When Frank K. returned and found out about Kizzy’s promise, the famously modest and ‘down-to-earth’ star was apparently none too pleased because he is (I quote), ‘an artist, not a performing f*****g monkey, in case you hadn’t noticed’. An added layer of complexity was brought to bear on the whole scenario by dint of the fact that the subsequent winner of the raffle was a charming Sri Lankan gentleman called Murali Arulpragasam, a successful businessman (and huge Little Wren fan) who lives just outside Draughton and imports/ exports special padded underwear for a living (from his native land, which he sells all over Europe, the US and Canada). The chief function of these undergarments is purportedly to help counter the problems of excessive flatulence. The Little Wren, who was already somewhat put out by the thought of composing a song to order, was then ‘dumbstruck’ when he found out the name he was to be expected to grapple with (especially as he is currently hard at work on both a new album and his long-awaited autobiography, which – unlike most modern-day celebrities – he is actually writing himself!).
Mr Arulpragasam has been quite amenable about the whole situation and said that he is ‘perfectly happy’ to reach some kind of a compromise with The Little Wren if The Little Wren finds his name too much of a proposition to conjure with/scan in a song. He has suggested, as an alternative, that The Little Wren writes something ‘loosely based on the issues of flatulence’ which he can then use as a ringtone on his mobile phone and as background music on his website DraughtonFlatulence.com. The Little Wren has not, as yet, responded to this idea, but I know for a fact that Trevor Ruddle is champing at the bit to run an article in the Gazette on the whole farrago. I literally shudder at the thought of the kind of cheesy pun he might come up with as a headline for the blasted piece.
SUMMARY
After a brief confab with Wincey, it seems that the BCAOP has raised a grand total of £3,101, but is presently in receipt of just £2,838 of that, £2,175 of which we are liable to have to return. This means our real running total is £663, on the understanding that The Little Wren can manage to come out of his artistic funk. If not, then it’s £188, minus Baxter’s cleaning bill of £38 and the cost of the party food, hire of the hall, balloons, etc.
On this (somewhat pessimistic) basis I’m reckoning it at approximately £107.00, all told.
Oh… And let’s just pray that our dear Mr Conan Hopkiss Jr isn’t of an overly vindictive or litigious bent, eh?
Happy Christmas, Prue.
Please come home soon and save me from this living hell…
Yours, resplendent in Lycra,
Seb
[letter 17]
The Rectory
St Peter’s Church
Burley Cross
20th December, 2006
Dear Reverend Horwood,
(Further to our unfortunate little ‘contretemps’ on Sunday…)
It’s not that I didn’t like the carving, as such – I think it’s a marvellous piece of craftsmanship, I honestly do – it’s just that I wished you’d consulted with me before hanging it up so prominently in the church portal. It really did give me quite a shock when I walked in, slightly behind time (you were right, I was one or two minutes late), my mind running over the Order of Service, making the odd minor mental adjustment to my sermon (as one does), and then happened across it, totally unprepared.
It blindsided me, Reverend (there’s no point in pretending otherwise). It gave me quite a turn. It threw me out of kilter.
The way I see it, the entrance to a place of worship plays an important part in establishing the atmosphere of the entire institution (it ‘sets the scene’, so to speak). As I think I said on Sunday – although perhaps not as calmly (or as articulately!) as I would have liked – St Peter’s is an Anglican church, and therefore it doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to hang a crucifix in such a prominent position, especially such a… well, a ‘powerful’ and ‘confronting’ one as that!
When I accused you of hanging it up ‘simply to provoke me’, what I really meant to say was that I am perfectly well aware of the fact that you think my general theological stance borders on the ‘High Church’ (and that this isn’t something you particularly welcome in my approach to the ministry), but I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you were trying to undermine my work here at St Peter’s in any way (not at all, Reverend – perish the very thought!).
I deeply regret it if your feelings were hurt by my speaking out so candidly on the matter, especially in front of Mr Simms, Miss Logan, Mrs Bramwell, Ms Brooks and Mrs Hawkes. Such an outburst is entirely uncharacteristic of me and I have felt profoundly troubled by it ever since.
It goes without saying that I have thought and prayed about this matter a great deal over the past week, and the only conclusion I can honestly reach is that the argument between us cast more light on my weaknesses and insecurities than on anything else. These are qualities in myself that I certainly need to work upon, and I shall (God willing – with His grace).
On a more positive note: in some ways I’m actually quite relieved that the sharp exchange of words we had on Sunday brought a few things out into the open that might reasonably be said to have been ‘festering away between us’ all these long months…
a) The Candles:
I am sorry that you don’t like the candles. I can see why they might irritate you. I don’t accept that they pose a fire risk, but I do concede that they alter the atmosphere of the church, overall. I don’t think they are unduly ‘Popish’, Reverend – in fact I have had several very positive comments about them. Many parishioners seem to find a certain measure of comfort in lighting them and then using them as a direct means of focusing their thoughts and energies on a worrying problem, a sick friend, or a recently departed soul.
