As I hurried into the marketplace, I saw him board a service bus — the last bus from Ashfordly to Galtreford via Briggsby, Aidensfield and Elsinby. I climbed aboard just as he was taking his seat and, as he turned to face me, I saw it was Stuart Cabler. His specs and his long RAF greatcoat gave him away. I asked him to leave the bus because I wanted to talk to him, and he followed me without a word. I led him back to the shop, the door being unlocked, and took him inside where I switched on the lights. I then produced the envelope from my pocket and showed it to him.
‘I was inside the shop, Mr Cabler, and I saw you deliver this letter, addressed to Tessa. Did you deliver it a few minutes ago?’
He flushed deeply and whispered hoarsely. ‘Yes. It’s . . . it’s my paper money . . . to pay the bill . . .’
I opened it. It contained a used contraceptive wrapped in a piece of toilet tissue and a foul, obscene note written in blue ballpoint in capital letters upon a piece of lined writing paper.
‘A funny way of paying your paper bill, Mr Cabler,’ I said. ‘You know that there have been lots of these letters, so we can compare the handwriting on them all, now that you have admitted delivering this one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ was all he said. ‘I am so dreadfully sorry . . . I did not want to frighten her. I do not know why I did it . . .’
I took him to the police station where Sergeant Blaketon explained that he would be bailed to appear at Eltering Magistrates’ Court on Friday, when an application would be made to have him bound over to keep the peace or to be of good behaviour. He told us he travelled from Briggsby into Ashfordly by the last bus — it halted in the marketplace for twenty minutes to collect people leaving the pubs, and then returned to Galtreford. In that way, Stuart Cabler would be away from home for only half an hour, having told his wife he was going for a walk before going to bed. Having put the miserable little man through the official procedures, Sergeant Blaketon offered to run him home as I went to inform the Warriners of our modest success, but Cabler said he would take a taxi.
He offered no reason for his bizarre behaviour, and when I told the Warriners, they were shocked and surprised, Tessa saying she had never knowingly given him any encouragement. But clearly, over the months, he had developed an obsession with the pretty young woman and this was his odd way of showing his desire for her.
Stuart Cabler did not go into the shop the following morning, even though Tessa had put out his Daily Mirror, Woodbines and Mars Bar, and he did not turn up for work either. It was around noon that a forestry worker rang Ashfordly Police to say he had found the body of a man hanging from a tree in Hagg End Wood. It was Stuart Cabler, but he had not left a note.
Those who knew him, and the wife who loved him devotedly, were devastated by his sudden suicide, none of them knowing about his recent arrest and the reason for it, and the coroner felt he could deliver his verdict without referring to that aspect of Cabler’s life.
And so no one told his wife about his sordid activities. The Warriners agreed they would not tell Mrs Cabler, nor anyone else, about the obscene letters or the man who had sent them. There are times when I wonder if Mrs Cabler should have been told, or whether it is better for loved ones to remain ignorant of certain matters relating to their spouses or family members. Sadly, there is no simple answer to that problem.
9
The Lord shall join his enemies together.
Isa. 9.11
In the North York Moors during the early years of this century, Catholics and Protestants kept a discreet and respectful distance from one another. They went their separate ways to church; Catholics tended to marry Catholics, go to Catholic schools and avoid Protestant services like the plague. Even in the 1960s, the moorland Catholics, whose faith had survived the Reformation and produced at least one martyr, were smarting from the wholesale confiscation of their churches by the state, losing to the Protestants hundreds of gems like York Minster and Westminster Abbey. Then there was the sad matter of the wholesale destruction of their abbeys, priories and monasteries in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
But after the Penal Times, the climate began to thaw. The Catholic Emancipation Act was passed in 1829 to allow their limited return to British society — they could once more hold commissions in the armed forces, attend university, inherit land and serve with the judiciary, although they couldn’t marry the sovereign or become prime minister. They also set about building new churches.
Protestants belonging to the Church of England, on the other hand, were far more open in their faith; they would marry into other churches without any of the trauma suffered by their Catholic friends, and most couldn’t understand what the fuss was about, even though many regarded themselves as the true Catholics of this country.
With Aidensfield being a predominantly Catholic village, the differences in Catholic and Protestant belief led to many long discussions in the pubs and houses of Aidensfield and district. But these were friendly and warm, and real anger rarely ensued.
But in more recent times, further conciliatory moves were afoot. In 1962, Pope John XXIII opened the now famous council known as Vatican II, and this was attended by observers from non-Catholic churches throughout the word. That, in itself, was a major step towards church unity. Vatican II — opened in 1962 and concluded in December 1965 — concerned itself with changes to the liturgy, Christian unity and matters of church governments throughout the world.
One major outcome of those deliberations was the joining together of the Catholic and Anglican churches of Aidensfield in a garden fete. As a move towards Christian unity, this was regarded as having much greater significance than any Vatican Council, Church of England Synod or even the World Council of Churches.
