Citizen Survivor Tales (The Ministry of Survivors) (3 page)

‘Oh yes sir, I joined the Church of the Remnant voluntarily. I’m not desperate at all’
- Southern Herald

MOS Archives, ref. INF9/422 (illegal)

THE REVEREND

Name: Alexander Green
Location: Hartley Wintney, Hampshire
Occupation: Vicar
Threat level: 4
Article clearance: Silver (amendment 2.4 applies)
Case file: 13/4563/GBR

Regular readers of these pages will know that I frown on overt religious beliefs, as I think that everyone should be allowed to believe in just what they please, when they please as long as they keep it to themselves and don’t do it in the street and frighten the horses. That said, the Reverend Green seems very dedicated and committed to his place in our society as it functions nowadays, although a bit less time spent pontificating on street corners and a little bit more time helping people like last weeks’ interviewee might make us all feel less ambivalent to the religious maniacs which infest our country. [Legal – check please? Thanks; you’re a lamb]

Reverend Green, you were one of the few people to witness the Church of the Remnant in the early days without being a member. Can you explain how that came about?

If truth be told, I don’t even know where to start. I suppose I should explain my background first, I was born in Guildford and educated at Oxford University. I have been Reverend of St. John’s Church in Hartley Wintney, in north east Hampshire for thirteen years now. Despite the fact the A30 runs through the village, it is a quiet and pleasant corner of England. Well, as quiet and pleasant as things can be nowadays. As a rural area, I am very grateful that the events of the Great Tribulation have not had such a devastating effect on my parishioners as had been experienced in other parts of the country. In fact, I suspect this village has endured very well, all things considered.

There were rumblings about The Church of the Remnant which were, in my view very foolishly, disregarded as a nonsense, a passing fad and a knee-jerk reaction to the events in Britain. The synod of the Church of England began emergency meetings in York and they were viewed as a secular problem. Then Archbishop Farthing declared that to acknowledge them was to legitimize them, and so they were to be ignored, as best as could be.

Do understand this wasn’t taken lightly by those who were strongly opposed to the Remnant. Horror stories were shared, and we were all aware of the information on them that had been disseminated by the Ministry. Ultimately though, we had to respect the Archbishop’s decision.

There was a fear behind the Remnant, the fact we were so ignorant of its motives, its leadership and above all, its ability to attract people to its flock. With my parishioners in the village, they would ask me about them and I would do my best to play it down. They were like the boogeymen some would say, who would steal children in the night; or who would lure desperate mothers and their babes into their ranks, never to be seen again.

The Synod continued to meet three times a year, a preposterously inadequate amount of time in hindsight. I remember that each time I arrived, a few people had disappeared, what had happened to them I do not know. Whether these men couldn’t get there, had given up on the Church of England or perhaps even joined the Remnant I don’t know. There was certainly a solemnity with the Archbishop, the last synod I attend there must have been but an eighth of those who were meant to be in attendance. Archbishop Farthing announced his retirement then, and I simply stopped attending after that.

There were a handful of sightings of members of the Church, and there was nothing covert about their operation. I remember one Saturday the sound of a bell ringing out from the street while I was in the church grounds, I walked over to the A30 and saw a line of two dozen or so people walking eastwards. They were mainly women, children and the elderly and they looked in a pathetic and sorry state, but they seemed to be there voluntarily. A crowd of villagers had come to watch the peculiar spectacle, and they were clearly as dumbstruck as I was as to how to respond. It was hard to know if the gathered crowd would throw rotten vegetables, hurl obscenities or offer the group food and water; in the end they did none of these things and simply watched in silence as the group passed. The bell-ringer appeared to be in a daze I must say, quoting obscure lines from the bible, I can only assume these were people looking to join the Church of the Remnant.

Beyond this handful of occasions, nothing much happened in Hartley Wintney. A few months passed and eventually Bishop Timms of Winchester, essentially my boss, arrived at St. John’s with a couple of his men. I assumed he was going to castigate me for failing to attend the synod. However, after the formalities were out of the way, to my surprise he did not even mention it.

