Regret to Inform You... (5 page)

‘The vicarage is most pleasant. I am blessed with a lovely wife, Eleanor.'

‘Your second wife, I believe,' said more in an accusatory than sympathetic tone. ‘And children?' as if this was his intended question when he had asked of family.

‘It is our only true sadness that we have not been blessed with children, but for me the love of my wife is rich compensation.'

‘And your wife?' Arthur felt more and more as if he were thirty years younger being questioned by his headmaster.

‘She, too, keeps well and gives me support in all I do. She visits many parishioners and has a wonderful way of listening to people and knowing the best way to respond. I treasure her in all that she does, just as I do in her being my wife.'

‘She sounds an interesting person. I understand that her support extends to women gaining the vote; that she belongs to this new suffragette movement, even to sympathising with the Women's Social and Political Union. Is that the case?'

‘Most Reverend, let me say that the suffrage movement is not new, it is at least forty years old and my wife does believe in equality in voting. She does have sympathy with the WSPU, but is less than certain about the ways in which it goes about its claims.'

‘You mean,' cut in the dean, ‘the group that is setting out to destroy our nation's harmony and well-being. They are saying that our church is wrong in that they see us supporting the government against such outrageous demands. Only recently they disrupted a service at Westminster Abbey and this very month over one hundred women were given hammers and instructed to smash windows in the very centre of London that caused over £5,000 of destruction.'

Arthur could see the dean bristling with anger and his face becoming redder, an anger undoubtedly seen by this newly
appointed
man in the cathedral as righteous. ‘Is that what your wife wants?'

‘Eleanor certainly believes that women should have the same voting rights as men, but she does not support anything which would harm anyone. To her, the sanctity of life is even more important than gaining voting rights.'

‘You sound as if you agree with her,' uttered the dean, almost in disbelief.

Arthur, showing his anger less evidently than the dean at being questioned about his wife, replied slowly. ‘I firmly believe that some of the things being done by the movement are wrong. I do not believe that this is the right time for voting rights to be given to women, even if that comes about in the future.'

‘Have you told her this? Have you tried to dissuade her and show her it is wrong? Indeed, very much against our church.'

‘Just as I know my wife's feelings and deep beliefs, she knows mine. As we agree on most things in life, so we disagree on some others. But one thing that we entirely agree upon is that we respect each other's views. Eleanor knows how I feel, but I know her views.'

‘But as a priest, have you done all you can to reveal her mistaken beliefs?'

‘I am a priest, and I may well be a poor one in much I do, but to Eleanor I am a husband above all else.'

There was an audible sigh from the Very Reverend Edgar Hartley Williamson, but for all his rank in the cathedral's hierarchy, he felt checked by the gentle force of this parish priest's words. ‘My Lord, the Bishop, had suggested that as you have now been in your parish for over twenty years, the future way in which you could serve the church might be discussed. However,' he paused for a moment, ‘I have taken up a great deal of your time so let us keep that conversation for another occasion.' He lent forward, placed his hands on the elaborate arms of his chair and stood.

Arthur
realised that the dean was indicating that he go: to Arthur the feeling was mutual. With almost unseemly haste the dean stretched out his hand, briefly and weakly shook hands and ushered Arthur to the door. A terse, ‘Thank you for coming, I know My Lord the Bishop will read with interest my summary of our time together.'

S
IX

Afternoon, Thursday, 28 March

Leaving the bishop's palace, Arthur felt a mixture of disappointment and anger; disappointment at not meeting the bishop or having any further clue to his future, anger at the dean and his questioning about Eleanor. He wondered if it had always been the intention that the dean, perhaps a new hatchet man, should see him. Such things were not unknown in the intrigues of the church.

