chapter 6 consider the lilies of the fields

yes, ok, I have a cameo appearance in this one as the speaker at the WI.

Chapter 6 – Consider the Lilies of the Fields.

Chaz studied the village hall notice board very carefully next day. He was not surprised to find that Mrs. Hadley was president of the W. I., which met every third Tuesday of the month.  As this happened to be the third Tuesday, Chaz thought he should drop in, to show an interest.  Zumba was on Monday afternoons and evenings, which argued someone very fit and enthusiastic running it. Flower-arranging was on Friday afternoons, and now Chaz understood why the church had flowers in many disparate pots and a mix of floral offerings; they were from the Friday flower-arranging efforts. Flower-arranging was run by a Mrs. Beales, and Chaz wondered if she had managed to stand up to Mrs. Hadley, who struck him as the sort of person who would have liked uniform pots and bought flowers all co-ordinating.  He must make an effort to pop in on Friday, and say how much he liked to see the individual efforts.

Chaz walked around the village, stopping to talk to people as they walked dogs, did some gardening or went to the shops.  He started to memorise names and discovered that whilst Tony was friendly with Agit Patel who ran the convenience store – Amos Crow’s boss – Agit’s labradoodle, Silly-mid-off did not get on with Tony’s Fang, and care had to be taken if they walked together.

The village was blooming, and Chaz started formulating a sermon around ‘Consider the Lilies of the Field.’  He could manage to both praise the beauty of flowers and how they bring pleasure and manage a dig at those who ‘toil not, neither do they spin’, if they did not bring pleasure to others in other ways. He admired flowers which he was shown, without having either the inclination or the likelihood of remembering their names, and took as much pleasure in the wild garden of old Mrs. Hubbard as in the carefully manicured lawn and regimented French Marigolds, Salvias and Pelargoniums of Mrs. Cheston next door to Mrs. Hubbard.  He would have been genuinely amazed that Mrs. Cheston considered Mrs. Hubbard’s garden to be full of weeds.  Had Chaz been forced to choose, he would have chosen Mrs. Hubbard’s overgrown and shady nook, where he had accepted a cup of strong tea and a malted milk biscuit and sat, listening to the birdsong, and enjoying watching the goldfinches on Mrs. Hubbard’s teazles.

Summer and Claire popped into the vicarage on their way home from school.

“Oh, Rev Chaz, thank you so much!” said Claire, who was positively glowing.  “Mummy says Granddad can’t do anything to me again.  She and Daddy had an awful row while I was at Summer’s Mummy’s house, but they’ve made up again, and Daddy said he was sorry he did not realise.  Auntie Cath came over, and she said Granddad did it to her too, and he was her Daddy!  Isn’t that horrid?”

“It is horrid, Claire, but perhaps one day you will grow up to be a policewoman or social worker and help other people it has happened to,” said Chaz.  “It is hard for some grownups to accept that someone they think they know behaves badly to other people, and you are lucky to have a good Mummy who listened to me, and didn’t hesitate to believe your word when I told her what you told me.”  She had quibbled a little but less than some parents of abused children he had heard of. “Daddy didn’t want to think badly of his Daddy, I expect.”

“No, but Mummy rang Auntie Cath and she came and told Daddy and threatened to give him what-for if he didn’t believe me,” said Claire.   “Had you baked any more of those coconut things with jam at the bottom?” she added, hopefully. “Only if you have, Summer and me thought we might make you tea.”

“How kind of you!” said Chaz. “Yes, as it happens, I have made some more maids of honour, which is what they are called.”

“You ought to run a cookery class,” said Summer. “Trisha Thorpe says you will run a self defence class; we want to sign up for it.  Trisha is the daughter of Mr. Thorpe who runs the garage.  She can hot-wire cars!”

“Goodness, I hope only with the owners’ permission,” said Chaz.  “A cookery class?  Well it’s a thought.”

“If more people could cook, Miss Pearson says, there’d be less food poverty,” said Claire. “Miss Pearson says we should all understand the value of good food and eat properly.  She teaches us at school.”

“A sensible lady,” said Chaz. 

Chaz quietly entered the hall behind the last lady of a bunch who had turned up for their W. I. Meeting.

Mrs. Hadley was addressing a portly woman with short hair and florid complexion which was becoming gradually redder and upset and angry.

