. Real hard-working little dogs, they were. They did most of the work without getting any of the benefits!’

  ‘It sounds like a form of slavery to me,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Nick, you think the idea is a good one, in principle?’

  ‘Yes, I do, and I will help in any way I can. Have you a date in mind? That would help if I am to book the police dog in advance.’

  ‘I was intending to hold it as a summer event, we could hold it out of doors, in the church grounds if the weather was suitable. I am thinking of the last Sunday in July. I’d like to persuade our two village cricket teams to play afterwards and I’m hoping to recruit other organizations to mount displays or erect stalls. If it’s a success, it could become a regular part of the church calendar. I shall refer to it as The Peacock Service.’

  ‘Peacock?’ I puzzled over the name. ‘I can’t see any connection between peacocks and the professions?’

  ‘Thomas Love Peacock, the poet,’ he informed me. ‘In his Headlong Hall he wrote, “All animals were created solely and exclusively for the use of man”. I can’t say I agree entirely with his sentiments, but his words have provided me with a focus for my suggested service.’

  ‘The Peacock Service. I’ll remember that,’ I smiled. ‘Fine, so now I’ll see if I can reserve that date with the dog section.’

  When I rang Inspector Mason, the officer in charge of the dog section, he said. ‘I’ve got just the dog for him, Nick. Satan. A big black Alsatian. He needs a bit of spiritual training; he’s a bully, Nick, he needs to be taught Christian principles.’

  ‘We don’t want unruly creatures at the church!’ I had to remind him.

  ‘He’s not unruly, in fact he’s very obedient. But he’s the sort of dog who, if the zoo turns up with a lion, will try to chase it off the premises. He eats cats, the bigger the better . . .’

  ‘Don’t you think something a bit more gentle would be a better idea?’ I had to say.

  ‘I’m joking, Nick. Satan’s quite controllable really. It’s more a question of availability. Two of our handlers are giving a demonstration to a security firm that same Sunday and for that we need our most experienced dogs. In addition, we have to have a team standing by for any operational requirements that might arise in the county. That leaves Satan — he’s our newest acquisition, a real humdinger of a dog, built like a Shetland pony. He can sort out a whole busload of bolshie Leeds supporters by himself. He once cornered an entire coachload in the gents in Thirsk marketplace.’

  ‘I can’t envisage the congregation of Aidensfield Parish Church behaving like a busload of football hooligans but I am sure Satan will be an asset. So, yes, sir, I’d like to book him — I’ll confirm the time in due course.’

  ‘Consider it done, Nick. I don’t think Satan’s ever been to church before — and neither has his handler for that matter, so I’ll get the pair of them to swot up a few suitable prayers. “Our handler, who art in Heaven . . . give us this day our daily doggibix”. . .”

  ‘Deo gratias,’ I said and rang off.

  During the course of the next few weeks, the Reverend Lord managed to persuade most of his intended participants to come to his Peacock Service and the advance notice in the village had generated a lot of promises. The service was scheduled for three o’clock on the afternoon of the last Sunday in July and it seemed the church and/or its ground would be full of animals who were of use to humans in the course of their work. I confirmed with Inspector Mason that Satan and his handler, PC Roger Hardy, would be attending.

  We could not have the police horses that day — it was a Sunday in summer when the horses patrolled the seafront at Scarborough to impress on some of the more loutish visitors that good behaviour was a wise thing. Bad behaviour meant they could be locked up. In recent months, louts had been gathering in gangs and their unruly behaviour on the beach and in the town had upset many of the tourists. So the horses patrolled to keep these lunatics in order.

  Christian Lord had succeeded in attracting some other horses, however. One was a retired racehorse called Tantalus who had a string of wins to his name and the others were a pair of giant black Shires called Black Maria and Black Prince. Their owner still used them to haul a plough and to operate haymaking equipment such as a double-horse mower. Among the other promised creatures, he had a shepherd and a sheep, a cow, calf and dairyman,
a sow, piglets and pigman, a donkey and its owner, some poultry in a pen and the child who cared for them, a budgie and a pit pony that had both served down a coalmine until their recent retirement, and a retired miner to care for them, a cat which was the official mouser in a department store along with its trainer, a retired guide dog for the blind, a performing seal from a circus which would be in the area at the time with its trainer and an elephant from the local zoo, plus attendant. I began to think that an ordinary domestic animal like a dog, even if it was a police dog, might look a shade ordinary in such interesting company, but told myself that that was not the purpose of the exercise. A police dog was just as important to society as any other of the animals which would be on display.

