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267 pages

English

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With great wit and warmth Audrey Carter describes to God the extraordinary mixture of the sacred and profane and the bizarre and wonderful characters who inhabit their south of England parish.'Brilliant --- amusing and moving'. - Rt. Revd. John Taylor, Bishop of St Alban's.

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Humour

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Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	19 juin 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783011520
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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STOP THE PARISH
I WANT TO GET OFF!
Audrey Carter
*
© 2013 Audrey Carter
Audrey Carter has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by eBookPartnership.com
First published and printed in 1994 First published in eBook format in 2013
eISBN: 978-1-78301-152-0
(Printed edition: 1 85424 262 8)
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
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Contents
Copyright
Stop The Parish: I Want to Get Off!
Dedication
Begin Reading
Dear God,
My book is out and I’m in the dog box. Tom says I’ve ruined his authority at St Jude’s with the bit about his Tom and Jerry underpants and his penchant for Sugar Puffs. The boys say their girlfriends have dropped them like hot cakes and that they’ll never leave home with a mother like me who reveals all.
And there’s a deathly hush from St Jude’s congregation who are slowly going into shock as a single copy does the rounds.
The only bright light is John Taylor, the Bishop of St Albans who thinks it’s ‘Brilliant ---- amusing and moving’. There’s the gift of discernment for you, God.
The Wife of the Rector

