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| The Story Of A Parish; An everyday story about parish folk | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 1. February 2007, 22:56 (4,317 Views) | |
| Emee | Sunday, 8. April 2007, 22:58 Post #106 |
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Chutney (called so because as a puppy he was always in a pickle) whimpered a little when he reached the part of the footpath that joined the banks of the river. It was here that he usually bumped into Charlie on his evening walk, but of course the Canon was busy packing for his short break in the North of England and Charlie had been out earlier in the middle of the glorious afternoon. Chutney looked up pitifully at his owner Therese O'Fee who smiled down at him. "Sorry Chutney," she told her Golden Retriever, "Charlie's not here today to play with." After a good sniff around the bushes, just to check Charlie was not, in fact, hiding, Chutney contented himself with barking at the family of young ducks processing in convey along the length of the river. Therese relaxed in the beautiful sunshine and made a mental note that she should call Lucy. She was so glad to see both her and Andrew at the Vigil the previous night. Therese had high hopes for them both as a couple, despite the shaky start. A trout flickered in the water sending ripples out to the edge. For today, all was well with the world... :D |
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| Emee | Sunday, 8. April 2007, 23:52 Post #107 |
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While waterproofing his walking boots (Ethel, the Canon's sister had suggested a walk at Hardcastle Craggs in West Yorkshire) the Canon pondered the future. He was aware that he would shortly need to advertise for a part-time secretary who would assist him in diocesan educational matters. He had originally thought of Pauline. However, as a parishioner and also, as it seemed, a growing close friend of George Williams (who, as well as being Parish Chairman, was also Chief Internal Auditor for the County) perhaps Pauline was not the most appropriate choice after all. He had no issue with her managing day-to-day matters for the parish. Nevertheless, the diocesan educational work would require a degree of independence as the work would, at times, be of a highly confidential nature. So yes, he should advertise, he knew that. The only other secretary he was aware of in the diocese who dealt with sensitive matters was Father "flip flops" Martin (Heaven's no!) who was presently the Bishop's Private Secretary. However, what was the lady who did the day-to-day administration for the diocese called...? Ah yes! Judith Baxter... |
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| Rose of York | Monday, 9. April 2007, 00:45 Post #108 |
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"Charlie, Car!" called the Canon. His beloved Golden Retriever knew what that meant. Out he trotted, and with great agility he leapt into the back seat. When the Canon pulled into a service station to have a cup of tea and give Charlie a short walk down a back lane behind the service entrance (so Charlie could do what he had to do) his mind wandered to the place where he had left his heart, many years ago when he had left his home county. He could get quite irritated when he heard people talking about West Yorkshire. No other County had Ridings. A Riding is a third. He would have no Westminster pen pusher telling him the Ridings did not exist. The East, West and North Ridings radiate from the Roman City of York, which is not in any Riding. The East Riding is fairly flat agricultural land. The North is mainly glorious countryside, with the Dales bordering onto the heather clad Moors. The Eastern border of the North Riding is wild, being buffeted by winds coming from the Arctic. A few minutes standing at the top of those cliffs would wake the dead, if they could stand up. The West Riding used to be known colloqially as the Land of the Three M's - mills, mines and muck. The clever jobsworths in Westminster had recently decreed that the artificial authority, North Humberside, was to have its name restored, to The East Riding of Yorkshire. How could they have West, North and South Yorkshire, plus the Eastern Area and call one of them a Riding? There can be three Ridings or none, certainly not four. "Come on Charlie, we're going home for a few days. We can put the bishop and the Pastoral ReOrganisation out of our minds for a while. Shame I daren't have a pint of Tetley's." |
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| Emee | Monday, 9. April 2007, 11:35 Post #109 |
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Though he was on holiday, Canon Cardew knew there was just one course of action which needed to be taken. He telephoned Bishop Richard Johns from Ethel's house. "And so," the Canon concluded, "I was wondering whether Judith might be interested?" "You know Tony you really should advertise," Bishop Johns was a stickler for proprieties these days, after the fiasco with the club all those years ago. "Besides which," he went on, "There is absolutely no guarantee that Judith will be interested in such a position. I have to say, she seems to be quite happy with her part-time hours working for me these days." The Bishop was of course correct. The Canon had merely hoped for a speedy conclusion to the necessity of obtaining a secretary for diocesan educational matters - and Judith, with her knowledge of the diocese, had seemed the obvious choice, and would be a great help to him. He sincerely hoped she would see the advert and respond to it. And now, for the meantime, off to Hardcastle Craggs... |