Distressed, even annoyed by his feelings of anger, Arthur checked his agitated stride, turned and hurried along the paved path to the main door on the west side of the cathedral. Apart from a lady arranging flowers and a family of three, probably visitors, the great building was empty. He gazed first at the wonderful fan-vaulted ceiling, remembering how he had felt overawed on his visit to King's when at the age of thirteen his father had walked him around Cambridge. Arthur had never understood why his father intended to set him on a highly academic course which, in his own mind, Arthur knew he would never achieve. His eyes moved on to the beauty above the altar, a series of stained-glass windows revealing the life journey of Christ from humble birth to the cross.

On one side was the smaller Beaufort Chapel to which he moved. Before its small but wonderfully clothed altar, he
knelt,
waited and gradually became consumed by the history and magnificence of the cathedral. He trembled at his own weakness in wanting a move to suit himself rather than his God. He waited, yet a certain emptiness caused him to feel that in some unexplained way God was further from him than when he knelt in his own church.

He left, retracing his steps to the beginning of the narrow market lane; its downward slope matching his recent declining regard for the meeting at the bishop's palace. Unlike his own feelings, the sky had cleared and a gentle sunshine lit up the street. Arthur purchased a newspaper from a young lad as he needed something other than the morning's meeting to occupy his thoughts. The next train was in twenty minutes, a slow one stopping at each station on its way to Rusfield. He determined to read his paper.

The main story revolved round the Women's Enfranchisement Bill being defeated in the House of Commons. Clearly the
Canchester Daily Times
applauded this result, although Arthur knew that Eleanor and her friends would accuse the government of downright trickery in gaining a victory. All were waiting to hear news of Captain Scott's attempt to reach the South Pole, but meanwhile, the newspaper gave details of Norwegian claims that Amundsen had reached it three weeks previously. Scott's disappointment made his own frustration at the meeting with the dean of little significance. He needed to pull himself together.

Reading on, he saw that plans were almost complete for the opening of the Olympics in Stockholm and his mind turned to Abraham Richards whom he knew hoped to run for Great Britain four years on. His musing was interrupted by the approaching train.

Once inside the carriage, he finished the newspaper all too quickly and found his thoughts returning to the morning's unexpected outcome. Arthur wondered if the bishop had told his new dean how to run the conversation and did the dean
really
mean that unless he stopped his wife being an active member of the suffragettes, he would certainly not get any form of promotion? It certainly seemed so. How would he put things to Eleanor when he got home? They had always been honest with their own views and whilst they had often discussed, indeed sometimes argued about each other's views, they always respected the other's opinion.

He was surprised how quickly the return journey was over. The sky further lightened and there were traces of blue above Steepleton station as he alighted from the train. It reminded him of one of his mother's many sayings and proverbs, ‘Enough blue to make a sailor's pair of trousers'. He thought of his mother with great affection and wondered when she and his father would next travel up from Dorset to visit them.

He found himself really enjoying the hour-long walk back to the village. It did not matter if he messed up his shoes now, although he was careful to avoid the deepest potholes which were well over ankle-deep in water. He stopped to watch a hovering kestrel looking for an unsuspecting vole and giving a masterly display of aerial suspension; then his attention was caught by a much larger bird flying some distance to his right over Bramrose Hill - a buzzard. He was reminded of his student days at Wycliffe Hall when he cycled into the Oxfordshire countryside and enjoyed the things of nature. Arthur had never had any doubts that whilst magnificent buildings were created by men, albeit to the glory of God, birds and all nature could only have been created by God.

Getting to the edge of the village he walked across to give a friendly greeting to Mrs Cruise, one of the oldest parishioners. She was sitting in the doorway to her cottage, busy plaiting the last of the straw from the previous year's harvest. No doubt she needed all the light she could get, Arthur knew her eyesight was failing in her endeavours to gain a meagre income to add to her old age pension. How glad she must be that Lloyd George had introduced the pension; five shillings
might
not seem a lot, but he knew it made a huge difference to Mrs Cruise and others like her.

