St John the Baptist, Cirencester

Tags

Anne Boleyn, Benjamin, Cirencester, communion chalice, Dissolution of Abbeys, fan vaulting, farthingale, Gethsemane, Henry VIII, Herod, Salome, St John the Baptist church, wool church, Woolsack

(Anne Boleyn’s Communion chalice, donated by Elizabeth I’s physician,

is displayed in a niche in the above.)

 

 

Had her head been brought in on a platter,

she might have seen a vaulted porch, with veins

like gills, or fine tracery of brocade;

or diagrams of a nervous system;

or skeletal frames of hooped farthingales.

That narrow windpipe staircase on the right,

constricted as her white, extended throat,

might have reminded her of a Tower

and the futility of counting steps.

 

This holy place was built on virgin wool.

It was a fold for sheep, who stood before

shearers and then were led to swift slaughter.

Here is a wine glass pulpit, slim as waists,

pre-gravid: a stem for those who could grasp.

 

A Lamb prayed such a cup would pass from Him,

but had to drink it to the bitter dregs

and she had her Gethsemane as well.

Benjamin, caught with a stolen vessel,

was offered clemency – but she had none.

Her gilt chalice, though charged with sacred blood,

conferred no immunity,  nor did it

prevent Dissolution of the Abbey.

 

Criticism of a current favourite

did John the Baptist no favours either.

But the dancer in Herod’s court was sly –

perhaps more so than this sloe-eyed woman,

who ultimately was beheaded too.

 

May, the traditional time for losing

one’s heart to one’s love, was a nuptial month,

but also a month of execution.

 

Cherry tree confetti in the graveyard,

proleptic of this afternoon’s wedding,

has already been bruised and downtrodden.

 

You may sit on a Woolsack, or a throne,

and gain the whole world, or lose your own head.

 

(The engraved acanthus decoration

evokes immortality; lineage.

Though its thorny leaves speak of sin and pain,

it was an apt gift to a physician,

from the grateful daughter of Anne Boleyn.)

 

 

 

Entropy! Entropy!

Tags

Acorn Antiques, Bonnie Prince Charlie, chevet, Cluedo, commode, communion chalice, conceptual art, double bass, entropy, EPNS, Festival Fringe, Glasgow School of Art, lang pack, laws of physics, Lee Hall, monteith, Mrs Overall, poisoned dwarf, Rebus, Steradent, Taggart

Murgatroyd could have screamed, Infamy!  Infamy!  Someone’s had it in for

me!  Instead he muttered, Entropy!  Entropy!

He had always been a glass half empty kind of guy.  He had concluded

that the Earth and planets in general tended towards a state of disorder.

That was why he was such a control freak.  Single-handedly he

attempted mastery of the Universe.  That had been the main issue

between himself and Diana when they had been man and wife.

His embracing of one of the fundamental laws of physics only served to

encourage his concentration on the total absence of the glass itself, and

not just half its contents.

Of course, it wasn’t a glass that was missing, but the very chalice from

which Bonnie Prince Charlie had received his final communion before he

ventured over the Scottish/ English border.

Murgatroyd had tried to dismiss the niggling suspicion that his cleaner’s

grandson had something to do with its disappearance.  After all, had the

dodgy relative not made an unusual request to leave his double bass in

the kitchen for a day or so?  The explanation had been that he was going

to play in a Festival Fringe gig the following weekend and didn’t want to

‘humph it around’ till then.

The local ‘polis‘ had found this highly significant and had quoted the rural myth

associated with Lee Hall, to wit: that a pedlar had once persuaded servants

who had been instructed that no one should be permitted to stay overnight

in their master’s absence, to store a ‘lang pack‘, as a compromise, in

the kitchen, since they refused to shelter him and it was too heavy to

transport further.  He promised to collect it in the morning.

At nightfall, the servants retired and a man emerged from the parcel

and unbarred the door, blew on a silver whistle and admitted some

thieves who had been waiting for the signal.

The ‘polis’ had considered himself an admix of Rebus and Taggart and was

feeling as smug as someone who had just won at Cluedo, without cheating.

Diana had undermined his confidence by pointing out that not even a

poisoned dwarf such as Mrs Connolly’s grandson could have survived in a

three quarter-sized case without air holes.

Drusilla underscored her point, namely that Juniper, though an enfant

terrible, was perfectly honest and, if she had borrowed the aforementioned

object for a piece of conceptual art, would have replaced it before she left.

Dru said that she was writing a character reference for Juniper’s admission

to Glasgow School of Art, and, as her House-mistress, could vouch for her

honesty and probity of character.

In fact, she avowed, at times she is too honest.

As for Juniper’s father, Maxwell,  Dru had been talking to him throughout the

interval, so she knew that he had not been wandering through the house.

He had been flattering her, but joked about the interval being ‘the best bit.’