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| Rose of York | Monday, 9. April 2007, 21:57 Post #110 |
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On Monday morning Father Leon woke at six o'clock to the sound of a blackbird singing, but that was all he did hear. Normally the Canon was up and about first, but Leon could hear nothing. The reality hit him, like a bolt from the blue. For the first time in his life he had woken up alone in a building, yes, completely alone. He was one of several children in his parents' family, so at his parents' home there was always somebody at home even after the older ones had married and moved out. At seminary there had been quite a crowd. He showered, shaved, dressed, went into the kitchen, made and drank coffee. He got some breakfast but picked at it, feeling very strange, eating alone. The presbytery had an eeriness to it, because there was no guarantee anybody would call on what these English called a Bank Holiday. The young man mooched around from the kitchen to the lounge, round the garden, up to his bedroom to tidy up. It was driving him mad. Father Leon said Mass at ten o'clock. A woman said it would be nice for him to have a day peace and quiet because most people would have the manners not to telephone or call at the presbytery door, so he could enjoy his Bank Holiday. Enjoy it? How could he? Other men were going out with their wives and children, of which he had none. Some men would be out with friends. He had no friends, he had parishioners. People saw him as "Father". Nobody thought of him as a young man in his twenties who wanted to enjoy life. What was he to do with himself all day? |
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| James | Thursday, 12. April 2007, 11:00 Post #111 |
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"Those lads are coming along fine" Andrew said to Fr.Leon as they stood at the side of the pitch together watching the latest match. " One or two there really show some promise" " I wanted to speak with you about that " said Fr Leon. "One of my problems is transport for them to some of the games , I am going to take driving lessons but need a bit of extra driving around as well and I wondered if you might come out with me now and again in the twelve seater for extra practice " "Also they could do with better management and any help or advice you can give will be a big help." "Why not " said Andrew. " First you have to get a provisional licence for driving on the main roads, get a pair of "L" plates and see the canon about your insurace cover " "We can use the church car park as well to give you a bit of extra confidence with the lower gears." "Would you like to try a draught pint after the match"? said Andrew, "Or is it allowed ?" "Get to know each other and you may meet some of my friends as well" " better than those cans !" " Yes please , why not" said Fr. Leon "Well then" said Andrew as he offered Fr.Leon his hand. "My name is Andrew and what shall I call you " "Leon", "by all means when we are like this, but maybe "Fr. Leon" if it's church business with other folk around. Andrew smiled "suits me mate, but I doubt I will have to use the "Father" bit very often". |
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| James | Thursday, 12. April 2007, 11:15 Post #112 |
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Bernie found he has a problem. He had heard that Violet Wilde mentioned him in no uncertain terms at the auditions and knew why. It had been very remiss of him to ignore her feelings, but her phone call to him came as an embarrassment and he just did not know how to deal with it. Now that he had met Esther again, it slipped to the back of his mind or probably he was only using the excuse to himself to avoid dealing with her feelings for him. He did not feel the same way towards her but she did make the first move and he should have responded. He could understand her feelings when she found out about Esther. It was not the way to treat a lady and he would have to put it right, somehow or other. |
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| Rose of York | Friday, 13. April 2007, 22:31 Post #113 |
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The germ of an idea, that could lead to thousands of bystanders asking questions about the Catholic Faith, took seed the day Canon Anthony Cardew commenced with a walk in the hills, and rounded off with a look at the old mills and new mosques. On the first day of his holiday, Canon Cardew and his sister had followed their long standing tradition, of having a walk through the lovely valley of Hardcastle Crags, near Hebden Bridge. That was where they had first experienced real countryside when they were children. With the car safe in the National Trust Car Park by the little stone bridge, the elderly brother and sister set off on their walk, past the rock-filled Hebden Water, to Gibson Mill, where in days gone by the water mill had provided the power for