What did you discuss?

Bishop Timms is a man I admired, he was a mentor to me. I remember him talking to me in private in my study about the Church of the Remnant, delicately aiming the conversation in a way to gauge my thoughts on them. It was clear he was weighing something up in his mind. I answered him honestly and explained that they are an unknown quantity, yes, I had heard the rumours but they were just that. Eventually, Bishop Timms opened up and explained he had been invited to visit Guildford Cathedral in Surrey, which had been ‘acquired’ by the Remnant. What exactly that meant, who is to say? The Cathedral was still in the hands of Bishop Greendale, so I would assume some sort of defection to the Remnant.

I had met Bishop Greendale, and I was surprised to learn he had defected, if indeed that was what it was. Bishop Timms talked excitedly of a new era and the revitalization of the Church, I remember him talking of the Senators and Landowners in Gaul during the Roman times, how they embraced the Roman Church lest they be destroyed by it. How they successfully rode the wave of change, and manoeuvred to keep themselves in power, simply ruling in God’s name rather than the Emperor’s. He told us this is what we must do, if we were to have any future.

We discussed all these matters into the early hours in my study, broken up only by the smoking of cigars or the drinking of brandy, which I’m ashamed to say I have acquired quite a taste for now. Eventually I agreed to travel with Bishop Timms the next day to Guildford Cathedral, I was determined to go in with an open mind. Bishop Timms still had a working Rover P12 which one of his men drove.

What was different about the Cathedral when you arrived?

In terms of the building itself? Nothing. The land around the Church had a vast number of farm-hands and there appeared to be the early processes of several rings of walls being established, but nothing of concern. We drove up to the main road, where we were greeted by a gate-keeper, pleasant enough, he announced that Bishop Greendale was expecting us and could we make the remainder of the journey on foot if we would be so kind. It was only when I was out of the vehicle and close enough to see the workers themselves that something felt odd.

Can you describe what the followers of the Church wear?

Followers of the Church became known as Dunsmen, due to the very bizarre and theatrical conical hats they wear, similar to a dunce cap you would find in a school. One can speculate on the purpose or symbolism of these hats, but it is clearly some odd reference to being repentant or slow-learners, or deserving of punishment. It’s not something I’m willing to give too much thought too, though I can’t imagine their hats are particularly practical for labouring and agricultural work. The hats also appear to range in size, which again, I am sure has some inner-meaning.

The majority of Dunsmen also wear rough woollen tunics over their normal clothes, which looks absolutely ridiculous to a modern eye. There seems to be a variation in that women wear longer ones than men and children, but that is the only thing notable to me.

Now, I would like nothing more to tell you, that the Dunsmen were all brain-washed, mindless drones going about their work in silence but I would be lying to you. By all means, there is a fanatical element there, but although I was forbidden from talking to them directly, it was easy to overhear their conversations as they worked in the fields and built their timber structures, it was nothing peculiar in the main, and the sort of thing you’d have heard on any street corner or market place. If the Church was made up solely of these people, it would seem nothing but a harmless, if eccentric, communal estate.

The fellows that were very foreboding and ominous, though, wore red cones, and dressed head to toe in the colour. I am aware the red dunsmen have been referred to as prefects, but I never heard that title being used myself. Their faces are all covered, but they strangely only have an eye hole for their right eyes, a very odd sight. You understand this is all conjecture on my part, but I would guess they exist in some sort of security role. They travel in groups of four or so, armed with sickles and scythes, appearing to patrol the Church land. I heard no conversation, casual or otherwise from these men. They were watching over a group of Dunsmen who were busy building a perimeter wall in a rather ugly and haphazard fashion. A mixture of sheet metal, timber, brick and ruins from other buildings. One point they were even using a burnt out double decker to build around. A rather ugly blight on the countryside.

