It had been the occasion of the year at St Medard’s – the Bishop’s Visitation. It had been decided that the service be held on the Sunday afternoon so that those from other churches in the benefice and indeed in the whole deanery, could attend if they wished. Ministers from other denominations were also invited. The mayor and councillors were invited too, together with the local Boy Scouts and Girl Guides. Everything was done to make this an auspicious event.
St Medard’s was a large town church, and the response to the invitations was excellent, all the pews were filled to capacity for the occasion.
The Vicar and his wife entertained the bishop to a hearty lunch, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy and partook of a second helping of the ginger pudding, Mabel, the vicar’s wife’s speciality.
Everybody was assembled at the church in good time and the choir and the clergy proceeded up the main aisle at the beginning of the service. Members of the clergy were all regaled in their finest vestments and the mayor wore his chain of office. Choristers were all in freshly laundered white surplices. Everything had a touch of pageantry about it. Visitors were welcomed and preliminary announcements were made before the opening hymn. Everything was running very smoothly.
It was pleasing to see the other churches in the benefice well represented and friends from other denominations had turned out as well.
Of course, the vicar was very keen to impress the bishop. He had heard that there was soon to be a vacancy for a canon at the cathedral and he had promotion hopes in mind.
The bishop was known to be a softly spoken man and the person responsible for audio equipment, which most large churches have today, had been primed to turn the pulpit microphone up to full volume.
When the bishop climbed up into the pulpit, he gave an inspiring address which held the congregation in rapt attention. You could have heard a pin drop when at the end he stepped back to sit down.
Everything had gone extremely well apart from one incident and the vicar felt it incumbent upon himself to address this matter from the pulpit the following Sunday.
He stood and thanked all those who had contributed in various ways to make the bishop’s visit such a success. He had delighted in seeing the church packed with so many people.
He then launched into a sermon on forgiveness which seemed to be very focussed on forgiving our youngsters for their foolish pranks. He recalled the time when he discovered his young son shaving the hairs off gooseberries and trying to sell them to the neighbours as grapes, but of course he’d been forgiven. Then there was the occasion some choirboys had smeared glue on the choirmaster’s chair and he was unable to stand up at the appropriate time, but the choirmaster had been very forgiving – boys will be boys.
Other similar instances were related all ending in the forgiveness of the miscreants.
Then, however the vicar’s face darkened like thunder and his voice rang out loudly “But if anyone ever again put’s a whoopee cushion on the chair a visiting bishop sits on after his sermon, I swear I will call down fire and brimstone upon them.”
Some of the congregation looked startled at the vicar’s outburst, but others nudged each other and exchanged knowing winks. They knew it was all a cover up job.
Anyone who had partaken of second helping of the vicar’s wife’s ginger pudding knew it was most likely to produce a Celia Imrie moment, but could a bishop openly admit to that from the pulpit at the end of a sermon, like Celia did on Traitors.
About the author
Guy Pratt is a retired octogenarian second hand bookseller who enjoys gardening, long walks with his dog and travel. He gravitated into the book trade after earlier years in farming, the army Intelligence Corps and the civil service.
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