fiction
The Sociopathic Vicar’s Curate’s Christmas – Part 1
But it’s Christmas.
As my narrative has not yet reached my first Christmas at St James, I will tell you of my last Christmas as a Curate. A Curacy is a position where the newly trained serve under the watchful gaze of an experienced priest, before moving on to a parish of their own.
And so it was that on a dark December day in the bitter North wind, I walked to the local primary school. They were having the dress rehearsal for their Nativity play and I was in search of the headteacher.
I found her – Ms. Orslow (superficially intelligent, bureaucratic, plastic smile, believed in putting the cart before the horse) – in the main hall supervising young children. As one was clutching a stuffed toy lamb, and they were wearing tea towels on their heads, I surmised that they were the shepherds. The whole tea-towel thing has always seemed a little Days-Of-Empire to me, but it appears that it is the right of every British child to wear one.
“Perhaps you can help me.”
“Of course,” I said, with an equally sincere smile. I had no objection to her calling me “Curate” – it is what I was – but I disliked that she used it to imply that I wasn’t as good as the Vicar.
“Can you explain to Abdul why he can’t wear a tea-towel?” she continued.
I looked at the group. The community did not have much in the way of ethnic diversity, as these children demonstrated. Four white children with the required head gear, and one BAME child without. I knew Abdul’s family, at least to say hello to. It is my policy to be aware of as many of the local people as possible, and his family were well regarded.
I looked back at Ms. Orslow, and said, “I’m not sure what the problem is.”
“But it’s obvious, Curate. We can’t have Abdul wearing a tea-towel. Think of the optics!”
Ah, yes. As I feared. She was worried about the look of the thing. No matter that little Abdul was at least as British as she was. She was worried that it would look wrong for him to wear a tea-towel, just because his grandfather had been born in a different country. Not whether it actually was wrong, just that it would look wrong. The optics.
“Is his family aware that he’s taking part in the Nativity?”
“Oh yes. All parents are required to sign authorisation forms so that we can take photographs.”
“And do they know he’s playing a shepherd?”
“I don’t see your point, Curate.”
“Abdul is British. His parents are British. They know what a Nativity play is. The conventions of a Nativity play are as fixed as those of a panto. They know this.”
“That really is not the point, Curate!”
“No. That is the point. If they had an objection, they would have told you. They would not have signed a permission form.”
I believe that everyone should be treated equally. It is a logical consequence of being a sociopath. Other people all share the same level of unimportance, so it follows that they should receive the same treatment. Ms. Orslow had a different opinion. In fact, I could see that she was swelling up, ready to explode, so I clapped my hands together, and refreshed my smile as I continued, “However, in the name of equality, the solution to your problem is simple. Either everyone wears a tea-towel, or no-one does.”
Now she was stuck on the horns of a dilemma. You can’t have a Nativity without the tea-towels. I decided to help her out a little by picking up the offending item and placing it on Abdul’s head. He smiled.
“Tell me, Ms. Orslow, what are those children over there?”
I pointed to a group of reception children carrying cut out cardboard shapes.
She was pleased to be diverted from a situation that had got away from her, and told me, “They are sausages and rashers of bacon.”
I was clearly looking perplexed, so she explained, “The inn keeper has to serve breakfast. The reception children walk on dressed as sausages and bacon. They’re not ready for a proper part, but it means that their parents can see them on stage, and they sing a happy song.”
“I see. You are aware that Mary and Joseph - not to mention the inn keeper and everyone else in Bethlehem - would have been Jewish?”
“Were they?”
“Yes. Don’t you think that perhaps it might be considered a little insensitive to offer them bacon and sausages for breakfast?”
“But what else could they have?”
“Popcorn.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I’m not. It was an early preserving method, and popcorn was a common breakfast.”
She looked uncertain. I decided to add “ineffective” to my analysis of her personality.
“Still, I’m sure that you’ll have everything in hand by the time of the show tonight,” I said, “I only dropped by to check what time I should arrive.”
She refocused and said, “We start at 5:30 sharp, so you really need to be here by five.”
I nodded to myself. I could understand not wanting to be too late for the little ones, but it meant there would be more than a few parents struggling to get here after work.
“After the Nativity, we all sing Away in a Manger, you will say a prayer, I’ll thank everyone, and the event will end.” She added, “Oh, and Curate, please keep it bland. We don’t want to offend anyone.”
“How do you mean?”
“Nothing too… outdated. Or specific. Or definite. Allow people their own interpretations. This is about a nice end to the Autumn term. Nothing more.”
“Then I’m not sure why you need me.”
“Oh, you have to have a member of the clergy at the Nativity play. It’s about the optics,” she said, as she wandered off to inflict herself on some more children.
To be clear, I have found the vast majority of schoolteachers to be extremely dedicated and caring. But there are also people like Ms. Orslow. People who will use the word “optics”. Appearance, not substance.
I walked across the school car park, and down the driveway. Ahead of me, lower down the slope was a white streetlamp. As I walk towards it, the cold wind biting my cheeks, and my hands deep in my pockets, the light probably created a halo effect around me. I scarcely thought about it. I was thinking about Ms. Orslow. I knew she would ignore my advice about Abdul’s tea-towel. I knew she would ignore my advice about the innkeeper’s breakfast.
Ms. Orslow was going to ignore me.
It was the day of the school Nativity play, and I was an unhappy sociopath.
Disclaimer: Ms. Orslow is very much the exception for a headteacher. Sadly, the incidents of the tea-towel, and sausage and bacon have occurred. Rev. David Wilson is correct about the popcorn.