machinery that was to put many a cottage weaver out of business. The old sign "Lambs 1p, pigs, 2p, cattle 4p, horse and cart 6p" had been ripped off the wall of the toll bridge, and washed away in a storm, about twenty years ago. That night the water had rushed along with such a fury, that the plaques, engraved with Biblical quotations, and embedded into huge rocks, some twenty feet high, had been lost due to huge boulders being washed down the river. Trees and telegraph poles had been uprooted, the paths had literally gone, in landslides. That had been a terrible night but, the Canon reflected, God knows what He's doing. He has his reasons, and He never left the Pennines short of water, the life giving commodity that provided the water where, once upon a time, the wool from the sheep was washed in the fast flowing water and shrunk prior to production of fine cloth. It was at Hardcastle Crags that the Canon found it easy to sense the glory of God's creation. In the springtime grasses, mosses and wild flowers appeared as if from nowhere, saw the first flush of youth, blossomed into their glory, faded away in old age, to be replaced by another generation after the dark winter. Canon often compared the lifecycles of the flora to the families in his parish. The people were born, faced a few knocks, had some good times, eventually passed to their final reward, and their places were taken by other people who took their places on this wonderful planet. Nothing made by God ever ceased to exist in one form or another. After a pleasant meal at the pub the Canon asked his sister if she minded them taking a detour, he wanted to travel along a stretch of the the Wakefield to Bradford Road, from whence they could look out over the huge conurbation comprising three cities and dozens of towns, relics of the industrial revolution. Anthony Cardew pulled up at a convenient point, mused for a while over the memories of coal mines, now gone, great textile mills, now mainly converted into apartments or turned over to retail or commercial use, and reflected how even the grass used to be almost black with soot. All had changed, as indeed towns have, for over a thousand years. "Come on Ethel" he said "I'm going down to Dewsbury". Dewsbury Minster, the old Norman parish church, was in "good nick" as the Canon would say when talking privately. Just along the road was the lovely Pugin Church of Saint Paulinus. Saint Anne's at Thornill Lees had been closed for safety reasons. Saint Thomas More at the other side of the valley had known its last Mass. Saint Josephs had managed to wriggle off the closure list. Oh how times changed. In the area originally built for the Irish people fleeing the after effects of famine, stood a most glorious building - reputed to be the biggest mosque in Europe! There were mosques, madrassas, Islamic institutes all over town. The Catholics were reduced to one priest to serve a town of 80,000 people. Most of the descendants of the original Irish immigrants had moved out from the town centre. When the Canon had known Dewsbury there had been four churches and six priests. The Catholics had not deserted the Church. They had deserted the town, with each generation being economically better off than their parents, they had departed to live in better houses and get away from the pollution, and move to the villages and small towns on the outskirts. The Bishop was making a wise move, disposing of some churches that simply did not have many Christians living within spitting distance. The proceeds would be used to build new churches where the Catholic people lived. History repeated itself. Fifty years ago another bishop, John Carmel Heenan, had a massive building programme, providing churches for the new post war estates built to replace sub standard or bombed houses. The Canon sighed, he was sad to see the Church buildings go, but - Catholicism in the district was still alive and strong, the people were loyal to their roots. Mass attendance was still good in that area, there was a strong pride in The Faith. The trouble was, there was less of an obvious presence than previously, due to the Catholic communites now being far from the town centres. The two fine Victorian Churches, one attractive early twentieth century one, and the Romanesque one, would be retained, as lively parish churches, to serve several towns and many villages. That evening, Canon had an idea. He remembered when up to twenty thousand people used to turn up by bus and train, to attend the torchlight procession in honour of Our Lady, in a town near Dewsbury. The people walked about a mile, after dark, whatever the weather, bearing candles in genuine Lourdes candle shades, singing the Lourdes Hymn, Ave Ave Ave Maria. As soon as the people were packed into the market place, with many having to remain in the main street, the people recited the Rosary, and then had open air Benediction - at nine o'clock at night! The Canon thought "I wonder if Bishop John would be amenable to my suggestion?" He turned to Ethel and said "Ethel, I an thinking of having a torchlight procession, with thousands of people, walking from Corpus Christi and St Isidores, to the town square, ending with Benediction and Holy Hour outside the Town Hall. "Anthony, Mother always said you were a madcap! It just won't work. Folks are too soft nowadays." Canon kept his counsel. He knew his parish and he knew its people. Its funny what thoughts can go through an old man's mind when he starts the day with a walk in the hills and ends it with a tour round a once grimy, much improved town in the former land of mills, mines and muck. Ethel, pottering at the kitchen sink, turned to her brother and asked if he had heard that Wakefield Rhubard was about to be awarded EEC protected status or summat or other. Canon asked if people still grew it under old buckets, in back yards, to get some vitamins down the kids. |
