A Child of the Cloth

by James E. Probetts

  ‘Looking back now I’m not so sure that I was right. Had war been averted, I would have come back to Wimbledon and it might have been so different but within one month of the onset of war, I was conscripted into the army. There was one occasion that I think I saw you. I was travelling in the back of a canvas covered army lorry in transit to an army camp. I discovered that there was a strong likelihood of a lorry going through Wimbledon Village. I exchanged my last packet of cigarettes with a soldier sitting at the back of a lorry to exchange seats with me as the lorry made its way up Wimbledon hill and into the village. I pulled back the canvas tail cover totally ignoring the complaints of my fellow soldiers. I had only one thought in my mind that I might possibly see you walking in the village. I had no idea in my mind, whether I would call out or just jump from the lorry and accept the consequences of possibly being charged with being absent without leave, or even a worse in time of war, desertion. As the lorry slowed in the traffic through the village, I strained my eyes in the closing darkness of the evening and for one moment, I was convinced I saw you disappear in a group of people but I was not certain. I think my mind saw what it wanted to see. I have since come to understand that this phenomenon is often experienced by people who have lost someone dear to them.

  ‘My mother had promised faithfully that if any letters arrived from you, she would immediately post them to me but no word ever came. The days turned to weeks and weeks became months without a word from you. I finally knew that I must accept that I had lost you forever.

  ‘I was in one of those dark depressed moods when I met a young girl whose unhappiness seemed to mirror mine. She had given up her childhood sweetheart and fallen in love with an American serviceman but was soon to be abandoned by him. I would not wish to dwell on my relationship with her. It did not last; it was a relationship born out of the dark depression, and loneliness that I was suffering, not love. She became pregnant and refused my offer of marriage which I made for the sake of the child. She had made her mind up that the child should be adopted, saying that she was too young to settle down to married life and be a mother and that she wanted to travel the world.

  ‘I wrote to my mother of the birth of the child and of the girl’s intention to have the child adopted and asked for her help. Her response was instant, as I knew it would be. She was adamant that there would be no adoption of her grandchild while she had a home to offer. Within weeks, the child, my daughter, was living in Tisbury with my parents, registered in my name. I was informed later that her mother became another victim of the war, being killed in a London dance hall in a bombing raid.

  ‘I will be coming to London on the first of next month and will be arriving at St. Pancras Station, platform three at two o’clock in the afternoon. If it is your desire that we meet again I shall wait for you at the ticket barrier but if you’re not there I will respect your decision and will not attempt to contact you again.’

  “I read Arthur’s words over and over again. It was like a dream. I now understood the long years of silence: Arthur not having heard a word from me and not knowing I had ever received his letters, how could he possibly contact me again, especially after he had fathered a child out of wedlock. Nowadays it is not so frowned upon, but in those days it was a disgrace. I did not for one moment even consider not meeting him and my wait for the first day of June seemed interminable. I had no problem in admitting to myself that I had a deep longing to see him again. I thought long and hard about Arthur’s daughter, my mind went back to those long lovely summer evenings lying alone with him in the long grass of Wimbledon Common and I knew that if I had been more honest with myself, about my feelings, the child could have been our daughter.

  “The day finally arrived. I set off extremely early, taking no chances of the fates playing me cruel again; I arrived at St. Pancras two hours before the train was due. I sat observing people arriving and being met by friends and family and lovers embracing.

  “I cannot tell you how often I looked up at the large clock with hands that never seemed to move forward and watched the large indicator board as it would suddenly come alive with lines of doll like eyes, with numbers spinning in them. And then suddenly the whole display stopped, showing the times of arrivals. I could barely take my eyes from the indicator board for platform three. At about one forty five pm the display went blank and then the little window switched to one fifty five pm ‘due’. At last!

