beside the Fleetwater, opposite a small footbridge leading across the river into the church grounds. A paper sign fluttered on the railings of the West Bridge, pointing towards the hall and announcing in bold but untidy print, Coffee Morning in Aid of St. John’s Appeal Fund.
Inside the village hall they bought two cups of mud-coloured coffee in plastic cups and looked around for a spare seat.
“Look, it’s such a nice morning, why don’t we sit outside?” Anne led the way out of the hall and across the footbridge into the churchyard, where a weathered bench stood beside the path. “That’s better.” She sat down. “So much nicer to be outside when the sun’s shining.” She squinted at Deborah. “You don’t mind being out here amongst the gravestones?”
Deborah closed her eyes as she tilted her face to the sun. She didn’t find the churchyard gloomy; in fact it was children that came into her mind. Children laughing and playing in the sun.
“ Hugo, come here and tell me! Andrew says when I am his lady he will give me furs and jewels and spices for my table. Tell me what you will do for me.”
“I will slay dragons for you, Maude.”
Deborah shook her head. “To be honest, I’m not very religious. I only come to church here to keep Mum and Dad happy. I never went in London.”
Bernard was an atheist, loud in his disapproval of all religions, so Deborah had never mentioned her own uncertainty. Bernard’s image rose up in her mind and she felt the familiar aching loneliness cramping her stomach.
“Well, if I’m honest, I can’t say that I’m a devout Christian,” Anne admitted, “but I do love this church—the building. You can almost feel the history oozing out of the walls, can’t you?”
“Did you manage to get your article in the paper about needing someone to play Samson?”
“Mmm.” Anne reached into her basket and pulled out a copy of the Flixton News and Advertiser. “Only they’ve got it all wrong, as usual. Look at that headline, Bid to Save Templar Church. What I actually wrote was that local legend says it was built by Hugh of Moreton, who was a Templar—you know, one of the soldier monks who fought in the Crusades.”
Deborah read the article, holding the paper with one hand while the other twisted a curl of her dark hair around one finger.
“I suppose they thought it was the most interesting bit. Anyway, at least they printed something, and it does say we’re looking for a Samson.” She folded the paper and handed it back.
“Yes, and I don’t suppose anyone will take any notice of the other bit—about it being a Templar church, I mean.” Anne stretched. “Well, it’s too late to worry about it now. I just hope it helps attract people for our auditions. It won’t look good if we have to have Graham Tring as our strong man.”
Having finished their coffee, they began their stroll back to the High Street.
“Have we got everyone else, then? I mean, have we filled all the other parts?”
“Yes. Clara Babbacombe has a complete list now, so we can start on the costumes this week. I know you said you’d help—is that offer still open?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Deborah was still thinking of the Samson auditions. “Who’s playing Delilah?”
“Yvonne Willetts. Now what’s set you off?” Anne smiled as her companion began to giggle.
“Sorry. It just seems very appropriate to have the local hairdresser playing that part.”
Alan Thorpe pulled up beside them in his huge four-by-four. “Morning, ladies. Can I give anyone a lift?”
“Morning, Alan. Thanks, I’ve finished my shopping and would be happy to grab a lift,” Anne said. “What about you, Debs?”
“I’ve got a bit more to do yet, but thanks anyway.”
“Okay.” Alan nodded and prepared to pull away. “By the way, perhaps you’d remind your father about my offer—tell him it’s still on the table.”
Deborah returned to the market to collect the box of fruit and
Inside the village hall they bought two cups of mud-coloured coffee in plastic cups and looked around for a spare seat.
“Look, it’s such a nice morning, why don’t we sit outside?” Anne led the way out of the hall and across the footbridge into the churchyard, where a weathered bench stood beside the path. “That’s better.” She sat down. “So much nicer to be outside when the sun’s shining.” She squinted at Deborah. “You don’t mind being out here amongst the gravestones?”
Deborah closed her eyes as she tilted her face to the sun. She didn’t find the churchyard gloomy; in fact it was children that came into her mind. Children laughing and playing in the sun.
“ Hugo, come here and tell me! Andrew says when I am his lady he will give me furs and jewels and spices for my table. Tell me what you will do for me.”
“I will slay dragons for you, Maude.”
Deborah shook her head. “To be honest, I’m not very religious. I only come to church here to keep Mum and Dad happy. I never went in London.”
Bernard was an atheist, loud in his disapproval of all religions, so Deborah had never mentioned her own uncertainty. Bernard’s image rose up in her mind and she felt the familiar aching loneliness cramping her stomach.
“Well, if I’m honest, I can’t say that I’m a devout Christian,” Anne admitted, “but I do love this church—the building. You can almost feel the history oozing out of the walls, can’t you?”
“Did you manage to get your article in the paper about needing someone to play Samson?”
“Mmm.” Anne reached into her basket and pulled out a copy of the Flixton News and Advertiser. “Only they’ve got it all wrong, as usual. Look at that headline, Bid to Save Templar Church. What I actually wrote was that local legend says it was built by Hugh of Moreton, who was a Templar—you know, one of the soldier monks who fought in the Crusades.”
Deborah read the article, holding the paper with one hand while the other twisted a curl of her dark hair around one finger.
“I suppose they thought it was the most interesting bit. Anyway, at least they printed something, and it does say we’re looking for a Samson.” She folded the paper and handed it back.
“Yes, and I don’t suppose anyone will take any notice of the other bit—about it being a Templar church, I mean.” Anne stretched. “Well, it’s too late to worry about it now. I just hope it helps attract people for our auditions. It won’t look good if we have to have Graham Tring as our strong man.”
Having finished their coffee, they began their stroll back to the High Street.
“Have we got everyone else, then? I mean, have we filled all the other parts?”
“Yes. Clara Babbacombe has a complete list now, so we can start on the costumes this week. I know you said you’d help—is that offer still open?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Deborah was still thinking of the Samson auditions. “Who’s playing Delilah?”
“Yvonne Willetts. Now what’s set you off?” Anne smiled as her companion began to giggle.
“Sorry. It just seems very appropriate to have the local hairdresser playing that part.”
Alan Thorpe pulled up beside them in his huge four-by-four. “Morning, ladies. Can I give anyone a lift?”
“Morning, Alan. Thanks, I’ve finished my shopping and would be happy to grab a lift,” Anne said. “What about you, Debs?”
“I’ve got a bit more to do yet, but thanks anyway.”
“Okay.” Alan nodded and prepared to pull away. “By the way, perhaps you’d remind your father about my offer—tell him it’s still on the table.”
Deborah returned to the market to collect the box of fruit and
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