chapter 3 a joyful noise unto the Lord

Chapter 3 – A Joyful noise unto the Lord

Chaz decided he did not want to know who had tacked up a poem on the village hall notice board.

It ran,

“Sir Tarleton Rickett

Was fond of Cricket

He lost his wicket

And had to Duck.

He took on the vicar

And tried to bicker,

But the Rev was quicker

So Sir T’s out of luck.”

Chaz had made a complaint to the police, and had asked them to take seriously any complaints from Miss Grey or any other young ladies in the village, as Sir Tarleton’s title did not make him immune to violence.

Coming from a vicar, this carried more weight than the complaint of a woman who was designated ‘a scarlet woman who came on to me, and then changed her mind’ which is what Rickett had told them about Lucy.

Back in the village, a bluff looking man with sandy cropped hair stopped Chaz.

“I’m an atheist, but I approve of how you handled Rickett,” he said.

“Does your religion make a difference in whether you approve or not?” asked Chaz, mildly.  “I’m Rev Chaz, Charles Cunningham. I didn’t get your name?”

“I’m Wendel Whitely, and I’m the vet.  And I have no religion.”

“Oh, excuse me, I thought you said you were an atheist.”

“I am.”

“Well, that is a religious stance, you know; to deny the existence of all deities is a choice of religious belief.”

Wendel Whitely stared.

“Perhaps I should have said I am not a believer in any religion,” he said.

“That suits my sense of pedantry better,” said Chaz.

“You aren’t going to argue with me about it?” Wendel thrust out his chin, pugnaciously.

“Why should I?  It’s your business what you believe,” said Chaz. “You wouldn’t argue me into believing that there is not a Divine Being, so why should you expect me to convince you that there is?”

“Oh!” said Wendel, taken aback. “The Reverend Shaw was always on about me being a healer and needing to explore my spiritual needs.”

“That must have been annoying of him,” said Chaz.  “My job here, however, is to minister to those who are believers on a spiritual level, and as an acknowledged part of society, to do my best for the village in a temporal sense.  Which includes doing what I can to help with your nurse’s feral cat colony by contributing towards cat food.  I believe the church could do with a resident cat or two; some of the hassocks are quite badly nibbled.”

“You are aware that a cat cannot exist on mice, and hunts better if not hungry?” asked Wendel, sharply.

“Oh! Yes. My family has always had cats and dogs.  I wouldn’t mind a dog for company too; I’m not particular about breed.  It’s the smell of cat about the place which deters the mice, even if the cat involved is pampered and lives mostly in the vicarage.  I wanted to approach the lady who runs the colony, but I am afraid I don’t know her surname.”

“Podmore,” said Wendel.  “Of Clematis Cottage.”

“Thank you,” said Chaz. 

“If you want to take a couple of cats, and I do recommend a couple, to keep each other entertained, then I suggest Zebulun and Rachel,” said Lyndsey Podmore, having decided that the vicar was All Right. “Zeb lost an eye when he was hit by a car when he was little, and Rachel is the runt, and she and Zeb are very close and wash each other.”

She presented Chaz with a large, one-eyed Tabby, who curled up on his lap and began to purr, and a tiny black cat, who scrambled up Chaz and began exploring.

“She has crampons,” said Chaz, mildly.

“Oh, well, it’s like those teabags; you need the little perforations to let the flavour out,” said Lyndsey, bracingly. 

“Apparently,” said Chaz.  “I admire you for taking them all on.”

“Someone had to,” said Lyndsey.  “And that’s the way it happens round here, someone has to care enough to make a stand.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had help from friends, but I had to come up with what to do.”

“So Lucy Grey told me,” said Chaz.  “I’m a great believer in initiative, but a village ought to be supporting the initiatives which improve it.  I hope you will permit me to help, both with fundraising for your charges, and in general in the village.  I don’t like some of the undercurrents here.”

“Ah, now you’ve put your finger on it, vicar,” said Lyndsey.  “Undercurrents. I try not to let them affect me; for me it’s about looking after animals. I’ve given up on most of the people.”

“Well, I’m paid to not give up on anyone,” said Chaz.