Rounding the final corner before he would reach home, he almost bumped in to one of the Reynolds' children. ‘Hello,' said Arthur, ‘where are you off to?' Although seeing one of the youngest of this family of ten children, he already knew the answer.

Tucking the bedroll even more tightly under her arm, Lily replied, ‘Well, sir, it's my turn to sleep at Auntie Bertha's house this week.'

Arthur knew that the Reynolds' house, like most in the village with just two rooms downstairs and two up, could not possibly sleep all of the large and growing family and some of the children slept elsewhere. ‘Take care,' Arthur called out, ‘see you at Sunday school.'

Five minutes later, he was standing on the vicarage doorstep searching for his key when Eleanor opened the door. ‘Arthur, my love, welcome back. You must be exhausted. I've got the kettle on.' She put her arms round him and they kissed. Arthur took off his mud-splattered shoes, hung up his hat, coat and cape, following Eleanor into the large kitchen. ‘Now, Arthur, you sit down. I've made some teacakes so have one, or more if you like, with your tea.' He sat down in his favourite chair wondering how best to tell Eleanor all that had happened. He need not have worried, for how good she was at judging the best way to start a conversation. The soft blue eyes settled on Arthur, but she let him get well underway with his tea and teacake before prompting him to speak.

‘So, how did you get on my love? How did you find the bishop?'

From telling his wife how surprised he was to find that his meeting had been with the dean, he moved on to what he now thought to be the real purpose of the summons to Canchester.

‘It seemed to me that you should really have been there although, of course, I didn't know that until this morning.'
His
wife gave a slightly puzzled look, but refrained from interrupting him. ‘Well, it was as if his questions about my background and St Mary's were just a prelude to his real purpose: to launch into the fact that you supported the suffragettes.'

‘He what?' In spite of her intended silence to listen to Arthur she couldn't help interjecting these words of surprise. He could sense her tone of disbelief.

‘After I told him about the support you give to me in the parish, he said in a very direct way that he knew you supported the suffragettes. He leapt to the conclusion that you supported, indeed were actively involved in their more extreme activities.'

Arthur was finding it increasingly hard to relay to his vivacious wife all that had transpired at the bishop's palace, but neither he nor Eleanor ever stopped short of telling the truth. ‘He really said all that, Arthur? Pray tell me what you said?'

He finished his cup of tea, a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘I told him that you definitely supported the movement, but the sanctity of life was overwhelmingly important to you. In other words you would never knowingly cause harm to another. I told him I respected your views as you do mine. Believe it, or believe it not, he demanded to know whether I had used my position as a priest to dissuade you.'

He wondered how Eleanor would respond: disbelief, anger and if anger, to whom would that anger show? To the bishop? The dean? Even to himself? As had been the pattern in so much of their life together, he was surprised at her words.

‘Poor Arthur! And you had gone wondering whether you were to be offered a bigger parish, whilst the whole plan seems to have been spying on me.' She stood up, moved across and lightly kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for saying what you did. I know we don't see eye to eye on votes for women, but we will always respect each other. I love you even more for saying that.'

Arthur relaxed as their love remained unaffected. ‘Come on,' said Eleanor, ‘it's not raining and it won't be dark for
another
hour. Let's take a walk along Church Stream.' Arthur nodded in delight.

Quickly dressed in warm coat and wellington boots, they left by the back door, walked to the end of the garden, through the small wooden gate and onto their own special path which came to the deep gully from which Church Stream emerged and crossed Bury Way beyond the churchyard. How many times had they walked together along this narrow path as it followed the shallow stream? It was slippery now and care needed to be taken. The trees, a mixture of oak, horse chestnut and elm still showed their unadorned winter wear.

Eleanor stopped and turned back to her husband, the path was too narrow here for them to walk alongside each other. ‘I love this time of the year,' she said. ‘Of course, it's lovely when all the leaves show themselves, but look at the patterns of the bare branches; that oak over there, amazing.' They stopped, too, a little further on and Arthur gently pulled a low branch even lower.