  “It was only then that I started to become extremely anxious, I was no longer the fresh nineteen year-old girl Arthur had fallen in love with. I even began to be concerned as to what I would do if he failed to recognise me and walked past me. I then wondered if I would recognise him. Sometime before the train was actually due; I positioned myself in the middle of the ticket barrier to make sure there was no possibility of missing him. I asked the ticket collector if he could confirm that this was the right platform for the train arriving from Tisbury and if the train was on time.

  “I told him I was meeting a very special friend, and that I wanted to be sure I did not miss him. He said; ‘Don’t worry Miss, the train is due in on time and if he’s on the Tisbury train he has got to come through this barrier’.

  “As the train slowly came to a stop, all the doors seemed to open at once and an absolute multitude of people poured on to the platform. I was slightly taken aback when the ticket collector told me to stand to the side, otherwise I would likely be in danger of being run down by the crowd. I strained my eyes to see if I could see Arthur, imagining in my mind how time might have changed his looks. When I could not see him in the crowd, I became despondent, thinking that he had missed the train or that I might be waiting at the wrong platform, or even worse that he might have walked by without us recognising each other.

  “Then, as the crowd started to thin down to just a trickle of people, there was no mistaking Arthur as he walked down the platform with great purpose in his stride. There was no doubt at all in my mind it was him. I recognised him immediately. He was sporting in his buttonhole, sprigs of lavender; this was an instant delightful reminder that he had not forgotten the lavender which he had given to me all those years ago and which I still kept in my Bible. Seeing the lavender put me completely at ease. He did not fail to recognise me nor did he walk straight past me. He stood in front of me and as I looked into his lovely blue eyes I instantly felt, once again, the same warm wonderful emotion that I had experienced all those long years ago in the graveyard at St Mary’s. As he put his arms around me he said, ‘Might I kiss you Amelia?’. As our eyes met he knew there was no need to ask. It was as though we had never been apart. He was exactly the same, yes, somewhat older, with greying hair but still the same smiling eyes.

  “We found a seat in a quiet corner of the station. As we sat there holding hands, he said he would like to speak of his daughter and show me a photograph of her. Upon opening his wallet, his hands started to tremble a little but soon stopped when I put a reassuring hand on his. He then took from his wallet the photograph. I could see instantly how proud he was of her. She was dressed in cap and gown and had the same smiling eyes. He told me that she had achieved a first-class honours degree in English Literature. He said he had been determined that she would receive the education that, because of his circumstances of birth, had been denied him.

  “I asked him what name he had given her. He paused for a moment and then with some nervousness in his voice said, ‘I hope it will not cause you any unease but no matter how many times I wrote down lists of names, I always came back to the same name each time, your name: “Amelia” ’. I reassuringly kissed him lightly on the cheek and told him it gave me great pleasure to think that his daughter bore my Christian name. As we walked to his hotel, he told me of his life since we last met.

  “His parents had now passed away and he had inherited their cottage in Tisbury and was living there with Amelia. He said he greatly missed his parents, who had helped him bring up Amelia. Both had been totally supportive, it had not been easy living
in a small rural community where people felt entitled to ask questions and pass judgment concerning Amelia’s mother and whether in fact they had been married.

  We came to a mutual understanding that we would not be parted again. I saw no wrong when he suggested that he alter his arrangements at the hotel and I am not ashamed to say we spent three days and nights together there. I remember being very nervous walking into the hotel and purposely keeping the glove on my left hand being totally convinced that the receptionist would be looking to see if I wearing a wedding ring. On the final evening, we had a very special meal in the restaurant, after the meal Arthur asked the waiter, if we could have our coffee served in their beautiful Victorian conservatory.

  The conservatory was furnished with palms and was lit by candles, the flickering of the candles reflected back from the glass created a truly magical effect. We were completely alone in the conservatory. I still had Arthur’s letter to my father in my handbag. But I was uneasy my mind whether to bring up the past. I had gone over it time and time again in my mind whether I should show him the letter.