“Rather you than me, mate,” said Lyndsey.  “Keep them in for a couple of weeks until they are used to you being their new dad.  Once they figure out where the food and caresses come from they’ll probably stay.  They like being indoors which is more than the rest do, barring Josephine and Ribena.”

Chaz settled down in his sitting room with a tabby on his lap and a miniature panther on his shoulders, washing his hair firmly, and wrote his sermon for the morrow.  It started on the theme of ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged,’ as he had threatened, and wandered into the Good Samaritan, and Jesus’ assertion that what you do to any fellow being you do also to him.  He sighed. There were some tough nuts to crack in his congregation, and it appeared that his predecessor had encouraged them in their muddled thinking. 

Rachel seemed happy to ride around the house on Chaz’s shoulders, and when she took a flying leap up his back when he had got ready to lead the morning service, he mentally shrugged – it would disturb her to do so physically – and went to church with her still attached.  She sucked his earlobe lovingly and ran needles in and out of his shoulder.  He made a hasty revision to the hymns, and the first hymn would now be ‘All Creatures that on Earth do dwell’.  The ‘Old 100^th’ was a good, rousing tune to get people going, in any case, and it rather went with his recorded bells, making a joyful noise unto the Lord.  Chaz winced, and wondered whether the odd yelp of pain counted as a joyful noise if the cat causing it was happy. 

He chuckled as he recalled overhearing Mrs. Hadley in the baker’s shop, holding forth about how he was going to ruin her Sundays, and would doubtless introduce awful modern songs instead of proper hymns.  For all his liking of rock music, Chaz had a liking for old fashioned hymns by the likes of Wesley and Watts.  He planned to introduce a few good modern hymns as well, but for now he would run entirely with tradition.  The other hymns to be sung were ‘And Can it Be,’ reflecting on the Saviour’s sufferings in the hopes that others would pass on love to each other if He died for them,  and ‘Love Divine, all loves excelling’ and he had made a firm note to the organist that this was to be sung to ‘Blaenwern’.  Chaz did not object too much to ‘Hyrfrodol’ but he did not like ‘Bithynia’ or ‘Love Divine’ as tunes for it.

The final hymn would be ‘Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah’ to ‘Cwm Rhondda’ purely because it was a good, rousing hymn, and the congregation were sorely in need of some kind of guidance.

Chaz nodded to the organist who had come in, an elderly gentleman who looked surprised and gratified at the hymn list.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to consult with you,” said Chaz.  “I hope these ones are well enough known to cause you no trouble?”

“I look forward to playing them,” said the organist. “Charlie Wilks; I act as sexton too.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Wilks,” said Chaz.

“Just Charlie,” said Charlie.

Chaz hit the ‘play’ button of his CD player, and from above the loudspeaker belted out the intricacies of Stedman triples.

That ought to wake them up.

“Eh, that sounds pretty,” said Charlie.  “How much would it cost to get our bells furbished up?”

“I’m not sure, but I wondered if new ones would be cheaper,” said Chaz.

“That’d be a fearful amount, surely?”

“Yes; bells start around two grand and head on up to about fifty,” said Chaz. “I’m going to see if I can’t call in a favour and have Dung, Clang and Pip looked at though, see if we might salvage them.”

“It’d be main good,” said Charlie.  “Here comes the Vanguard, armed with her pink pearls!”

Mrs. Hadley had charged in rather as though she had been discharged from a rocket launcher, and sat down in what was plainly ‘her’ pew near the front, staring in disbelief at the hymn numbers on the board.

“We do have bells, vicar,” she said, tartly.

“Not to a trained campanologist we don’t,” said Chaz.  “I’d be affronted to use any of them without them being checked over.  Health and safety, you know; poor tone can indicate cracks.  And until they are checked, I’m not about to risk several tons of bronze descending on any hapless ringer.”

Mrs. Hadley could find nothing to say to that.

Indeed, she had complained about the bells herself, if only in private.

The sermon was received in offended silence by Mrs. Hadley and Sir Tarleton. There were murmurs of approval from other people, which offended Mrs. Hadley and Sir Tarleton even more.

