From the Window

The steed outside the stable.

Don't Look Now

Now, if you have a large, abandoned house next to a public path ...... with a strange air of recent dereliction ...

... and intriguing vistas through cracked windows ...
... what you mustn't do is leave the back door open ...
... or Gothically-minded folk with cameras ...

... are bound to come in and take snaps ...... and become thoroughly spooked in the process - especially if one room is roped off with hazard tape.

Building the Kingdom

Deanery Chapter today. One of the local churches, in the middle of a vacancy and hoping to appoint a new priest in charge, was planning to interview candidates a couple of days ago; the Archdeacon pulled the plug on the process when there were only 'one and a half interviewees'. 'We have,' said the curate there, 'a selection panel the size of Belgium'. 'But not as interesting', the Rural Dean interjected.

Come Buy Come Buy, as Long as it's Black (and largely for Girls)

Every once in a while, the LGMG holds a Bring and Buy Sale. On a previous occasion our glorious Organisers got rid of a handful of my books on Gothic culture on my behalf, but I'd never been along myself. On Sunday I did - rather a mad thing to do as I had to fit a trip all the way from the wilds in to London between the morning and evening solemnities, but it was worth it. 45 stalls full of lovely items in various shades of black.

There was jewellery ...

... mugs emblazoned with various designs ...

... and lots and lots of clothes.

There was, it didn't pass without remark, not a lot of stuff for those of us who bear a Y chromosome. I was tempted by a pair of silver cufflinks in the form of the Green Man on a stall of antique jewellery, but even when the nice gentleman in the bowler hat and weskit offered to cut the price to £50 I decided I could manage with the ones I already have. In the end I only found a book and a pyrographed bookmark, but what was fun was being in the whole ambience. For some this is a chance to get rid of their surplus tat; others are top-of-the-range Goth retailers; but in between are great numbers of creative individuals sewing, painting, pinning and engaging in all sorts of other craft activities. People mill about complimenting each other on their efforts. It's part of what makes the Goth world so lovely.

A Unique Opportunity

On two occasions this week it's become clear that I have agreed to speak to groups - children and toddlers, thankfully, so the intellectual content didn't need to be particularly taxing - and then completely forgotten about it, only to rediscover the fact through some stray remark from a colleague with ten minutes to go. There are clearly angels whispering in ears, but angels being what they are one can't presume on their efficiency or good nature too far. So I am considering placing the following advertisement in the jobs section of the Church Times:

Wanted

MINION

to prevent an absentminded incumbent from being repeatedly humiliated

in the management of a not overwhelmingly busy parish.

The successful candidate will be able to show:

• Slavish devotion to his/her master
• A preference for the shadows
• A silent tread
• The ability to remember things everyone else has forgotten, in particular the location of interred cadavers

He/she will ideally possess:

• A degree in necromancy, witchcraft, or similar
• A voice resembling the late Peter Lorre
• A limp
• Own cloak of secrecy

Accommodation provided in church cellar. Gruel and rat allowance. Terms on application.

Apply to: The Rectory, Swanvale Halt, Surrey.

It's almost worth paying the fee.

What was I Doing Here Again?

One day a week the clergy of Swanvale Halt visit one of the sheltered accommodation places or care homes around the parish and take a communion service, including hymns. This week I was at the home where most of the residents are in varying states of confusion. Usually one or two of them join in with the singing; this week I, the lady who comes to help, and the congregation member who battles loyally with whatever keyboard happens to be to hand, were alone in our warbling and, things being what they are, you couldn't really hear much other than me. Add to that the inconsequent and incoherent conversations taking place in parts of the room and it becomes something to get through rather than take pleasure in. I wonder what on earth is going on for our congregation. I suppose they want to be there, or they'd leave (some do. Some leave and come back). But how on earth could you decide rationally what you're achieving by all this, and whether the time could be better spent?

At Lamford I used to take a service in one of the care homes which grew out of visiting one of the residents individually: that seemed to make sense, and usually, until near the end of my time there, there were a couple of folk who were sufficiently compos mentis to make it all seem worthwhile. But at least at Swanvale Halt the residents seem cheerful and placid. At Lamford numbers of them couldn't stand each other. One day George kept asking, very forcefully, whether he could 'go back to Ashford!' 'Shut up, George, it's church!!' Cis shouted back at him.

Brown Study

At the back of the church is a chest full of old tat no longer used but which nobody can quite bear to get rid of. Actually some of it is being used again, thanks to me, but the stuff that isn't forms an interesting insight into the liturgical fashions of the near-past. Among it was this set of vestments.I doubt it looks that bad from here. To be fair, the chasuble has a nice, classic Gothic cut and isn't undignified. But it's made from an immensely heavy furnishing fabric - the dark patterning is a thick velvet, and I think even I'd find it a nightmare to wear. There's a matching cope with a vile little pixie-hood at the back which I can barely lift.

More to the point - it's brown. What liturgical season uses brown? I asked and got the answer that it was made for use in Autumn, not in itself a season I thought the liturgical year included.