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| James | Friday, 13. April 2007, 22:38 Post #114 |
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James
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"It's probably nothing to worry about but we have to follow up these reports" the young lady police constable said to Sister Monica. Mrs Wilde did not return from her afternoon walk the previous day and her companion/housekeeper is most concerned. "It's most unusual for her to go elsewhere and she always tells me if she going to be away for a while" she told the police. "So we are wondering if anybody has seen her around the area within the last day, as we understand she has some connection with your church." Well, she was here two evenings ago in connection with the drama rehearsals but she has not called here, I'm afraid" said sister. "However, that is not to say she was not seen in the area and I can give you the names of some other people who may be able to help you more, if it helps" "Yes indeed, thank you very much, but, as we say, please don't get alarmed as there is probably a simple explanation to the report." |
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| Emee | Friday, 20. April 2007, 23:39 Post #115 |
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Well, what a to do! Sister Monica shut the door behind the young lady police constable after she had departed the presbytery. "Perhaps I ought to ring Bracknell Hall and ask Gwen if she'd like me to pop over and sit with her for a while? Where on earth can Violet be?" |
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| Emee | Saturday, 21. April 2007, 00:24 Post #116 |
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Therese had asked Lucy to accompany her and Chutney on their Saturday afternoon walk. Saturday afternoon walks were much longer than weekly walks, to Chutney's delight. He dashed ahead of the two chattering young women, through the woods impatiently. Therese never kept up when she had company on walks and he was anxious to explore, not having visited the woods since last weekend. Pushing his luck, he reached the far side of the woods and trotted confidently along the narrow path which led along the top of the vast quarry. A rather half-hearted fence at this point separated fool-hardy walkers from danger. It was literally two slack lengths of, not even barbed, wire, attached to wooden poles spaced too far apart. Therese caught up with him then: "Chutney! What on earth do you think you are doing? Come back down?! You know we walk on the lower path!" Chutney stood and looked at her and wagged his tail. He panted excitedly and then looked into the quarry and whimpered. He then started barking loudly. "Chutney! What did I tell you? Come back down now!" But Chutney's barking just became all the more distressed and he would not move. "What on earth is the matter, Chutney?" Therese climbed up to the narrower upper path to drag Chutney back down, but also she was curious to see what he was barking at. Therese stood and looked into the quarry. This part of the quarry was now disused and grass and bracken and small plants had plenty of opportunity to sprout and were flourishing in the spring sunshine. Because of all the growth, Therese couldn't see anything. "Come on Chutney, let's go back down," Therese commanded. But Chutney was more insistent than ever. Therese looked again and this time focussed hard. "Do you know Lucy, I think there's someone lying on a ledge down there. Chutney was right all along, and do you know what also, it looks very like... It can't be! Stay up here!" And with that, Therese slid nimbly under the lower wire. "Therese O'Fee!!" Lucy called from safety, "What on earth do you think you're doing?" "I think it's Violet Lucy. Looks like she's fallen off the path." It was Violet right enough, decked out in her usual country woman's walking outfit. "I might be able to help her. You know I'm a qualified First Aider." "Yes, but that doesn't mean to say you should put yourself in danger Therese." "Who else can help?" Therese called back, "I want to check her over to see how she is before I get you to call for an ambulance - I seem to remember you mentioning earlier you had brought your mobile phone with you." At that point, Therese went into textbook mode. "Violet! Violet! Can you hear me? Can you sit up?!" No response. Therese was now down beside Violet on the ledge: check airways; gently tilt chin - as little as possible, however, due to possible spinal injuries, and listen for breathing. Violet exhaled. Thank goodness! - at least she didn't have to do CPR! Therese did a quick top-to-toe check. She could see no obvious broken bones, but of course that did not take account of any internal injuries. "Lucy!" she called back, "I want