I am not sure how the idea started but one Sunday in March, The Reverend Christian Lord of the Anglican Church of All Saints and Father Adrian of St Aidan’s Catholic Church simultaneously announced from their pulpits that there should be a joint garden fete. Its objective was to bring together members of each congregation in a friendly manner, a supplementary purpose being to raise funds for each church and for local charities. A committee comprising members from each church would be set up to run the fete, the date of which was the final Saturday in August, and it was hoped it would create a new feeling of unity within Aidensfield.
Father Adrian rang me later that Sunday to ask if I would be a member of that committee and although I do not like them (I am of the firm belief that a camel is a horse which was designed by a committee), I agreed. The chairman, he added, would be a man called Rupert Brown, an avowed atheist. It was felt he would not take sides should there be a dispute. The secretary would be Miss Protheroe from All Saints, and the treasurer would be Mrs Carstairs from St Aidan’s. A nice balance of officials, I felt.
The first meeting was a fortnight later and I went along to the committee room of the village hall — neutral ground, I was pleased to note — to join the others. There were some fifteen people in the room representing various aspects of village life, such as the two schools, the churches, the Women’s Institute, Catholic Women’s League, cricket club, football club, the pubs and other local groups and societies. I realized I was there partly because I attended the Catholic church, but also because of my job. A policeman on such a committee is often thought to be a good idea, if only that it will ensure his uniformed presence on the day, along with his professional expertise in acquiring things like No Parking signs, loudhailers and free offers of displays from the crime prevention teams.
‘Right,’ said Mr Brown, opening the meeting. ‘This is the first meeting of the Anglican and Catholic churches garden fête committee . . .’
‘No,’ said someone at the far end of the table. ‘It’s surely the Catholic and Anglican churches garden fête committee . . . Catholics were here a thousand years before the Protestants, they have priority.’
‘It should be St Aidan’s and All Saints Churches Fête,’ put in another woman.
I spoke up now. ‘W
hy don’t we just call it the Aidensfield Churches Garden Fête? Churches in the plural, it includes everyone, and then the Methodists and Quakers won’t feel left out.’
‘A good idea,’ beamed Mr Brown. ‘All in agreement?’
After this initial sparring and flurry of partisan spirits, things settled down and the committee set about its task of organizing the fête. One of the first problems was a suitable site. In order not to show preference to either church, a garden belonging to an independent person would be ideal, but of the two village gardens which were large enough to accommodate the proposed fête, one belonged to a Catholic and the other to an Anglican. There were plenty of suitable fields around the village, their ownership being spread among the differing faiths in a fairly even way, but it was then decided that the best place would be the village green.
It had been used for communal gatherings in the past, and it was representative of the entire village. This was an eminently suitable and independent site which meant that the title of the event could not include the word ‘garden’. That was therefore dropped with little ceremony and the newly styled village fete would comprise stalls showing local handicrafts, a section for vegetable and flower shows, a contest for beautiful dogs, cats and other pets, displays of sheepdogs at work, a donkey race, a cake stall, coconut shy, games for adults and children, a bar, a brass band playing throughout the afternoon, art and handwriting competitions and sundry other events of considerable variety and range.
It was suggested that the local quoits teams and cricket teams might play exhibition matches, that there be contests such as sack-races, three-legged races, egg-and-spoon races, long jumps and high jumps for children, and that swings, roundabouts and slides be brought in for the infants to use.
Over the weeks, those ideas, with a few more added, became realities. Marquees and tents were booked, pitches reserved, sites established for the stalls and a sports arena, car-parking arrangements made, a first-aid tent selected and a draft programme produced. I had arranged to be on duty in Aidensfield that day, and there is little doubt that the committee was doing a good job. Things were happening, there was a positive air about the place, and then, at one of the committee meetings, Rory O’Brien, an Irishman living in Aidensfield, said, ‘Mr Chairman, an idea.’
‘Yes, Mr O’Brien?’ Rory was known as a Big Catholic because he never missed mass, rang the bell, took the collection and cut the lawns around St Aidan’s. For some obscure reason, Catholics who were openly keen on their faith were called Big Catholics, which had nothing to do with their physical attributes. There were a lot of Big Catholics in Aidensfield. In Rory’s case, he was in his late forties, a successful businessman with interests in building, horse racing and two seaside restaurants.
‘We have lots of sports organized for the fête — children and adults — quoits and cricket matches, races and things,’ said Rory O’Brien.
‘We have indeed,’ said Mr Brown.
‘Would it not be an idea to have a competition between the two churches?’
Mr Brown, an atheist, pursed his lips and said, ‘I thought the idea of this fête was to eliminate competition between the churches? To bring them together, to fuse them into one happy Christian unit?’
‘To be sure it will do that, Mr Chairman, but I was thinking of the sports. A sports competition. Competition is good for the soul. So why not a cricket team from All Saints playing a team from St Aidan’s? To add a bit of excitement to the day’s events. And the same with the quoits team. And even the children — a sack race between the two schools, Catholic and Protestant . . .’
‘Well, I am not sure . . .’ began Mr Brown, sensing this could produce discord and trouble at the very time conciliatory moves were required.