  I was concerned that the past might once again cause us hurt but luckily finally common sense prevailed. Arthur did have a right to see my father’s letter of regret of his treatment of him.

  I finally took it from my handbag. He looked surprised and a little apprehensive on seeing the letter again. I told him to read what my father had written on the back of his letter.

  As he slowly read my father’s words any apprehension that he had disappeared instantly. He said he gained great pleasure from my father’s words and felt reassured that my father, had he lived, would have given him permission to ask for my hand in marriage. He then stood up from the table and went to one knee and asked me to be his wife. For the second time in my life, I accepted his proposal of marriage. He then took from his waistcoat pocket a ring. There was a small piece of card rolled up inside it, he said the ring had been the engagement ring of its mother and hoped I would accept it as our engagement ring. He removed the piece of card and then put the ring on my finger as he did this he handed me the small piece of card.

  I unrolled it with great curiosity and was delighted to see that it was single rail ticket to Tisbury.

  The next morning, I telephoned Lilly who had worked as a maid for the family for many years and had become a good friend. I asked if she could pack a case for me and send it by taxi to the hotel. Initially she was a little uncertain but as soon as I told her I had found my Arthur she delighted in my happiness. As good as her word, on the morning we were leaving the hotel to take the train to Tisbury, my luggage arrived and, after a leisurely breakfast, we caught a taxi to St. Pancras Station. As we walked arm in arm past the ticket barrier at platform three I noticed that it was the same ticket collector. He smiled at me and obviously had remembered me waiting at the barrier. As we arrived at Tisbury I told Arthur I was extremely nervous about meeting his daughter. He assured me I would be made most welcome.

  “The lane that led to the cottage was a short walk from the station. The lane had high banks either side with trees arching together, with the sunlight sparkling through the leaves. The bushes were alive with the singing of small birds and the humming of bees collecting from a profusion of wild flowers. In the banks were small wild strawberries, Arthur picked some and offered them to me; he said this is one thing he always missed, when he was in the army, but always knew that one day he would again pick wild strawberries as he had done as a child; he said it helped him keep his sanity in some trying situations.

  “As we approached the cottage I could see his daughter standing at the gate. As soon as she saw us she started to wave with both hands, Arthur returned the wave and said, ‘One hand is waving to me, and the other hand is waving to you’. I also started to wave and it created a wonderful warm feeling, dispelling all my fears. I was overwhelmed when she told me that when her father had shown her the announcement in The Daily Telegraph, she had urged him to contact me again, as the only happiness he ever spoke of was of his time with me. She was positively delighted that her father and I were to be married, as she would at last have someone whom she could call mother and hoped that one day I would allow her to address me thus. I said I would love to be called ‘Mother’; you are the daughter that I should have had.

  “There were a lot of tears and joy that day. We were married by special license in St John the Baptist, the small parish church in Tisbury. As you might imagine there was some discussion as to whether we should be married in a registry office or a church. Arthur still holding strong views on religion caused me some concern, but being the man he was and knowing that I would not feel properly married if I was not married in a church, it was his suggestion we marry in St John the Baptist. I said surely that will not be permitted if you have not been baptised in the Anglican faith, and then to my complete surprise he told me that he had in fact been baptised in St John’s and had sung in the choir. He had been in great demand to sing in other churches for weddings and funerals as he had possessed an exceptionally fine soprano voice but had left the church after becoming disillusioned by his treatment. Evidently the then choir master at St John’s, unbeknown to him, had been accepting fees from other churches for his singing and had never given him any of the money even though he was aware that the money would have been a great help to Arthur’s family, who were struggling to survive on an agricultural labourers wages. When he found out he asked the choir master why he had not been given any of the money and was told, very sternly, that his voice was God’s gift and that he was wrong to seek any personal reward, his reward should be singing for the glory of God.

