by Pam Rhodes
A general chuckle of approval rippled around the room.
“How many of you already sing in a choir?”
About forty hands went up across the room.
“And how many of you sing along with the hymns on Songs of Praise?”
Just about every person in the lounge put their hand up then.
“Well, if you’re interested in being part of our ‘Good Heavens!’ choir – and I assure you I’m looking for enthusiasm rather than skill – perhaps you could join me over in this corner when we’ve finished here, so that I can tell you more. And before I go on, I’d like to introduce you to the musical team who will be so essential to our worship. First of all, please take a bow, Clifford Davies! We are so lucky to have Clifford with us, because he brings with him a lifetime of experience, not just as a church organist, but from his professional career in West End theatre television too. Clifford will be the musical maestro behind the arrangements for the gospel choir.”
Clifford duly greeted the crowd as Pam continued.
“For our more formal singing together, we are very privileged to have with us a husband and wife team who excel in all aspects of church music, both traditional and modern. Please welcome Brian Lambert, who plays any kind of keyboard he can lay his talented fingers on, and his wife Sylvia, who brings with her years of experience as a musical director for church choirs.”
In the front row, Carole Swinton, sitting among the group from St Jude’s, visibly bristled.
“Well, if those two think they’re going to lord it over those of us who are highly qualified in church music, they have another think coming.”
“You must have a word with Neil immediately,” snapped Garry. “This is a Bedfordshire stitch-up. Burntacre will not be brushed aside in such a high-handed manner. It’s outrageous!”
As Pam stepped down from the stage, Bishop Paul went on to announce that there would be leaflets by the door as they left, detailing places and times for the various services, Bible studies and choir rehearsals throughout the coming days.
“On your seats you will already have found the book we have prepared as a companion throughout our pilgrimage. We’ve called it In the Footsteps of the Saints, and in it we have collected a selection of prayers in the Celtic tradition. Some of them were written a thousand or more years ago by Christians who saw God in his creation around them, and who dedicated their lives to his service. Others are prayers written by modern-day Christians who feel the same connection with God in everything around them. So this will be a handbook to keep with you as we worship on board, as well as when we go out on trips. You’ll also find it contains the words of about forty of our best-loved hymns, and I hope we get a chance to sing them all before we arrive back in Tilbury.”
There was a flurry of page turning and chatter as people took a closer look at the book.
“Right!” Bishop Paul finished. “Tomorrow morning we arrive in Berwick, where some of us will be taking coaches over to Lindisfarne, the legendary Holy Island of St Aidan and St Cuthbert. So I would like to finish this evening by asking God to bless us as we set out on this pilgrimage together. Let us pray: Be with us, Lord, as we set out together on this pilgrimage of discovery and faith. Guide us as we follow in the footsteps of the ancient saints. May we learn from their wisdom, be strengthened by the courage, and recognize your hand in everything, everywhere. We ask your blessing, now and always. Amen.”
CHAPTER 3
BERWICK-UPON-TWEED
See in each herb and small animal, every bird and beast, and in each man and woman, the eternal Word of God.
St Ninian
“The trouble is, they’re too cosseted on these great big ships nowadays.”
A bald-headed, rather rotund man had taken the seat next to Mark on the open deck, where passengers could have their breakfast with a view of the border town of Berwick laid out before them. Mark’s unknown table companion stopped speaking only long enough to pop a piece of sausage and ketchup into his mouth.
“I was in boats. Oh, sorry, if you’ve not been in the navy, you wouldn’t know what I mean by that. I mean submarines, of course. I was a submariner for twenty years. Once a submariner, always a submariner…”
A piece of fried bread topped with black pudding was the next morsel to disappear.
“You see, nowadays these ships are more like floating towns. They hardly notice the weather. It isn’t a matter of life or death to them, as it was to us. I was on A boats in the Singapore Squadron – in Borneo, of course…”
“For heaven’s sake, Brig, let the poor man eat his breakfast in peace!”
