‘Honestly,’ he complained, ‘the agnostics in that place were terrible!’
‘I think you mean acoustics,’ I corrected him with a wry smile.
‘I know exactly what I mean,’ answered Jeremiah darkly.
Monday 16 November
Like an uncle you only ever see at Christmas, it’s hard to believe that St Norbert’s has a life other than at Sunday services. When I turned up for work at the church office this morning, however, instead of a tranquil building smiling benignly at hatted and suited worshippers, I found a small business buzzing with life and activity. During the week, sleepy old St Norbert’s leads a double life and becomes the centre of village activities.
As Digger turned the foot-long key in the lock and shoulder-barged the heavy oak doors, the smell of lilies and old hymn books skulked out. We walked up the aisle, past the empty pews, to a door next to the vestry marked ‘Private’. I hadn’t managed to see the office on Thursday evening after all, so didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of that door. It wasn’t promising.
‘The old computer’s a bit, um, temperamental, I’m afraid.’ Digger indicated a machine which looked as if God could have used it to type up the Ten Commandments if he’d been a bit short of stone tablets that day.
‘I see. Where’s the photocopier and fax machine?’
‘Er, here.’ He pointed to a hand-operated duplicating machine. My heart sank. The disappointment must have distilled through to my face. ‘I’m sorry if it’s not what you’re used to, Theo love. But we’d be grateful if you’d give it your best shot.’ He left on his first parish visit of the morning.
I looked around the office. It was no more than eight feet square, with a large, old-fashioned desk along one wall. Under the desk was a swivel chair which looked well past retirement age. There was a wooden cupboard containing the choir robes and lost property box. Next to it was a bookcase. Other low cupboards stretched the length of the third wall and a large noticeboard hung above them.
I found a pile of articles and scribbled notes on the desk and prodded the computer’s ‘on’ button. As the ancient programme clicked into life like a choir of cockroaches, I felt a presence behind me. I spun in the chair. It was Jeremiah Wedgwood, clutching a watering can.
‘Good heavens, you nearly frightened the life out of me!’
‘The fear of the wicked, it shall come upon him: but the desire of the righteous shall be granted.’
‘Please, just don’t creep around.’
‘Watering the flowers,’ he explained, brandishing the can.
I returned to the keyboard and began to type. The letter R kept sticking, I noticed. Fortunately, the layout for the pages of The Church Organ was standard and saved on a floppy disk. Typing it all in would only take me half an hour, I thought.
Fat chance! I hadn’t bargained for a keyboard which types the letter it feels like rather than the letter I press, a printer that won’t print and an office chair with a broken hydraulic system, which means that every 20 minutes or so you have to stand up, turn the chair over and press the height adjuster with an elbow while standing on the arm of the chair with one foot. If this task isn’t carried out on a regular basis, you find that you’re typing with your chin resting on the desk.
I finally managed to type in all the news, the births, christenings, marriages and funerals. The village fête was duly advertised and Mr Wilberforce’s remedy for relieving hard pad and distemper were committed to print, along with Mrs McCarthy’s recipe for egg-free sponge cake. I wonder if anyone’s ever told her the war has finished?
I pressed ‘Save’. A message flashed up on the screen.
Error. This file cannot be saved.
‘No!’ I whimpered. This couldn’t be happening. A whole morning’s work! ‘It’s not true. This document must be able to be saved, you stupid machine!’
I pressed ‘Save’ again.
Error. Disk full. Close document or replace disk.
‘It can’t be full!’ I searched for a new disk. No new disks in the office. If I closed the document, I would lose all the work. A brainwave! I could save it on the machine’s hard disk. I tapped frantically at the keyboard.
Error. File will close. Information may be lost. File cannot be saved.
I stood up and put my hands where the computer’s neck would be if it had one. ‘I’ve just about had it with you! You’re useless and worthless and I feel nothing but utter loathing and contempt for you! You have one last chance to redeem yourself.’ I placed both hands on the screen and screamed at the recalcitrant document. ‘YOU WILL BE SAVED!’
