the front. Mrs. Armitage noted the stains all down her skirt. Par for the course, she thought.
The bell clanged, the organist struck an opening chord, Father Diamond came out, preceded by two boys with candles. The congregation rose. “Lord Jesus, think on me,” they sang creakily. “And purge away my sin.” Everyone seemed settled enough, thought Mrs. Armitage. Even the visitors. She allowed herself to relax into the well-known words and rhythms. Let us call to mind our sins, Father Diamond was saying. All her life Mrs. Armitage had been hearing words like these and responding to them with phrases so familiar she need give them no thought. I confess, she now said comfortably. These rituals fitted her as snugly as her wedding ring, as the navy blue cardigans that were her daily wear. The bells, the murmured prayers, the fragrant clouds of incense were the sounds and smells of home. Father Diamond announced the reading from the holy Gospel. Glory to you, Lord, answered Mrs. Armitage, making the sign of the cross with her right thumb on her forehead, lips and breast. “Jesus wept,” read Father Diamond. “Still sighing, he reached the tomb: it was a cave with a stone to close the opening. Jesus said: Take this stone away. Martha said to him, Lord, by now he will smell. This is the fourth day.Jesus replied, Have I not told you that if you believe me you will see the glory of God?”
You will see the glory of God, Mary-Margaret repeated under her breath, and her eyes burned with tears. But surely Martha was right, Mrs. Armitage thought, as she had often thought before. He would have stunk to high heaven, that brother of hers. She pictured Lazarus, staggering from the cave, his hands and feet bound with bands of stuff and a cloth round his face. The hot sun beating fiercely on the awestruck crowd.
Normally, when mass ended, it was Larry’s task to gather up the hymnbooks and service sheets and to make things tidy while his wife dashed off to get tea and coffee ready in the parish room next to the church. The regulars would gather there, encouraging any visitors to join them. Father Diamond, and Father O’Connor of course when he was there, would join them too. It was nice, as Mrs. Armitage was always saying, to have a little get-together after mass. A good thing for the oldies, who might otherwise go for months without anyone to talk to other than the checkout girls in supermarkets.
Mrs. Armitage knew some of these old people well. She had been a regular at the Sacred Heart since she and Larry came to Battersea in 1972, just after they were married. Their two sons were christened there, had made their First Communions and been confirmed. It was Mrs. Armitage’s hope that one or both would also be married in this church. Over the decades Mrs. Armitage had seen children born and growing up; young wives aging into widows; men who when young had stood at the back of the church during the services, if they had come at all, slowly creeping fromthere toward the altar as they grew older, and now hobbling painfully into the topmost pews. One of these was Mr. Kalinowski, who had been part of General Anders’s army, a brave and lively man, who now, having lost his wife, his daughter, his hair, his teeth, lived on his own in a little flat and walked with difficulty, leaning on two sticks. Mrs. Armitage dropped in on him at least once a week to see if he needed anything. As she said to Larry, the easiest things get hard when you are old. She had once found Mr. Kalinowski stumbling about in an unlit kitchen because he couldn’t change the lightbulb. Imagine that, he had said to Mrs. Armitage, half-laughing and half-crying. I used to fly a Spitfire, now I can’t even climb up on a chair to change a bulb!
Mr. Kalinowski, Mrs. Pereira, Joan who couldn’t get to church since she did her hip, Mrs. McFarlane, Phelim, Sheila, Antoinette; all friends of Mrs. Armitage, and on her visiting list. She’d keep a lookout for them on a
The bell clanged, the organist struck an opening chord, Father Diamond came out, preceded by two boys with candles. The congregation rose. “Lord Jesus, think on me,” they sang creakily. “And purge away my sin.” Everyone seemed settled enough, thought Mrs. Armitage. Even the visitors. She allowed herself to relax into the well-known words and rhythms. Let us call to mind our sins, Father Diamond was saying. All her life Mrs. Armitage had been hearing words like these and responding to them with phrases so familiar she need give them no thought. I confess, she now said comfortably. These rituals fitted her as snugly as her wedding ring, as the navy blue cardigans that were her daily wear. The bells, the murmured prayers, the fragrant clouds of incense were the sounds and smells of home. Father Diamond announced the reading from the holy Gospel. Glory to you, Lord, answered Mrs. Armitage, making the sign of the cross with her right thumb on her forehead, lips and breast. “Jesus wept,” read Father Diamond. “Still sighing, he reached the tomb: it was a cave with a stone to close the opening. Jesus said: Take this stone away. Martha said to him, Lord, by now he will smell. This is the fourth day.Jesus replied, Have I not told you that if you believe me you will see the glory of God?”
You will see the glory of God, Mary-Margaret repeated under her breath, and her eyes burned with tears. But surely Martha was right, Mrs. Armitage thought, as she had often thought before. He would have stunk to high heaven, that brother of hers. She pictured Lazarus, staggering from the cave, his hands and feet bound with bands of stuff and a cloth round his face. The hot sun beating fiercely on the awestruck crowd.
Normally, when mass ended, it was Larry’s task to gather up the hymnbooks and service sheets and to make things tidy while his wife dashed off to get tea and coffee ready in the parish room next to the church. The regulars would gather there, encouraging any visitors to join them. Father Diamond, and Father O’Connor of course when he was there, would join them too. It was nice, as Mrs. Armitage was always saying, to have a little get-together after mass. A good thing for the oldies, who might otherwise go for months without anyone to talk to other than the checkout girls in supermarkets.
Mrs. Armitage knew some of these old people well. She had been a regular at the Sacred Heart since she and Larry came to Battersea in 1972, just after they were married. Their two sons were christened there, had made their First Communions and been confirmed. It was Mrs. Armitage’s hope that one or both would also be married in this church. Over the decades Mrs. Armitage had seen children born and growing up; young wives aging into widows; men who when young had stood at the back of the church during the services, if they had come at all, slowly creeping fromthere toward the altar as they grew older, and now hobbling painfully into the topmost pews. One of these was Mr. Kalinowski, who had been part of General Anders’s army, a brave and lively man, who now, having lost his wife, his daughter, his hair, his teeth, lived on his own in a little flat and walked with difficulty, leaning on two sticks. Mrs. Armitage dropped in on him at least once a week to see if he needed anything. As she said to Larry, the easiest things get hard when you are old. She had once found Mr. Kalinowski stumbling about in an unlit kitchen because he couldn’t change the lightbulb. Imagine that, he had said to Mrs. Armitage, half-laughing and half-crying. I used to fly a Spitfire, now I can’t even climb up on a chair to change a bulb!
Mr. Kalinowski, Mrs. Pereira, Joan who couldn’t get to church since she did her hip, Mrs. McFarlane, Phelim, Sheila, Antoinette; all friends of Mrs. Armitage, and on her visiting list. She’d keep a lookout for them on a
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