PS. Mother doesn’t like my photo. Says it makes me look like Auntie May who ran away with a Roman Catholic Jewish corset salesman.
To the men in my life
*
Dear God,
Here is the Eleventh Commandment: remember she is the wife of the rector, not the rector’s wife.
Audrey
Saturday 26th August
Dear God,
It’s us, the Carter family. You must have heard of us by now because St Jude’s Church has been on its knees for a whole year praying for a new incumbent. They’ve just had an interregnum and it was painful.
When we arrived today, we nearly missed the rectory hidden behind the last bit of true wilderness in Britain. The churchwardens, Major Crabtree and Miss Willis, met us at the gates (one in each hand) and helped us beat a pathway to the front door with their walking sticks and, after applying a bit of ‘heave ho’, the whole Carter family plus Samuel Smudge, the black Labrador and Pooky the black cat, fell into the Grade II listed, crumbling Georgian refrigerator.
The only floor covering was a year’s unsolicited mail in the hall and a notice sticky-taped to the floor at the entrance to the study alerting us to the 2ft x 3ft hole ahead.
Audrey
Sunday 27th August
Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost Theme: Those in Authority
Dear God,
There’s rising damp and falling plaster and no heating in the five bedrooms and half a bathroom. Major Crabtree assured us that the last rector and his family got by with a few extra jerseys.
Miss Willis apologised for the fourth bedroom. Our predecessor’s son had been let loose with tins of red and green high gloss creating a sort of lettuce and tomato salad environment. There’s one clergy child who doesn’t feel inhibited.
Audrey
PS Please God, send us some extra jerseys and miracle paint stripper and remind me to clear the mushrooms growing in the corner of the loo before Mother moves into her flat around the corner next week.
Monday 28th August
Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, Teacher of the Faith, c 430
Dear God,
Mrs Next-Door called this morning. Did we need anything and would we please stop Samuel Smudge hurling his 86lbs against the fence every time Bert, their retired greyhound, goes out to do his business?
Tom has just booked his first baptism. ‘I want the ruddy baby done,’ declared a young woman on the rectory steps this afternoon.
‘And before you say anything, Audrey,’ said the future Rector of St Jude’s to me as he closed the door, ‘remember, it’s the same Holy Spirit who brought her here today to have her baby "done", that also guided us to St Jude’s.’
Audrey
Tuesday 29th August
Beheading of St John the Baptist
Dear God,
Why me? Five years ago I was the wife of a successful business man. I’d never manned a church hall tea urn or run a jumble sale. I had none of the talents a congregation expects in a rector’s wife. When I met Tom he was agonising over winning contracts. Now, twenty-five years later, he’s agonising over winning souls!
We now live in a diocesan house. Our three sons, Derek, Anthony and Martin who are very enthusiastic about their Dad doing his own thing, don’t realise that he has to ‘do it’ on a much reduced salary; that the Archbishop of Canterbury does not hand out bonuses nor declare dividends, and that fillet of steak is a nice memory. Added to all this God, I don’t even know my way around the Alternative Service Book yet.
In short God, I’m having difficulty squeezing through the eye of the needle and it’s Tom’s induction service at St Jude’s tomorrow! OH GOD, WHY ME?
Audrey
Wednesday 30th August
Dear God,
It’s all over. Tom was inducted this evening as the Rector of St Jude’s. I am now the wife of the rector; Derek, Anthony and Martin are the rector’s sons; Sammy and Pooky are the rectory dog and cat respectively, and Josephine is the rectory car. I’m still on a spiritual high God; it was all so uplifting and awe inspiring.
I arrived at St Jude’s after Tom with Mother and the boys. The ushers at the door parted like the Red Sea when they realised who we were, and three of them led us a hundred miles down the centre aisle to the left front pew.
A hush closed in behind us as the congregation realised they were looking at their new rector’s family and Martin, with a quick 360° swivel of his head, was able to report that about four hundred pairs of eyes were boring into our backs.
Mother sent a message along the row to me saying she hoped they had a strong Mothers’ Union and did I think she was right to have worn her navy and white.
Then the organ swelled with the opening bars of ‘Lo! he comes with clouds descending’ and up the aisle came Tom with the bishop, archdeacon, rural dean and clergy from neighbouring parishes, all in their ecclesiastical best. It was quite mind blowing and I had to send down to Mother for a tissue.
The bishop said that we were all priests in the service of God and must all minister to one another; that Tom would bring his own special God-given gifts to his ministry, which would be different to those of his predecessors.
He stressed the need for a priest to have time and space for his own private prayer and meditation, for without spiritually refuelling himself, he would not be able to refresh others.
Finally, after a rousing rendition of ‘Be Thou my vision, O Lord of my heart’, Tom stepped forward and from the chancel steps gave his first blessing to the congregation of St Jude’s.
There followed a blur of faces, names and handshakes and a feast of sandwiches, cup cakes and sausage rolls in the hall, accompanied by a range of disturbing thoughts. How were the boys holding up to all the attention? Were they descending on the food like a plague of locusts? And what was Mother telling the ladies of St Jude’s? Martin located me at one point with the news that Nana was telling them that I’d walked at nine months and was dry by twelve months!
What I needed most of all just then God was to stand next to Tom and feel his hand close over mine, but already he was surrounded by people.
Audrey
Thursday 31st August
1.30am
Dear God,
It’s me again; I can’t sleep. Oh God, let it all be alright. Help Tom to be a good rector and let St Jude’s come to know him as their father in Christ. I don’t know what his special gifts are God, except for a wonderful speaking voice and smile. But he’s here today because five years ago you put your hand on him.
It’s me who needs your help most. Help me to get used to living in someone else’s house and sharing Tom with so many other people. Help me to be cheerful about our much reduced income and uncertain financial future. Help me not to miss my own car too much. Help me not to be too sensitive about everything that is said about me and particularly about Tom. Above all, help me to keep my sense of humour. We have come such a long way and even the boys have had to make big adjustments.
Thank you God for always being there to hear about my doubts and fears and for listening tonight, and now I must just nip downstairs. I forgot to take the mincemeat out of the freezer.
Audrey Wife of the rector.
Thursday 31st August
Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Missionary, 651 John Bunyan, Author, 1688
Dear God,
Why, oh why, didn’t I listen to the bishop’s wife at Tom’s ordination. ‘Don’t join anything for the first ten years, my dear,’ she’d whispered.
This morning the Enrolling Member of the Mothers’ Union phoned. Would I join them next Tuesday when Mrs Tarrington-Jones will be showing a thousand slides of her visit to her daughter in Little Rock, Arkansas, USA, followed by a talk on osteoarthritis?
After lunch the chairman of the Young Families Group dropped by. Would I join them on Wednesday night for a talk on bedwetting?
The captain of the bellringers came at four. Had I any bell-ringing experience? During tea Brenda the Sunday School Supervisor rang. Would I swell their ranks? They needed a teacher for the two to three year olds behind the piano, or the ten to twelve year olds on the stage.
Oh God, I’m not interested in osteoarthritis, I’m too young! I’m not interested in bedwetting, I’m too old! Too late! I’ve said yes to them all. I feel I’ve just gone public, swallowed up by the system; like spending a penny in one of those automatic loos.
Audrey
PS Please God, send me the fact sheet