I have also been told that when worshippers enter the church to pray and find it unoccupied, the cheerful sight of the bank of flickering candles gives them a sense of community, a feeling that they are part of an ongoing series of conversations with the Almighty and a general, overall impression that their voice (and their predicament, more to the point) isn’t a lone one.
Last – but by no mean least – the financial contribution the candles make (I pay just under 8p/candle and ask for a contribution of 20p/candle from the parishioners) does add significantly to St Peter’s modest charitable armoury. Half of the money raised this year I am intending to donate to The Red Crescent, and to put the other half towards a mobile (i.e. with wheels), free-standing notice board, which I hope to use to promote local and international voluntary organizations and good causes.
b) My Cassocks:
As for my ‘ridiculous robes’, Reverend Horwood… Well, I suppose they might seem a touch theatrical to someone who prefers to think a sensible clergyman should always stick to the traditional black! Ultimately, I suppose, it is just a matter of personal taste. If I do look like a ‘big, gallumphing fairy’ in them then it’s useful for me to be aware of it, and to alter my behaviour accordingly (perhaps I should sign up for Jill Harpington’s tap and ballet classes at the village hall, and improve my deportment skills alongside the local six- and seven-year-olds! I might even try and galvanize some of the ballet mums into signing their little ones up for the new Sunday School while I’m at it!)!
c)The Flowers:
I do think the point you made about flowers in the church had a great deal of validity to it. I’m ashamed to confess that I hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that some members of the parish might be allergic to them – the lilies especially. Gillian Reed is actually responsible for the majority of the displays. I think she has a real knack for arranging – a genius, even. She has spent a great deal of time and energy over recent months conducting a series of truly fascinating researches into the ‘language of flowers’, a medieval concept (the lily, for example, represents the Blessed Virgin!) and likes to experiment with these wonderful ancient symbols and ideas in her arrangements.
Of course to someone like yourself, who doesn�
�t welcome the sight of flowers indoors and finds them, at best, frivolous (even at funerals!) and, at worst, toxic, they might indeed make the church resemble ‘the inside of some trendy, Chelsea fashion boutique and not a sober place of worship’.
I will certainly consult with Gill on the issue and see if we can integrate some more seasonal, less sumptuous flowers into the mix (more holly and ivy and dried flowers, perhaps). I’m sure she will be delighted to do this and that these restrictions will bring out a still greater creativity in her.
d) Music:
After what you said about my ‘sidelining’ Drew Cullen, I thought it best to go to him directly and have a private word with him on the matter. We spoke frankly and openly about many subjects relating to the church, the church organ, to music in general and its wider role (as I perceive it) in the liturgy.
Drew kindly confided in me that he had been finding it quite a strain to keep up with his commitments at St Peter’s over the past year or so, and that he actually welcomed Shoshana’s recent involvement, her fresh approach and her extended repertoire (not to mention her first-class fund-raising skills!).
The issue of music is probably one that you and I will never find true accord on, Reverend Horwood. While to you it is simply a bane (an awful, jarring cacophony!), to me it is an untrammelled joy (a true balm to the troubled soul!). When all is said and done, I suppose this is just something we’re going to have to continue to agree to disagree about.
As a matter of idle interest, Reverend, just before I sat down to write this letter I chanced to look at my diary and saw that it was almost exactly ten months – to the very day – since I took my first faltering steps in this glorious parish of ours.
For a second I was perfectly astonished – the time seems to have passed so quickly! There’s still so much I need to do! And then, with the benefit of some sober reflection, I realized how much had been achieved since I first arrived here.
It is also (and I hardly need tell you this!) almost ten months, to the day, since you formally retired. From my few snatched conversations with you (and my chats with your former parishioners – especially that redoubtable group of acolytes I like to call ‘Reverend Horwood’s Ladies’!) I knew that this was not a change in your life and circumstances that you felt entirely at ease with. I don’t doubt that this transition (or ‘evolution’ as I prefer to think of it) has been rendered somewhat less precipitous (and hopefully less traumatic) by your unexpected decision to remain living in the diocese and to continue to engage with – and preach at – St Peter’s whenever the opportunity arises.
I won’t pretend that I wasn’t initially rather taken aback by this decision of yours (which, in most parishes, would be considered a serious breach of Church etiquette!), but with the benefit of time and experience I have been able to realize how wrong (worse still, how arrogant) my misgivings (and my silly prejudices) were.
I have had plenty to learn about this small but dynamic new parish over the last ten months, and what better a person to teach me than someone who knows it like the back of his own hand?
Of course we approach things very differently, Reverend. We come from very different places – emotionally, theologically, socially, culturally – so it was almost inevitable that some feathers would be ruffled (on both sides) along the way.
I’m sure I thought – on the odd occasion – that you were far too uncompromising, old-fashioned and stuck in your ways. I’m sure you – in your turn – thought I was way too much of an ‘eager beaver’, too gung-ho, too touchy-feely, too liberal, too ingratiating, too intent on changing things for change’s sake (I believe ‘Princess Pushy’ was my nickname for the first six months or so!!). I don’t for a moment doubt that there was some measure of validity to these harsh assessments of ours on either side.
