‘Oh Daddy, please!
Please!’
‘I know it must be very difficult being married to an atheist who can think of nothing but unrealities such as possessions,
but I feel so strongly that if only you could renew your links with the Church –’
‘It wouldn’t be any use. I’m just not a religious sort of person, and anyway in the end I came to feel that God wasn’t interested in me, didn’t care –’
‘How can you say that when he’s conferred such blessings on you? Of course I’m aware that there are difficulties; life’s never perfect, but by the grace of God even the most intractable problems can be –’
‘Oh, for God’s sake shut up about bloody religion and stop criticizing me the whole damned time! You’ve got the sort of daughter you want now – although heaven only knows what you see in her – so why don’t you just leave me alone?’
The scene ground remorselessly on into disaster.
‘You both looked very white around the gills when you returned from your walk,’ said Anne after the chauffeur had borne Ruth away in the Rolls. ‘Was there some ghastly scene at the chapel?’
‘No,’ I said, mindful that the scene had taken place in the woods.
‘What did she think of the chapel?’
‘Her exact word was “sweet”.’
What an extraordinary adjective to choose!’ Anne said astonished but decided to press the matter no further. Instead she asked: ‘What did she think of me?’
‘She said how nice you were.’
‘What a relief!’
There was a small but deadly pause as we both wondered what to say next. In the end I heard myself remark abruptly: ‘I dare say you were surprised by how common she was.’
Anne’s expression changed. I was acutely aware of her wondering how she could be kind without forfeiting her honesty, but to my relief she decided that to be honest was to be kind. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘to be absolutely frank, yes, I was.’
‘Betty was the daughter of a man who kept a tobacconist’s shop,’ I said colourlessly, once more cursing the premarital reticence which had been regularly tripping me up, just as Francis had prophesied, ever since my journey to the altar. ‘Her mother was a cheap vulgar silly woman and when she took charge of the children some of that cheap vulgar silliness inevitably rubbed off on Ruth. Martin escaped, of course; he went away to school.’ I hesitated but forced myself to add: ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all that earlier.’
‘Are you?’ said Anne. ‘How curious. It’s comparatively unimportant. What’s much more important is that Martin’s a homosexual alcoholic, and I’m very sorry indeed that you didn’t see fit to tell me that earlier.’
Here indeed was the day of reckoning for my premarital reticence. I felt as if all the breath had been battered from my body. ‘Ruth told you? She actually told you?’
‘Well, of course she told me! She wanted to see how married we were and how far you’d confided in me, so as soon as you went to the lavatory after lunch –’
‘But how dare she!’ Panic and guilt were conveniently submerged beneath my rage. ‘How dare she behave like a spiteful little girl and humiliate you like that!’
‘Don’t be a damned fool!’ said Anne in fury. ‘Do you think I let her get the better of me? Of course I said I knew everything there was to know about Martin!’
There was a long silence. Finally I found I had to sit down.
‘It makes me wonder what else you haven’t told me,’ said Anne, her voice shaking. I thought we trusted each other. I feel very hurt. I’m sorry, I’m trying hard to be forgiving, but –’
‘Oh Anne, Anne –’
‘– but it’s pretty damn difficult. I felt so upset,’ said Anne on the verge of tears. ‘That horrid glossy manicured bitch hating me behind her ghastly façade of refinement – why didn’t you warn me she was like that? The least you could have done was warn me, but no, you went on painting this utterly false picture of a charming housewife who disapproved of your quick marriage out of a saintly concern for your welfare! I was absolutely
unprepared for her sheer vulgar awfulness, and then when she tried to trap me about Martin – oh, it was vile,
vile –
I hated every minute of her visit and I never want to see her again!’
She rushed out of the room. The door banged. In despair I covered my face with my hands.
‘My darling Anne, forgive me – I didn’t mean to put you in such a humiliating position –’
‘Well, you did. Look, I didn’t mean to be so beastly about Ruth – she’s probably not as bad as all that and I don’t mind trying to be nice to her for your sake, but Jon, I just don’t understand why you couldn’t confide in me.’
