Being given to the inquisitiveness of a feline,I took a stroll over to the joke reference and was enlightened to note that far from brimming with hellfire,the site I was directed to did indeed contain certain jocular references.
I was reminded of the time,and this not too long ago, when the Bishop of Exeter graced Daddys little Chapel perched atop the cliff looking out to an endless sea,where the glisten of sun specks danced a merry dance,swaying and sweeping as they rode the waves which later broke with elemental force upon the beach far below,bringing with them the hopes of a million sea creatures,that one day,maybe,they too would be able walk upon land,and with a heavy surge accompanied by the jingle of a thousand pebbles,those waves took away the fears of mortal man,that this time,this time they were not took themselves.
So we the gathered,were pewed and fairly uncomfortable on hard cherrywood benches,and we sang joyous of someone hallowed in his own name and as the drone of the organ laid a backdrop of mournful notes for sinners and holy men alike to walk upon,heads began to turn as the man in the tall funny hat made a way of grace between cold pews and his feet echoed upon the frigid slate.We have similar slate in the meat and poultry pantry up at the house and by golly,cook swears by it.Rather too much I'm afraid,but then she does have Lambert to tend to on a daily and recurrent basis.
His footsteps foretold of sermons serious,and my eyes began to droop in pretence of prayer,only to have the lie given by my falling like a slump into Mummy,who rudely sat me up to straight once more,and I smiled while my hand played pretty with my hair,all ribboned to a bun,and fitting neat beneath my bonnet.I saw the smirk of Sally Watkins back in the commoners pews,a true Mooncalf if ever there was one,and resolved then,but in covert tones,to of a certainty,sully her frock with the muddiest of things directly after the service.
The Bishop embraced within soft hands(the work of God presumably not requiring too much in the way of hard labour) the lecturn,all polished especial for this very occassion,and he cast a jolly eye about his gathered flock.It is my wont to sit at as an acute angle as I can possibly contrive whilst at Church,and this so that only the most cursorious of glances can ever be sent my way by the presbytry without that they would have to make an especial point of looking askance,and would therefore draw unrequired attention to themselves.My ploy at this juncture,is of course to lessen the chances of being caught unnawares,and worse,napping.
Lecturn firmly gripped(well,not so firmly as to constitute a firm gentlemans shake)the Bishop began to speak,and the collective hush,just like the nouns above,was resonant amongst us.My fears of a foreshortened Sunday turned to be foundless fears,and I became engaged within the web he wove and furthermore,interested in diametric opposal to my more usual state of mental torpitude.
Now up to this point,my main focus had been the very tall hat,also known by the name of a Miter,and the humorous consequence of some unfortunate occurence befalling the Bishop,due to his Miter.I was not to be disappointed,although by no means did anything happen that day other than the Bishop himself telling the congathered people of the one time when he had forsaken the ritual of tying a secret string within the Miter,in order to make it a snug fit atop his head.It was with a degree of vicarious mirth therefore,that we all were to learn of that very happenstance,and the logical sequence of events that led inexorably toward his utter dismay at being the focus of everyones attention,as his Miter slid slow but sure down and over his eyes.Now that made me chuckle,for I realised at this point,that this man was a human being,subject to the laws of Newton,just as was I.He did not say what he thought of Darwin however.
Adjunct to the main story,and for myself,just as fulfilling,Sally Watkins,that scopperloit of base instinct,was later to receive a rather large but annoymous donation of Devon clart which quite ruined a plain,if once smart, Sunday dress.
Lizzie xx