Fisher of Men

by Pam Rhodes

  “No,” smiled Neil. “Probably a bass, I should think.”

  “Can you read music?”

  “Passably well, providing I’ve got someone who can really do the job beside me.”

  “That’s good enough. Our choir will be delighted! Obviously, you can’t be with them during services, but if you’re able to hold a harmony line wherever you are in the church, you’ll be a great asset – especially as I’m so dreadful at singing! By popular request, I try to look prayerful and keep my mouth shut during congregational hymns. Our hymns always seem to sound better that way!”

  Neil chuckled. “Actually, I’d quite like to go along. It’s a good way to meet people anyway. When do they rehearse?”

  “Well, if you’re up for it, there’s a rehearsal tonight at half seven in the church. It will be good for you to learn the sung responses we use at St Stephen’s, because our organist Brian Lambert wrote them himself. They’re quite good, actually. In fact, he’s very good – and so’s his wife, Sylvia. She’s our choir leader, which makes them quite a formidable pair. Or perhaps I should say a talented trio! Their daughter, Wendy, teaches music at our church primary school. She has the most marvellous voice, plays the keyboard and the flute – and, quite frankly, our music group would grind to a halt without her. Well, she started it all, because she brought along a few friends who play guitars and drums – and even a saxophone every now and then, when Gordon manages to get up in time on Sunday mornings.”

  “Half seven tonight in the church,” nodded Neil, searching for his pocket diary.

  “They’re desperate for men. They’ll be very glad to see you. Perhaps you can come up with something special for your Welcome Service on Sunday. Everyone will be dying to meet you, so it would be good if you could be involved in the choice of music.”

  Neil was still scribbling the details down in his diary when Margaret abruptly stood up from her desk.

  “Heavens, is that the time? We need to get on the road for the Eucharist run. Four calls, six communicants – all of them too elderly or infirm now to get along to church. Grab the bits and pieces! The travelling Holy Communion set is on top of the cupboard. The water and wine is all ready, right there on the table. Don’t forget the wafers! I’ll just nip up to grab my papers and meet you at the car.”

  Neil saw a different side to Margaret that morning as she greeted her elderly and sick parishioners in their homes with a tenderness, familiarity and concern for their well-being – mind, body and soul – that was deeply moving. This was why he had chosen the ministry! One day he hoped he would be able to bring as much Christian comfort and fellowship as he saw in her that day.

  Their first call was to Queenie Draper, an elderly widow whose mind was plainly as sharp as a pin, in great contrast to the frailty of her body, which was racked with painful arthritis. It was clear that her friendship with Margaret spanned years of conversation and shared thoughts. Margaret asked after each member of her far-flung family with knowledge and interest. Queenie wanted to be brought up to date on the goings on and gossip at the church. Over a cup of tea which Neil had been dispatched to the tiny kitchen to make, the old friends chatted, laughed and finally prayed together. In the silence of Queenie’s cluttered front room, the three of them took bread and wine as the much-loved words of the Eucharist were spoken in an intensely intimate and holy atmosphere. The hairs on the back of Neil’s neck bristled with a sense of God’s presence, and he struggled to stop his eyes filling with tears as he recognized how this quiet moment epitomized everything he hoped for in his own ministry, and brought him a compelling sense of arrival and fulfilment for what lay ahead.

  The neat little cottage owned by Mr and Mrs Brownlow was the next port of call. Mary Brownlow was well into the late stages of dementia, and it was clear that she no longer related to or registered much of what was going on around her. Her long-suffering husband, John, was coping valiantly, chatting away to her constantly even though her expression and total lack of reaction was heartbreaking to see. Margaret managed to persuade the exhausted man to sit down for a few minutes while Neil made them all a cup of tea (another cup – would his bladder cope with all this liquid?), and when he came back to the living room carrying a tray of steaming mugs, Neil’s heart went out to this dignified and devoted husband overcome with embarrassment as his eyes filled with tears of sadness and frustration.

