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Miss
Grundy and the Minister were both praying that rather more people than
usual would turn up for the morning service, the Minister in the vestry,
and Miss Grundy in her pew in the middle of the grid of wooden pews that
divided up the large Victorian building. Both prayed that the right sort
of people would come but with one essential difference, in that Miss
Grundy hoped for people like herself and the Minister hoped they'd be as
different as possible from Miss G.
In the event,
the usual 8 or so people who came every Sunday arrived, murmured
discreet and reverent "Good mornings" to each other and
settled themselves and their Sunday clothes into their usual places,
preparing to be large-minded and tolerant as the Minister's wife and son
accompanied the traditional hymns on the key-board and guitar. Miss
Grundy sighed for the organ and Bach, but times had changed, though not,
she hoped, to the extent of including one of those so-called worship
songs with which she understood the Ministerial family had entertained a
crowd of probably undesirables the night before, actually in the church.
Automatically
she rose to her feet as the Minister and Duty Elder came in, arranging
her face to listen reverently to the Call to Worship. A commotion behind
her drowned the Minister's words, and three young women with a positive
tribe of children came down the centre aisle. "Let's sit
here!" one of them said. "Grab those kids and put `em between
us". They clattered into the pew next to Miss Grundy.
"Mum" said one of the tribe, "Why's that old lady
standing up?"
Ignoring this
but prepared to give of her best as an example of correct church-going,
Miss Grundy smoothed her skirt before sitting down again. "Sorry,
love" said one of the young women. "She's always been like
that. Straight out with it, always." Miss Grundy looked woodenly in
front of her, and Morning Service went into action with the first hymn
(When Morning Gilds the Skies..) and the collection. "Here,"
said the straight-out child, "Why're we paying for this, then?
Where's the cool stuff, like we had last night?" The Minister
looked desperately at his wife and son and wished he'd prepared a
children's address. Normally there were no children.
The Minister's
wife rose to her feet and the occasion: "Why don't all you young
people go with my son and sing songs like we had last night? You can
switch the heater on in the Hall....." Her voice tailed off. The
Duty Elder spoke up apologetically. "The heater's broken, and -
well, the hall's not been used for some time".
The regular
Sunday people sat frozen in their seats; the young mothers looked at
each other and giggled and made faces. By now most of the tribe were on
the floor of the old pew, building a den with the hymn books. The
straight-out one was sitting bolt upright, apparently keenly enjoying
the situation.
Miss Grundy
could have wept. That it should come to this. Her father and her
grandfather had worshipped in this church. In fact, her grandfather had
been one of the first Elders after it was founded and Miss Grundy still
lived in what had been his house, two minutes from the Church. What
would he have done? A small voice in Miss Grundy's head asked "What
are you going to do?" Miss Grundy longed to be safe in her warm
sitting-room where nothing much had changed in 50 years. She would
simply get to her feet and leave, with dignity, showing her dislike of
the whole miserable situation.
She rose.
"Hey", said the straight-out child. "I know you. Your
house's just round the corner. I bet you've got the heating on. Couldn't
we go there? Please?" she added as her mother prodded her
violently.
Never in Miss
Grundy's predictable life had she met a situation she couldn't handle.
She drew in her breath sharply. It was time to speak out. But she
couldn't. Words wouldn't come. Her hand reached out for support towards
the wooden barrier between the two pews, and was seized by the child.
"I knew you'd say yes!" she crowed. "Let's go!"
"Err, Miss
Grundy..." began the Minister. "If you, um...." Miss
Grundy straightened up. "Yes, the heating is on" she heard
herself say. "And if everyone would like to join us after the
service, the kettle will be, too."
Judy
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