milk churn, other items appear at the Vicarage. A pewter ladle on a window sill; a garden fork pinning a dead rabbit to the lawn; three eggs broken on the front step. Each morning George and his father search the grounds before Mother and the two younger ones are allowed outside. One day they find twenty pennies and halfpennies laid at intervals across the lawn; the Vicar decides to regard them as a donation to the church. There are also dead birds, mostly strangled; and once excrement has been laid where it will be most visible. Occasionally, in the dawn light, George is aware of something that is less than a presence, a possible observer; it is more like a close absence, the feeling of someone having just left. But nobody is ever caught, or even spotted.
And now the hoaxes begin. After church one Sunday, Mr. Beckworth of Hangover Farm shakes the Vicar’s hand, then winks and murmurs, “Starting a new line of business, I see.” When Shapurji looks puzzled, Beckworth passes him a clipping from the
Cannock Chase Courier.
It is an advertisement surrounded by a scalloped box:
The Vicar visits the newspaper offices and is told that three more such advertisements have already been ordered. But no one has set eyes upon their purchaser: the instruction came by letter with a postal order enclosed. The commercial manager is sympathetic, and naturally offers to suspend the remaining insertions. If the culprit tries to protest or reclaim his money, the police will of course be summoned. But no, he does not think the editorial pages will be interested in the story. No offence to the cloth, but a newspaper has its reputation to consider, and telling the world it has been hoaxed might undermine the credibility of its other stories.
When Shapurji returns to the Vicarage, there is a young red-headed curate from Norfolk waiting to see him, and holding his Christian temper with some difficulty. He is impatient to know why his fellow servant in Christ has summoned him all the way to Staffordshire on a matter of spiritual urgency, perhaps requiring exorcism, of which the Vicar’s wife appears quite ignorant. Here is your letter, here is your signature. Shapurji explains and apologizes. The curate asks to be reimbursed for his expenses.
Next the maid-of-all-work is called to Wolverhampton in order to inspect the dead body of her non-existent sister, which is supposedly lying in a public house. Quantities of goods—fifty linen napkins, twelve young pear trees, a baron of beef, six crates of champagne, fifteen gallons of black paint—are delivered and have to be sent back. Advertisements appear in newspapers offering the Vicarage for rent at such a low price that there is an abundance of takers. Stabling facilities are offered; so is horse manure. Letters are sent in the Vicar’s name to private detectives, engaging their services.
After months of persecution, Shapurji decides to counter-attack. He prepares his own advertisement, outlining recent events, and describing the anonymous letters, their handwriting, style and contents; he specifies the times and places of posting. He asks newspapers to refuse requests in his name, readers to report any suspicions they might have, and the perpetrators to examine their consciences.
A broken soup tureen containing a dead blackbird appears on the kitchen step two afternoons later. The following day a bailiff arrives to distrain goods in favour of an imaginary debt. Later, a dressmaker from Stafford comes to measure Maud for her wedding dress. When Maud is silently brought before him, he asks politely if she is to be the child-bride in some Hindoo ceremony. In the midst of this scene, five oilskin jackets arrive for George.
And then, a week later, three newspapers publish a response to the Vicar’s appeal. It is in a black box and headed APOLOGY . It reads:
We, the undersigned, both residing in the parish of Great Wyrley, do hereby declare that we are the sole authors and writers of certain
And now the hoaxes begin. After church one Sunday, Mr. Beckworth of Hangover Farm shakes the Vicar’s hand, then winks and murmurs, “Starting a new line of business, I see.” When Shapurji looks puzzled, Beckworth passes him a clipping from the
Cannock Chase Courier.
It is an advertisement surrounded by a scalloped box:
The Vicar visits the newspaper offices and is told that three more such advertisements have already been ordered. But no one has set eyes upon their purchaser: the instruction came by letter with a postal order enclosed. The commercial manager is sympathetic, and naturally offers to suspend the remaining insertions. If the culprit tries to protest or reclaim his money, the police will of course be summoned. But no, he does not think the editorial pages will be interested in the story. No offence to the cloth, but a newspaper has its reputation to consider, and telling the world it has been hoaxed might undermine the credibility of its other stories.
When Shapurji returns to the Vicarage, there is a young red-headed curate from Norfolk waiting to see him, and holding his Christian temper with some difficulty. He is impatient to know why his fellow servant in Christ has summoned him all the way to Staffordshire on a matter of spiritual urgency, perhaps requiring exorcism, of which the Vicar’s wife appears quite ignorant. Here is your letter, here is your signature. Shapurji explains and apologizes. The curate asks to be reimbursed for his expenses.
Next the maid-of-all-work is called to Wolverhampton in order to inspect the dead body of her non-existent sister, which is supposedly lying in a public house. Quantities of goods—fifty linen napkins, twelve young pear trees, a baron of beef, six crates of champagne, fifteen gallons of black paint—are delivered and have to be sent back. Advertisements appear in newspapers offering the Vicarage for rent at such a low price that there is an abundance of takers. Stabling facilities are offered; so is horse manure. Letters are sent in the Vicar’s name to private detectives, engaging their services.
After months of persecution, Shapurji decides to counter-attack. He prepares his own advertisement, outlining recent events, and describing the anonymous letters, their handwriting, style and contents; he specifies the times and places of posting. He asks newspapers to refuse requests in his name, readers to report any suspicions they might have, and the perpetrators to examine their consciences.
A broken soup tureen containing a dead blackbird appears on the kitchen step two afternoons later. The following day a bailiff arrives to distrain goods in favour of an imaginary debt. Later, a dressmaker from Stafford comes to measure Maud for her wedding dress. When Maud is silently brought before him, he asks politely if she is to be the child-bride in some Hindoo ceremony. In the midst of this scene, five oilskin jackets arrive for George.
And then, a week later, three newspapers publish a response to the Vicar’s appeal. It is in a black box and headed APOLOGY . It reads:
We, the undersigned, both residing in the parish of Great Wyrley, do hereby declare that we are the sole authors and writers of certain
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