  With Margaret gently touching his hand, his voice choking with emotion, John explained the pain he felt to see the essence of the woman he’d loved for nearly forty years fade away until all that remained was someone who looked like his wife, but had none of her personality or characteristics.

  “It’s as if her life has been sucked out of her. You remember, Margaret, Mary always had such a wonderful sense of humour.”

  Margaret nodded in agreement. “Most definitely. She’s always enjoyed hearing people laugh – but then I think that’s because Mary loves people. She’d do anything for anyone – totally devoted to helping others.”

  John’s face creased into a smile. “You’re right! Mary has a loving heart. She really cares for people. Never stops.” He looked over towards his silent, expressionless wife. “Well, that’s how she used to be. It’s hard to tell what’s at the heart of her now.”

  “Dementia is such a cruel condition,” agreed Margaret. “It robs us of the ability to connect with those around us, or communicate how we feel inside. The Mary we have always loved is still here with us. She just can’t express herself as she used to.”

  “It’s a pity you didn’t meet her a couple of years ago, Neil,” John said, anxious that the newcomer should understand how his much-loved wife had changed. “She’s a hard worker, always willing to muck in when help is needed. She’s been a churchgoer all her life, from the day she was christened. Well, we both have. I first met her right here in Dunbridge, in St Stephen’s, when we joined the choir, and that must be almost fifty years ago now. Being in church, taking part in services, reading the Bible, praying together – that’s been our life since we married.”

  “And now the services come to you, like this?” asked Neil. “Do you ever manage to get to church yourself?”

  “Well, until about a year ago, I used to take Mary along, but she was so unpredictable. Often she would call out when she wasn’t supposed to, and even got quite angry, because, I think, she was really frustrated. The saddest thing was that she didn’t recognize old friends in the congregation she’d known for years. It was so upsetting for them – and me. And because I was always worried about her wandering off or saying something inappropriate that would disturb the worship of everyone else, I finally decided it was kinder to our fellow churchgoers, and to us too, if we didn’t go any more.”

  “And that’s been really tough on you, hasn’t it, John?” Margaret said quietly. “Mary may not notice the change in your routine, but you certainly have. Sunday mornings must feel so different for you now.”

  “Oh, I’ve really missed it. I’ve always loved being there alongside all the friends and neighbours I’ve worshipped with for years. I miss singing the hymns, and going up to the altar rail to take Communion. And I especially love that time when you get back to your seat, and there’s the chance for your own private prayers. The choir are usually singing quietly in the background. I’ve not sung in the choir for a while now, but I still love to hear them.”

  His eyes filled with tears again.

  “And Mary is missing out on all that too,” he continued. “Her relationship with God has always been at the heart of who she is – and because of this awful condition, she’s lost that connection completely. She doesn’t pray. She doesn’t even know what prayer is. The comfort that she should be getting from her faith is no comfort at all. And if I’m honest, I question God about that. Here I am, watching the woman I love – and he’s supposed to love – suffering in such a cruel way! So much for him being a loving God! It’s just shaken me, shaken everything I’ve always believed in.”

&nbs
p; “How much help do you get with looking after Mary?” asked Neil. “Do you have carers coming in during the day?”

  “No,” said John firmly. “Mary doesn’t need carers. She’s got me. I’m always here for her. For better or worse, in sickness and health – that’s what I promised, and I will keep that promise.”

  “I know you will,” said Margaret. “What worries me, though, is who is taking care of the carer? You look worn out. Is there anything we can do? Anything at all?”

  “No, I can manage,” came John’s stiff reply.

  “But if someone came in to give you a bit of a break, you wouldn’t love Mary any the less, would you?”

  “No…” John acknowledged reluctantly.

  “There you go, then! Because we don’t want you caving in from exhaustion, do we? What would happen to Mary if you got ill as well?”

