A sweetly agonising occasion blessed by the most perfect pearl of a June day of a singular loveliness. If ever you find yourself in a similar position to me – a special event of heightened emotion for which you doubt you are capable of keeping the emotions in check, I say find yourself a small person – attentive but capable at any moment of maverick behaviour – and miraculously, getting upset becomes strangely irrelevant.
In celebration of the two parishes’ children’s services, our service began by considering the seeming ugliness of the blobfish (not so ugly viewed from a different angle – appropriate photocopies raised aloft). This went down very well with the small person who is a bit of an animal fancier and is particularly keen on animals with good strong onomatopoeic names. ‘Blob’ he interjected solemnly at intervals thereafter.
Small person giving directions in the churchyard
The hymns – or songs as he called them – were also a great success, enjoyed in my arms facing backwards, feet supported by the back of the pew in front. Completely absorbed, the small one stood open mouthed in wonder at the man playing the organ high in the gallery at the back and at the wonderful noise he made. The non musical bits of the service were a bit more challenging until the small person captured and fondled twigs of pussy willow in the arrangement on the window sill beside us, all the while intoning a rather rambling story about Bertie the bumblebee. By now our feet were littered with orders of service psalm sheets and the bits of paper printed with the notes to Marbeck’s Gloria, so he turned his confident attention to the hymn book where he chose a text to read … but upside down. “Upside down” then became a personal response interjected at future points in the proceedings in a manner which, to a Martian happening to drop into Ipsden Church for his first visit on earth, might have appeared to be liturgically important. As the choir sang an anthem, they were augmented by the small person adding his own gentle lalaing which was sort of charming – I think – well possibly only to me.
The Bishop of Dorchester is a wonderful man of true vision and warmth who has been quietly overworking over the last couple of years as he absorbed the work of the Bishop of Oxford after the latter’s early retirement. He always wears a cope and mitre of the most glorious yellow and at the east end of the our little church bathed in the sunlight of a June morning, as he raised the host during the celebration of mass, people – even little ones – were momentarily transfixed. Is two and a half too little for memories to form, I wondered, or will he remember any of this purely because we tell him about it?
North Stoke parishioners at farewell party
Well, the day continued in a glorious haze in the garden of a house nearby. From early morning women had appeared at the house with salads, a chef David had married (as vicar, rather than actually married himself, you understand) had cooked salmon, ham, chicken, fruit tarts, cheesecakes and Sicilian lemon heart-shaped shortcakes and there were creams of all sorts – single, double and clotted. Prosecco and elderflower cordial flowed with equal measure.
Aaron and Aitch McRobbie performing in the garden house
Live music came from a terrific local couple Aaron and Aitch McRobbie who live next to the church (she has been a backing singer for all sorts of famous people, Jools Holland to name just one). A modest couple, they keep their eye on the church with Aaron locking and unlocking the church everyday (as well as looking after the fabric of the building) and support so many village musical events, performing at Music in the Barn (formerly Music in the Field) for free – all of which we shall now miss.
Small person with a new friend
During the afternoon the small person had multiple minders and made new friends – his football bearing nearly teenage step-cousin, a three year old whose bucket of trucks and cars he rather fancied playing with and fish in a small ornamental pond. Poppy seedlings – very late, only just peeking through, survived as we kept him off what looked like a ploughed but otherwise empty field.
Ipsden farewell to the vicar party
Of course, I cried during the admittedly admirably non rambling speeches and one or two people came and cried on me too. Somewhat stunned we sat through the evening at home in a bit of a trance. I remember feeling a bit like this after leaving school when I just couldn’t quite imagine what the future would be like.
Ipsden – the vicar’s farewell party; the gentlemen of the drink tent
