Diary fragment · 1 min read · Set in The Vale of Aldermere ·
Notes from a Moving Parish
A week in the diary of someone who has begun to doubt that the chapel is standing still.
- dated: The third week of Lent
- narrator: A member of the congregation, unsigned
- reliability: unreliable
Monday. The tea was cold again because the Reverend lingers over the blessing. I marked the vestry wall with a pencil stub at the height of the water in the font, to see whether it would move. It did not, which is what I told Agnes.
Tuesday. A visitor came to the east door, a woman in a coat that smelled of petrol, and stood on the step with her feet apart like a person on a boat. She asked if we had noticed the hills. I said the hills have always moved, it is what hills do in the afternoon. She laughed and then did not.
Wednesday. Agnes says the green outside the lancet has not been the same green twice this week. The ground goes past like a river, she says. I told her she has been reading the Gospel of John again.
Thursday. I counted the bells. There are the four. I counted them again to be certain. I should say that I have been counting since Sunday and the number is not the point.
Friday. The pencil mark is lower by a hair. We are not still. We are going down the valley, I believe, to where the water turns round. I have not told Agnes. I will not tell the Reverend. We sing differently on the way, I notice. We sing as if there will be a place to stand at the end.
Saturday. I have reread the above and I will not tear it out. If this page is found, let it be said that we were well fed and cared for, and that whoever is carrying us goes very carefully.