‘Theodora! What on earth are you doing?’ I whirled round to see the normally imperturbable Digger Graves standing in the doorway frowning. ‘Just remind me never to take you on an evangelical mission.’
I blushed. ‘I … I’m sorry. I just can’t get the computer to save my work and I…’ My voice trailed off to nothing.
‘I don’t think shouting at the equipment is the approved method. Look, have you tried…’ His fingers tweaked at the keys and he opened a file in the computer’s memory. The document was miraculously saved.
‘How did you do that?’
‘Just a knack. You look as if you could do with a coffee. I’ll put the kettle on.’
We sat sipping the coffee, and Digger put his feet up on the desk.
Tuesday 17 November
Today’s duties included consoling Mrs Epstein whose budgie had just flown away, organizing the next PCC meeting and listening to a blow-by-blow account of Miss Cranmer’s gallstone operation. The flow of interruptions meant that two-thirds of the letters I was supposed to be typing were still in a pile when the vicar returned from his morning visits.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t manage to get as much done as I’d hoped.’
‘Never mind, Theo love, the paperwork will still be there tomorrow.’ He looked exhausted.
‘Busy morning?’
‘Been to see a young couple at the far end of the village. Just lost their three-year-old kiddie to cancer. Words of comfort! What can you say? Old people are one thing, but kids…’ He released a hissing sigh. ‘Gets me every time.’
I couldn’t do his job.
Wednesday 18 November
More chair wrestling, organizing the organist and ensuring that church hall bookings for the Brownies and Guides don’t clash with the Medieval Re-enactment Society. Doris Johnson, who runs the playgroup, found that their toy Noah’s Ark had been run over by a tricycle and had lost its bow doors. I offered to take it home and ask Kevin if I can borrow his glue-gun to mend it over the weekend.
Ariadne phoned me. She and Tom are having a video and pizza evening on Saturday. Could I bring my favourite video? I’ve decided it has to be the classic with the gorgeous Hugh Grant, even though we’ve seen it hundreds of times. Hopefully it will cheer Ariadne up a bit. She also asked me to bring a couple of bottles of sparkling mineral water to pour into her punchbowl with the wine to make Ariadne’s Special Spritzer. I left myself a note on the jotter on the desk and went out to lunch.
When I returned, I found Digger looking flustered.
‘Theo, I’m not Superman, you know!’ He thrust a note into my hands. It read:
Saturday
Four weddings and a Funeral.
Water into wine.
Rebuild Noah’s Ark.
‘Streuth! You wouldn’t like me to feed the five thousand and part the Red Sea while I’m at it?’
Thursday 19 November
I was just about to print out the copy of The Church Organ when Gregory Pasternak, the organist, rushed in with an urgent lost property notice. I half expected him to shout, ‘Hold the front page!’ He didn’t, though.
How he managed to lose his shirt (his shirt!) in the organ loft, I didn’t quite like to ask. Still, I suppose it’s better than leaving your pants in the vestry.
Friday 20 November
Or your vest in the pantry.
Had a few proble
ms with the duplicator when it came to printing off the copies of the newsletter. After copying one side, I couldn’t work out which way round to put the original to copy the back. Ran off over 50 copies before I realized that half the newsletter was printed upside down. Still, I’m sure the congregation won’t notice.
Saturday 21 November
Great evening with Ariadne and Tom. I’d forgotten how many times Hugh Grant says a rude word in the film, though. Had to keep coughing in the appropriate places. Ariadne is rather sensitive about that sort of thing. Tom’s now convinced I’m a consumptive. Ariadne seemed rather quiet. I wonder if I should have timed my coughing better?