  Fear flashed in John’s eyes at the thought. “She’s not going into a home!”

  “No, no, of course not!” Margaret soothed him. “I didn’t mean that. Of course you’ll keep Mary here with you for as long as you possibly can, in your own home where you both belong. But, you know, I can’t help thinking that you’ll be more able to take care of her here if you have a bit of help now and again – don’t you think?”

  “I don’t need help.” John reached out to clasp his wife’s hand. “We don’t need any help.”

  Margaret held his gaze for a while.

  “Well, if ever you do feel you could use another pair of hands around the place, just to make caring for Mary a little easier for you both, you will talk to me, won’t you? Promise?”

  “Promise,” agreed John.

  “And I know there are lots of people at the church who would like to pop round and see you, but they’re worried you might think them a nuisance.”

  “I don’t want people coming to gawp!”

  “Of course not, but these would just be a few old friends who’ve known you both for years. You surely wouldn’t mind if they popped in? In fact, they’ve been talking about whether they could organize a rota to come and sit with Mary, just so you can get a bit of peace and quiet yourself.”

  “I can manage.”

  “You have always managed brilliantly, John, everyone knows that – but it’s hard work. Wouldn’t it be nice if every now and then you had a couple of hours to yourself, knowing that Mary is well cared for by people who love her? You could get out in the garden for a bit. You’ve always loved that, and the garden is usually such a picture. I bet you’d enjoy the chance of a bit of time out there, wouldn’t you?”

  The anxiety in John’s expression gave way to interest, as he was clearly tempted by the prospect of getting to grips with the garden again.

  “I’ll think about it. I will,” he said at last.

  “Well, let’s pray together,” said Margaret, changing the mood, and they all bowed their heads, except for Mary, whose unblinking eyes stared resolutely at the patterned wallpaper across the room.

  Both Margaret and Neil were lost in their own thoughts as they drove from John and Mary’s house to the edge of town, where two sisters lived in a small, neat, ground-floor flat. Elsie and Lily were gracious hosts, so chatty and sprightly that Neil imagined them to be in their late seventies at the most. When he heard that Elsie was ninety-six while her big sister was only a few months off receiving a telegram from the Queen, he was really surprised.

  In fact, the sisters rarely left the flat now, both feeling they’d travelled enough over the years to merit the chance to put their feet up a bit. They had remained unmarried, devoting their lives to missionary work in Africa and the Far East on behalf of the Church Army. Over a piece of Elsie’s home-made Madeira cake, Neil had the chance to look through some of their albums of mostly black-and-white photos showing the sisters surrounded by the people whose lives they’d shared over the years. He felt humbled in the face of such faith; they had devoted their whole lives to God’s service.

  As Margaret began the familiar words of the Eucharist, the sisters reached out to join hands with their two visitors, so that the four of them were in an intense, God-filled circle, the memory of which Neil knew he would always cherish.

  Elsie insisted on filling Neil’s pockets with more Madeira cake and a couple of scones when finally he and Margaret dragged themselves away to make their last call of the afternoon.

  Bert Overington had worked hard all his life. He’d been a lorry driver, making every penny he could to support the family he adored – his wife and three daughters. But his wife had died five years before, soon after the last of their girls had left home to bring up a family of her own. Bert’s quiet life had been shattered when he was diagnosed with lung cancer less than a year ago. He’d been a smoker, of course. What lorry driver of his generation wasn’t?

  Living alone now – although regularly visited by his youngest daughter, Sue, who lived in the next road – Bert struggled with the pain and exhaustion that months of chemotherapy and radiotherapy had brought. He felt tired, old and he missed his wife. He was ready to join her.

  In these last months, as he was simply waiting to die, his faith had become more precious than ever to him. As he’d explained to Margaret many times during her past visits, he hadn’t been much of a Christian during his lifetime. Even now he wasn’t exactly sure what he believed. He just felt there was something there, and that the connection was becoming stronger as he neared the time of his death. So every week, Margaret came to bring him Communion, and he joined in the responses with his breathless, rasping voice full of emotion.

