Citizen Survivor Tales (The Ministry of Survivors)

by Denham, Richard

  There were a handful of sightings of members of the Church, and there was nothing covert about their operation. I remember one Saturday the sound of a bell ringing out from the street while I was in the church grounds, I walked over to the A30 and saw a line of two dozen or so people walking eastwards. They were mainly women, children and the elderly and they looked in a pathetic and sorry state, but they seemed to be there voluntarily. A crowd of villagers had come to watch the peculiar spectacle, and they were clearly as dumbstruck as I was as to how to respond. It was hard to know if the gathered crowd would throw rotten vegetables, hurl obscenities or offer the group food and water; in the end they did none of these things and simply watched in silence as the group passed. The bell-ringer appeared to be in a daze I must say, quoting obscure lines from the bible, I can only assume these were people looking to join the Church of the Remnant.

  Beyond this handful of occasions, nothing much happened in Hartley Wintney. A few months passed and eventually Bishop Timms of Winchester, essentially my boss, arrived at St. John’s with a couple of his men. I assumed he was going to castigate me for failing to attend the synod. However, after the formalities were out of the way, to my surprise he did not even mention it.

  What did you discuss?

  Bishop Timms is a man I admired, he was a mentor to me. I remember him talking to me in private in my study about the Church of the Remnant, delicately aiming the conversation in a way to gauge my thoughts on them. It was clear he was weighing something up in his mind. I answered him honestly and explained that they are an unknown quantity, yes, I had heard the rumours but they were just that. Eventually, Bishop Timms opened up and explained he had been invited to visit Guildford Cathedral in Surrey, which had been ‘acquired’ by the Remnant. What exactly that meant, who is to say? The Cathedral was still in the hands of Bishop Greendale, so I would assume some sort of defection to the Remnant.

  I had met Bishop Greendale, and I was surprised to learn he had defected, if indeed that was what it was. Bishop Timms talked excitedly of a new era and the revitalization of the Church, I remember him talking of the Senators and Landowners in Gaul during the Roman times, how they embraced the Roman Church lest they be destroyed by it. How they successfully rode the wave of change, and manoeuvred to keep themselves in power, simply ruling in God’s name rather than the Emperor’s. He told us this is what we must do, if we were to have any future.

  We discussed all these matters into the early hours in my study, broken up only by the smoking of cigars or the drinking of brandy, which I’m ashamed to say I have acquired quite a taste for now. Eventually I agreed to travel with Bishop Timms the next day to Guildford Cathedral, I was determined to go in with an open mind. Bishop Timms still had a working Rover P12 which one of his men drove.

  What was different about the Cathedral when you arrived?

  In terms of the building itself? Nothing. The land around the Church had a vast number of farm-hands and there appeared to be the early processes of several rings of walls being established, but nothing of concern. We drove up to the main road, where we were greeted by a gate-keeper, pleasant enough, he announced that Bishop Greendale was expecting us and could we make the remainder of the journey on foot if we would be so kind. It was only when I was out of the vehicle and close enough to see the workers themselves that something felt odd.

  Can you describe what the followers of the Church wear?

  Followers of the Church became known as Dunsmen, due to the very bizarre and theatrical conical hats they wear, similar to a dunce cap you would find in a school. One can speculate on the purpose or symbolism of these hats, but it is clearly some odd reference to being repentant or slow-learners, or deserving of punishment. It’s not something I’m willing to give too much thought too, though I can’t imagine their hats are particularly practical for labouring and agricultural work. The hats also appear to range in size, which again, I am sure has some inner-meaning.

  The majority of Dunsmen also wear rough woollen tunics over their normal clothes, which looks absolutely ridiculous to a modern eye. There seems to be a variation in that women wear longer ones than men and children, but that is the only thing notable to me.

