Cast the First Stone (25 page)

After he had been in the parish for several months it seemed to be a foregone conclusion to everyone – the members of the congregation, Millicent's parents and, of course, Millicent herself – that the couple would discover that they were right for one another. Simon, indeed, had found that the liking he had for her had turned into fondness, and then to what he supposed might be love. They got on well together, they had interests in common, their commitment to the church being the one of primary importance. She would make, he thought, a most suitable wife. Although he might not have been aware of it, he was attempting to make up for his past indiscretions, proving to himself and his parishioners that he intended to live an exemplary life.

Mr and Mrs Hogarth had taken to Simon right from the start and saw him as an ideal husband for their daughter; a far better and more suitable match than they had dared to wish for. The young women of the parish, many of whom had harboured their own hopes of gaining the attention and affection of the new young curate, were to be doomed to disappointment. In the autumn of 1948, a year after he had moved to the parish, the engagement of the couple was announced. They were married in the summer of the following year.

If the vicar, the Reverend Mike Sedgewick, had any doubts or reservations about the match he felt it was not his place to say so. He knew that Simon was not without experience as far as the fair sex was concerned; and there was no doubt that Millicent Hogarth would make him an admirable wife. An ideal vicar's wife when the time came for him to have a parish of his own.

The couple moved to a small house provided for them by the church and they stayed there in Sheffield for the next three years. It was rather a long time for a curacy but Mike and Simon worked well together and neither of them really wanted to break up the partnership.

Simon knew, though, that the time would come when he had to move on. In 1951 they moved to Hull where Simon started his second curacy. By this time he was thirty years of age, and Millicent was thirty-one. They had hoped that she would conceive and bear a child, but time after time they were disappointed. Then, in 1952, they were delighted when, at last, Millicent discovered that she was pregnant.

Their joy, alas, was short-lived as she suffered a miscarriage five months later. They were told that the child would have been a boy. It was a bitter disappointment to Simon. He had badly wanted this child for both their sakes. He was aware that cracks were beginning to appear in the fabric of their marriage, and he had hoped that a baby might bring them closer together again. There was more disillusionment ahead, however. Millicent had suffered greatly with the miscarriage, and they were told that it would not be advisable for her to have any more children.

Simon was disappointed, not only because of his hope that a child would bring some purpose back to their marriage, but also because like most men he wanted children of his own. He would have been overjoyed to be the father of a son. What man didn't want to have a son? Or a daughter, of course; that would be great, too. One of each eventually he had hoped, or more. Now his wishes were not to be fulfilled.

Millicent, too, was disappointed, but not as much as he had expected her to be. After the first sadness and bitterness that she showed on hearing the doctor's advice, she then seemed to accept it as inevitable, ‘just one of those things'.

Simon continued as a curate until 1959 when he was appointed as rector of St Peter's church in Aberthwaite, There was a certain mellowing in his relationship with Millicent at that time. Simon was pleased at his promotion, determined to do all he could to be a good leader of his new flock. He understood that the previous rector had been old and rather set in his ways. He knew that Millicent was pleased for him too, and she seemed happier at the move to north Yorkshire than she had been for several years.

They proved popular as a couple in the parish. Millicent stood her ground with the somewhat implacable ladies of the congregation who had had all their own way in the running of the church activities for too long. The two of them worked well together and the church started to develop and prosper under their leadership. New innovations that he introduced, such as women in the church choir, and a Youth Group, were accepted after an initial resistance. He was gratified when people told him that they had noticed a revival in the church after a period of stagnation.

On a personal level Simon knew that his marriage was not all that he would like it to be; but Millicent seemed happier than she had been at any time since their very early days together. He realized that they must try to appear to others as a devoted couple. He was, however, still a young man and he regretted deeply the lack of any real spontaneous love within their marriage.

It was a great shock when Millicent was taken ill, very suddenly, in the winter of 1962. There had been an outbreak of 'flu in the town and she had succumbed to it more severely than many others. It was an even greater shock when it developed into pneumonia and she died as a result.

