Sat at my desk in my study I
am attracted by movement through the window.
I live across from a church
and am able to look down on all that happens in the large car park at the side.
Over a year I am able to
watch the full gamut of life, christenings, weddings, funerals and, if I crane
my head far enough around the corner of my window, I can see (on Saturdays at
9-30am and 5-00pm by appointment only) The Sinners, creeping surreptitiously
through the side door into confession with a quick furtive backwards-glance.
Today is the weekday early
morning service, not very well attended this one, most people have other/better
things to do.
"Father", a
quietly spoken man (I have passed the time of day with him on a few occasions)
can be seen striding purposely across the car park from the gate in the wall
which separates his private life from his public one. Dressed in long black
flowing robes he can (forgive me father …) on a dull morning look quite
menacing, very different to the glitz and bling of special occasions.
One morning soon after he
came to live here I spotted a plume of white smoke snaking up from above his
garden wall. I rushed to turn on the TV news-channel expecting to see the news
that a new Pope had been elected, only to be told later by a parishioner that
Father smoked a pipe.
It's Sunday morning 10-29am,
the bell is tolling, the car park is full of cars, not a soul (pun intended) to be
seen except, and here he comes now, the one who is always late, always running
in at the last minute. A sight for sore eyes, hair uncombed, shoe laces undone,
tie askew but with a look of grim determination on his face, a look that seems
to say "forgive me Father for I have had to feed the cat, water my
tomatoes and 12 down in the Sunday Mail crossword totally stumped me".
It is easy to tell the
devout ones, they are the ones that “volunteer”. These are the ones that water
the flowers, cut the grass, clean the windows, the ones that will surely get
“there”.
BREAKING NEWS: Just seen Father rushing across the car park towards the church,
jeans, lumberjack check-shirt with sleeves rolled up to just under the elbow.
He has just returned with a piece
of paper in his hand (list of hymns, today’s sermon?).We’ll never know.
It’s Sunday morning and from
10am onwards cars arrive in dribs and drabs until the car park is full. People
dressed in their Sunday Best stand hovering around the entrance to the church
(one last cigarette for a while for some of them) until as if at a command they
slowly parade into the church and all is quiet until a car draws up and from
within gingerly gets out a woman, possibly in her middle twenties, clutching in
her arms a tiny baby (why do we say “tiny baby”, aren’t all babies tiny?)
dressed in a long white gown. The driver of the car takes the hand of, and this
is only an assumption, his wife/partner and together they walk into the church.
DEAR READER: There will now be an interlude of approximately two hours.
You may feel free to go and
put the kettle on, to brew a cup of tea, have a wee or possibly prep the lunch.
DEAR READER:
Quick they’ve finished (I have had a cup of tea, been for a wee twice and
prepped my bacon sandwich for my lunch).
The crowd mingle (a welcome
cigarette for some) around the car park but the centre of attention is a “tiny”
baby, like a Queen Bee in a hive. Lots of cooing and cries of “Isn’t she lovely”
(I feel a song coming on).
Adjacent to the church is
what was once a school, but is now a parish centre, and slowly everyone
gravitates towards it, stomachs are rumbling and with one last cigarette for some they all disappear.
DEAR READER:
I feel I must apologise, I have had my bacon sandwich, fed the cat and been to
my allotment to water my tomatoes and when I returned the car park was empty.
The only sign of a christening being a dozen squashed fag ends in the car park.
“Ah bless, doesn’t she look
lovely”?
It’s Saturday 1-55pm the sun
is shining, there is no wind, and it’s a perfect day for the wedding. The Bride
arrives in an open top 1920’s car bedecked with cream ribbons and flowers. She
alights, carefully smoothes down her dress (“what a beautiful dress”), her
bridesmaids carefully arrange her train and they all walk slowly into the
church, a scene of complete serenity. But if only she knew!
I have, at intervals, been
watching the scene unfold, absolute chaos at times.
It’s 9-00am, rain is pouring
down and the florist’s van pulls up outside the church door. Head bent against
the wind and rain two people jump out of the van open the back doors and make
numerous trips into the church laden with armfuls of flowers. Two hours go by
and it is now 11am and the florist’s van draws away their work done (we can now
send in our invoice).
There now appears one of the
“devout ones” armed with brush and shovel and within minutes the place is spick
and span
DEAR READER: See above and instead of “tiny” baby insert “bride”. (That’s saved me a
lot of writing).
A cold and rainy Saturday
morning and am looking down from my study into the church car park when slowly
appear car after car, from which alight people dressed in black. Sad looking
people, some crying, all hugging and kissing each other. And then “The Hearse”.
Everyone’s last trip. The coffin is wheeled out and into the church.
DEAR READER:
I don’t think I need to say anything more do I?
Will anybody be looking down
on me “…when I shuffle off this mortal coil”.?
