Alasdair Gray - Old Men in Love

“I am reading your Letters to the Lampeter Brethren , Mr Prince,” said Julia with emphasis suggesting approval. While the maid helped Mrs Starky remove her bonnet and shawl Julia removed her own in a way that showed she was thoroughly at home.

“I am honoured,” said Henry. “I regret that my own wife is not here to receive you all. A liver ailment has taken her to recuperate at my mother’s home in Bath. Shall there be tea after the maid has shown you to your rooms? Tea and something to eat after you have had time to wash and settle in?”

“Yes,” said Julia, “that will be thoroughly welcome when my dear sister-in-law has had a little rest and I have supervized unpacking. But I know Sam cannot wait for a word with you.” With the keen eyes of a natural housekeeper she watched a servant carry in a box and portmanteau. Henry said to Starky, “Let me take your hat.”

Starky stared at the hat in his hand as if astonished to see it then cried, “ O no no no no no!”, and hurriedly placed it with his overcoat on the hallstand saying, “Julia is right. I must speak with you alone for a while.”

“Certainly. Of course,” murmured Henry and led him to the study.

With a gesture he invited Starky to take an armchair by the fire but, “No no no no no, you sit. I am overwrought. I must pace about a bit,” said Starky. Henry settled down with elbows on armrests, watching his visitor across fingertips placed together in the shape of a tent.

“Pardon my agitation,” said Starky abruptly, “You have been my curate here for fourteen months, and I am a stranger to you. But you are no stranger to me!”

“Yes?”

“Miracles still happen, do they not?”

“It is blasphemy to doubt it.”

“You have performed a miracle. And another miracle is, that you do not know it.”

“You will tell me of it,” said Henry quietly.

“A fortnight ago I lay very ill at Ventnor, and in the morning the nurse told me I would not live until night. At noon the post brought me a letter from a clerical friend in Bath with a printed slip of paper which he prayed might be read to me before I died. The words described how a man may know he believes in Christ.”

“Ah,” said Henry.

“When the reading was done I asked the preacher’s name and only then heard he was you, my curate. I thanked God he had sent such a pastor to my flock. I felt very happy in mind, said the last few words to my wife and sister, and lay back to depart in peace.”

“But did not die,” said Henry mildly.

“Yes! My pulse beat quicker, my tongue was loosened, strength returned to my limbs and — I am here.”

He stood suddenly still and gazed open-mouthed at Henry who, smiling, rose to his feet and held out his arms. Starky stepped between them and hugged Henry passionately. Henry’s embrace was more paternal. When he lowered his arms Starky moved away whispering, “It is wonderful!”

“May I call you Brother Starky?” asked Henry softly.

“Please!” said Starky with a vehement nod, “To be accepted as one of the Lampeter Brethren is an honour I hardly dared pray for.”

“Then sit down Brother Starky,” said Henry in a louder voice than Starky had yet heard from him, “It is now your turn to listen and mine to render up accounts of my service here.”

“Eh?”

“Sit down, if you please.”

Starky sat with mouth slightly open while Prince stood before him, hands clasped behind back, saying grimly, “You thanked God for making me pastor of your flock. I confess to not dealing well with it. I am a bad pastor.”

“How so?”

“For more than a year I have laboured in Charlinch Church, school and homes and found only a disobedient and gainsaying people. I have told them how much they need Christ’s salvation; I have exhorted, I have begged those who see they need guidance to visit me here for instruction and prayer. Shall I tell you how many have answered that call?”

“Please do.”

“Three.”

“Horrible! Horrible!”

“And these three are from neighbouring parishes, not from Charlinch. But for these three I would have quit this place when my wife’s illness forced her to leave a fortnight ago — the very time when you were miraculously cured by my words. God has preserved us both for this meeting. His Holy Spirit must have work for us here in Charlinch.”

“What work can it be?”

“You are my rector,” said Prince gently.

“But I have not conducted half a dozen services since I was ordained. This living is mine because my father had it. I fear I have been a poor, woefully formal Christian.”

“Christ loves the poor in spirit, brother Starky, and did not a certain prayer convince you of His power?”

“Yes! I believe your prayer cured me in body and soul. Before it, the slightest unexpected chill induced pulmonary qualms, fever and coughing that kept me in bed for weeks at a time. You have made a new man of me. . ”

“Not I,” said Henry. “The Spirit through me gave you a new and cleaner birth.”

“And you say it has work for us here?”

“The Spirit has work in Charlinch for us both,” said Henry, with total certainty.

Next Sunday the young rector’s return to his parish ensured a large church attendance. The rectory pew that had stood empty since Martha left held that morning Mrs Starky and Julia. Henry James Prince sat before the pulpit at a desk formerly used by a parish clerk who had announced hymns, psalms and led the singing. As usual Henry wore the black Doctor of Divinity gown with white neckbands, worn throughout the eighteenth century and still favoured at Lampeter; but Oxford divines were making Roman vestments fashionable again so Starky, though Cambridge educated, emerged from the vestry dressed as his congregation had never before seen, in a flowing white surplice over a dark ankle-length cassock, both of which suited his tall, fine figure and statuesque head. He chanted prayers and led responses in tones as gentlemanly as Prince had used but more monotonous. Unlike Prince he preached his sermon from notes, sometimes pausing to look down at the pew where his wife and sister gazed back with ardent, approving smiles and the desk where Henry sat staring hard at the floor between his boots. Before the final blessing he announced, “Our dearly belovéd brother in Christ, Henry James Prince, will on Tuesday evening hold his usual Bible study group in the rectory and on Friday evening his usual prayer meeting. I cannot too strongly exhort all who care for the welfare of their souls to attend these meetings.”

Walking back to the rectory Starky said gloomily, “The service went well on the whole, but I am a poor preacher.”

“You should not have used notes,” said Henry mildly.

“I could not have spoken without them — I would have dried up.”

“Spiritual dryness is a condition the Spirit recognizes. Such dryness invites the Spirit to water it. Preaching from notes shuts the Spirit out.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do.”

“Henry may be right about that, Sam,” said Julia, “I think I see what he means.”

“ Please Henry,” Starky pled, “let me use notes again at the evening service — I would fear to enter the pulpit without that prop.”

“You must do as you will, my dear brother Starky,” said Henry sadly. At the evening service Starky preached very haltingly, but the Tuesday evening study group was joined by a milkmaid, a road mender and a farmer who, with the three Starkys, trebled Henry’s audience and the fervour of its mood. The farmer was the one who had refused to threaten the stiff-necked labourer with dismissal. He said, “I was wrong not to do as you bid sir. I see I was wrong, but it’s too late now for me to do right. Brackley’s daughters are dead and gone to Hell I suppose. He is mainly to blame but I too am damnable, I suppose. I should have tried to make a way for you, and I did not.”