Cycled down to see Don and Jennie today. Seemed more sensible than risking the car windows. Saw two broods of ducklings with their respective mother ducks crossing the road in front of me. May even have saved a life, since one brood was being threatened by a big black crow, flapping ominously around these tiny bundles of feather down. It took of in a hurry at the approach of my bike so mother and babes were able to scurry to safety, disappearing rapidly in the long grass at the side of the road.
The other brood, later on, were waddling in a sedate line behind Mum, but again, disappeared like lightening at my approach.
Don and Jennie are a lovely couple who celebrated their sixty-seventh wedding anniversary earlier this year. They met when Jennie was twelve and playing the piano at the Methodist Sunday School. Don, aged thirteen, had just moved into the area with his parents and it was love at first sight. And the rest, as they say, is history.
But both of them have been ill for a month or two, hence my visit. Happily they’re both improving, but Don told me an interesting story.
Last Sunday morning, he said, a neighbour whom they know only by sight, fetched up on their doorstep in great distress.
“I haven’t heard the bells,” she gulped, between sobs. “I’ve been listening for the bells because I must see the Rector. But they haven’t rung. They always ring on Sunday mornings. Why haven’t they rung?”
Don explained that it was a fifth Sunday, so all the churches in the group had gathered elsewhere for a service together. He asked if he could help.
“It’s my son,” she wept. “He’s died. And the Rector married them. I must see the Rector.”
Don was shocked and gave her my address and telephone number. Now he was looking at me expectantly, thinking I had called because of this. But here’s the mystery. She hadn’t contacted me or left any messages and I knew nothing of all this.
So I called on her after I’d seen Don and Jennie, but there was no reply. I pushed a card through the door, but so far no response to that either.
Don couldn’t remember her name, so now I’m a bit stumped. It’s a real mystery, especially as no-one else has said a word. Usually anything like that is round a village like wildfire, but on this occasion, nothing.
I think I’ll look up the weddings for the last five years and see if I can get a handle on all this. What a terrible thing to happen.
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So I’m driving sedately (well, fairly sedately. On the inside lane, at any rate) down the dual carriageway towards Diss, radio singing out, windows happily opened, when suddenly the radio stops in the middle of a piece.
I jab and stab as usual at the radio button, while doing my best to keep my eyes on the road (which was fortunately pretty empty). No avail. The radio refused to work. But at least the windows were operating normally. Oh well. If I can only have one, better to have working windows than a working radio. But both would be nice.
Half a mile later and the radio suddenly comes on, at which point exactly the windows refuse to budge. I keep up the stabbing and jabbing, this time on the window buttons. One shifts, the other refuses to budge.
I mutter darkly under my breath, whilst gazing anxiously at the sky which is clouding over. I just know it’s going to tip down with rain while I have a car window wide open.
But no. By the time I reach home the dormouse under the bonnet has nodded off again and both windows and radio are working. As I’ve said so often before, there is a God after all!
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So today I had to drive into Norwich again to the Cathedral. Started out reasonably early (before the hottest part of the day anyway), tried the windows first, just to see. No dice. So I drive on, checking the windows every time I go over a bump or round a corner. Nothing.
Parked under a large and spreading tree in the Cathedral car park (the best thing about being a Canon is that you get to park in the Cathedral car park with no questions asked. You may not think this is much, but believe me, it’s major) to keep the car as cool as possible. Briefly thought about the sun rising in the East and setting in the West, but still couldn’t work out which way the shadows would move, so just chose the largest vacant tree. Tried the windows again just before exiting the car. Not the slightest hint of a tremor.
Enjoyed the Eucharist and the meeting (well, it’s always followed by lunch) and walked back to the car. Switched on, tried the windows and – yes, you’re there before me – they worked instantly.
So now I’m wondering. Did I get suddenly more holy by a morning in the Cathedral? Is there a dormouse under the bonnet who nibbles on the wires from time to time? Or could there be a loose connection somewhere?
What I know for sure is this. When I take it to the garage and explain the problem, the windows will instantly work!
(Incidentally, had the same problem with the radio a couple of weeks ago. But that seems to be alright now. Perhass it’s just gremlins under the bonnet after all.)
The hottest day of the year so far and I had to visit the Archdeacon. Nothing wrong with that, except that for some unknown and inexplicable reason, the electric windows on my car refused to function. There I was, stabbing and jabbing like there was no tomorrow, all the while keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the road as you do, but to no avail.
You’ll have gathered from this that I have a cheap and ancient mode of transport with no air-conditioning. Mostly, of course, we never need air-con in the UK. But you can bet on this being the hottest year of the century if I have a car without air-con and with windows which refuse to open.
So I arrived somewhat hot and bothered and having dressed up in the clerical shirt and the dog-collar (have you ever worn a dog-collar in the heat? They’re made of plastic, clutch you firmly around the neck and thus produce copious quantities of perspiration) only to find the Archdeacon in an open-neck shirt and slacks. At least he treated me to a glass of elderflower cordial. Very welcome.
I signed away my life – or my living, at any rate. As I’m retiring in August I had to sign that I would ‘irrevocably’ leave my present position. All felt terribly final. Which it is – but it’s difficult too. Lots of saying goodbye which has already started even though I have two months to go.
On a brighter note, Jonathan brought round a beautiful photo album full of pics from Ed’s 75th birthday. Remember? The whole extended family gathered together in Cornwall for a week and we had a great party on the night of his birthday. The family clubbed together for this album as their joint gift to Ed and Jonathan came along as official photographer.
It’s a fabulous record of a brilliant time, so we’ll probably spend retirement huddled over it. When we’re not watching daytime TV, that is.
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