Although all members of the Church wore bizarre outfits to my eyes, the most ridiculous were reserved for the masters. Their outfits can be best described as a devilish hybrid of head-master attire and for reasons beyond my comprehension, also the long white horsehair wigs worn by judges, these men, all of them are men, carry canes with them. To my eyes, they looked like pantomime characters, I was expecting them to burst out into song at any moment, but I would have been the only one who found it amusing I fear.

Bishop Timms and I were eventually lead into Greendale’s office, where he was waiting for us, and despite all we had seen, he was dressed in his normal attire. That to me, was the most absurd part, that he was not partaking in the theatricality, despite him being I assume, the leader there.

Bishop Greendale remained as pleasant and unassuming as ever, articulate and wise, and I was treated well by him. I remained an observer to most of the conversation between the two men. The two men spoke in private for the last hour and Bishop Timms eventually collected me, we returned to Hartley Wintney and then he and his two men continued to Winchester. As simple as that.

Could you tell me what was discussed?

I would prefer not to, I’m afraid. I do not believe it would be right. I do not wish to get into a long conversation about theology but I must confess that despite all their odd practices and their theatrical appearance, they are building a strong, cohesive and workable society – and the suffering of other survivors is largely unknown to The Church. Whether they are a force for good or evil will be for history to decide, I suppose. Whatever can and should be said about them, they do welcome everyone, even if those that join them are only the most desperate and lost, they do indeed welcome them, and that must be to their favour. There is a simplicity to the Church, and if I dare to risk condemning my soul, I would suppose that their form of Christianity is much more Christian than mine. They work the land, work as one, one voice, one community, they dedicate their lives to sustenance and to prayer. They follow the good book to the letter, and everything that implies. Yes, they may be sinister, and I suspect there is much more to them that I have seen, but I admit, if Jesus were to return, he would most likely understand the motives of the Church of the Remnant than he would the Church of England. For though I will say our Church is much more human, compassionate and patient, it cannot be denied that, from a historical point of view, ours is an apostasy, a pleasant one, but an apostasy none the less.

There are many reports of intimidation, violence and criminality within the Church of the Remnant, how do you respond to that?

As I have previously mentioned, I have seen none of it myself. That is not to say that it hasn’t happened, or I do not believe it, but it would be wrong of me to judge and comment on things I do not know to be true. Do not mistake me for a fool though, I know the stories of people having their tongues cut out who speak against the Dunsmen, writers who lose their fingers, homes being burnt, women being forced to reproduce with the masters, but what can I say. The old world is dead, the Church of England is dead, whatever the Church of the Remnant are doing, it is working, their numbers grow in scores and their fervour and determination only grows. Does the bible not say that ‘the meek shall inherit the Earth?’, then perhaps they are the meek.

What happened after the meeting?

A few months passed and one of Bishop Timms’ men returned again, this time by horse. He asked me my views on the Church of the Remnant, I tried my best to articulate that I am a reverend of the Anglican Church, and it would be wrong for me to turn my back on the people of the village. The man simply nodded and passed on Bishop Timms’ regards; I never saw the Bishop again. Though the rumour is that he too has now defected to the Church of the Remnant, whether or not this is at Winchester Cathedral I do not know.

What are your plans for the future?

As for me, I shall continue my work at St. John’s, preaching to my dwindling congregation, the half a dozen or so souls that have not yet lost faith. What will happen to the Church after I have gone I do not know. That is for God to decide.

My final question to the reverend gentleman whether he had, covertly, joined the Remnant, remained unanswered. All he would do was pray, increasingly loudly, as he ushered me out of the building. Although, as regular readers will know, I have not set foot in a place of worship since my last marriage – of which we will say no more – I know enough to know that none of the words were part of any Church of England service I have ever attended. In fact, if anything, it sounded a little reminiscent of the aforementioned street-corner preachers. But I will leave my readers to decide on the significance of that …