  “This answered so many questions I had in my mind, it explained his knowledge of Christianity and church music and also possibly how he had lost his faith. St John’s is a small parish church, not high church like St Mary’s. No great organ, as we both knelt at the altar rail; music for the wedding was played by one of the elderly lady parishioners on an old harmonium that had definitely seen better days. Arthur was concerned who would run out of breath first; the elderly lady parishioner peddling and playing the harmonium or the harmonium itself. Arthur could not resist quietly saying to me, ‘What would Mr. Noon the organist at St Mary’s say if he was asked to play on such an instrument’.”

  After the wedding ceremony, she told me that they were driven back to the cottage in a pony and trap draped with coloured silk ribbons. She said to Arthur, ‘I have everything in life I’ve ever dreamt of ’, at that moment, Arthur took from his pocket an envelope which he gave it to her. Written on the envelope was:

  ‘A wedding present for my beloved wife,

  We will honeymoon in Bavaria’

  As she opened the envelope, to her great delight, there were tickets for the Passion Play in Oberammergau in Bavaria. The year of their wedding coincided with the year the play was being performed. It is only performed every ten years. Amelia asked me if I knew of the play, before I could answer she started to tell me about their honeymoon in Oberammergau and the play. She said she can still see the smile on his face when she said to him, ‘It must be every Christian’s dream, in their lifetime to attend at least one performance of the Passion Play in Oberammergau’, and his reply, ‘A type of Christian Hajj’.

  “I asked him if he realised the performance lasted over five hours and was wholly in German. He said he was and was also aware that the performance was part play and part Oratorio and reportedly contained some fine music and then teased me by saying, ‘You must promise me not to spoil it by telling me the ending’.

  “The day of the play is one of those days that one never forgets. The anticipation of the audience creates an atmosphere in the auditorium that is totally unique to Oberammergau and to be sitting with my Arthur next to me I was so happy. I felt a little apprehensive, wondering whether it would be too much for Arthur. The combination of the religious text and tableaus depicting scenes from the Old Testament and music makes the work accessible to those that do not have
the benefit of German. As the life and trial of our Lord unfolds in front of us on that vast stage, one is completely drawn into the drama even to the extent that when Pontius Pilate, with great anger in his voice, turns to the citizens of Jerusalem and says, ‘Will no one here speak for this man’. I felt a great sense of guilt because, like the rest of the four thousand six hundred people in the auditorium, I stayed as silent as the citizens of Jerusalem. Then, the high priest Caiaphas and his temple servants shout, ‘Crucify him!’ and the cry ‘Crucify’ is taken up by the multitude, who shout louder and louder, ‘Crucify!’, ‘Crucify!’. Pontius Pilate ceremoniously breaks his staff and casts the broken staff at the feet of Caiaphas and says to him with anger in every word, ‘Take him and “crucify” him’. Arthur must have sensed the emotion in me at the trial of our Lord as he gently took hold of my hand.

  “After the trial of our Lord we were presented with scenes of gratuitous violence, acted out with great realism, as Jesus staggered across the stage, bowed low beneath the weight of the cross and the lash, the two miscreants also to be crucified, being mercilessly beaten by the Roman soldiers. There was complete silence in the auditorium as the two miscreants were nailed to their crosses. The Roman soldiers roughly took hold of Jesus and forced a crown of sharp thorns on his head, laid him on the cross and then hammered the cruel nails into his flesh. At that moment there was a great flash of lightning that lit up the auditorium, instantly followed by an enormous clap of thunder. Because of the unique design of the theatre the stage is completely open to the elements, the effect created an emotionally charged atmosphere in the auditorium. I felt an emotional shudder go right through Arthur; he held my hand more tightly as we watched the enactment of Christ’s death by Crucifixion. I saw in Arthur’s face a look I had never seen before, a questioning look; he did not release his tight grip of my hand until Magdalena, with great emotion in her voice, turned and faced a totally silent auditorium and declared, ‘I know my saviour lives,’ and then the full chorus sang, ‘Hallelujah he has risen’.