16. Feeding the Five Thousand

A Chapter by Peter Rogerson

` A WIDOW WOMAN Part 16

Jane began to wonder if there was something wrong with her when Jonah stopped calling in like he had, at least once a week. Maybe it was the aborted kiss. Maybe he hadn’t understood that Betty had seen him from her skipping game on the street, and had come storming in because her mother, surely, shouldn’t be kissing a vicar. And not only any vicar but the one who took a religious education class at her school once a week and wove into what she saw as silly old Bible stories bits and pieces that he saw as moral advice.

Maybe, Jane thought as weeks turned into months, maybe we should go to church one Sunday.

In the end she let things drift and the months edged towards a year.

And the king died.

Not that even such a momentous thing as the death of a king was the most important thing in her life: how could it be with the invention of teenagers, a stage of life that Betty was apparently racing towards, with Roger hot on her heels?

And along came a plague from America: rock ‘n’ roll was making itself known with wild music and wilder performers. Proper big band music wasn’t enough for the youngsters but they seemed to need unruly rhythms and wiggling hips.

It was all becoming a problem for parents like Jane. Added to that her only true friend in those frantic months passed away. Tony Dimbleby across the road, an old man who was always decent to her but about whom most people had a bitter word to say, became ill and died all in a week, and departed this life taking his single testicle with him into the big beyond with him.

It was after a few weeks of worried mulling things over that Jane decided finally to go to church on a Sunday, and take her children with her. If Tony could die as well as the king, then so could anyone, and she wanted to make quite sure that she was right when she contemplated God.

“Make sure your teeth are clean,” she said one Sunday and quite out of the blue, “we’re going to church this morning.”

“It’s too cold,” complained Roger, “and it’s a freezing old building. Why do you want us to go there?”

“It’s only a few weeks since they buried the King, and Mr Dimbleby’s not been in his grave for a month, and people are falling like flies,” she replied, “I want to make sure we’re all right…”

“By going to a freezing church and catching pneumonia?” moaned Roger.

“The Spencers go, and take Leslie with them,” murmured Betty.

“I’ve seen you ogling that boy,” remarked Jane, who rather suspected that the innocent young girl in her daughter was giving way to become a teenager with hormones. She was developing the right shape and had been wearing a bra for a year or so. Roger, on the other hand, was still in grey school shorts and very much a schoolboy, though one or two of his friends had put in an appearance wearing their first pair of proper trousers.

They were growing up and maybe she should have thought more about their spiritual growth. Well, she would, starting now.

The church service started at eleven o’clock in the morning. It always had and probably always would.

The only decent clothing that the kids had was their school uniform, and it being March even that had survived since September when she’d scraped enough money together to buy new for the following year. It’s the way things had to be. But an autumn, winter and some of Spring had passed, and nothing lasts for ever. Roger’s shorts were looking tired and Betty’s pinafore dress was shrinking on her growing body.

But clad in those wearying best things, she dragged them complaining in the direction of church. At least, Roger was complaining ... it was a cool March. Betty seemed quite happy at the prospect of sharing a whole church with Leslie Spence despite the cold.

When they arrived at the church in plenty of time, according to Jane’s wrist watch, it was to find the congregation streaming out of the building and the Reverend Jonah Pyke standing by the door, smiling and shaking hands with anyone who wanted to as they passed him by.

The church service was over.

And it suddenly dawned on Jane why.

“Turn round,” she hissed at her two children, “quickly, don’t let him see us, let’s go home.”

“Why? What’s wrong, mum?” asked Roger.

Betty, though, had spotted something on the church building.

“Of course,” she said, and giggled, “who forgot to put the clocks forward last night?” she asked, “it’s the end of March and on the last Saturday night in March we put our clocks forward one hour, and guess who forgot!”

“All right. I did forget. I can’t be expected tlo remember everything!” snapped Jane, “if I had a man about the house to share my burden then things like this might never happen.

“Dad didn’t actually want to die, did he?” asked Betty.

“There’s Leslie across the road!” interrupted Roger, “half a tick. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Stay with me until we get closer to home,” warned Jane, “I feel so silly.”

“At least we haven’t had to put up with the reverend going on about things he knows nothing about,” said Betty, “and Roger, Leslie’s my boy friend!”

“He’s been my mate for ages, before you even knew he was around, so there!” snapped Roger.

“Now children, don’t squabble,” hissed Jane, and she urged them along. But whatever her intention, it wasn’t quickly enough.

“Jane!” came a voice, “I thought it was you!”

Scurrying along and with his surplice being caught by the breeze came the Reverend Jonah Pyke.

And he had a warm smile on his face.

“Why, hello Jonah,” Jane forced out.

“Did you find my sermon informative?” asked the vicar, “feeding the five thousand. How a little bit of love can go a long way…”

Jane looked him sadly. “My problem was,” she said, “putting my clocks forward. I forgot to do it, which meant that a little bit of time was nowhere near enough, I’m afraid. I missed everything, hymns, prayers, sermon, and I’m sorry.”

“And I was thinking of you when I planned it,” sighed Jonah, “I find myself thinking of you quite a lot.”

“I’m going to see Leslie across the road,” put in Betty, looking spitefully at Roger, “and look: he’s wearing proper trousers and not little-boy shorts. And he says that he likes me. A lot.”

Roger hung back and looked away. For some reason he was crying, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

“She’s growing up quickly,” explained Jane to the Reverend Pyke, “they do so quickly these days. They’re not children for long, and it’s really quite a shame. What was that about you thinking of me?”