He hastened to assure her that it was not because he was not enjoying the

concert, but that he was particularly relishing their little tete-a-tete.

Nigel had interrupted to tell her that they had three minutes till the second

half.  He thought Maxwell was the smarmiest man he had had the misfortune

to encounter and was desirous of breaking up their little love-in.

Well, as you’ve said, mused Snod, Mrs Connolly was doing her impression of

Mrs Overall in Acorn Antiques, handing round haggis canapes and so on.

She would have noticed any of the audience wandering about.  The portaloos

were in the courtyard and the signage was clear, so no one should have been

in here.  They had no business to stray.

Sonia added: And I am sure that the chalice was in its niche when we went

to bed. Remember- you were showing it to us when we had the punch from the

monteith?  She addressed this to Murgatroyd who was fiddling with his

cravat in a distracted fashion.  Then you put it away and we all went

upstairs. Mind you, I had a feeling that something was going to happen.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I was on the stairwell and

I could have sworn that something cold touched my face.

Mmm, agreed Diana, though privately annoyed that Sonia always claimed to

have known about things after the event.  But any thief would have taken the

monteith.  It would have seemed more blatantly valuable than the chalice.

The confab was continuing when Aunt Augusta came down the steps into the

barmkin, balancing herself on a stick with a horn handle.  She eased herself

onto a high-backed, tartan-upholstered wing armchair.

Why are you all looking so serious? she demanded. It was a lovely concert,

though I didn’t hear much of it.  Now I can die happy.

Don’t worry, darling, soothed Dru.  There might have been a little robbery, 

but no one has been hurt.  You didn’t hear anything, did you?  She

immediately realised how silly that question had been.

I thought I heard some bagpipes in the early hours, Aunt Augusta said

thoughtfully. When I got up to visit the commode, I thought someone

pushed me, but it was only that grey lady –

Grey lady?! they chorused.

-the one I spoke to on the stairs on the way up to bed.  I asked her if she

had anything that I could put my dentures in and she brought this up later

and left it on the bedside table.  She didn’t even say goodnight when I

thanked her. Not a word. Left it on the bedside table, she did.

Chevet, darling, groaned Murgatroyd.  It’s a chevet.  He could only hope

that the old dear hadn’t used the Japanese lacquer commode, which was

purely decorative and had cost him a king’s ransom in a London auction.

Well, whatever it’s called.  She brought that little goblet thing to me and jolly

useful it was too. I hope my Steradent hasn’t tarnished the silver.

It’s probably just that cheap EPNS stuff, though.

And she took the missing chalice out of her capacious handbag, with a

flourish.

Somebody take this from me, she ordered.  I can’t reach to put it back.

I shrank in 1993.

And she grinned- very pleased with herself- but was totally unaware

that she had forgotten to replace her dentures.

Oh, Aunt Augusta! they all cried.

If only their collective intelligence had been harnessed, they might have

explored more possibilities and might have overcome the entropy that

had threatened to de-stabilise the shared sensation of success of the

musical evening.

Clearly a longer course of meditation at The Tibetan Centre would be

no bad thing in the future.

Meanwhile, who was going to accompany Aunt Augusta in the taxi, all the

way to Snodland?  She couldn’t possibly travel on her own, though she

had miraculously arrived safely on the northward journey.

Drusilla knew that the lot would fall on her.  Oh joy!

Nigel would have to drive the hired van back on his own.  It

must be admitted that he had his uses, even if he had a tendency to

come in too early.

 

Resume

Tags

Bonnie Prince Charlie, Bosphorous, clarsach, communion chalice, Head Teachers' Conference, hypogonadism, Inklings, lacrosse, Land Girl, lost Faberge egg, model railway club, National Trust, Pele Tower, seamed stockings, Simon Bolivar, Snodland, St Birinus, St Vitus

Candia: You think it would be useful?

Brassica: Well, a lot of people have come in on the action

mid-plot, so-yes- why not offer them a synopsis?

Candia:  Okay- they can skip it if they have been following

since Snod’s story took off.

Here it is, folks:

SYNOPSIS: Snod’s Law

Augustus Snodbury, Senior Master and Acting Head of St Birinus’ Middle School

is ripe for retirement. He loves comfort food, the Model Railway Club and Latin.

He is a role model for Junior Masters, but a bête noire for other staff.

For his entire life, he has taken for granted that he was the product of a liaison

of socialite and erstwhile Land Girl, Berenice Snodbury and A N Other.

Berenice’s sister, Augusta, took on responsibility for the child when her sister

ran off to Venezuela, following romantic dreams inspired by her hero, Simon

Bolivar.

The original Augusta, the girls’ mother. had not set them a terribly orthodox

example, as she herself had run around the Bosphorous with an itinerant rug

seller.