The people of the congregation were very sympathetic and helpful. They had liked Millicent well enough, but she had never evoked the same respect and affection that they had felt for their rector. Simon was touched by their concern for him. He did not need to put on an act as he was genuinely sad at Millicent's death. He had been very fond of her; he had believed at first that he truly loved her. They had been married for thirteen years and her death would leave a void in his life, mainly because he was so used to her being there.

He noticed with wry amusement the attention of the women of the parish, especially the younger unmarried ones. He accepted their offers of help and their more material offerings of cakes, pies and home-made scones gratefully but impartially. He had worked closely, been before Millicent's death, with a nice young widow called Ruth Makepeace. She was secretary to the Church Council, and they had come to know one another quite well. He had wondered for a while whether he might take their friendship a stage further. He suspected that she would not be unwilling, and because of this he knew he must be very careful not to encourage any reciprocal feelings she might have until he was quite sure of his own.

He came to the conclusion that although he liked her very much it would never develop into anything more than a friendship. Admittedly, she would be an ideal clergyman's wife; the church, together with her work as a schoolteacher, was her main interest in life. She was attractive in a quiet way, friendly and homely, and she was the same age as himself. He knew, though, that the vital spark that should attract him to her was missing. He knew now that it had never really been there in his relationship with Millicent either, and he must not make the same mistake again. He sensed her disappointment and a certain coolness towards him as she began to realize his feelings – or lack of them – towards her.

Fiona Dalton came on the scene unexpectedly, miraculously, like a burst of sunshine on a dull day. And Simon knew at once that this was the young woman for whom he had been waiting for so long.

Fiona had made up her mind to be a good wife to Simon in every way. She was a reasonable cook as she had lived on her own for quite a while, and before that she had done the shopping, cooking and household chores for herself and her grandmother.

She and Simon had decided that it might be better if she worked only part-time at the library. She did not mind forfeiting her post as chief librarian as she now had far more responsibilities. She found she was able to manage the part-time work quite easily after the long hours she had been used to working. And this, of course, left her with time to help Simon with his church work.

Fiona knew that this was expected of her, not so much by her husband as by the members of the congregation. St Peter's was not a large enough parish to warrant the extra help of a curate, and so the new rector's wife was seen by many to provide the ideal solution. She was eager to help in any way she could, but Simon had told her right from the start that she was not to be regarded as an unpaid curate, which was the lot of many clergy wives.

She volunteered to be a Sunday school teacher. The attendance on Sunday afternoons in 1965 was still encouraging. Between fifty and sixty boys and girls met in the church hall at 2.30 each Sunday, dividing into small groups of six or eight, each with their own teacher. The groups were strictly segregated; it had never been considered ideal to have boys and girls together although that was the norm at day schools. Fiona – somewhat cowardly she felt – opted for a group of eight- and nine-year-old girls, thinking that they might be easier to control.

She had also joined the choir at the suggestion of Henry Tweedale, the organist and choir master. She enjoyed the Friday-night meetings when they practised the hymns for the following Sunday, and often an anthem for inclusion in one of the services, either Matins or Evensong.

Simon had also suggested – although he had not insisted – that she should take over the position of enrolling member of the Mothers' Union.

‘It's usually held by the rector's wife,' he told her. ‘Mrs Bayliss and her cronies will have to recognize you as the leader whether they like it or not. I suggest that you attend a couple of meetings and see how things are run. You may have ideas of your own about changes you might like to make. Then you could take over in a month or so, perhaps?'

Fiona was very unsure. She reluctantly attended the next meeting. It was the first meeting of the autumn session as they had a break during the month of August.

Mrs Ethel Bayliss was in charge of proceedings and she welcomed the rector's wife in quite a cordial manner, although Fiona still felt that the woman was looking critically at her short skirt and bare legs. It was a warm early September day and Fiona was making the most of the summer, still wearing her light dresses and fashionable sandals which showed her painted toenails. Most of the women, though, she noticed, were clad as though it was already autumn, in tweed suits or in coats and the inevitable hats.