  To accommodate his menagerie, Christian Lord explained that he had fenced off a section of the churchyard so that the area containing the graves was safe from their browsing and heavy or hooved feet, and he had organized a zinc trough which would be filled with water for the day. As he was intending to hold an outdoor service, a dais had been erected beside the church and he intended to conduct the service from there. So far as car-parking and other arrangements for coping with the crowd was concerned, I could see no real problems. Clearly, there would be horse boxes, dog vans, Land Rovers, trailers, an elephant truck and other specialized transport, but after depositing their precious loads, such vehicles could be directed to a suitable carpark in the village for the duration of the service. There was plenty of room.

  As the day of the Peacock approached, the church and its immediate environs took on the appearance of an agricultural showground. George Ward, the landlord of the pub, had erected a small marquee in an adjoining field from where he would dispense liquid refreshments after the event, the profits going to church funds, the WI had organized a cake stall to raise money for the church, the school had arranged a display of children’s art in the porch, the village first and second cricket teams were to play against each other in an overs-match immediately afterwards, the losing side paying to church funds £1 for every run they scored, and other village organizations had devised their own fund-raising schemes.

  As I was emerging from the churchyard on the Saturday before Peacock day, I encountered Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. He was ambling past with his dog, Alfred on a long lead, and glared at me as I emerged from the lychgate.

  ‘You’re not supporting that snobby-nosed lot, are you?’ he grumbled.

  ‘What’s got into you, Claude?’ He was clearly upset about something.

  ‘They say it’s for professionals with professional animals. Not household pets. I asked one of the church wardens and he gave me a right look, as if to say Alfred wasn’t allowed.’

  ‘There is another service for pets; Alfred will be more than welcome to attend that one,’ I advised him. ‘The vicar thought it would be nice to recognize the part played by God’s creatures in the daily work of the human race, so that’s what tomorrow’s service is about. It’s for working animals, not pets.’

  I felt like adding that poaching was not really a suitable profession and that Alfred’s reputation, as the faithful servant of Aidensfield’s most notorious poacher, was hardly a recommendation to be invited to the Peacock Service. ‘There’ll be police dogs there,’ I said. ‘And working horses, an elephant from the zoo.’

  ‘I’m not too fond of police dogs, nor elephants,’ he said. ‘Not after that accident on the moor when one kicked my truck off the road.’

  ‘They’re all working animals,’ I said. ‘Animals that have contributed in some way to the work of the human race . . .’

  ‘Like Alfred, you mean?’

  ‘Give over, Claude! You can’t say that Alfred is a professional dog in the same way that a police dog is, or a pit pony or a racehorse earning its keep or . . .’

  ‘He is, he’s a guard dog,’ beamed Claude.

  ‘Guard dog?’ This was a newly designated Alfred, I was sure. ‘What’s he guard?’

  ‘Me for a start,’ said Claude. ‘And my premises, and belongings and livestock and wealth . . .’

  ‘Look, so far as I am concerned, Claude, you can take your guard dog to the Peacock Service. It’s nothing to do with me; I don’t decide who comes and who doesn’t. Have a word with the vicar. I am not involved with the arrangements.’

  ‘Aye, mebbe not, but you do have influence in these parts.’

  Oddly enough, guard dogs were not represented at the Peacock Service although they did play an important part in our daily lives, but to describe Alfred, the lurcher and poacher’s friend, as a guard dog was slightly over-doing things.

  ‘I’ll be talking to the vicar,’ I promised Claude. ‘I’ll see what he says.’

  When I saw Christian Lord, he smiled. ‘Claude has not mentioned this to me,’ he said. ‘He must have got his rejection from one of our more determined church wardens. But so far as I am concerned, Claude can bring Alfred — he is a working dog and we must not judge our fellow creatures . . . after all, dogs are not sinners.’

  ‘Even if their owners are?’ I grinned.

  ‘Christ wants us to forgive sinners,’ returned the vicar, adding with a smile, ‘So far as I know, he said nothing about forgiving sinning dogs because there is no such thing as a sinning animal.’

  ‘So all dogs, cats and other animals go to Heaven?’ I put to him, as a joke.

  ‘Don’t set me off with that one!’ he laughed. ‘I’ve had enough of old ladies wanting to know if their Pekinese dog will join them in eternal bliss.’

