Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

But we live and we learn, Reverend (I thank God for that fact every day!). We sin, we err, we repent, and then we do our humble best to set things right.

We practise patience, fortitude and humility. We strive to ‘enter through the narrow gate’ as our dear, Sweet Lord prescribed, ‘for wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it’ (sorry for quoting from the New International Version which I know you loathe, but I think you get my point!).

I hope it goes without saying that I have taken the time out to apologize, individually, to Mr Simms, Miss Logan, Mrs Bramwell, Ms Brooks and Mrs Hawkes for my terrible breach of last Sunday. Mrs Hawkes was exceptionally Christian about it (and this was all the more surprising since I hadn’t so much as seen BC’s charming publican anywhere near the church since I first arrived here; let’s just hope her vision of the ministry hasn’t been irreparably skewed by my appalling behaviour!).

Wincey was actually kind enough to help me to remove the bloodstains from my cassock (it was a new one! And it had to be the white one, didn’t it?! Perhaps there are some virtues to the black ones after all!) with a hefty application of Cillit Bang (she’s a dab hand in these matters, it seems, since she hand washes fourteen white tablecloths from the new dining rooms at The Old Oak each and every day of the week!).

Thankfully the nosebleeds have abated slightly as time has progressed. I went to the doctor (Dr Hardcastle, who was very good with me; I’m an awful patient — a shameful hypochondriac!) and he said he thought they were chiefly stress-related and really nothing to worry about (he gave me some tablets for my blood pressure and recommended yoga! I should probably have a quick word with Tammy Thorndyke on the subject although… well, on second thoughts …!).

I was extremely grateful (not to say relieved) that my grovelling apologies were welcomed — and with demonstrations of great kindness, for the most part — from all those who were unwitting spectators to Sunday’s awful fracas . In fact I could even go so far as to say that, in some instances, my horrible childish outburst has led to a slight (and completely unexpected!) ‘thawing’ in relations with certain parties (although I still don’t have the foggiest idea why!).

One of your most loyal supporters, Rhona Brooks, has left three beautiful little packages on my doorstep this week: some wonderful leeks, some delicious duck eggs, and even an exquisitely painted milk jug (by the hand of her sister, Tilly, I presume) decorated with a perfect, tiny posy of hellebores (my favourite wild flower)!

So bolstered and enthused was I by these kind and benevolent gestures that I finally took my heart in my hands and went to see the enigmatic and taciturn ‘Edo’ at Bleachers, who (much to my great surprise) welcomed me into his home most cordially.

I explained to him that I thought his crucifix was extraordinary, but not, perhaps, entirely suitable for the front portal of the church. I then begged that I might be allowed to hang it in the vestry. He seemed touched and delighted by the idea and actually came along to the church on Thursday to take a quiet peek at it, in situ . We had a wonderful talk about a wide range of subjects. He’s a complex and fascinating man — a tortured soul, a true artist — and I feel like I’ve learned so much from him already in just our two short meetings.

I don’t know if he will become a regular member of the congregation (although I live in hope!), but I certainly think an important connection has been forged there, and I want you to know that none of this could possibly have happened without your involvement.

It only remains for me to thank you for your forbearance, and to wish you every blessing and happiness over the Christmas period.

Yours, united in God, and truly penitent,

Paul

PS Lily Beer approached me — out of the blue — and asked if I might baptize her grandson, Fergus, after all! Obviously I was absolutely delighted to accept her request. I’m presuming that you were forced to cancel for some reason and that you gently nudged her in my direction. If this is the case, then thank you, once again, Reverend. I have done so little to earn your support this week, but that you should have continued to offer it, and so graciously, honestly means the world to me.

Buckden House

Piper’s Ghyll Road

Burley Cross

21/12/2006

Dear Ms Squire,

Since I’m a chronic technophobe, I deputized my husband, Robin — who’s the complete opposite — to send you an email with a link to our website on it, but given that I haven’t heard from you since our conversation two weeks ago (and just happened across your address on a piece of paper by the phone), I thought I should send you one of our promotional leaflets in the mail, to keep in Mr Booth’s files, just in case.

As I believe I said when we last spoke, Buckden House really is widely held to be one of the premium B&Bs in the Wharfedale area. We are situated at the prestigious ‘top end’ of this ancient and picturesque moorland village, on the legendary Piper’s Ghyll, one of Burley Cross’s most leafy and magnificent roads. All our rooms (or ‘suites’ — of which there are eight, in total) are quiet and nicely proportioned, with their own bathrooms (containing either a shower, or a deep, free-standing bath with shower fitments) and boast spectacular views of the surrounding moor.

I would envisage Mr Booth taking the Dragon Tree Suite (our equivalent of a ‘penthouse’; it has a subtle, Mandarin theme, i.e. oriental silk bed wear and throws, shiny black skirting, gold fitments, Chinese wall hangings and screens) and possibly you in the Juneberry Suite (gentle lime-green walls, acres of crisp white calico, wooden floors, thick sheepskin rugs), just a short distance down the hall.

Obviously Mr Booth’s needs are very specific, and you will know best what will suit him…

Although I didn’t write down the date when we talked (and I’m kicking myself for it, now), I’ve had a nagging feeling that you said you were planning to come for your quick recce to Wharfedale today (the 21st). Given that I haven’t seen you, I’m presuming that either you didn’t make it to Burley Cross after all, or that you’ve happened across somewhere you think Mr Booth will prefer in Ilkley itself (although the noise will be a factor there, I can assure you, especially at the weekend. And if you’re seduced by the apparent grandeur of The Railway Hotel — and it does look grand on paper — be assured that the central heating groans like a wounded heifer, every night, without fail, from 3 a.m. onwards).

Did I see a small advert in the latest edition of the Wharfedale Gazette saying Mr Booth would be ‘appearing’ upstairs at the Middleton Theatre on the nights of the 6th and 7th of January 2007? I think I possibly did. Well, I quickly checked our diary, and both Dragon Tree (which is at the top of the house — very private) and Juneberry are currently free for those nights (although Juneberry is booked for the 3rd, 4th and 5th by a regular couple who come every year, Mandarin on the 2nd and 3rd for some German honeymooners, then again on the 9th for local celebrity Frank K. Nebraska’s mother-in-law — a lovely American lady, extremely cultured and affable, who always stays with us when she’s in the UK visiting her daughter, Kizzy).

Obviously breakfast is usually served between the hours of 7 and 9 a.m., but in the case of Mr Booth (and yourself) I would be willing to extend that time-frame until 10 (you said he would be ‘drained’ by the performance, although I remember you didn’t like to call it a ‘performance’. I can’t exactly recollect the word you preferred to use instead; it began with an e, I think. Was it ‘evocation’? No. It was something else. Something slightly more abstruse…