But we live and we learn, Reverend (I thank God for that fact every day!). We sin, we err, we repent, and then we do our humble best to set things right.
We practise patience, fortitude and humility. We strive to ‘enter through the narrow gate’ as our dear, Sweet Lord prescribed, ‘for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it’ (sorry for quoting from the New International Version which I know you loathe, but I think you get my point!).
I hope it goes without saying that I have taken the time out to apologize, individually, to Mr Simms, Miss Logan, Mrs Bramwell, Ms Brooks and Mrs Hawkes for my terrible breach of last Sunday. Mrs Hawkes was exceptionally Christian about it (and this was all the more surprising since I hadn’t so much as seen BC’s charming publican anywhere near the church since I first arrived here; let’s just hope her vision of the ministry hasn’t been irreparably skewed by my appalling behaviour!).
Wincey was actually kind enough to help me to remove the bloodstains from my cassock (it was a new one! And it had to be the white one, didn’t it?! Perhaps there are some virtues to the black ones after all!) with a hefty application of Cillit Bang (she’s a dab hand in these matters, it seems, since she hand washes fourteen white tablecloths from the new dining rooms at The Old Oak each and every day of the week!).
Thankfully the nosebleeds have abated slightly as time has progressed. I went to the doctor (Dr Hardcastle, who was very good with me; I’m an awful patient – a shameful hypochondriac!) and he said he thought they were chiefly stress-related and really nothing to worry about (he gave me some tablets for my blood pressure and recommended yoga! I should probably have a quick word with Tammy Thorndyke on the subject although… well, on second thoughts …!).
I was extremely grateful (not to say relieved) that my grovelling apologies were welcomed – and with demonstrations of great kindness, for the most part – from all those who were unwitting spectators to Sunday’s awful fracas. In fact I could even go so far as to say that, in some instances, my horrible childish outburst has led to a slight (and completely unexpected!) ‘thawing’ in relations with certain parties (although I still don’t have the foggiest idea why!).
One of your most loyal supporters, Rhona Brooks, has left three beautiful little packages on my doorstep this week: some wonderful leeks, some delicious duck eggs, and even an exquisitely painted milk jug (by the hand of her sister, Tilly, I presume) decorated with a perfect, tiny posy of hellebores (my favourite wild flower)!
So bolstered and enthused was I by these kind and benevolent gestures that I finally took my heart in my hands and went to see the enigmatic and taciturn ‘Edo’ at Bleachers, who (much to my great surprise) welcomed me into his home most cordially.
I explained to him that I thought his crucifix was extraordinary, but not, perhaps, entirely suitable for the front portal of the church. I then begged that I might be allowed to hang it in the vestry. He seemed touched and delighted by the idea and actually came along to the church on Thursday to take a quiet peek at it, in situ. We had a wonderful talk about a wide range of subjects. He’s a complex and fascinating man – a tortured soul, a true artist – and I feel like I’ve learned so much from him already in just our two short meetings.
I don’t know if he will become a regular member of the congregation (although I live in hope!), but I certainly think an important connection has been forged there, and I want you to know that none of this could possibly have happened without your involvement.
It only remains for me to thank you for your forbearance, and to wish you every blessing and happiness over the Christmas period.
Yours, united in God, and truly penitent,
Paul
PS Lily Beer approached me – out of the blue – and asked if I might baptize her grandson, Fergus, after all! Obviously I was absolutely delighted to accept her request. I’m presuming that you were forced to cancel for some reason and that you gently nudged her in my direction. If this is the case, then thank you, once again, Reverend. I have done so little to earn your support this week, but that you should have continued to offer it, and so graciously, honestly means the world to me.
[letter 18
]
Buckden House
Piper’s Ghyll Road
Burley Cross
21/12/2006
Dear Ms Squire,
Since I’m a chronic technophobe, I deputized my husband, Robin – who’s the complete opposite – to send you an email with a link to our website on it, but given that I haven’t heard from you since our conversation two weeks ago (and just happened across your address on a piece of paper by the phone), I thought I should send you one of our promotional leaflets in the mail, to keep in Mr Booth’s files, just in case.
As I believe I said when we last spoke, Buckden House really is widely held to be one of the premium B&Bs in the Wharfedale area. We are situated at the prestigious ‘top end’ of this ancient and picturesque moorland village, on the legendary Piper’s Ghyll, one of Burley Cross’s most leafy and magnificent roads. All our rooms (or ‘suites’ – of which there are eight, in total) are quiet and nicely proportioned, with their own bathrooms (containing either a shower, or a deep, free-standing bath with shower fitments) and boast spectacular views of the surrounding moor.
I would envisage Mr Booth taking the Dragon Tree Suite (our equivalent of a ‘penthouse’; it has a subtle, Mandarin theme, i.e. oriental silk bed wear and throws, shiny black skirting, gold fitments, Chinese wall hangings and screens) and possibly you in the Juneberry Suite (gentle lime-green walls, acres of crisp white calico, wooden floors, thick sheepskin rugs), just a short distance down the hall.
Obviously Mr Booth’s needs are very specific, and you will know best what will suit him…
Burley Cross Postbox Theft Page 18
