THE IDES OF MARCH

Time moves on and Josiah has made a monumental decision

“You’ll be … pleased, I hope … to hear this,” purred Jodie to her father after he’d welcomed her into the vicarage on an unexpected afternoon visit.

“Then it’s not bad news?” grinned Josiah Pyke, but Jodie noticed something about him.

“Why aren’t you wearing your collar?” asked his daughter as she sat down, noticing the absence of a clerical collar on her father’s shirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it before.”

“I’ve my reasons,” he replied, “and you won;t know this, but there’ll be a van round soon for my stuff.”

“Why? Have they promoted you?” asked Jodie, “are you a bishop or something? Wait till I tell Michael! He’ll be over the moon, as you will be when I tell you my news.”

“I’ve resigned,” Josiah said shortly. “I’ve lost my faith and can’t carry on preaching what I don’t believe in to people who need to have something to trust in for themselves. So I’ve resigned and the few personal bits and pieces that I’ve accumulated are going with me.”

“But where to, dad?” she asked, shocked, “you belong to this place.”

“To my cottage, of course,” he replied with a grin. “The tenants have already moved out. They didn’t need asking because they were going anyway, and Tomm’s Playground is all mine again, a haven where I can spend my declining years.”

“So you’re not moving far?”

“Less than a mile, in truth, but it’s going to be a wrench for a while. I’ve got stuck in my ways here. After all, I was born here, moved out when I was a kid, came back as the vicar, had you here, lost your lovely mother here… now I need a change. I feel it in my bones, and that change will be important to me. But now tell me, what’s your news?”

“Are you ready for it? You’re going to be a granddad!”

Josiah maybe should have been expecting it, but for some reason it came as a total shock. Him a granddad! Surely he was too young for such a thing to happen to him? But no, he wasn’t… he knew that.

“How?” he asked feebly, not meaning the monosyllabic question but needing to fill the air with something that wasn’t surprised silence.

“How did I get pregnant, dad?” she asked, and she giggled. “Do you want the unexpurgated version? Well I’ll tell you. It was a lovely summer evening with our holiday just a peep away and Michael and I felt so randy after a glass or two of red, you wouldn’t believe it...”

“That’s enough!” he choked, “I didn’t want the details! I know how it’s done!”

“With love,” she said, quietly, “that’d how it’s done. With a great deal of love and a lot of fun.”

He looked at her face. Lovely, just like her mother had been lovely. He wanted, suddenly, everything that was good and honest and decent and loving for her.

“It’s going to be a girl,” she told him, “they can tell from a scan.”

“They couldn’t when your mother was expecting you,” replied Josiah, “and I don’t know whether knowledge is a good thing or a bad thing … you know, the first question back then used to be what is it but these days everyone knows.”

“It’s nice to know what colour clothing not to buy,” grinned Jodie. “I’m going to settle for greens and yellows. I don’t want to impose gender expectations on a new born babe!”

“Well, I’m so pleased...” said Josiah, “and when she’s born we’ll drink a toast to her, for good health and a long and happy life. So when is she due to make her grand entrance into the world?”

“March, they say the fifteenth,” smiled Jodie.

“Ah! The Ides of March eh!”

“I know, when Julius Caesar was assassinated and all that,” grinned Jodie.

“The mid-point of March. And if you want another ancient Roman reference, it was the date by which all debts just had to be repaid. And if your little one appears on the fifteenth of March she will certainly be repaying us all for the love we already feel for her.” He sighed. “And to think, I’ll no longer be around in church to Christen her, which some might say will be a shame,” he added.

“So you’re really off?” asked Jodie. “Christening doesn't matter anyway, we’re not having her christened. Neither of us believes in the god-stuff, you know. Life’s complicated enough without putting heavenly bearded old blokes into the mix and making promises on behalf of a newly-born atheist! But you? You say you’ve decided to leave preaching?”

“Technically, I’ve retired,” he said, “or taken early retirement if you like, though it’s not all that early! I’ve got enough to live on even if I reach a hundred, which I’m sure I won’t. But I’ve had long enough to sort through my own mind and every time I’ve tried to find a reason to carry on believing I’ve hit a brick wall until I’ve just had to conclude that everything I was taught as a young man and bullied into believing when I was a child is so much fiction. And, Jodie, I’ve tried. It’s not easy to reach my age and know that my life has been a hollow nothing, a few decades that have added to the sum total of human misery by me spending it trying to convert innocent people into believing something that never was.”

“But there’s the good you have done … dad, don’t discount that! And I’m not talking about the times you’ve raised money for so-called good causes either, but the little words of wisdom, that sort of thing. I’ve heard you preach, you know and sometimes if you took all references to the bible and God out of some of your sermons it wouldn’t have changed so much as a word!”

“Maybe, but I’m an honest man, I hope, and I don’t want to be looked on as one who took his stipend under false pretences. If you want to blame anyone you can blame your mother. She helped me open my eyes and when that darling woman died it made me ask the really big questions to which I got no answers. The questions were asked by a grieving me, but of whom? Was there any power that could help me? Any recipient of my grief? I decided nobody. Nothing. But back to your good news. Have you thought of names?”

Jodie laughed. “That’s what everyone wants to know,” she said, “and of course we have! But so far we’ve only thought and not actually decided on anything.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity on the road outside the vicarage. Doors slammed, voices called at each other, and Josiah grinned at Jodie.

“This is when I go,” he said simply, “this is my van and the really good thing is most of the stuff in this vicarage belongs to the church and not to me. It won’t take long for me to pack my own bits and pieces away and be off.”

“My old home,” sighed Jodie, “so sad to say goodbye...”

“And hello to the future,” laughed Josiah, “and look who’s coming to help! It’s Beryl Faith on her bicycle! She said she’d help me move in, and here she is!”

“Do you still see her, dad?” asked Jodie, curious.

“Of course. Now and again. Yes, now and again,” replied Josiah, “and maybe even on the Ides of March!”

© Peter Rogerson 18.04.18