A small, round woman with neatly curled hair and a flowery shopping bag joined them at the table. “I do apologize. I hope my husband’s not bothering you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, please,” said Mark, hoping his reply would come across as more sincere than he actually felt. The man had taken the chair next to him five minutes previously, laying his plate – loaded with a very full English – on the table with a flourish. Since then, he’d not stopped talking (or eating) for more than a couple of seconds.
In fact, Mark had chosen this table because it was near the door, so he’d be able to see when Deirdre came in to join the line for the buffet. To his delight, he’d finally managed to catch her eye, and she’d waved across at him. He hoped she’d notice there was a spare seat beside him. He’d imagined a long chat about the ship and the people and the weather and the trip today…
No chance of that once “Brig” had plonked himself down and put paid to his well-laid plans!
“Submariner Young, reporting for duty, sir,” grinned the old seaman, “and this is my wife Daisy, who’s never understood the pull of the sea and what it means to a seadog like me. Once a sailor, always a sailor! It gets you right here.”
Mark watched in alarm as Brig emphasized his point by thumping his heart with the hand that still held his breakfast fork.
“You’re dripping egg on your shirt sleeve,” snapped Daisy. “Just finish your breakfast. It’s gone half past eight, and we’re supposed to muster for the coach to Lindisfarne in fifteen minutes. Get a move on!”
“Hello, Mark.”
Mark looked up in surprise to see Deirdre walking towards their table.
“Deirdre, good morning! Did you sleep well?”
“No one ever sleeps well on their first night at sea,” stated Brig with an air of authority.
Deirdre smiled back at Mark. “Actually, I slept like a baby. I think it’s the gentle rocking motion as we sail. I don’t even remember putting the light out.”
“Are you all set for Lindisfarne today?”
“Oh, are you going there too?” asked Brig. “Well, would you believe it? We’ve opted for that trip as well. We could all travel together.”
“Really?” asked Deirdre, while Mark’s heart sank.
“Brig, leave them alone!” interrupted Daisy. “They don’t want a silly old fella like you hanging around.”
Her husband doggedly ignored her, holding out his hand to Deirdre. “Brig Young, at your service, ma’am. And you two are…?”
“Deirdre O’Donnell…”
“… and Mark Stratton.”
“And where are you folks from?”
“Burntacre in Derbyshire. Brig, did you say?” answered Deirdre.
“The lads called me that on the boats. The name sort of stuck.”
“Don’t encourage him,” said Daisy. “It’s a daft name for a daft old man who lives in the past. His real name’s Frank.”
Brig glared at Daisy, then turned his best smile in Deirdre’s direction. “I’ve never heard of Burntacre. Small place, is it?”
“Quite small. I like it, though,” replied Deirdre.
“You want to live in a big city, like us. Pompey, that’s where we’re from. That’s Portsmouth to landlubbers. Never could bear the thought of living too far from the sea. I don’t think I’d ever sleep at all if I couldn’t hear waves breaking night and day.”
“We live eight miles from the coast,” interjected Daisy. “All we ever hear is the occasional seagull. And we’re going to be late if you don’t come right now! You’ve got to take your medication before we leave.”
Brig nodded his head thoughtfully. “That’s what happens when you’ve been a fighting man. Some wounds never really heal. They blight your life and need constant treatment.”
“He’s developed Type 2 diabetes caused by too much beer and not enough exercise,” explained Daisy. “Right, well, I’m off. Please yourself whether you catch that coach.”
As she marched away, Brig smiled apologetically at Deirdre and Mark, and wiped his mouth with the serviette he’d had tucked in the collar of his open-necked shirt. He pushed back his chair and gave them a jaunty salute before trotting off after Daisy.
Watching him go, Mark caught Deirdre’s eye and they both burst out laughing.
“Well, I’d better go too,” said Deirdre at last.
“Yes, we don’t want to be late. I’ll see you at the coach, then.”
