43. NO ROOTS AND NO LOVE

43. NO ROOTS AND NO LOVE

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson
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The vicar needs to ask a favour of Ursula

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It was five years to the day since Ursula had seen her mother’s coffin gently lowered into the churchyard and she was back there with a bunch of flowers to mark her fondest respects. Summer was slowly coming to an end and there was a chill in the air.

I’ll be back here soon enough with another bouquet, but for my father next time, she thought, then added to herself, almost guiltily because she’d all but forgotten, and then Cardew…

The year was 1981 and so far it had been a rewarding year.

The novel was coming along, slowly but satisfyingly and its writing made her giggle more than once at some of the situations her heroine found herself in. She might have been born in more straight-faced times, but there was now nothing straight-laced about her mind!

Just personal wishful thinking on my part, she thought, Gertrude is in love with sex and I think I was, once upon a time, and once in love with that beast it’s not so easily forgotten…

A penny for your thoughts,” boomed a voice that she recognised and had been secretly hoping she would hear. He might have shaved off his ridiculous beard but he hadn’t done anything about unbooming his voice.

Hello Jude,” she said quietly, out of respect for where they were and as a means of indicating that booming wasn’t strictly always necessary. Not that he’ll take a blind bit of notice, she thought. “They’re worth a great deal more than a penny,” she added aloud, apropos her thoughts.

A pound then,” he said, maybe a little more quietly, but then he had reached her and was standing only a few feet away from her.

I was remembering my parents,” murmured Ursula, “they were good folks, both of them.”

They must have been, bringing you up to be the woman you are.” His voice was quieter, more reflective and subdued.

You’re too kind, sir,” she said lightly.

I was hoping to see you,” he said, a little awkwardly, “I’ve a personal matter I wonder if you might be able to help me with...”

If I can,” she replied, frankly.

Maybe over a cup of something warming?” he suggested.

Or a glass of something spiritual,” she smiled back at him.

That would be nice. But who invites who?”

That big vicarage of yours is too impersonal,” Ursula replied, “and I’ve got a very special bottle waiting to be opened. It cost me an arm and a leg, so if you see me limping… you’ll know why!”

Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “I don’t want to rush you. We should never tire of saying goodbye to our loved ones, and we should never do it in haste.”

I’m ready now,” smiled Ursula, grateful for the consideration, “and if you play your cards right I might even feed you!”

Wouldn’t that be too much trouble?”

Not if you like fish and chips! It’s a Friday, and the chip van stops outside my house in about an hour. I can’t resist it because of the delicious aroma it takes with it everywhere it goes.”

I know what you mean, and fish and chips would be lovely but only if you allow it to be my treat.”

Golly,” grinned Ursula, “you must have something really big on your mind! Come on, then! I’ll tell you what: a cup of tea, fish and chips and then something spiritual!”

My own prescription, to the letter,” he sighed, quietly now.

The fish and chip van arrived on cue and Ursula allowed the vicar to buy food for two whilst she made a second pot of tea.

You said you had something, what was it? Personal to discuss with me,” began Ursula when the plates had been cleared away and washed and Jude had eyed her whiskey bottle with a gleam in his eyes.

Help yourself, and I’ll have a small one,” she sighed.

It must be a year since your sixtieth party,” he mentioned when they were settled in the two most comfortable chairs and sipping their drinks.

I remember it so well,” she replied, “even the tasteless bit when my ex’s wife turned her spiteful gaze on to me!”

Well, I’d turned sixty four years before that,” he told her.

You ancient thing!” she mocked, joking.

Which means I’m turning sixty-five any day now,” he concluded.

Now let me think … is that retirement age for the clergy?” asked Ursula.

Not necessarily,” he told her, “some of my colleagues carry on into their dotage. But not this vicar. I’ve already notified the Bishop (who thinks I’m three sheets to the wind for even thinking of giving up my calling, as he puts it), but I’m not him and he’s not me! But retirement brings its own problems.”

Ye..es,” she murmured slowly, wondering where this was going.

I joined the clergy straight after my army days,” he said. “Back in the war I was in uniform and got to see first hand how a godless world can tear itself to pieces. I was very holy back then, probably even to a fault! Anyway, my army chums always treated me as an outsider, and I guess that in reality they were right. After the war I took a quick course designed to fill the pulpits of the nation with dedicated men of God, and that’s really all I’ve done with my life. I guess you think it’s sad, really.”

Where might this be going? Ursula frowned thoughtfully and nodded her head.

I’ve spent the last twenty years here, in Swanspottle, and while I’ve done that my parents have both passed away, my sister has emigrated to Australia and my brother, bless him, committed suicide back when it was illegal for him to be him. You see, he was … sexually different.”

How terrible,” she muttered, and she meant it.

The result is I’ve got no roots. Those from my childhood have long since withered away and died. Any fragile little tendrils of roots I might have remaining to me are here, in Swanspottle. I’ve never had a woman in my life unless you count the odd housekeeper as being in my life, never even got on the first step when it comes to romance...”

That must have been difficult,” suggested Ursula, “I mean, what about that old thorny nutmeg sex? It’s the reason we’re here, on this planet, after all: to reproduce our genes and pass them on in to the future.”

Sex? Oh, it sort of passed me by… there are ways and means for us men to relieve tension when it builds up, if that becomes, you know, desirable.”

And women, too,” she told him, smiling.

Really?” He looked suddenly lost as if his inbuilt book of life had a chapter missing. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he admitted.

I feel a bit … sorry for you is the wrong term, but something along those lines will fit the bill … it can’t have been easy officiating at so many weddings and watching randy bridegrooms vanish into the distance towing their equally randy brides with them...”

It did sometimes cross my mind,” he admitted, “though funerals helped redress the balance!”

Anyway, where is all this getting to?” asked Ursula.

Well, the truth is this. I’ve handed in my ecclesiastic notice and a new man has been found for the parish of Swanspottle. In about a month I am to leave the vicarage and take my paltry few possessions with me, and I’ve no idea where I’m taking them to.”

And that’s why you wanted to speak to me?” nudged Ursula.

He nodded his head and without a silly beard to hide behind he looked for all the world like the schoolboy he’d been more than fifty years earlier.

I’ve always sort of looked up to you,” he mumbled.

That’s quite a feat bearing in mind I’ve hardly ever stepped foot in your church,” she told him, thoughtfully, “so let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve lived your life without nourishing your soul through roots and now the garden’s being cleared and you need somewhere well fertilised to plant those roots or you’ll be lost forever. And you wonder whether the widow of this address will offer you a room to sleep in and three square meals a day in return for…?”

He looked miserable. “I’ve got savings,” he said, “I can afford to pay my way!”

And I’ve nearly finished writing a novel about a woman in need of love, and a vicar knocking at her door,” she said, smiling mischievously.

Are you knocking at my door?” she asked.

© Peter Rogerson 22.08.18





© 2018 Peter Rogerson


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Added on August 22, 2018
Last Updated on August 22, 2018
Tags: Ursula, cemetery, vicar, retirement, homeless

A WOMAN OF EXCELLENT TASTE


Author

Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom



About
I am 80 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..

Writing