fiction
Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 50
She made polite noises to indicate that I should continue.
“There were one or two things that he has said which gave me concern. Just little things.”
“Well, he is a senior figure in a heretical cult,” she pointed out.
“I concede your point, Abigail,” I replied, “Being a leadership figure of the Sons of Jesus Lemurian does not bode well, and yet even allowing for that, I found myself uncomfortable.”
“There was that instance of him bludgeoning two priests to death with a church warden’s stave.”
“Indeed, yes. Equally, I would mention that they were also members of the same cult, and two of his supporters did have their skulls crushed with candlesticks by Rev. Martin Dawson’s supporters.”
“Is it possible that you might carry some responsibility for that?”
“Hardly. I will happily confess to originating the scheme to destroy their cult by feeding them faked historical documents, but I was expecting that they would be destroyed by hours of meaningless debate. I could hardly have anticipated such bloodshed.”
“They have certainly deviated from the beliefs of the Church of England,” said Abigail.
“Sarcasm?”
She raised an eyebrow, so I continued, “I would remind you that I came up with this scheme as an alternative to you murdering them, one by one.”
“True, and it has certainly been more rewarding, not to mention more deniable.”
“As I have to remind you with monotonous regularity, murder is wrong. Which brings us back to Graham Walters.”
“And what have you discovered?”
“The obvious point is that he has been shuffled into a position in the Diocesan Finance Office, where he will have no contact with parishioners.”
“What’s the point of a vicar if they don’t work with people?”
I sighed. “There are some administrative jobs that because of the quirks of the Church of England have to be done by an ordained priest. Unfortunately there are not enough who admit to losing their faith to fill them all, so some priests get assigned these positions from necessity. Still… I decided to do some digging.”
“This is like getting blood from a stone.”
“In his last parish, about ten years ago, it seems that he became somewhat riled with a church warden after a service. He grabbed the church warden’s stave, and waved it around in a rather vigorous manner. Apparently the church warden complained to the Bishop that the behaviour was rather rude.”
“Rude?”
“And somewhat concerning, it is said.”
Abigail snorted. “I can see that would be a pretty damning.”
“Oh, it is,” I replied. “There are certain key words that trigger alarm bells. About the only thing worse would be to say that someone was “not sound”. It then emerged that there had been various incidents over the year, which lead to Questions Being Asked.”
“Cutting the story short, he’s prone to outbursts of temper and violence, so they thought he was better suited to accountancy.”
“Not the most obvious sideways move, I’ll grant you. Still, it has kept him out of trouble for a number of years.”
“Until now.”
“Yes, until now,” I agreed.
Further discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. I dabbed my lips with a napkin and went to answer it.
“Afternoon,” said a man in a high-vis vest.
“Good afternoon, Ade,” I replied. He was in charge of the work on the church. To date, that meant clearing away the rubble of the burnt-out building, salvaging what was usable from the old stone, and disposing of the rest – timbers, pipes, old wiring and the like. It is not an area where that I have any knowledge, but Ade seemed competent enough. More importantly, Douglas Turner, the architect of the new church, and a long-time member of the congregation had recommended him.
“Thought you’d like to know – we’ve finished clearing away the old church.”
“Excellent – how much of the stone is salvageable?”
It was key to our plans to re-use as much of the old stone as possible.
“Quite a lot – we’ll need to buy in some new stone, but we always knew that. But we’re within our targets.”
“That’s a relief – what happens next?”
“Well, Douglas will come over and inspect things, probably tomorrow morning. Then Monday they’ll start excavating for foundations and the crypt.”
“Crypt? I didn’t know we were having a crypt.”
“Plans got revised. Don’t ask me – I just do the job. But if Douglas says he wants a crypt, then he’ll get a crypt.”
“Mm,” I said, momentarily nonplussed. Discovering your church had an unsuspected crypt can have that effect, I find.
“Well, I guess it’ll give him more space for his secret passages,” offered Ade.
“Yes...”
“Reckon we’ll be able to keep to the plan, though. Foundation stones laid before Christmas.”
“Do you think it the site will be in a safe state for a Christmas service?”
“Reckon. Say, enough of a floor that people can walk around without you getting sued, and a little bit of wall for you to lay stones on. You’ll need to let the stone masons know what you want on the stones in the next week or so, mind. Gives you time to check that they’ve got the words right.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Let’s just say they don’t always pay attention. They all want to be Michelangelo, but end up bashing “Rest In Peace” onto gravestones for forty years.”
I made diplomatic sounds, asked him to thank his people for their hard work, and, when he had left, retired to my study.
This whole foundation stone thing is a bit of a headache. It really is a form of immortality. If a church lasts a hundred years – and most last far longer - then for a hundred years, people will know your name. Even if a church gets made redundant and sold off to be made into apartments, the foundation stones will remain, telling people who you were. Indeed, even if a church should be burnt to the ground in order to claim the insurance money, the chances are that the foundation stones will be salvaged and incorporated into the new building. In fact, the foundation stones from the old building were neatly stacked to one side, exactly for this reason.
It can be seen that the whole foundation stone scheme is fraught with peril. In short, everyone wants their name on a stone, given the chance.
Some choices are obvious. The first person named on a stone, should, of course, be me. This is only appropriate considering it is my destiny to become the Archbishop of Canterbury.
However, given half a chance, the Bishop will worm his way in to get his name on a stone ahead of mine. Indeed, if possible, the Bishop would ensure that not only was his name the only name on the foundation stone, but there was only one stone. Clearly, this would be unacceptable – yet as a vicar, it is necessary to be sensitive to multiple issues. Specifically, if you want to progress in the Church of England, it is wise not to annoy the Bishop.
I decided to move on from the problems caused by the Bishop. They were multiple, and with no easy resolution. I consoled myself with the fact that all vicars suffer from bishop-related issues, so I was experiencing the trials of the average clergy, which would be valuable in the future. Rather like a politician trying to live on benefits for a week, to come closer to the common person. Except clergy don’t have the option of nipping out to a Michelin-starred restaurant for dinner.
I toyed with different ideas for choosing people for the foundation stones. Clearly, I couldn’t be the only person named on a stone, as that would look unnecessarily egotistical. Yet for some time there has been an expectation that multiple stones be laid, and I would need some names to put on them.
My musings were interrupted by the phone. An occupational hazard, but on this occasion a distraction I welcomed.
“Hello, David, It’s Geraldine Simmons.”
The headteacher of Sutley CP School, which we were using to hold our services in the absence of a church. I no longer welcomed the distraction.
Disclaimer: The Rev. David Wilson is completely unreasonable in his implication that bishops cause issues for vicars. Indeed, it is fair to say that bishops deploy considerable effort in order to make the lives of vicars as care-free as possible.
A map of Sutley may be found here:
https://kevinwoodauthor.com/SutleyMap.htm