Snod’s lonely, institutionalised existence is interrupted by a climactic revelation

that an affair which he conducted with the ‘lax’ (lacrosse) mistress of a

sister establishment many moons ago engendered a child. That ‘child’ is now

a Housemistress at St Vitus’ School for the Academically-Gifted Girl, the school

in which her mother originally taught. (In fact, Gus has unwittingly met his

daughter on a number of occasions, at joint educational functions.)

The reason that his relationship broke down was owing to a Hardyean

twist of fate. A missing communication which contained his marriage

proposal now re-surfaces during re-furbishment for a school let. Diana,

the retired lax mistress, is exposed as having been deceitful.

She married ‘on the re-bound’, foisting her child on Murgatroyd-Syylk,

picture dealer and restorer. The pair subsequently divorced and now

Syylk is completing a restoration project of a Pele Tower in the Borders.

Drusilla, the Housemistress, attempts to encourage her parents to meet.

Will their romance re-ignite? Initially, it is a damp squib.

On Berenice’s death, a mysterious package arrives at school. It contains

a signet ring which Augustus’ apparent half-brother was asked to send

over to England. It bears an insignia associated with Wyvern Mote, now a

National Trust property.

Drusilla and Gus visit Great-Aunt Augusta and take her out of Snodland

Nursing Home for the Debased Gentry for the day, partly to introduce her

to her great-niece, and partly to investigate Wyvern Mote. There they see

a photograph in the schoolroom of two of the original heirs, with their tutor,

Anthony Revelly. The facial resemblance is clear: Gus is his offspring; Revelly

his father, rather than Lord Wyvern.

Lady Wyvern had had the child by her sons’ tutor on the death of her

husband. The tutor was permitted to live in a grace-and-favour apartment

in the stable block, for life, when the property was handed over to The

National Trust.

Berenice, who had been a Land Girl in the vicinity, had been paid an

undisclosed sum to acknowledge the child as being her own. A good time

girl, Berenice had tired of the responsibility, eventually absconding and

leaving her sister to arrange his schooling at St Birinus. Augusta had

once been Head Girl of St Vitus’, so knew of the boys’ prep school

establishment and its reputation.

Now Hugo, in Venezuela, has to be disabused of his belief in his

relationship to Gus.  They decide to leave Aunt Augusta in the dark.

The latter gave her ‘great-niece’ a present of what resembles one

of the famous missing Faberge eggs.  It turns out to be a fake and

yet, Dru’s visit to her step-father in the Pele Tower makes up for her

disappointment, as she is promised a communion chalice which Bonnie

Prince Charlie used before his fateful final ride south, on Syylk’s decease.

(The Pele Tower turns out to have been in Lady Wyvern’s family in the

past, so there is a neat circularity about Drusilla’s future inheritance of

the restored property, as Murgatroyd’s sole heiress.

The Head Teacher of St Birinus’ had an unfortunate ‘turn’ at the Christmas

Eve Midnight Service and was diagnosed with hypogonadism. His mid-life

crisis leads to him taking time off in order to make a motorcycle trip across

The Sahara, much to his wife’s relief. Unfortunately, Gus has to ‘stand in’,

but when his previous boss decides to abdicate, he does not apply for the

permanent post. Nevertheless, a position of Deputy Head is created for him,

in order to boost his pension. Poskett, Milford-Haven and Drusilla Fotheringay-

Syylk apply for the Headship, but are unsuccessful. Will the latter two decide

to throw over their careers and try to make a musical success of their lives

together?

Drusilla has shone in various musical concerts, by playing her harp for both

schools. She has been the focus of attention from Nigel Milford-Haven, the

rather wimpish Junior Master who is beginning to sing solo tenor in some

school productions and Geoffrey Poskett, Choirmaster. She seems to favour

Nigel, since she has asked him to come to the Borders with her in the school

holidays, to stage a concert for clarsach and voice.

She hopes to raise money for Murgatroyd’s roof repairs. Nigel is nervous, as

his mother usually draws on his decorating expertise in the school holidays

and she is not going to be too pleased at his bid for independence.

Meanwhile ‘Snod’ has settled into a friendly relationship with Diana, the mother

of his child, who has sold her cottage and moved back to the Suttonford area,

in which both schools are situated. However, his attention has been attracted

to Virginia Fisher-Giles, the widowed seamed-stocking-wearing PA. An invitation

for coffee chez elle after she has run him to a Head Teachers’ Conference

turns out to be more intimate than either anticipated.

Will he succumb to a projection of future domesticity with Virginia? Will he

resurrect the corpse of his relationship with Diana, or will he continue his

‘Inkling’ existence of bachelor bliss?

The lure of retirement is like an ever-receding pot of gold. He has a year

or two to serve as Deputy Head under the new regime. Will he be able to

preserve the old ways, or will the introduction of a new system create a

tsunami of bureaucracy that will threaten to engulf him?