  Now, I would like nothing more to tell you, that the Dunsmen were all brain-washed, mindless drones going about their work in silence but I would be lying to you. By all means, there is a fanatical element there, but although I was forbidden from talking to them directly, it was easy to overhear their conversations as they worked in the fields and built their timber structures, it was nothing peculiar in the main, and the sort of thing you’d have heard on any street corner or market place. If the Church was made up solely of these people, it would seem nothing but a harmless, if eccentric, communal estate.

  The fellows that were very foreboding and ominous, though, wore red cones, and dressed head to toe in the colour. I am aware the red dunsmen have been referred to as prefects, but I never heard that title being used myself. Their faces are all covered, but they strangely only have an eye hole for their right eyes, a very odd sight. You understand this is all conjecture on my part, but I would guess they exist in some sort of security role. They travel in groups of four or so, armed with sickles and scythes, appearing to patrol the Church land. I heard no conversation, casual or otherwise from these men. They were watching over a group of Dunsmen who were busy building a perimeter wall in a rather ugly and haphazard fashion. A mixture of sheet metal, timber, brick and ruins from other buildings. One point they were even using a burnt out double decker to build around. A rather ugly blight on the countryside.

  Although all members of the Church wore bizarre outfits to my eyes, the most ridiculous were reserved for the masters. Their outfits can be best described as a devilish hybrid of head-master attire and for reasons beyond my comprehension, also the long white horsehair wigs worn by judges, these men, all of them are men, carry canes with them. To my eyes, they looked like pantomime characters, I was expecting them to burst out into song at any moment, but I would have been the only one who found it amusing I fear.

  Bishop Timms and I were eventually lead into Greendale’s office, where he was waiting for us, and despite all we had seen, he was dressed in his normal attire. That to me, was the most absurd part, that he was not partaking in the theatricality, despite him being I assume, the leader there.

  Bishop Greendale remained as pleasant and unassuming as ever, articulate and wise, and I was treated well by him. I remained an observer to most of the conversation between the two men. The two men spoke in private for the last hour and Bishop Timms eventually collected me, we returned to Hartley Wintney and then he and his two men continued to Winchester. As simple as that.

  Could you tell me what was discussed?

  I would prefer not to, I’m afraid. I do not believe it would be right. I do not wish to get into a long conversation about theology but I must confess that despite all their odd practices and their theatrical appearance, they are building a strong, cohesive and workable society – and the suffering of other survivors is largely unknown to The Church. Whether they are a force for good or evil will be for history to decide, I suppose. Whatever can and should be said about them, they do welcome everyone, even if those that join them are only the most desperate and lost, they do indeed welcome them, and that must be to their favour. There is a simplicity to the Church, and if I dare to risk condemning my soul, I would suppose that their form of Christianity is much more Christian than mine. They work the land, work as one, one voice, one community, they dedicate their lives to sustenance and to prayer. They follow the good book to the letter, and everything that implies. Yes, they may be sinister, and I suspect there is much more to them that I have seen, but I admit, if Jesus were to return, he would most likely understand the motives of the Church of the Remnant than he would the Church of England. For though I will say our Church is much more human, compassionate and patient, it cannot be denied that, from a historical point of view, ours is an apostasy
, a pleasant one, but an apostasy none the less.

  There are many reports of intimidation, violence and criminality within the Church of the Remnant, how do you respond to that?

  As I have previously mentioned, I have seen none of it myself. That is not to say that it hasn’t happened, or I do not believe it, but it would be wrong of me to judge and comment on things I do not know to be true. Do not mistake me for a fool though, I know the stories of people having their tongues cut out who speak against the Dunsmen, writers who lose their fingers, homes being burnt, women being forced to reproduce with the masters, but what can I say. The old world is dead, the Church of England is dead, whatever the Church of the Remnant are doing, it is working, their numbers grow in scores and their fervour and determination only grows. Does the bible not say that ‘the meek shall inherit the Earth?’, then perhaps they are the meek.

  What happened after the meeting?

