The Downfall of Reverend Allcock

Reverend Allcock secured the battered, old, leather wallet onto the chain that was attached to his belt and slipped it into the pocket, of the trousers he wore beneath his cassock. It didn't pay to be careless, especially now that squatters had moved in to Bankside Cottage. He had just arisen from his afternoon nap and a dream in which he had enjoyed a rather steamy interlude with the butcher. He was still aroused and wondered if he should do something about his condition but time was getting on and he was having tea with Mrs Letitia Winslow-Harrington who didn't appreciate tardiness. Regretfully he ignored his favourite member of the congregation (as he was fond of calling his appendage) and turned his thoughts to afternoon tea.
At the same time as the vicar was rising from his rest, Mrs Letitia Winslow-Harrington was yet again, instructing Kasia, the new Polish maid on the correct etiquette of serving tea. Kasia, whose English was not good, kept bobbing up and down in nervous curtsies and nodding. Her employer was not at all convinced that the silly girl had understood.
'Best china, lump sugar, don't forget the tongs.'
It was then that she thought she saw a dark shape outside, edging its way around the topiary.
Mrs Winslow-Harrington was no retiring violet. Taking a golf club from her husband's golfbag (for heaven's sake, how many times had she instructed him, not to leave the ghastly things hanging about the hall?) she let herself out of the front door.
Walking briskly, shoulders back, bosom out like a great, stuffed, tweed sofa, military gait, sensible brown lace-ups crunching on the gravel drive she came to the side of the house and stopped by the wheelie bins.
No sign of any trespasser. She remained unconvinced and her eyes scanned the shrubs and trees waiting for any movement. The light was failing.
'Trespassers are not permitted in these grounds' she declared in a loud voice that brooked no argument and caused whole colonies of birds to take flight. 'I return inside to summon the Constabulary. I suggest you quit these grounds immediately.' Then,turning crisply, she marched back into the house.

Scum Mcfee had had a close call. He waited until the old battleaxe had returned to the house. He knew for a fact that the village copper would be leaning on the bar of the Fox and Hounds at this time, enjoying his customary pint. Scum had expected that a posh house like this would be a fregan's ticket to a good hearty supper. There were 5 of them to feed tonight back at the squat. He wished that he still had his bottle of cider with him but he'd dropped it on the road outside the gates when he was scaling the wall. He decided to wait a bit until it got proper dark.

Arriving at the house, as the grand old clock in the hall struck four, the Reverend Allcock handed over his heavy coat and gloves to the little maid. Hmmm, another new one. He wondered how long this one would last.
Mrs Winslow-Harrington received him graciously. He noted with satisfaction that the occasional table was set with fine china, intricately sewn lace cloths, two plates of delectable sandwiches and a cake stand with a rich fruit cake and a victoria sponge upon it.
Mrs Winslow-Harrington poured the tea and the vicar helped himself to a sandwich.
'I'm rather concerned that the Applebys, the new tenants of Rose Cottage are neglecting their front garden' she began.
'Ah yes..most remiss' replied the vicar between mouthfuls of tongue sandwich.
'And they have been resident here for nine weeks now, and haven't once shown their faces in Church.'
Mrs Winslow-Harrington was a committed non believer but she did believe it was one's duty to be seen to support the Church and all its activities.
'No indeed,' said the vicar, daintily picking up a cucumber sandwich.
'Someone should have a word' said Mrs Winslow-Harrington rather imperiously.
It was obvious to the vicar, whom she was inferring the 'someone' should be.
'Ah, dear lady. One so wishes one had more time but with all the responsibilities of the parish...'
'Quite Vicar..then I shall go myself'
'An excellent idea. I must say, Mrs Winslow-Harrington, this cake is most delicious!'
'Village bakery. I am still seeking a replacement for the cook. More tea Vicar?' And Mrs Winslow-Harrington laughed heartily as she always did when she posed the question.
The vicar nodded, his mouth being otherwise occupied and Mrs Winslow-Harrington refilled his cup from a gleaming silver teapot.
Then she rang a little brass bell and resumed her conversation.
'The Bartleys are having problems. Did you know?'
The vicar shook his head and raised his eye brows whilst he continued to gorge on the cake.
'One doesn't like to listen to gossip but at the last W I meeting it was suggested that the wife is having relations... with a butcher.'
Crumbs and tea exploded from the Reverend Allcock's mouth. To cover his distress he feigned a coughing attack. Mopping his mouth with a napkin he cleared his throat and said,'The butcher you say?'
'Yes. The butcher from Milton Farnham. Not our butcher of course. It's said his preference lies in quite a different direction.'
Reverend Allcock's spirits rose from the depths of hell and soared to new heights. The Hallelujah Chorus resounded from the corners of the high ceilings. He was quite restored. He reminded himself, 'Everything is possible for him who believes' John 11 v 40. Cheerfully he helped himself to another piece of cake.
'Where is that silly girl?' Mrs Winslow-Harrington proceeded to shake the bell so violently the vicar experienced a veritable storm in his teacup.
Kasia came bustling through the door and dropped a deep curtsey.
'Stop that curtseying nonsense girl, you have forgotten the hot water!'
Kasia fled to the scullery and retrieved the little silver pot, refilled it with hot water from the tap and rushed back to the drawing room. As she was dismissed, Kasia heard her employer exclaim. 'The girl will have to go. She is completely incompetent!'
'So inconvenient for you. I do sympathise.' consoled the vicar.