“I hope so,” she smiled, hesitating for just a second before turning to walk away.
She hopes so! Mark’s mind was racing as he swallowed his last mouthful of toast, gulped down his coffee, then hurried back to his cabin to collect his things – and dab on an extra splash of aftershave.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!”
Facing the crowd who had gathered in the Discovery Lounge waiting to leave for the day’s outings, Assistant Cruise Director Jane looked as neat as a pin in her smart navy suit, her blonde hair scooped back into a business-like bun at the nape of her neck.
“Welcome to Berwick-upon-Tweed, the border town that has changed hands between the Scots and the English at least thirteen times. It stands on the English side of the border at present, but I’m told the Scots feel the match is still on!
“Now, we have several different trips heading out from the jetty this morning, so please make sure you collect the right boarding card for the coach you’re supposed to be on. If you’re booked onto the Wild Life boat trip to see the seals and puffins on the Farne Islands, please wait until you’re called, which will be in about fifteen minutes. The Historical Highlights tour will visit Bamburgh Castle and a museum dedicated to the courage of Grace Darling, who was a Victorian lighthouse keeper’s daughter who saved the lives of many sailors when their ship was wrecked on the rocks just off Bamburgh. If you’re on that trip, your coaches are due in about ten minutes. Please listen out for more details.
“But if you have tickets for the full-day trip to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne, there are two coaches waiting now. Would you kindly make your way to the exit, which this morning is on D Deck near the main reception area.”
“That’s us!” Iris was immediately on her feet. “Come on, Harry. We don’t want to be last. We need to get good seats on the coach.”
“Don’t worry, Mum,” soothed Neil. “I’ve already had a word to make sure you two can sit near the front. You should be able to get in and out of the coach quite easily then.”
“Oh, you haven’t told them I’m a doddery old woman, have you? That would be unforgivably embarrassing.”
“Heavens, Iris! The very idea.” Harry’s eyes were twinkling as he spoke. “You do, however, keep company with an extremely doddery old man who needs you to stop talking and take me down to D Deck immediately.”
Even though they hurried down to the exit point from the ship, others had beaten them to it, notably Carole and Garry Swinton, who were chatting and laughing loudly with the uniformed officer who was waiting to show the passengers off The Pilgrim.
“How does she do that?” grumbled Sheila, as she and her two friends joined the end of the queue. “That linen suit Carole’s wearing hasn’t got a crease in it. Does she iron it full of starch, do you think?”
“Her housekeeper probably does,” added Marion at Sheila’s side. “Garry earns a fortune, so Carole told me.”
“What exactly does he do?” asked Betty.
“Financial advisor; something like that.”
“Well, I don’t like to speak ill of anyone,” said Marion, “but I really can’t warm to him.”
Sheila nodded in agreement. “Always seems a bit superior to me – just because he’s Chairman of the parish council…”
“They’re both a bit full of themselves, don’t you think?” hissed Betty. “Calling herself choir director when there’s only a handful of us and you could hardly describe us as singers.”
“True,” conceded Betty. “She does have an uphill struggle knocking us into shape. Credit where credit’s due, though. She’s got a nice voice.”
“Pity she hasn’t got a nice personality to go with it,” mumbled Marion.
Down on the jetty, Mark headed towards the coaches for Lindisfarne, looking out for Deirdre as he went. There was no sign of her. Thinking she might already be on board, he was halfway up the steps of the first coach when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning, he looked down into the worried face of Jill Grenville.
“Sorry to ask, Mark, but you haven’t seen Rob, have you?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“He seems to have done a disappearing act. Odd, really. He knows how much I’m looking forward to this trip.”
“Perhaps he’s already up in the coach waiting for you.”
“Do you think so?” Her expression brightened. “You’re right. He might be sitting over the other side where I can’t see him.”
“Come on,” offered Mark, “let me take that bag for you.”
But there was no sign of Rob on the bus.