  A few months passed and one of Bishop Timms’ men returned again, this time by horse. He asked me my views on the Church of the Remnant, I tried my best to articulate that I am a reverend of the Anglican Church, and it would be wrong for me to turn my back on the people of the village. The man simply nodded and passed on Bishop Timms’ regards; I never saw the Bishop again. Though the rumour is that he too has now defected to the Church of the Remnant, whether or not this is at Winchester Cathedral I do not know.

  What are your plans for the future?

  As for me, I shall continue my work at St. John’s, preaching to my dwindling congregation, the half a dozen or so souls that have not yet lost faith. What will happen to the Church after I have gone I do not know. That is for God to decide.

  My final question to the reverend gentleman whether he had, covertly, joined the Remnant, remained unanswered. All he would do was pray, increasingly loudly, as he ushered me out of the building. Although, as regular readers will know, I have not set foot in a place of worship since my last marriage – of which we will say no more – I know enough to know that none of the words were part of any Church of England service I have ever attended. In fact, if anything, it sounded a little reminiscent of the aforementioned street-corner preachers. But I will leave my readers to decide on the significance of that …

  One: Hello skipper

  Two: Hello navigator, half a minute to go

  Two: Hello engineer, will you put the revs up please

  Three: Yes, yes

  One: A lot of fighter planes skipper, keep weaving, that’s, that’s it

  Four: Bomb doors open

  Two: Ok bombardier, ready when you are

  Five: A lot of Jerry behind us

  (Sound of machine-gun fire)

  Two: Where is he rear gun, I couldn’t see him

  (Sound of a crew member crying out)

  Five: No, no, we’ve had it I’m afraid

  Two: Try, try, try to land in the sea, get ready to-

  (Sound of machine-gun fire)

  (End of communication)

  MOS Archives, ref. INF9/854 (endorsed)

  THE HOUSEWIFE

  Name: Anne Routy

  Location: Port Isaac, Cornwall

  Occupation: Homemaker

  Threat level: 1

  Article clearance: Silver

  Case file: 76/9564/GBW

  I travelled with some difficulty down to Port Isaac to interview Anne Routy, a widow with two children. She lives in what some would consider idyllic surroundings, the archetypal cottage with roses around the door. Her garden is full of flowers and vegetables, with not an inch wasted. Down in a corner, screened from the house, there are chickens and – when the wind is in the right direction – it is clear that there is also a pig. With the sky a bright and cloudless blue and the cries of seagulls filling the crisp air from the sea, it is easy to forget the occurrences of recent times. Mrs Routy is not a native of these parts and her story is an interesting one.

  Mrs. Routy, thank you for talking to me. I understand you and your late husband were originally from London? How did you end up in Port Isaac?

  Oh it was terrible wasn’t it, what was ‘appening in London, we knew we had to get away from it all. After The Battle of Crawley, we knew we ‘ad to get out while we still could. Robin and I were extremely lucky you see. ‘e had family ‘ere in Port Isaac and ‘e ‘ad a promise of work as a fisherman from ‘is cousin under the very kind Mr. Shipham, so we left as soon as we could with the kids. I wasn’t scared really, I suppose I was actually quite excited, the kids saw it as an adventure and that rubbed off on me. Oh, me and Robin ‘ad our problems, as all couples do and Cornwall was a fresh start for us all.

  Did it take you long to adapt to your new life?

  Oh not at all; Robin ‘ad worked in a factory and always talked off ‘ow much ‘e ‘ated it, so in some ways this work was like a ‘oliday to ‘im. The lads in the village were very kind and ‘e was paired up with his cousin who taught ‘im the ropes, pardon the pun!

  We were assigned to a vacant cottage, this place you’re in now as a matter of fact. The owner ‘ad died with no next of kin and it was all part of the Ministry’s re’ousing initiative. I’ll always be grateful that we were one of the early lucky ones, we struck gold really. Obviously our ‘ouse in London was forfeit, but that’s probably rubble now anyway, isn’t it? We were very lucky, the teachers at the school insisted on carrying on as normal so that kept the children busy too.