We were sitting on the edge of our bed. I was leaning forward with my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands so tightly that they ached. Anne was bolt upright, her fingers clutching the folds of the counterpane so hard that her knuckles shone white. At last with a great effort I managed to say: ‘My children show me in such an appalling light and I didn’t want you to see me in any light which was appalling.’
Anne stared. ‘That sounds as if you’ve tied yourself up in a most fantastic knot again. Why do you keep doing this? Why are you so frightened of being honest with me?’
‘I have a horror of wearying you with my private burdens. I’m afraid of you losing patience, finding me an elderly bore –’
‘Oh good heavens, I do believe you’re worrying about being a deserted vegetable again! Now stop being so silly and let’s sort this out. Why do you think your children show you in an appalling light?’
Very slowly I began to paint my painful portrait of the past.
Some time later Anne said: ‘Plenty of people have to endure far less paternal attention than you gave your children, and most of them have no trouble turning out well. I think Ruth and Martin were very lucky to have a conscientious father who did his best for them in difficult circumstances, and if they now turn out to have ghastly problems why shouldn’t they accept at least some of the blame?’
That’s a question Francis has asked. But letting them assume some of the responsibility for their fate does nothing to erase my guilt about my own share of the responsibility.’
‘But are you sure this guilt isn’t misplaced? If you ask me, all that’s really going on here is that you happened to father two children with whom you’ve no particular affinity – with the result that you can’t dote on them quite as much as they’d like.’
‘That’s a comforting theory because it exonerates me from blame, but –’
‘– you can’t believe in it. All right, supposing your guilt was justified; why is it still crucifying you? Didn’t you atone for your guilt when you became a monk?’
‘I went through the motions of atonement, certainly, but it was all based on the false premise of that superstitious bargain with God. I still can’t feel that I’m forgiven for my sins.’
‘Well, I’m no theologian,’ said Anne, ‘but I thought that if one demonstrated a true repentance –’
‘I always feel in my heart that my repentance isn’t true. I always feel that if I were in the same position as I was in thirty-six years ago I’d commit the same sins all over again because I’m incapable of being anything but an inadequate parent.’
‘But Jon, what about when
we
have a baby? You surely don’t think –’
‘Oh no, no, no!’ I said rapidly, cursing myself for the fatal indiscretion. ‘Any child of yours would be quite different! My
guilt about Ruth and Martin is all bound up with my guilt about Betty.’
‘But it must be such a crippling burden! If only you could feel you were forgiven –’
‘Every time I see Ruth and Martin I always know the forgiveness has been withheld. I can’t describe to you the sheer awfulness of the scenes which go on.’
‘Poor darling, but never mind,’ said Anne kissing me. ‘I’m sure that next time you’ll be a huge success as a father – I’ve every confidence in you.’
Before I could stop myself I was praying that we might remain childless.
This reaction shocked me so much, contrary as it was not only to a fundamental aim of Christian marriage but to Anne’s hopes of happiness, that instead of celebrating mass by myself the next morning in the chapel I confessed the sin before God, set myself a penance and spent an additional hour in spiritual exercises. I should, of course, have journeyed to Starwater to make my confession to Cyril – Father Darcy would certainly have thought this a more profound exercise in humility – but I told myself I was too busy grappling with parish matters; by that time I was very much aware that my major problem, the problem which overshadowed all others, was my ministry as a country priest.
Starrington Magna was a large village and the parish boundaries included not only the hamlet of Starrington Parva but an area of scattered farms and smallholdings. Altogether I had the care of some two thousand souls of whom about a hundred were Methodists who gathered weekly in a hall near the station. I was told there were no Roman Catholics in the parish, and this fact was declaimed in the manner of a virtuous housewife announcing that her home was free of mice. Of those who belonged to the Church of England, a minority never went to church and a majority entered it only for christenings, weddings
and funerals but a respectable number turned up at Christmas and Easter. Allowing for the decline in regular church-going I thought the number of weekly worshippers was more than merely respectable, although of course I immediately found myself wondering how this loyal band of supporters could be increased. All this useful information about the parish had been recorded by Mr Wetherall himself in an account which he had written for the benefit of those who had the care of his flock in his absence; he had also set out details of the various social clubs and the areas of the parish which required special visiting.
