The Flock That Christendom Forgot:
An Animal's Padre Uphill Pilgrimage
Episode 11 - Darkening Clouds Gather
The Huddersfield parish had been exceedingly in the red. My
predecessor had stuck it seven months. The one before him: two years;
and the one before him for twelve months. The Bishop had already
suggested a better post as Vicar of Holmfirth (later the location for
'Last Of The Summer Wine'); nevertheless, I preferred a challenge. Well,
the years passed. Good Bishop Tracy – a true pastor supported by his
wife ‘Auntie’ May! - retired with ill health; and after much friction
within the vicarage itself my previous wife left after twenty-three
years of marriage. Yes, the end of a turbulent relationship which had
begun by a 'marriage of the year' in 1954, when we had eloped; I a
Baptist Pastor and she a Sunday School teacher of a Puritanical mission.
It need only be added that the friction was on both sides. I had no
doubt become exceedingly unbearable to live with. Parish gossip had
recently centred round the Catholic Presbytery where the former priest
had made a young lass pregnant - and then coaxed her to move into his
luxury caravan - the gift of parishioners on his early retirement 'due
to ill health!'
Well, now the gossip transferred itself to our vicarage! Yes, it was
an exceedingly sad state of affairs, no doubt accelerated by issues such
as a deeply loved and severely retarded child; teenagers who played up
one parent against another; my mother who was severely handicapped and
stayed with us half the year; and a church getting deeper into the red
each week.
Bishop Rutt of Leicester had persistently twisted my arm to be
responsible for ASWA; but on now learning that my spouse had deserted me
- and that a divorce could possibly ‘be in the pipeline’ - now dissuaded
me from taking such a voluntary post.
Meanwhile my own Diocesan proved far more sympathetic and had me
interviewed at no less a place than 10, Downing Street for a top Crown
appointment. However, their offer of a prestigious post in Lincolnshire
was withdrawn at a later date: the Crown did not wish to be implicated
in a possible, high media publicised, divorce affair!
So, for another eighteen months I remained in the rambling vicarage
of Milnsbirdge. – within the parish in which PM Harold Wilson had been
nurtured! - desperately endeavouring to build up the congregation. Yes,
and equally the church finances; for it was now an area where mills such
as the Crowthers - of Bankdam notoriety!’ – had been generous past
benefactors, but were closing almost monthly due to foreign imports
taking over.
Well, thankfully, one could always be assured of a nucleus of loyal
and loving parishioners; while, one of the most prominent comforters of
all was Fluffy, my lovable dog. She had mostly the appearance of a
Shetland sheep variety; plus a deep bark that would terrify any
intruders to the dark Victorian vicarage; and yet ‘let loose upon them’
and she would have, probably, lovably washed their faces all over. If
such four-legged pals are not part of the Kingdom of Heaven, then there
must be exceedingly far less hope for so many humans!
- to be continued
Go on to Greetings from Doreen
and I For A Lovely Christmas
Return to Winter 2011 Newsletter
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