‘I’ll give a cup to the winning church,’ continued O’Brien unabashed. ‘The Aidensfield Churches Fête Cup, to be presented annually. And a cheque for five hundred pounds.’
I was sure it was the reference to a cheque which transformed the concept of this suggestion.
‘And how would you determine the winner?’ I asked, as a representative of each church licked their lips at the thought of a £500 donation.
‘Each team and each individual would score one point for a win. So if St Aidan’s won the cricket match, they’d earn one point. But if little Johnny Swinton won his sack race for All Saints School, he’d score one point for the Anglicans. And if Margaret Tulley won the egg-and-spoon race for St Aidan’s School, that would be a point for the Catholic church. An odd number of qualifying events would produce a clear winner without the chance of a draw occurring. And at the end of the day, we add the points to see who’d got the prize. It’s a bit of fun, nothing more than a bit of extra excitement throughout the day, and a means for one of the churches to get a useful contribution to its funds.’
There was a moment of silence as the committee considered this suggestion, then one of them said, ‘I see no harm in it, Mr Brown. There’s always been healthy competition in these moors, especially between village cricket and quoits teams; even though the teams beat each other soundly, they remain the best of friends. In this case, the same people will be playing, but they’ll be representing a church team instead of a village team. After all, they’re used to one another, our teams have always consisted of a healthy mixture of Catholics and Protestants. This time they’ll be playing for God, not their village. I think it’s a good idea.’
‘I’m sure the spirit of the occasion will keep things calm and measured,’ I offered.
‘They’re not going to fall out over a cricket match at a church fête! I would support the idea,’ put in another of the committee members.
That speech led to mutterings of agreement among the others and I found myself unable to think of a reason why the plan would cause trouble. And so it was agreed. It was then suggested that panels to record the on-going scores should be printed in the fête programme.
The next task was to circulate that decision to the villagers, sports clubs and schools, so that teams could be recruited and there is no doubt that the promise of a handsome cup and a big cheque did enliven the planning of the fete. Quite suddenly, there was talk of ‘winning the cup’ and what had been planned as a simple fête had now assumed the status of a major sporting event along the lines of the FA Cup Final. I began to wonder if I’d need more no-parking signs and a more sonorous loudhailer.
The arrangements went ahead with remarkable speed and flair until, a few days before the fête, Aidensfield village green was transformed. Marquees and tents, cattle pens and rabbit hutches, stalls and tables, swings and roundabouts, notices and turnstiles, white lines and no-parking signs all appeared and then on a brilliant sunny day with not a cloud in the sky, the Aidensfield Churches Fête opened to music, noise, cars, buses, crowds and happiness.
Most of us had a role to play and, in the initial stages at least, mine was to ensure that all the incoming cars and buses found a parking space and that the road through the village was not obstructed. There was a very hectic period of about three-quarters of an hour — everyone seemed to arrive at the same time and then, once the opening ceremony had been concluded, my duties relaxed as people wandered about, visiting each stall or display in turn. And I did likewise.
There was an excellent turnout with people coming from the villages and hamlets which surrounded Aidensfield, part of this being due, I felt, to the sporting atmosphere which had been generated.
There was even talk of bookmakers operating during the fête, with betting on the outcome of the individual or combined sporting events, including the egg-and-spoon race and other children’s races. But I chose to ignore that possibility — if there was a bookmaker at the fête, his or her activities would be illegal in these circumstances, so it was best I knew nothing about it. I did not want the happy occasion to be ruined by having to prosecute the committee for allowing unlawful betting on the village green.
As I patrolled among the stalls and displays, the cricket and quoits
matches were being played, with St Aidan’s batting first in the cricket match and All Saints ahead in the quoits. With St Aidan’s winning some events and All Saints the others, most of the earlier events meant that the scores were fairly level throughout the afternoon. The mums competed in the hundred yards, the relay, an hilarious egg-and-spoon race and a sack race while dads did the high jump, long jump, a relay and throwing the cricket ball. By the time the cricket and quoits matches halted for tea, St Aidan’s had scored 10 points and All Saints 11. The cricket and quoits resumed as the children’s events got underway and it was becoming clear that the winner of the cup would almost certainly be decided by the children’s competitions. There were a lot of races which were to be arranged in heats prior to the finals and it was decided that there would be a point for the winner of each heat, as well as one for the winner of each final, but always with an odd number of events to guarantee an outright winner.
I wandered among the crowds, sometimes having to carry a wandering toddler to the lost children tent or provide first aid to someone who had trapped their finger in the turnstile or banged their head on a tent pole but it was an unexciting time. From time to time, cheers rose above the noise of the crowds as a cricketer took a wicket or scored a run, and then I realized that the scores for each church were even — and it was that which was causing the excitement. St Aidan’s had scored 128 all out in the cricket match, and now All Saints were 118 with two wickets in hand, hence the tension. All Saints had won the quoits match, I was told, and as I moved towards the sports field, I saw that the overall score was: All Saints 18, St Aidan’s 17. It was all to play for — and the only events to complete were the children’s sports. And then a wicket tumbled in the cricket match.
CONSTABLE ABOUT THE PARISH a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 17) Page 16