“He’ll be here soon,” suggested Mark, worried that Jill was close to tears. “Why don’t you choose a seat for the two of you now? The bus is filling up fast.”
Reluctantly, Jill squeezed into the seat across from Mark’s own, looking anxiously through the window as passengers made their way to the coaches. She recognized Brian, Sylvia and Clifford, because they’d all been introduced at the meeting the previous evening as the music team from Dunbridge. They were chatting as they climbed into the coach.
When Mark glanced towards Jill a few minutes later, he was alarmed to see her absent-mindedly scratching the back of her hand until her skin looked red and raw. Still Rob didn’t come, not even after the time it took for Pete and Callum to help Arthur up the steps, followed by Julia skilfully manoeuvring her mother into a nearby seat. Jill’s scratching became more and more frantic.
“Oh, there he is. Rob!” She banged noisily on the window to get his attention.
He heard her. He stopped for several seconds to stare right at her, then turned away to join the queue for the other coach.
“Rob!” she shouted, thumping the window even louder. “Over here. Rob!”
But her husband was plainly ignoring her, sharing a joke with a fellow passenger as he climbed into the bus opposite. Her shoulders slumped, her whole body shivering as she fell silent. Unsure what to say, Mark slid across to sit beside her, gently taking her blood-streaked hand in his own.
“Perhaps he didn’t see me through this thick glass…”
Mark said nothing.
“I’ll find him when we stop. These buses are going to the same place, aren’t they?”
“I think so, yes.”
“We’ll be able to meet up at the other end. That’s what we’ll do…” Every now and then, she twitched with anxiety. “Why didn’t he try and find me, though? He knows how much I was looking forward to this.”
Beneath their hands, Mark could feel her knee trembling.
At that moment, Deirdre stepped onto their coach. Seeing Mark sitting so close to Jill, their hands clasped together and obviously deep in conversation, she kept moving to take a seat further back.
It was as Neil was about to step on board that Bishop Paul caught up with him.
“I’m on the other coach, Neil, so we can all meet up at Lindisfarne? Are you still OK to lead the prayer
s at our service?”
“I’m looking forward to it. Holy Island’s very special to me. I came for a week’s retreat when I was at theological college. If it weren’t for the soul-searching I did then, I doubt I’d be standing here as an Anglican minister now.”
Paul smiled. “Then there’ll be a real sense of home-coming for you today. You know we only have five hours there at most before the tide covers the causeway and the island’s cut off again. Can you tell everyone on your coach that our service will start by the priory ruins at one? We need to make sure everyone’s ready to leave by half past two before the road disappears.”
Neil boarded the coach and realized at once that it was almost full. Claire grinned up at him from her position next to Iris, who’d decided the seats were impossibly narrow for any normal-sized person, and that she needed to sit beside someone who was so slightly built that they took up practically no room at all – Claire! On the other side of the aisle, Harry was having an animated conversation with Arthur, who was surprisingly sprightly for a ninety-one-year-old.
Making his way down the coach, Neil passed Jill and Mark, and finally opted for the centre aisle seat right in the back row, where he was surprised to see a man sitting completely out of sight, tight against the window.
“Sorry,” said Neil. “You might be wanting a bit of peace and quiet without me thumping down beside you. I’ll move…”
“No.”
Neil was shocked by the bleakness in the man’s eyes. He looked as if he was in his early forties, dressed casually in a sweatshirt and jeans, but there was a desolation about him which was almost tangible. Neil responded with nothing more than a friendly smile, sensing that the man really didn’t want company, so it came as a surprise when he spoke again.
“I’ve been to Lindisfarne before.”
Neil nodded. “It’s an island you want to come back to.”
“I made a decision there.”
Neil was silent.
“I need to make a decision again.”
At that moment, the microphone squeaked into life as a fair-haired woman, looking delightfully bohemian in a flowing skirt and long knitted jacket, introduced herself.