The popular old hymns were sung with gusto, and Chaz found himself joined by a toothless old man and – a surprise attender – the vet in singing the bass part to ‘Guide me, O’. Chaz did not consider himself musical, and had achieved a rather deep voice earlier than his school-fellows, which had embarrassed him until he was co-opted into the choir and taught how to use what he had to the best effect, and he enjoyed part-singing if given the opportunity, so long as it was simple enough for him to follow.  He knew the parts to the older hymns by heart. 

He waited at the door to see people out according to custom of time immemorial.

The toothless old man grinned at him.

“I’m Old Tom; and you certainly are a cat amongst the pigeons,” said Old Tom.  “Can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself in church more.”

“I’m not sure that Schadenfreude is a true uplifting of the spirits, but the Good Lord accepts our human failings,” said Chaz, “Knowing myself to be guilty of it too.”

Tom cackled a laugh.

“Ar, and that dun make you a proper vicar, what knows sin for admitting to it,” he said. 

Mrs. Hadley pushed forward.

“You need not expect me to tithe as much as I did for Reverend Shaw,” she said.

“Madam, if your income has decreased so that the tithe, or tenth, is less, then one could not expect it,” said Chaz.  “Very few people actually tithe these days, anyway, but give a contribution.”

“My income is undiminished!” yelped Mrs. Hadley, flushing dull red, having forgotten that ‘tithing’ meant giving a tenth.  As she had never contributed anything like a tenth of her considerable income even to Reverend Shaw she was now beset with an uncomfortable feeling which she did not recognise as guilt.

“I am so glad,” said Chaz.  “I am sure you will contribute as you see fit.”

Sir Tarleton glared at Chaz and barely touched fingers to the vicar’s held-out hand.

“You look more respectable for the service at least,” he barked, “Apart from that ridiculous cat, are you trying to make a mockery?”

“Do you think any man of the cloth has the right to exclude any of God’s creatures from His house?” said Chaz. “I don’t.  Rachel made no trouble.  I will be looking to borrow a donkey for Palm Sunday and Christmas.”

“Preposterous!” cried the baronet.  “What have animals to do with church?”

“Perhaps you should read the words of our first hymn, and acquaint yourself with the scriptures and the association of an ass with our Lord,” said Chaz.  “I could see you protesting if I used the ‘Chronicles of Narnia’ as an allegory and brought a lion in to church ... mind, that is an idea, I wonder who I know who might have a tame lion?”

Sir Tarleton passed on spluttering in real outrage, and Chaz shook the hand of the laughing Wendel Whitely.

“I wasn’t expecting you here,” Chaz said.

“Pure nosiness,” said Wendel.  “You preach a good sermon though.  I don’t believe in your God but if you can put such good moral messages, I might even continue to come when I’m not the district vet on call.”

“If you’ve a bleeper, you are welcome to use the phone in the vestry,” said Chaz.  “I’ll be touching on ecological issues when I have the time.  Feel free to let me know if there’s anything you feel should be brought up.”

“Thanks, I shall. Even if I might disapprove of the way of putting the message across.”

Chaz shrugged.

“I have a captive audience; if you want to run meetings for animal issues, you are welcome to use the church on weekdays,” he said.  “If you work with any of the big charities for cheap chipping days, for example.”

“Thanks; I’ll take you up on that,” said Wendel.

Lyndsey nodded to Chaz as she shook his hand.

“I see she soon got her paws under the table,” she said, looking at Rachel.

“Yes, and Zeb is on my bed,” laughed Chaz.

Lucy had a little girl with her.

“This is Summer, reverend,” she said.

“Oh, call me Rev Chaz,”, said Chaz.  “I don’t go much for formality.  I’m glad to meet you, Summer; I’ve sent some emails to see what I can find out about your dad.  I don’t think I met him in Iraq, but I do know something about what he was doing as a soldier.”

“Oh!” said Summer. “Most people avoid talking about him, even Granny Di.  Thank you.”

“Any soldier who dies for his country should be honoured,” said Chaz.  He shook hands with Summer and with Lucy, and carried on greeting his congregation. It would take time to remember all the names, but he would learn them.