Sunday 22 November
I wouldn’t describe today’s sermon, given in slow motion by Jeremiah Wedgwood, as boring, exactly. Suffice it to say that it was fortunate that The Church Organ was issued today. The sound of people falling off pews has been known to wake the verger. About halfway through the sermon, there was a rustling noise like a hurricane in a paper bag factory. It was the sound of 70 people turning over their newsletters and trying to read the end of Mr Wilberforce’s distemper cure. The congregation twisted and turned their Church Organs, leaning their heads first to one side, then the other. It looked as if 70 people were trying, simultaneously, to navigate their way round Spaghetti Junction.
Digger came to see me afterwards. ‘Well done this week, Theo, never an easy job.’
‘Oh, it was no problem.’ I blushed modestly.
‘Just one thing. I know that old keyboard can be a bit temperamental. That’s why it’s a good idea to proofread what it chucks out. Look at the article under “Lost Popety”.’
I scanned the item. It explained how Gegoy Pastenak, the chuch oganist, would be extemely gateful fo the etun of an aticle of clothing which he had unfotunately mislaid in the ogan loft last Thusday. My blush deepened. Why couldn’t he have lost his jacket?
Monday 23 November
Back to work for a rest! Even Declan’s practical jokes seem bearable compared with lost cage birds (now safely back) and gallstones (still thankfully out). At least my office computer doesn’t suffer from a lack of R’s.
Wednesday 25 November
Charity phoned me yesterday to say that she didn’t feel she could carry on being my Prayer Partner. She said something about us being ‘spiritually incompatible’. I tried to sound suitably downcast but resigned. I sighed deeply and said that I thought it best in the circumstances, as I was unsure how much time I could commit and it wouldn’t be fair to her. Inwardly I was punching the air in celebration.
What does she mean, ‘spiritually incompatible’?
Thursday 26 November
Alarm didn’t go off this morning. Had to run to the station. Arrived panting and sweaty, to find Ariadne tapping her foot and looking at her watch.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I puffed.
‘Don’t talk to me about being late,’ she huffed. Funny, it looked as though she’d been standing there for ages.
Friday 27 November
A brainwave! I know the thing the church needs more than anything else, more than a new bell tower, or a new organ, or a new roof, or even a new congregation. It needs a new computer! In fact, all the office equipment needs replacing. I’m sure that communications would be vastly improved, though The Church Organ may prove less entertaining. It would benefit everyone. And if we connected to the Internet, people could e-mail their prayer requests. Hall bookings would no longer rely on the diary, so the tea dances would never clash with the model railway exhibitions. The accounts could be computerized, too. It would be fantastic! St Norbert’s would be catapulted into the twenty-first century.
And I would be the instigator. They might even want to name the computer after me—a kind of memorial, only I wouldn’t be dead. The Theodora Emily Amaryllis (Mum also liked flowers) Llewellyn Electronic Administration Foundation. TEALEAF for short. Of course, I would humbly decline the offer of having it named after me. Nice of them to suggest it, though.
All I need to think of now is a method of fundraising.
Saturday 28 November
Digger was in favour of the idea when I suggested it to him. ‘’Bout time we got rid of that awkward, cantankerous old thing,’ he said.
I don’t think he was referring to the church secretary.
The church secretary herself couldn’t see anything wrong with the old equipment, which she said had served her faithfully for the last 18 years. That rather proved the point.
I phoned around some friends and family to try to glean some fundraising ideas. Ariadne was still in a funny mood and wasn’t very helpful at all. The only thing she could suggest was a ‘Beautiful Baby’ competition. Seeing as Nigel and Charity are the only couple in the church with small children, it would hardly be a fair contest. Mum suggested a ‘Greek Night’ with traditional Greek dancing, plate smashing and Greek delicacies. In view of the potential wear and tear on the carpets, I decided against that. Kevin suggested producing and selling a calendar with pictures of some of the Mothers’ Union in ‘artistic’ poses. I suggested that if he wanted to walk down the high street and remain in one piece, he would keep that idea to himself. Finally, Digger suggested a Christmas Fair.