  Just as Neil and Margaret were about to start the Communion, they heard a key turn in the front door. In walked the sandy-haired woman that Neil had seen talking to Peter, the churchwarden, at Morning Prayer on his first day. Margaret greeted her with affection.

  “Val! How nice to see you! Is this a work call or pleasure?”

  “Both,” smiled Val, looking warmly at Bert. “Bert’s my favourite patient, and he knows it. I always spend twice as much time here as I’m meant to.”

  Bert’s face brightened in spite of the unnaturally pale hue of his skin.

  “Is it all right if we just say Communion with Bert, then we’ll get out of your way?” asked Margaret.

  “Tell you what,” said Val as she put down her bag and took off her coat. “Can I join you? It’s been one of those days, and an oasis like this is just what I need.”

  And in the quietness of Bert’s front room, with the clock ticking loudly beside them, the four of them prayed together.

  “She’s a real comfort, you know,” said Margaret fifteen minutes later as she and Neil made their way back to the car. “Val is so good at being with people at the stage of illness Bert has reached now. She’s a palliative care nurse attached to the local hospice.”

  “But she works in the community?” ask Neil.

  “Well, nowadays they recognize that people want to be in their own homes for as long as possible. In fact, many patients make the choice to die at home where their family can feel comfortable around them.”

  “Is that what Bert wants?”

  “Yes, most definitely, with his daughters at his side towards the very end. He doesn’t want to be a burden to them, though, when they all have young families of their own, so as long as he can manage with Val and other carers coming in, he feels well looked after.”

  “Presumably Val’s job means that she has to be on hand just when she’s needed, day or night,” said Neil. “That must be a bit hard on her own family. What do they think?”

  “Her son and daughter have left home now. Her daughter has followed her into nursing – she’s a paediatric nurse at Great Ormond Street children’s hospital in London, and Val is so proud of her. Her son is a solicitor, I think. Sad to say, Val lost her husband to cancer when their children were still very young, so she has real understanding of what her patients and their families are going through. I guess it was quite a challenge bringing up a couple of youngsters as a widow.”r />
  “And her own experience of bereavement must make her very compassionate company at such difficult times,” added Neil thoughtfully.

  “It certainly does. Oh, I know nurses are supposed to have a professional detachment from their patients, but one of the nicest things about Val is that she doesn’t find professional detachment comes easy to her. Sometimes she’s with patients for weeks, even months, so when they do finally pass away, it’s really upsetting for her. I think that’s why she tries to come to church whenever she can.”

  “Does she often join you for Morning Prayer?”

  “Yes – whenever she can fit it in with her shifts, but usually a couple of times a week.” Margaret turned to look at Neil. “You might find it interesting to talk to her some time. She’s a woman whose faith underpins every aspect of her life. It’s the motivation for all she does, and gives her the support and comfort she needs to do her job really well.”

  Neil nodded slowly as he took this in.

  “Val lives with the dying and the bereaved every day of her life,” continued Margaret. “Our role as priests means that we often spend time with people when they are facing their own death, or perhaps trying to cope with the loss of someone they love dearly. I must say I’ve found it really helpful to talk to Val – and you might too.”

  “I will,” agreed Neil, “I certainly will.”

  When he walked into the church at half past seven that evening, Neil was pleasantly surprised at the number of people who had turned up for the choir rehearsal. A few faces he recognized. He noticed Val straight away, as she stood taking off her coat in a pew near to the door. Val didn’t see Neil because she was looking across to where churchwarden Peter was sorting out piles of music books. As if he could sense her gaze, Peter looked up to smile at her – then, just that moment, Neil’s view was obliterated by Peter’s daunting wife, Glenda, who was heading straight for him with her arms outstretched. Neil braced himself as he disappeared into another of her smothering embraces.