‘We are pleased to welcome Mrs Norwood, our new rector's wife, at the meeting this afternoon,' said Mrs Bayliss. ‘Pardon me! I should, of course, have said our rector's new wife.' She gave a little laugh. ‘Simon, if I may be so bold as to use his Christian name, has been with us for quite a long time, but Mrs Norwood is still a relative newcomer to the parish. Anyway, we welcome you, Mrs Norwood, and hope that you will enjoy our fellowship this afternoon.'

‘Thank you . . . and please call me Fiona,' she replied. Mrs Bayliss's condescending smile seemed to suggest that her request would fall on stony ground, at least in some quarters.

They started with a hymn, ‘Fight the Good Fight with all thy Might', which Fiona hoped was not to be a prediction of her future dealings with the Mothers' Union. Mrs Blanche Fowler played the piano, the cherries on her hat bobbing merrily in time to the music.

There was a short prayer led by Mrs Bayliss, then the ladies all joined in saying the Mothers' Union prayer which Fiona, to her embarrassment, did not know. Mrs Bayliss pointedly handed her a card with the prayer printed on it. She vowed that she would learn it before the next meeting.

Mrs Bayliss then introduced the speaker for the afternoon, a lady from a local flower-arranging club, who showed them how to make an attractive display with just the minimum of flowers, enhanced with the use of ferns and any greenery that might be available in one's own garden. She made it all look very easy. The most important item, Fiona gathered, was the block of oasis. She decided that she would purchase some and have a go when she had the time.

After a final hymn they all adjourned to the other end of the hall where cups of tea and biscuits were being handed out from the kitchen behind the serving hatch. A couple of the ladies had tiptoed out during the singing of the final hymn to prepare the refreshments.

Fiona sat with Joan Tweedale at one of the little tables dotted around the room. ‘Well now, how are you enjoying it?' asked Joan with a grin.

Fiona sighed. ‘I feel so-o-o intimidated,' she replied. ‘For a start I didn't know the prayer and I felt such a fool! Why didn't someone warn me?'

‘Sorry!' said Joan. ‘I never thought about it.'

‘It's not your fault,' said Fiona, ‘Simon should have told me; on the other hand I don't suppose he has much to do with the Mothers' Union. I enjoyed the flower arranging though. What happens? Do they have a different speaker each time?'

‘More or less, on a variety of topics. Or occasionally one of the members might give a talk. Millicent used to speak, now and again. It's more or less expected of the rector's wife. Oh . . . sorry! Does that frighten you a bit?'

Fiona knew that the horror must have shown on her face. ‘Quite frankly, it scares the pants off me!' she admitted. ‘Actually, I've already decided, Joan, that I can't take this job on – the enrolling member thing. I'm going to tell Simon. From what I can see, Mrs Bayliss is in her element, and woe betide anyone who tries to oust her from her position! I don't want to make an enemy for life.'

‘Well, if that's how you feel then I do understand,' said Joan. ‘I know old Ma Bayliss can be rather overpowering, but some of us don't like to think that she's getting all her own way. To be honest, I only come because I feel it's expected of me as the organist's wife, although I shall enjoy coming a lot more now that you're here. The shop is closed on a Wednesday afternoon, of course – half day closing in Aberthwaite – so I've no excuse not to come.'

‘Yes, I've noticed that you are the youngest one here,' said Fiona. The majority of the women seemed to be in their sixties or seventies, with one or two exceptions. Apart from Mrs Bayliss and Mrs Fowler, the older contingent consisted of Mrs Halliwell – renowned for her home-made cakes; the two sisters, Miss Mabel Thorpe and Mrs Gladys Parker, who both seemed to be giving Fiona the cold shoulder; and several others, some of whose names she knew but by no means all of them. She knew that it was one of her requirements, as the rector's wife, to know everyone's name. What a daunting task! To Fiona they all tended to look alike; of a ‘certain age', grey-haired, many of them bespectacled, and wearing tweed coats and hats. ‘Don't any of the younger women come?' she asked.