Kasia didn't understand what 'incompetent' meant but she knew what 'the girl will have to go' meant. She took herself into the garden and sat shivering on a stone step, sobbing into her frilly pinny.
Scum watched her from nearby, . There had been nothing worth having from the bins. ('Mean, old cow! Bet she insisted on using up every scrap.') Seeing Kasia's misery he stepped out from the shadows. She looked sweet and wholesome.
'Whassup?' He asked sitting next to her.
Kasia didn't know who this strange young man was but she was beyond caring. He was dressed all in black with long, greasy, black hair. Even in her distress she couldn't help but note that he had very long eyelashes. No one had been kind to her or even noticed her since she got to this country.
'I am shot,' she said.
'Shot! said Scum 'Jesus! Where?'
'No I mean I am shot... like this', and she made her hand into a gun and with 2 fingers exclaimed, 'Boof!...I am losing job.'
'Oh you mean you've been fired!' And the young man laughed and so did Kasia and he thought she looked even prettier when she smiled and she thought he was not only kind...but handsome too!
'I am having to go and there is nowhere I go to'.
'Oh well, you've come to the right bloke then...go and get your stuff...but first..show me where the kitchen is'.

'Now the main reason I asked you here this afternoon, Vicar is to discuss the undesirables that have taken up residence in Bankside Cottage.'
'Ah' the vicar assumed an appropriate serious demeanour and shook his head.
'Something simply must be done.' continued Mrs Winslow-Harrington.
'Indeed. A difficult situation. The appropriate agencies must be informed.'
'I have rung the Chairman of the Council and the Lady Mayoress and the police. It seems that the itinerants have rights and they are powerless to act! Apparently these work shy, shoddy vagrants enjoy legal rights at the law-abiding tax payers expense!'
'I applaud your tenacity..your good citizenship Mrs Winslow-Harrington but really I think the law must be left to settle this..er..upsetting matter. 'Render unto Caesar' ...and all that' he finished lamely.
Seeing the expression on the face of his hostess the vicar added, 'Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.' Hebrews 12 v 3.
'I've no intention of growing weary and losing heart Vicar! I intend to have a word with Hugo Chumleigh-Smythe, our M P.!'
'Wonderful!' smiled the vicar ' wiping his fingers on his napkin.'When Justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers' Proverbs 21 verse 15'
It appeared to him that the conversation was making Mrs Winslow-Harrington bad tempered and that she had a great deal more to say on the subject, so the vicar, now feeling replete, looked at his watch and said, 'Forgive me, dear lady but duty calls. Still Sunday's sermon to write on the evils of over indulgence. It has been most agreeable'.
Mrs Winslow-Harrington, thwarted and frustrated, decided that she was tired of suffering fools gladly and stood up.'Let me show you out vicar.'
In the hallway, she handed the vicar his coat and gloves and let him out of the front door. He walked down the gravel drive deep in thought. He was thinking about the butcher and coming to realise that the chemistry between them was not of his imagining. He felt the butcher was a sensitive man who would need a little encouragement. What if he were to say 'And how is the salami today?'
He imagined the butcher pursing his lips, lowering his eyelids and in a rich, fruity voice answering 'Big and meaty vicar..shall I show you some?'
He shook the scene from his mind...far too vulgar...he needed something just as suggestive but more subtle. It was at this moment that he saw that the butcher's van was in fact parked outside the gates. He must be delivering meat to up to the house. Hastily the vicar retraced his steps hurrying up the drive before cutting across the lawn and around the side of the house.
Mrs Winslow-Harrington drawing the heavy, damask curtains saw a dark shape crossing the lawn in the shadows. Filled with resolve, she strode out into the hall to pluck up a golf club.
'I'll have you this time, you blighter!'

When Kasia returned with her suitcase, flushed with excitement, Scum told her to wait for him at the gates. She had needed to take cover behind a tree as she had spied the butcher coming up the path carrying a heavy basket, muttering to himself ..something about 'broken glass' and 'punctures' and 'bastards'. A minute after him scurried the priest. When the coast was clear she ran for it.

The butcher arrived at the back door. The kitchen was in darkness. Only a dim light shone from the larder. As he entered the kitchen he saw Scum coming out of the pantry carrying a black bin bag.
The butcher dropped his basket and lunged forward to tackle him and they landed before the open door. The butcher, lying on top of Scum took a good, close look at him, smiled and said in a rich, fruity voice,
'Now, what's a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?'
'Shit' thought Scum.
It was an inopportune moment for the vicar to arrive at the kitchen door. Witnessing the scene before him and hearing the butcher's licentious words, his mouth fell open in horror. He was to remember the moment as endless, until the number 5 iron came crashing down upon his head, sending him reeling into darkness and oblivion. His last thought before losing consciousness and crashing to the floor was,
'Cast your cares on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.' Psalms 55 verse 22