“You might have managed to make poor old Reverend Shaw sorry for you and your flower arrangers, Dolly, but I almost died in shame to see their shambolic efforts in those mis-matched vases on the vicar’s first Sunday!” Mrs. Hadley was saying in her rather carrying voice.  The other members were busying themselves sorting out the urn, setting up a table of books for sale, and arranging some greetings cards on a little table.  They could not, however, drown out the president’s loud voice, even the three who were twittering over setting out chairs.  Mrs. Hadley went on, “I saw the vicar looking around at the flowers; and he’s a new broom, a protégé of the Bishop himself, so I don’t know what he thought!”

Chaz was over there in two soft strides.

“Ah, you will be Mrs. Beales,” he said to the portly woman. “I understand your class are responsible for the church flowers; a charming and excellent custom!  I reflected on Sunday how nice it was to have real love put into the flowers, not have the church look like a perfect, but soulless display.  Do we have a flower festival in the village at all?  Mrs. Hadley, do you belong to the flower arranging group?”

“You ... you liked the flowers?” Mrs. Hadley sagged. “But they all came from gardens, not one from shops.”

“Ah, yes, the produce of the toil of the village given to God in an act of love,” said Chaz, expansively. “I was so struck that I will be taking ‘Consider the Lilies of the Field’ for my text on Sunday.  Mrs. Beales, is it too late to ask if your arrangements could include some lilies if any members have them?  I saw some in the village and those tall aggressive blue things which have a name like lions, which my mother called African Lilies.”

“I fancy you mean Agapanthus,” said Mrs. Beales, beaming on him. “Yes we have a number of members who have lilies, though Lindsey Grayling tried to make us give them up as they are poisonous to cats;  some of the people who get cats through their gardens snip off the stamens to oblige her. Agapanthus are not, as far as I know, poisonous.”

“Goodness, I never knew that,” said Chaz.  “I must snip the stamens out of the lilies in the vicarage garden before Rachel or Zeb investigate them. And please, feel free any time to take flowers or greenery from the vicarage garden, I’ll let you know if I am keeping particular buds to take to my mother.  Mrs. Hadley! I am sorry, enthusiasm for the flowers led me to usurp your meeting a little.  I hoped you would let me sit in so I know something of what goes on.”

Mrs. Hadley mentally resumed her presidential crown.

“Certainly, vicar,” she said.  “We read the minutes for a vote on signing them, then deal with correspondence and matters arising, and then we have a speaker.  Tonight it is a lady talking about making greetings cards from encaustic wax painting.”

“What on earth is encaustic wax painting?” asked Chaz.

Mrs. Hadley’s smile became a trifle glassy.

“I am not entirely sure,” she said. “But the events secretary attended an open day and assures me it is fascinating and something everyone can have a go at.”

“Splendid!” said Chaz.  “It would be nice to have a craft club, don’t you think?  Members could make things according to their skills, and perhaps we could set up a little shop with half the profits to the maker and half to a fund for necessary parish projects.”

“I ... er ... it sounds fascinating,” said Mrs. Hadley. “What sort of necessary parish projects?”

“I am not entirely certain yet;  I’ve had a few people mention that cookery lessons might not go amiss, but without cookers and all the dreary paperwork of health and safety, and health and hygiene certificates that isn’t possible.  And Girl Guides folded; is there a Scout company? In this day and age there’s nothing to stop girls joining Scouting endeavours, and they are often in need of equipment like tents.  What about a minibus for the village teams, the cricket team and the darts team to travel to other venues?”

“My goodness, vicar, you have been busy!” said Mrs. Hadley. “Oh, here is our speaker!  Do come in, Mrs. ... this is our vicar you know, he is visiting tonight.”

“And do direct me to do anything useful,” said Chaz.

“Can you help me please with the electric points and any extension leads?” asked the speaker.  “And a couple of large tables.”

Chaz got large folding chairs, earning murmurs of approval as he set them up without shutting his fingers in any part of the heavy, spring-loaded clips for the legs.

The meeting itself was as interesting as any meeting, which is to say not very; but Mrs. Hadley seemed to have run out of matters arising before she started, and very rapidly announced the speaker, who answered resignedly to ‘Mrs., er....”

The speaker introduced her subject, explaining that painting with hot wax was a skill used by the Romans to paint portraits, including copying the Egyptian mummy boxes by painting wax portraits on the outside of coffins.  She showed how to melt the waxes onto the bottom of a small iron, and then apply them to shiny paper, swiftly making a blended sky, then making interlocking hills with green and brown wax mixed.  By holding the paper against the iron having turned it down a little and lifting it off straight instead of rubbing across it, she made ferny patterns in the mix of colours.

“Anyone can create a pleasing picture on their first try,” she said, before showing more complex skills making birds in the sky or reeds with the tip of the iron, and with a special fine tool.  Chaz was fascinated, and when the demonstration was over, he queued with those ladies volunteering to have a go, admiring the paintings of scenery, and fantastic castles and dragons flying above them which the speaker had brought.