‘There isn’t much time to get organized, but if you’re up for it, I’m right behind you. We could hold it in the hall and people could come and buy last-minute presents. I’ll be Father Christmas, if you like, for the kiddies. The choir could sing carols and we could cook some snags on the barbie outside…’
His eyes misted over. Barbie? I guess the kind of Christmas he’s used to is very different from the ones in England.
Now for the first important step for any new idea in the Church of England: we must form a committee.
Sunday 29 November
ADVENT SUNDAY
There’s always an air of anticipation on Advent Sunday. Makes you realize that Christmas is just around the corner and it’s time to start booking next year’s summer holiday.
Monday 30 November
ST ANDREW’S DAY
Declan decided to celebrate St Andrew’s Day by treating the whole building to nonstop bagpipe music, courtesy of a looped tape and a cassette player he’d managed to conceal somewhere in the office ventilation system. He had to reveal its whereabouts after lunch, when two of the accounts team tied him up with parcel tape and threatened to dangle him by his ankles from the fourth-floor window.
December
Tuesday 1 December
Must start my Christmas shopping early this year. Last year I left it until Christmas Eve and wore myself out buying unsuitable presents at exorbitant cost.
Wednesday 2 December
Made a list of presents. I shall start my shopping at lunchtime today.
Kevin ? (Socks)
Mum Anything Greek
Dad Socks
Ariadne Mobile phone case
Tom Socks
Ag Socks
Miss C Lavender bags
Declan Whoopee cushion (and socks)
Hmm. Perhaps I’d better ring and ask what they actually want before I embark on a shopping trip.
Thursday 3 December
First committee meeting about the Christmas Fair. The date has been fixed for Saturday 12 December, less than two weeks away. I was starting to panic, but Digger tried to reassure me. ‘St Norbert’s has a fantastic bunch of people. I know that if we all pull together we can pull it off.’
During the meeting, everyone was amazingly helpful. Charity has offered some home-made gifts and food. The choir will dress up and sing carols, holding lanterns. The village school has offered to lend a Santa’s Grotto, complete with Father Christmas outfit. Even Jeremiah has offered to help run a stall, provided that there’s no gambling or maypole dancing (!). I believe I may finally have found my ministry.
Friday 4 December
Phoned round to ask everyone what he or she wanted for Christmas. Fat lot of help that was! Kevin reeled off a list of obscure plumbing
tools that I attempted to write down as he rattled through them. The final list looked like a combination of an inventory from a medieval torture chamber and an order from a Chinese takeaway. I’ll probably buy him another football video.
Mum’s ideas ranged from the wildly extravagant (a yacht) to the totally mundane and cheap (a tube of hand cream). If she carries on like this, she’ll get the leftover raffle prizes from the Christmas Fair. Dad helpfully suggested ‘anything except socks’.
‘I’d love a pair or two of socks,’ said Tom. Bless him. Ariadne had gone to the chemist, so I couldn’t ask her.
I’m not sure where Ag is this week, so can’t phone him yet either. Last I heard, he was just about to embark on a fact-finding trip to Uzbekistan. Bet it won’t involve Christmas shopping. He always has some excuse for not buying presents.
Didn’t bother asking Declan or Miss Chamberlain. I buy them the same things every year and they always seem suitably grateful.
I need to find a shop which sells lavender bags, socks and whoopee cushions. Hmm.
Saturday 5 December
Kevin was at football this afternoon, so I went to the local shopping centre. I embarked upon my own fact-finding mission to establish the range of gifts available and get an idea of the prices. Didn’t actually buy anything apart from some raffle tickets for the tombola at the Christmas Fair. Plenty of time, though.
Sunday 6 December
A notice advertising the Christmas Fair appeared in The Church Organ and served to confirm that we are indeed doing the right thing in buying a new computer. As well as mentioning the ‘tombalo, mice pies and coral singing’, it announced that there would be ‘a personal appearance by Satan and his Reindeer’.
I do hope it was a typing error.
Theodora's Diary Page 9