you to call for an ambulance. Can you tell them there is an unconscious casualty in the quarry and can you ask how long they are likely to be please? I'll wait down here with Violet until they get here and monitor her breathing. The last thing I want is her coming to and rolling off the ledge. Also, while she's breathing steadily I don't want to put her into the recovery position for an unconscious casualty, as I don't really want to move her in this instance." For all Therese's confident tone , she was shaking. It had been a while since she had had to attend to a casualty and all the worse for it being someone she knew. Poor Violet... As Therese took her own walking jacket off and gently laid it over Violet to help keep her warm, the younger woman hoped and prayed that the older lady would be alright. |
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| Rose of York | Sunday, 22. April 2007, 16:01 Post #117 |
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On Saturday 21st April the Canon set off home, after his holiday in the place of his birth, an old West Riding mill town. The visit had been most enlightening. Rivers that used to be polluted with industrial filth were now clean and sweet, supporting flora and fauna. More important, they were grand places for his best pal, his golden retriever. Grand buildings, derelict and vermin infested for decades since the looms had fallen silent, were being converted into apartments. The improvement in the environment was good, but it broke the Canon's heart to see the number of churches and chapels that had fallen into disuse, whilst the proliferation of mosques was a sight to be seen. He wondered whether the Council would have given a bishop planning permission to build a church totally out of character with its surroundings. The change that really upset Canon Cardew was the racial tension. His parishioners were living in cloud cuckoo land, blaming the crime wave on muslims. Here, there were serious problems with gangs of white youths lying in wait for muslims, beating and kicking them. The taxi drivers were terrified to enter certain areas, because they could hardly go a shift without at least one of them having a brick thrown through his windscreen. Muslim youngsters, bred and born in the town, were simmering with anger and a feeling of rejection, wondering whether they were Asian or English. A minority who held extreme views did not help the situation. The West Riding was the Canon's home, and he grieved for the people who still lived there. Not being caught up in the situation on a daily basis he could take a step back and formulate a fairly impartial view. Of one thing he was certain. Asians who hated Christians had not learnt such behaviour from their parents, who had been peaceful law abiding people when they arrived here. White youths who hated muslims knew little or nothing about Islam or Christianity. There were a few Asian immigrants living round about the Canon's church, and their number was increasing. The Canon came to a decision. He would do all he could to work with the Imam, to do whatever they could (with the help of God) to maintain peace in their town. The Canon returned eager to find out how Father Leon had got on in his absence. Before he could sit down with a cup of tea, he was given the awful news. Father Leon was at the hospital. Violet Wilde had been found unconcious, up near the old quarry. |
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| Rose of York | Monday, 23. April 2007, 21:56 Post #118 |
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On Sunday morning, attendance at the 9.30 Mass was, as expected, unusually high due to many visitors being in town for the annual half marathon. It was also the Sunday for the St George's Day parade, so the parish Scouts, Guides, Cub Scouts, Beaver Scouts and Beavers were there in full force, all wearing neatly pressed uniforms. When the time came for distribution of Holy Communion, Father Leon entered the sanctuary to assist his parish priest. A person who had been an Extraordinary Ministers at the old Corpus Christi parish advanced up the aisle, wearing the EMHC collar. George stepped in neatly, and whispered "you won't be needed, we have two priests as usual". The EHMC retorted "not needed? Of course a Special Minister is needed. One is not enough". To George fell the difficult task of asking the person to remain join the queue, along with other parishioners. After Mass, George planned to notify the Canon, but the EMHC beat him to it, haranguing the parish priest, telling him "We always had plenty of Special Ministers at Corpus Christi Church. Laity have a right to collaborate in ministry." The Canon, refreshed after his holiday, had had enough. Tersely, he said "We have some fine, devoted, Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion in this parish. None of them consider themselves to be Special. Without them, some of our sick people would be deprived of Holy Communion because some parts of our parish are far flung. They accept that there are times when I need them and times when I do not. An extraordinary minister is commissioned for one particular parish. The former Corpus Christi parish does not exist. I personally will be reviewing the position in the near future." Trouble was brewing between the two camps! The Canon went in for coffee, circulated among his people, and with a wry smile noticed that a couple of his good Extraordinary Ministers were explaining correct procedures to the "Special". |
