In recent times, Parochial Church Councils have not only been consulted about the appointment of a new vicar or rector, but they now draw up a job description, plan interviews and have been known to get all the applicants together at a great service, so as to compare one with another. In one instance when the P.C.C. said 'Yes', the man wrote back to say he did not think he could live up to the expectations required. Anyway, there is no guarantee that when appointed a person will be as good as one would have expected from the interview, so P.C.C.'s have only themselves to blame rather than the patron of the living.
It was John Betjeman who wrote 'But in small villages I've known, Of ones that make the vicar groan, And wish he could be left alone. So just you come with me, To a really wicked P.C.C.'. It was just such a church council which would reduce one vicar to tears, but this was in Norfolk and his successor was a local man, he knew the lie of the land and when things started to get out of hand he dropped into broad Norfolk and brought a change in no time. Perhaps he was eccentric, but if that church council had appointed its vicar in the first place, eccentrics would have never been considered. Yet the one thing that the Church of England can claim is that it has had more than its fair share of eccentric clergy.
Perhaps it is unfair to include Parson Woodforde in a list of eccentrics, but from our point of view, the constant references to his food seem somewhat strange. He often tells us in his diary that he has breakfasted, dined and supped at some place and at times goes into great detail about the food. It seems to have been a hobby, and when it came to his turn to entertain the local clergy, he really played the generous host. He also liked to be entertained and on one occasion wrote. 'We had for dinner a Calf's head, boiled Fowl and Tongue, a Saddle of Mutton rosted on the Side Table, and a fine Swan rosted with Current Jelly Sauce for the first course. The second course a couple of Wild Fowl called Dun Fowls, Larks, Blamange, Tarts etc. etc'.
Then there was the vicar who rejoiced in the name of Basil. When the church tower needed repair, an appeal went out to repair Basil's Faulty Tower'. Basil was often seen jogging up and down the main street with a newspaper in his hand, practise yoga in front of the altar and was known to forget funerals. It was said that when he preached, he both looked and sounded like Frankie Howerd, which made it hard to suppress a titter. He met his end a few years ago in a strange accident, he fell, off a home gym machine.
Country clergy are supposed to care for their gardens, the theory being that a man who could not look after his roses was not likely to be able to look after his parishioners' souls. The story goes that a certain bishop was being shown round a vicar's garden and was admiring the roses. 'What is this one called?' The vicar replied, 'The bishop.' Encouraged by this answer, the bishop next asked the name of an even more resplendent bloom, to be informed that it was called, 'The Pope.' I digress.
One retired school teacher, who was my P.C.C. secretary said to me one day, she thought that sex was one of God's little jokes. Of course the clergy are never more ridiculous than when they hold forth on this subject. The Revd. S. could always be counted on to write to the press and the press would always publish his letters which were always on the subject. Then there was a long running series of letters concerning page 3 girls (When asked by the teachers to bring newspaper to school, nearly every one was the Sun, and staff spent a lot of time sorting it out before laying it on the floor.) The Rev.M. and the Revd.S. had opposing views, one was an artist and the other a pamphleteer. So the whole area took a keen interest in the saga.... it may even be still running.
Of course the most noteworthy character was a former vicar of Stiffkey. He spent his weekdays in London, saying he was helping fallen women, but action was taken against him when he brought some of them back to the village. He was condemned by a Consistory Court, defrocked and ended his days going round dressed in a barrel at a circus, and finished up being a meal for a lion. One rector of a neighbouring village, had bad eyesight, so he could not drive, he cycled everywhere. To his old Cambridge College for re-unions, with his dress suit tied on the back of the bike, or right up country for his holiday. I persuaded him to be the School Manager's secretary, his agendas were always on pieces of paper the size of a bus ticket and he would always arrive just in time for tea. His large rectory was approached up a long overgrown drive and the rooms were sparsely furnished with one tatty curtain full length and the other torn off half way up. He was well liked however, particularly at Fêˆte time, for he would always double whatever the fêˆte made. Hardly an example I could follow in a large village.
One of my predecessors, took on the living at the age of 65 and was there for the next 20 years. It was at a time when it was not possible for most clergy to retire, you carried on till the end. Anyway this man continued to live in the three storey vicarage, moving from one room to the next as they became uninhabitable. Every day he cycled to the Railway Institute and had his sandwiches with the men, so he was always available, but he was best known for the way he rubbed his eye when preaching, he only had one lens left in his spectacles and could reach through it, and the congregation knew when he was coming to the end of his address, because he always finished with a bit of poetry.
Time is too short to tell of the unpopular dean, the train loving parson, the man who moved his church, stone by stone or the parson who took silk and was ordained in the same week, became a colonial judge, a Roman Catholic and ended up as vicar of a London City church.
I feel it all beginning to rub off... and before anyone tells me so, I had better stop.
written by Fr Arthur Green
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