  For me, it was more of the same really, a woman’s work is the same anywhere. The women-folk of Port Isaac are a different stock to those in London but we soon became friendly enough and good neighbours. They even baked us cakes to welcome us and taught us some tricks on ‘ow to manage our allotment and garden.

  The children loved it too really, some days they’d complain it was quiet or they were bored, and there was none of the brouhaha back in the East-end but they soon adapted, when they were told stories of how other children ‘ad it they soon became grateful.

  Have you been able to sustain yourself and your family?

  Oh, yes, my love, of course. The good thing about fishing is there is something to fish all year round, Pilchards from July to November, ‘erring from November to January, January to July is mackerel and up until April you’ve got flatfish, ray, conga and skate, you get the idea. Port Isaac is a fisherman’s dream, Robin never ‘ad to worry about ‘auling up his boat on the tide, the ‘arbour wall kept it safe from the rough seas.

  Mr. Shipham often discussed the changes to ‘is suppliers and I suppose the lack of them, but it certainly didn’t seem to affect anyone in the village too much. Things became more local, money stopped being such a concern and things were often paid in services or bartered rather than paid for, but I suppose unless you are well off you wouldn’t notice the difference much.

  How has the community here responded to national events?

  Oh yes, there’s be some ‘orrible stories elsewhere hasn’t there? People starving in the cities, riots, looting. Makes you wonder why the government can’t get their act together. At first, most of Port Isaac’s catch was requisitioned by the government, which was fine, the men didn’t mind doing their bit. Gradually though, these trips got less and less, and we certainly weren’t going to go out of our way to ‘and it over unless we were asked too. Sometimes the men did go into town to find out what was going on but would often appear to come back more confused than when they left.

  The town ‘all was also concerned about attracting too many evacuees too, the first waves we could put to work on the boats or on the land, but gradually we ‘ad to start turning people away, which could often end up quite unpleasant as you can imagine. We formed a town watch after the first few scuffles, eventually we found it easier to turn folk away before they got too near the village. This did make me and Robin feel very guilty really, the only difference between them and us was the fact we ‘ad got ‘ere a year or so earlier.

  Could you explain the circumstances before the incident involving your late husband?

&nb
sp; Robin was such a good ‘onest man, oh, ‘e enjoyed his drink, but what man doesn’t? ‘e was just doing his shifts for Mr. Shipham, funny old name that isn’t it, for someone who works with boats. It was shellfish season, I remember that, summer it was, Robin would always take an extra crab pot for luck, not that ‘e ever ‘ad much, mind! The potting grounds were about a mile from shore. ‘e had a good ‘aul though, three dozen crabs. ‘e’d always return ‘ome late afternoon when ‘e ‘ad been with the crabs. ‘e did ‘ave a temper on ‘im, so I’d always ‘ave to make sure ‘is dinner was ready for ‘im on time or it could cause quite the upset.

  Sometimes, and it’s awful to say, but I’d like it when ‘e was doing pilchards, because that’s a night-time job, and it’d give Robin a chance to calm down and sober up. ‘e’d leave just before sunset in pilchard season and not be back until morning. Mr. Shipham would come and visit me now and then, just to check in and make sure everything was alright. It was a lovely sunny day; the village was bustling with daily life. The men were drying out their fishing nets on the ‘arbour wall ready for tanning. I was ‘anging out the washing, a woman’s work is never done is it? Each day a trip to the market and a rummage through the allotment and I wasn’t expecting Robin until the morning.

  I remember one morning there was a terrible commotion by the front door, I was still in bed and Robin ‘ad come in with a couple of other lads and some injured chap who was ‘alf drowned and ‘alf naked, unconscious too. They explained they’d pulled him from a life raft a few miles out. We reported this to the town ‘all but they didn’t really seem to take much of an interest, believing him to just be another refugee and, I’ll always remember this, they gave us ‘permission to do as our conscience and the current circumstances see fit’.