Church Parade

The following day being Sunday, the entire household attended the village church. Cub, his father and Ginger, all dressed in their Sunday best, led in the dog cart, while the housekeeper and groom who, Ginger had discovered, were in fact man and wife, travelled behind, similarly attired in their finery, in a governess cart.

The church stood by the village green, as it had since the reign of Henry VIII, when its incumbent had professed a different faith. In the intervening years it had seen off Cromwell and his Roundheads and the predations of Victorian improvers. Now, it stood solidly against Hitler, its bells stilled until either invasion or victory should free their tongues, its congregation reduced to old men, women and children, occasionally swelled by the odd serviceman home on leave, giving thanks for deliverance.

The party alighted at the lych gate. Mudd, the groom, having left the governess cart in charge of his wife, busied himself with the dog cart while the Colonel led the others through the gate and into the church by the main door. Inside, it was cool and dark with the scent of altar flowers heavy on the air. The light streamed through the stained glass windows, making rainbow shapes on the tiled floor and strange, box-shaped pews. The Colonel marched up the aisle, acknowledging members of the congregation as he went. There was much coming together of heads and whispering among the female contingent as Cub and Ginger passed by, a fluttering in the hen coop.

The Colonel paused by the first pew and opened the door. Cub went into the box-like enclosure. Ginger hesitated and would have hung back, but the Colonel motioned him forward. Cub was already kneeling, so Ginger followed his example. He could see very little for the high walls surrounding the pew.

The vicar came in, a small, grey-haired, corpulent man with watery eyes and a high, reedy voice, and the service started. Ginger could not remember the last time he had been in church, they had always been too busy for church parade. For Cub, he reflected, it was as much a part of the fabric of his life when he was at home, and as unquestioned, as the changing of the seasons. The Colonel read the lesson in a voice that could have been heard over the other side of the village green. Ginger wondered idly if he did it to wake up those who, tempted by the seclusion of the box pews, had been unwise enough to nod off, secure in their obscurity.

Half way through the sermon, however, he began to feel as though it was his turn to need stimulation. He suddenly felt as if all the strength was draining from his limbs. The walls of the pew seemed to be falling in on him and it was getting very dark. He clutched at Cub's arm

"What is it?" asked Cub, alarmed because Ginger was deathly pale. "What's the matter?"

"I don't feel very well," confessed Ginger.

The Colonel took charge. "He's going to faint, put his head between his knees," he instructed his son, who obeyed with alacrity. "We'll take him outside."

Ginger, appalled at the prospect, protested weakly that he would be fine in a moment. Indeed, his head soon began to clear, although he felt very shaky.

The Colonel produced a hip flask and ordered Ginger to take a swig. When he obeyed, the fiery spirit burned his throat and set him coughing violently. Cub patted him on the back as the Colonel deftly retrieved the flask and, making sure it was firmly corked, put it back in his pocket. When the paroxysm was over, Ginger realised he did feel better, although what the vicar had thought of the commotion during his sermon, he did not like to contemplate.

By the time the service was over and they all filed out to shake the vicar's hand in the porch, Ginger was feeling back to normal and more than a little ashamed of his weakness. The vicar did nothing for his self esteem by expressing a hope that he was now fully recovered and feeling better. "I'm afraid my sermons tend to have that effect on people," he remarked sadly. Ginger blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair and mumbled an apology. The clergyman patted him kindly on the arm, but unfortunately chose the spot where the deep-seated infection had left a tender area. Ginger flinched. "Dear me," said the clergyman dismayed. "I am so sorry. Won't you and your party come to the vicarage for sherry, Colonel?" he invited them, tentatively.

Having some Parish Council business to transact, the Colonel seized on the offer. He disappeared into the study with the vicar while Cub and Ginger wandered through the french doors out into the garden.

Cub observed his friend covertly. Ginger's colour had returned, he saw thankfully. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, seeking reassurance of his observation.

Ginger nodded. "I got knocked out in the Argentine," he explained. "I seemed to be alright, but after I got back I started having the occasional twinge of dizziness. That's why the MO stood me down. Nothing as bad as that, though," he confessed.

"It could just be all the kneeling," remarked Cub. "I've had it happen to me before now. I find those pews so claustrophobic, too," he admitted, draining his glass with a grimace at the poor quality of the sherry. He glanced back into the drawing room.

"Here's the Guv'nor now," he announced. "That means he's finished the PC business and we can get home. Come on." With that, he went back through the french doors and rejoined his father. Ginger followed and very shortly they were trotting back to the farm.