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| Emee | Tuesday, 24. April 2007, 18:46 Post #119 |
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"Are you family?" asked the friendly Ward Sister to Gwen Merriman. "I'm the nearest thing to living family Mrs Wilde has in this country," Gwen replied, "She has a son but he is in a very well-paid job in Dubai and she very rarely sees him. And by very rarely I mean a whole year could go by without a visit. In fact the last time he visited they left on not very good terms at all, I'm sorry to say. I can try to contact him if I can find his place of work these days, but I know he moves around a lot." "Ok," the Ward Sister smiled, "Come on through." She led the way: "Let me explain something. Mrs Wilde suffered no broken bones in her fall thankfully, but she did give her head a bad knock. She hasn't regained consciousness yet for some reason, although there is absolutely no medical reason why she shouldn't regain consciousness at any time. She was very fortunate it was a mild night, otherwise she might have got hyperthermia laid out on that ledge all night." Gwen shuddered at the thought of her employer lying unconscious on a ledge all night long. Anything could have happened... She walked into the room to see Violet wired up to a heart monitor and saline drip. "As you can see, we're keeping her hydrated," explained the Ward Sister. "Hello, er Violet," Gwen spoke awkwardly to her employer's closed eyes. Gwen had just been getting used to calling Mrs Wilde "Violet". In the last few weeks in order to make herself more approachable Mrs Wilde had asked Gwen to call her by her Christian name. However, it had not come naturally after years of her being "Mrs Wilde". "Poor Violet," thought Gwen as she stood by the foot of the hospital bed, "Why did she somehow seem such a tragic figure?" And how on earth were they going to trace down Violet's son Marcus? |
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| Rose of York | Sunday, 29. April 2007, 22:25 Post #120 |
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During the course of the following week the Canon had many matters to attend to. Violet Ward's condition was not life threatening. He detailed Father Leon to visit her in the hospital. It was not possible for every sick person to be visited by the parish priest. The days were gone, when a parish had three or four clergy. The first administrative task undertaken was a review of the roles rightly undertaken by laity, in liturgical matters. The now defunct Corpus Christi parish had been badly affected, by a "free for all", with a lay man selecting readers and Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion. Added to the existing ones at the former St Isidore's, there were far too many Extraordinary Ministers, some thought it was for them to decide to whom they would take Holy Communion at home, and when. Some of the readers he had inherited left much to be desired. Canon Cardew was determined that high standards would be maintained. No lay person had a "right" to "serve the parish" in whatever manner appealed to them. He commenced by calling a meeting of all concerned. All EMHCs and readers from the closed down Corpus Christi, and the former St Isidores were invited to attend. It was explained that an EMHC is commissioned for one named parish, and could not continue in that ministry in any other parish, until appointed by the parish priest and properly commissioned. As for the readers, the wily old Canon announced that he did not want any of them to feel "left out", but there were so many, from the two churches, and there were other responsibilities, for which he needed much help, the list would have to be pruned drastically. He himself would make a selection of parish readers. Other responsibilities would be offered to those who would need to step down. The new policy was, that no parishioner was to have more than one role at Mass, for instance a chorister was not to be a reader (that will sort out their little clique, thought the wily old Canon). Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion are admitted to the homes, and even bedrooms, of vulnerable people so all were to be vetted. No doubt some would object. If so, nobody could force them to complete the forms, but they would have to accept that - no vetting, no appointment. There were a few grumbles, but most agreed, that the rules were made for a reason. Indeed, some of the ex-Corpus Christi people were delighted. No longer would they have to tolerate the situation in which a cantor who was a reader, was also a PCC member, organist, EMHC and general poker of finger into every pie. The following Sunday, the newsletter gave the dates and times of training for readers. Training arrangements for potential EMHCs would be announced at a later date. All concerned were notified by personal letter. The anticipated resignations came in. Those who were suitable and dedicated put their names down for training. Canon was tickled pink. He enjoyed his Sunday dinner, followed by a stroll through the woods with Charlie, his Golden Retriever. |
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3:45 PM Jul 11