I had realized at once that transport presented a problem for I could hardly go visiting the poor in Anne’s chauffeur-driven motor, and although I was prepared to walk everywhere, long journeys on foot are time-consuming. As I had always worked in small areas I had never encountered this problem before, but fortunately Mrs Wetherall, foreseeing my predicament, offered me her husband’s bicycle and I soon accustomed myself to riding it. It had proved a pleasant surprise to discover how greatly the machines had improved in comfort and safety since my youth in the 1890s.
Mr Wetherall had relied very much on his bicycle. He had been active among the rural poor in the remote areas of his parish, and his work in listening, helping and consoling had borne fruit; the congregation consisted not merely of the comfortable middle-classes but of the humbler families as well. Obviously he had been an admirable pastor, and I found that thanks to his hard work I had inherited a parish which had been only minimally debilitated by eight months of caretaking.
From one point of view this was an asset, but from another it was a disadvantage. Mr Wetherall had been popular. With his memory now glorified by his war service the villagers tended to see him as a paragon with the result that I was continually being confronted with such fatal phrases as: ‘The vicar said … the vicar believed … the vicar did things
this
way.’ I could not even remove the most repulsive vase of dried flowers from a secluded alcove without a chorus of females telling me: ‘The vicar wanted the flowers to stay there because they came from
old Mrs Lacy who was so kind to him,’ and soon I realized that there existed an influential clique who believed any change whatsoever would be nothing short of stabbing Mr Wetherall in the back. Of the two churchwardens one was Anne’s friend Colonel Maitland who was anxious to be accommodating to me, but the other was a formidable bore called Pitkin, the local chemist, who talked as if he and Mr Wetherall had run the parish unaided. I immediately realized that Mr Wetherall, a man twenty years younger than this power-mad churchwarden, had allowed himself to be bullied far too often, and I saw that one of my first tasks was to teach Mr Pitkin that his bullying days were over.
However a more serious problem lay neither with the potent memory of Mr Wetherall nor with the troublesome male members of the congregation but with the females. As I have already made clear, I was unaccustomed to dealing with women on a pastoral level, but it is a notorious fact of parish life that middle-aged and elderly women form the nucleus of the congregation, representing the brigade of churchworkers whom no clergyman can do without. I had to adjust to my brigade and adjust quickly, but I found it a strain which took a heavy toll on my spiritual stamina.
The women were mostly good women in their own way but soon I encountered bickering, backchat, gossip and a general level of pettiness sufficient to irritate any man beyond endurance. The problem was compounded, I am sorry to record, by the fact that as the male in the centre of their band I became an object of intense interest verging on obsession, and soon they were all vying in a most unedifying fashion for my favour.
It is easy to laugh at this problem, but the Whitby affair had taught me that situations which start by being mildly amusing can quickly become dangerously bizarre. I knew I had to dampen the ardour of my ladies’ hero-worship but because of my inexperience as a pastor of women I was uncertain how this could be achieved. Being hero-worshipped by men is quite different; one can be firm to the point of brutality yet still put everything right by giving a brief smile at the end of the reproof.
The result is that the men respect one’s toughness, know they have to pull themselves together yet know too that they remain unrejected. When I tried this approach with one of the women she merely dissolved into tears. I was both horrified and baffled. What was I to do? What had Mr Wetherall done? But Mr Wetherall was the same age as Charles and the prevalent feminine attitude to him had clearly been maternal. I was a man of their own generation and their attitude was predatory. It made no difference that I was married. They all appeared to like Anne, and besides probably none of them wanted me in any straightforward carnal way. They only desired endless carnal titillation from my presence. The situation was most perturbing, and the most perturbing part of all was that the more impeccably I behaved the worse the situation became. Impeccability evidently inflamed them. I began to suspect that short of transforming myself into a cross-eyed midget I was to have no escape from this absurd and potentially unhealthy situation.