On one fortnight every year, I am responsible for ensuring that our village church is kept clean and tidy, as are many other villagers in our Parish. This is not a particularly arduous task, much easier in fact than the fortnight during which I am responsible for cleaning the brass, of which there seems an inordinate amount..This year it came at the same time as the AGM of our Village Hall Committee followed swiftly by the first meeting of the new Committee, which all involved much typing on my part, and long walks delivering first the Agenda, then the Minutes. So it was well into my fortnight before I found time to gather my Hoover, broom, dusters, dustpan and brush and sally forth.
Ours is just a quiet 13th Century country church, but it is its setting which makes it rather special. It sits in a sheltered bowl with hills rising all around, part of an area designated as of Outstanding Natural Beauty. When I clattered the lych gate shut, and struggled up the path with my cleaning equipment, a couple of horses in a paddock just beyond the churchyard looked up with mild interest, their chestnut coats gleaming in the summer sunshine. Cows grazed contentedly in the fields beyond, and the few houses scattered along the hillsides seemed to be dosing peacefully in the warmth of the sun.
I love having this ancient church all to myself for a while, and go about giving it a mini-spring-clean with great enthusiasm, singing much-loved hymns to myself and glorying in the tranquility of the place. I imagine all the many happy occasions this old church has seen over hundreds of years, the simple Baptisms, the country weddings, the Christmas Services. And I ponder too on the tears shed here, and the sorrowful prayers, and the comfort that only a holy place such as this can provide.
I remember too a very happy time, when I brought two of our young grandchildren armed with their own dusters and brushes, to give me a helping hand. They swept and dusted with great enthusiasm, but to little avail, and merrily investigated almost every movable item in the church. When all was finished, the elder – Katy aged 7 - decided we should have our own little Service, that she would be Preacher, and her younger brother William and I would be the congregation. She had him hold up Hymn Numbers and we had to sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ right through, before she told us to take our seats. She had picked up a Cross from a window ledge, climbed the steps to the pulpit, and her head and shoulders just about visible, remarked on the sadly small congregation for a church this size, before proceeding with her Sermon. ‘You see Jesus here on the Cross’ she exclaimed in high ecclesiastical style ‘Well, do you know he is NOT here – and where is He? – He is in our hearts!’ (She had obviously profited from her education at a Church of England Primary school in a village just across the Mendips.)
Whilst enjoying my normally solitary time in Church, I take great delight in reading the lovely things people write in our Visitors’ Book So many folk, it seems, take time to drop in when touring the area, and their comments are a joy. One however, made me smile this morning Obviously written by a child (named Laura) it read ‘Very Good. Bit smelly though’.….. obviously she had not appreciated what I consider is an essential element of old churches – its odeur d’antiquite – made up partly of a vague dampness, partly the lingering perfume of flower arrangements (as well as a touch of the remains of dead flowers) and partly, I think, for want of a better explanation, the Holy Spirit (though not the alchoholic kind!). It was good to see another little girl - Emily - had written on the following page ‘I think this church is brill’. Very reassuring!
When I had finished the inside of the Church, I went out to tidy up the Porch, noticing pinned on the old door a warning to keep it closed to stop the swallows and bats getting trapped inside. The swallows were greatly in evidence, swooping excitedly from their nest just inside the Porch, around my head, and out into the Churchyard. However, I couldn’t resist leaving the heavy door fixed open whilst I swept the flagged floor, and Hoovered the doormat, all the time to the accompaniment of much twittering from the agitated swallows who I took good care to exclude. I thought I owed it to Laura to give the church a blast of fresh air. And though she might not have agreed with me, I left the church, armed with my trusty tools, feeling it had that same nice clean whiff about it that our own home does after I’ve had one of my too rare housewifely purges!
I remember too a very happy time, when I brought two of our young grandchildren armed with their own dusters and brushes, to give me a helping hand. They swept and dusted with great enthusiasm, but to little avail, and merrily investigated almost every movable item in the church. When all was finished, the elder – Katy aged 7 - decided we should have our own little Service, that she would be Preacher, and her younger brother William and I would be the congregation. She had him hold up Hymn Numbers and we had to sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ right through, before she told us to take our seats. She had picked up a Cross from a window ledge, climbed the steps to the pulpit, and her head and shoulders just about visible, remarked on the sadly small congregation for a church this size, before proceeding with her Sermon. ‘You see Jesus here on the Cross’ she exclaimed in high ecclesiastical style ‘Well, do you know he is NOT here – and where is He? – He is in our hearts!’ (She had obviously profited from her education at a Church of England Primary school in a village just across the Mendips.) Whilst enjoying my normally solitary time in Church, I take great delight in reading the lovely things people write in our Visitors’ Book So many folk, it seems, take time to drop in when touring the area, and their comments are a joy. One however, made me smile this morning Obviously written by a child (named Laura) it read ‘Very Good. Bit smelly though’.….. obviously she had not appreciated what I consider is an essential element of old churches – its odeur d’antiquite – made up partly of a vague dampness, partly the lingering perfume of flower arrangements (as well as a touch of the remains of dead flowers) and partly, I think, for want of a better explanation, the Holy Spirit (though not the alchoholic kind!). It was good to see another little girl - Emily - had written on the following page ‘I think this church is brill’. Very reassuring!When I had finished the inside of the Church, I went out to tidy up the Porch, noticing pinned on the old door a warning to keep it closed to stop the swallows and bats getting trapped inside. The swallows were greatly in evidence, swooping excitedly from their nest just inside the Porch, around my head, and out into the Churchyard. However, I couldn’t resist leaving the heavy door fixed open whilst I swept the flagged floor, and Hoovered the doormat, all the time to the accompaniment of much twittering from the agitated swallows who I took good care to exclude. I thought I owed it to Laura to give the church a blast of fresh air. And though she might not have agreed with me, I left the church, armed with my trusty tools, feeling it had that same nice clean whiff about it that our own home does after I’ve had one of my too rare housewifely purges!
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