  When I got home, I rang Claude and he was jubilant. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he rejoiced over the phone.

  ‘Make sure Alfred behaves himself,’ was my parting retort, but Claude had already replaced the handset.

  On Peacock Day, I walked along to the church to undertake some car-parking duty and was astonished at the variety of transport arrangements for an even more astonishing variety of animals. The area outside Aidensfield parish church resembled a zoo or a circus as racehorses, carthorses, hacking horses, ponies, donkeys, goats whose milk was made into cheese, guide dogs, sheep dogs, police dogs, cats used for showing and breeding, blackfaced sheep, a Hereford bull, a pair of Friesian cows, two Highland cattle, the elephant from the zoo, pigs, assorted hens, turkeys and geese and even a snake-charmer’s snake arrived. A professional magician brought a white rabbit, an animal hospital produced a hedgehog, an otter and a seal while an aquarium owner brought a tank containing a pet lobster which he’d had for twenty-seven years.

  Fortunately, the churchwardens had foreseen the problems and had advised the owners to bring suitable leashes, cages or containers and the animals were spaced around the churchyard so that any innate antagonism would be minimalized. Nonetheless, there was a good deal of noise from them, varying from the neighing of horses to the trumpeting of the elephant. The arrangements were very well organized and I had no trouble directing the assorted vehicles to suitable carparks. Last to arrive was Claude Jeremiah Greengrass with Alfred who had clearly been shampooed for the occasion and looked as if he had hated every minute of his beauty treatment. But he trotted behind his master as the service was about to begin.

  Satisfied that all the guests had arrived, I left my parking duties and went into the churchyard to listen. The weather had remained kind — it was a warm and slightly breezy afternoon in late July with a few small clouds in the sky, but no sign of rain and so the service was to be conducted out of doors. The vicar came out of the church in his flowing vestments, noticed me and said, ‘Thanks Nick, everything’s going to plan. I’ve seen the collection plate already . . . I know we shall generate lots of income today . . . a good day for all, eh?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pleased for you.’ As he walked across to his dais, the organ began to play ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small’ and all sang, including Alfred the dog, who began to howl with his muzzle pointing towards the heavens like a flue valve. The cows lowed, the horses whinnied, the dogs barked or howled, the sheep bleated,
the hens cackled, the pigs grunted and the seal honked as the amplified music filled the air.

  It was after the sermon, based on Job 35.11 (Who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth?) that I became aware of a minor disturbance among the animals. It was a very small disturbance, more of flutter among them, but I worried that it might develop into something greater. Some of the animals were growing restless and becoming noisy and then I saw the cause. It was a bat, a pipistrelle. It was flittering among the outdoor congregation, alarmed no doubt by the concentration of animals and people in the place it probably used to seek its insect prey, and it had panicked. It seemed unable to find a means of leaving the airspace above the gathering of beasts and its presence was definitely unsettling some of the animals.

  I think the noise generated by the crowd had probably flushed it from its roosting place in the belfry, for bats generally emerge at dusk. But it was broad daylight and the unhappy creature was fluttering low above the heads of the congregation. People were ducking to avoid it, but the vicar ploughed on with his service, apparently unaware of the growing problem. The bat seemed unable or unwilling to steer itself away from the gathering and I began to wonder how the matter would be resolved. If its fluttering presence continued to worry the animals, a full-scale disturbance might develop and we’d then have a more serious problem to deal with. I could see that the elephant was far from happy at being buzzed by a flittermouse and the seal was beginning to honk in alarm. But how does one catch a bat? Should we attempt to shoo it away?

  At the far side of the gathering I noticed members of the cricket teams, already clad in their whites and caps, with the captain of the first team towering above his pals. He was Trevor Whiting, a solicitor by profession, but a first-class fieldsman who had, in his youth, played for Yorkshire. And then the bat whizzed towards him . . . and in a trice, he had reached out a long arm and caught it. I had heard of cricketers instinctively reaching out to catch low-flying swallows on cricket fields, but never a bat. Without a word, Trevor cradled the creature in one big hand, took his cap off with the other and popped the bat inside. Then he folded his cap gently and held it in the closed position, knowing the bat would relax in the warm darkness. And then, as the organ struck up with ‘All Creatures of Our Lord and King’, a hymn thought to have been written by the animal-loving St Francis of Assisi, I felt a nudge on my elbow.