She was right; once one had the way of holding the iron it was possible for someone who was not artistic to make a greetings-card sized picture which looked quite creditable.

“I think I’m going to frame this,” said Chaz, admiring his landscape of a coppery sunset and a stream between reed beds.

“I hope it inspires you,” said the speaker.

“I don’t know but I hope it inspires some of the artistic ladies here,” said Chaz. “Thank you; and I must thank the ladies for having me.”

“You’re welcome, vicar,” said Mrs. Beales, gruffly.

Chaz spent some of the next morning snipping the stamens out of the lilies in the rectory garden.  Wendel, on his pushbike, stopped and watched the vicar’s industry.

“I see you heard the gospel according to Lindsey,” he said.

“Yes, and why should I risk the cats for something so simple,” said Chaz. “I’m going to mention it in my sermon as well, as I am taking the Lilies of the Field as my text.”

“Now I’m wondering how you plan to make that into a hell-raising sermon,” said Wendel.

“Oh, you’d have to be there to hear it,” said Chaz.

Wendel laughed.

“If all vicars were as entertaining as you, there’d probably be more Christians,” he said. “I see you posted a notice to have a meeting for a village club and education committee and put me on it along with Barnie, Dolly Beales and yourself.”

“There will be room for more on the committee but I thought I’d co-opt the ones who have the initiative to volunteer services,” said Chaz.  “The Zumba teacher is hired and comes from outside, so I am not having her on the committee. There’s a lot of potential here, all shut away behind closed doors like sin and vice.”

“Ah, a bit like the weather people in those clocks which have Mrs. Fairweather and Mr. Rainstorm according to the barometer which works them,” said Wendel.   “Vice and talent, hiding behind the same door but not necessarily on display at the same time.”

“I think if people got together more, there would be fewer problems,” said Chaz.

“I don’t say you’re wrong, Chaz,” said Wendel.  

The church on Sunday was packed, and Chaz beamed to see a lovely selection of arrangements featuring lilies.  One was even water lilies on a low table, mossy stones concealing the plastic washing-up bowl in which they were displayed. There had been a small frog accidentally transported with the plants, but Rachel had her own views on which of God’s creatures were permitted in church and had presented the ex-frog to Chaz with a happy ‘ppprrrrr’p!’.

It was a shame she lacked an ecumenical spirit, thought Chaz, but then, some of the ladies would also have been a trifle disruptive if the frog had hopped it during the service.

He mentioned how pleased he was to see all the stamens snipped out of the lilies because of their toxic nature to cats, and launched into how even beautiful flowers can hide deadly secrets.

“The serpent in the garden is an old analogy of the sins within us,” he said, “But perhaps a better analogy is to consider the beautiful flowers in the garden.  All flowers are beautiful, whether they are large and vivid like these lilies, or shy and retiring like the tiny scarlet pimpernel, which  opens when the weather is going to be fine and closes when it is going to rain. Then we have plants like the foxglove; a pretty flower, beloved of bees, but concealing in itself digitalis.  Now digitalis can save lives; it is a heart medicine, but for someone who does not need that particular medicine, or too much of it is deadly.  All of us have within us the potential to help – or harm.  It is important for us to consider our skills and use them wisely, and also in moderation.  Then let us consider the nightshade.  I am told by Wikipedia that it is a relative of both the potato and tomato; both edible.  And yet nightshade is deadly, though the atropine from it has uses.” He paused. “All members of Her Majesty’s armed forces carry a pressure syringe of atropine on active duty,” he said.  “It’s to combat nerve gas. And you use a downed man’s own syringe on him, not your own.  You might need your own later. The other medical use is to open the pupils to perform some ophthalmic procedures.  And this opening of the pupils used to be used by women to make themselves seem more beautiful, which is why it is called Belladonna, beautiful lady.  A dangerous use, as it can be absorbed by the mucus membrane.  So here we have useful attributes and dangerous ones, including through the sin of vanity.  I want to return to my comment about some flowers being gaudy and grabbing the attention, and others being small and shy.  Even as it would be foolish to use belladonna, the shy plants have their own beauty, and need not be painted.  As to the gaudy, why, any embellishment is too much, for we do not wish to ‘Paint the lily and gild refined gold’ as the quote properly goes.”

The sermon went down well, though Chaz did sigh when he overheard Old Tom say to Tony,

“Put me down for a fiver on Lucy Grey, she’s the shyest violet in the village.”