Read Lamplight in the Shadows Online
Authors: Robert Jaggs-Fowler
Lamplight in the Shadows (3 page)
The church had seemed very dark when he first entered. Moving into the central aisle, he made for the south transept from where he saw a warm glow of light from the side chapel dedicated to St Mary.
Two other parishioners were already present. Both elderly, they sat quietly, neither wishing to disturb the other's thoughts and prayers. The Reverend Michael Ewing was bustling around the altar, putting the final touches to the various accoutrements required for the Communion. A heady smell of incense hung in the air.
James bowed to the altar and took a seat at the end of an unoccupied pew. Unhooking an embroidered hassock from under the book ledge, he knelt to offer his own prayers in silence until the vicar reappeared from the vestry to begin the service.
The day had started with great promise. A crisp January morning, the sun was just beginning to rise when he left the house for the 8 a.m. Eucharist at St Peter's. He had walked the mile to the church, taking pleasure from the cold, dry air. It reminded him of when he had been a paperboy in a village in Kent: the world still and silent, apart from an urban fox that would often cross his path, pausing with head turned to look at James before disappearing into a hedgerow. In a naïve way, he had felt an affinity with that fox. Both quietly rejoicing in the solitude that the early morning offered. Each pausing, as their paths crossed, to acknowledge the other's presence before continuing on their separate ways, untroubled and at peace with the world.
The recollection had made him smile. He found it fascinating how old memories seemed to spring up from nowhere because of some simple sensory trigger. Often they were memories long forgotten or, indeed, ones he never knew had been stored away in the first instance. He often wished there was a way he could tap into the hidden depths of his brain and utilise its full potential.
Approaching the church, he had taken stock of his present situation. It was rare for him to be able to get to a weekday service, as at this time of day he was usually signing repeat prescriptions prior to starting the first of the morning's surgeries. However, he was now officially on annual leave, having finished the final six months in his training practice in Barminster. On Monday, he would start the locum job in Bishopsworth, but for the next few days he intended to enjoy his relative freedom. Attending a weekday service was one such indulgence.
Once the service had started, he found his mind wandering amidst the tranquillity of the occasion. Experience allowed him to keep a well-trained ear on the vicar, automatically voicing the responses through familiarity with the service.
âI believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible; and in one Lord Jesus Christ, the only Son of Godâ¦'
Religion had not played a major part of family life when he was a child. Indeed, for a long time he had not been too sure that his parents had a religion. When asked to complete official forms, his mother would always say that she was âC of E'. However, Christmas was as close as the family got to celebrating any of the religious festivals and even then there was little evidence of the non-secular aspect of the occasion. His father seemed to alternate between declaring himself an atheist and not being quite sure whether he was actually an agnostic; a matter that confused James and seemed a difficult conundrum worthy of philosophical debate. Not that there ever was such a discussion with his father.
âWe do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou artâ¦'
It had caused more than a little surprise to his parents when, as a nine year old, he had announced that he wished to join the local church choir.
âAre you sure?' his mother had enquired on hearing the proposition, anxiety audible in her voice. It was her standard response to any new activity that either of her sons initiated. âYou do realise that you will have to go to church
every
Sunday?' she had continued, as though the very idea was an alien concept to her.
Perhaps it was because the Church played no useful role within his parents' own lives that James happily threw himself into the seemingly hectic round of choir practice on Friday evenings, Saturday weddings, and Morning Prayer, Family Service and Evensong on Sundays. Without realising it at the time, he had taken the first step in forging his own pathway in life. He had made a start in assuming the right to sculpture his own personality and by so doing had begun to separate himself from the tightly bound maternal bonds.
ââ¦grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his bloodâ¦'
James' deep voice rumbled on with a clear well-spoken diction, his head bowed in prayer, eyes closed. He had recited the liturgy so often over the years that he knew it by heart. The very poetry of the words brought him great comfort. He remained kneeling and tried to concentrate on the priest as the latter continued.
ââ¦and, when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples saying, Take, eat, this is my Body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me. Likewise after supper heâ¦'
The next major event had been at the age of eleven when, in a blur of happenings, the significance of which he had not really understood at the time, he sat the Eleven Plus Examination, passed with flying colours and was accepted for one of the most prestigious independent Grammar Schools in the country.
One of the privileges of attending this particular school was the chance to audition for the choir of the Queen's Chapel of the Savoy in London. Tucked away behind the Savoy Hotel in the Strand, the chapel was one of the Chapels Royal, with a high reputation for the quality of its choral music. For the next three years, he attended choir practice for the chapel on three evenings per week, with a final rehearsal early on Sunday mornings prior to the service of Morning Prayer, all the while continuing with his attendance at Evensong at the local parish church throughout the same period.
The chapel itself was a beautiful, richly decorated place and the services were performed with great solemnity and dignity, the whole leaving a lasting impression on his receptive mind. Even in his early teens, he had felt âdifferent' after singing at one of those services.
âDraw near with faith,'
intoned the vicar.
âReceive Christ's body which was given for you; drink his blood which was shed for you and feed on him in your hearts with faith and thanksgiving.'
The Reverend Ewing stood facing his small congregation, the silver plate containing the communion bread held up in front of him. James' thoughts turned to the next major turning point in his theological development.
It had taken place one Sunday evening in London when he was in his early twenties. On the spur of the moment, he had decided to walk from his student lodgings in Fulham to a little church near Putney Bridge in order to attend Evensong; an event that would forever stay in his memory. It had occurred as the service reached the point of the sermon. The priest was in the pulpit, preaching on the ways in which people have found themselves being called to perform God's work, when a tunnel of bright, swirling, white light had obscured the rest of the church, leaving just the pulpit and the dark outline of the priest visible at one end, or so it had seemed to James at the other end of the tunnel. The light had continued until the end of the sermon and then faded as quickly as it had come. He had experienced nothing like it before or since. But he knew, beyond all doubt, from that moment on he had an extra path to walk in his life; he felt sure that he had received God's calling and must one day become a priest.
Back in the present, he watched for a few moments as the other two stood and proceeded to walk to the altar. These moments were always deeply moving to him and on this, the day after his conversation with the Archdeacon, he felt the poignancy of the moment with a greater intensity than he had ever felt before.
âThe Body of our Lord Jesus Christâ¦'
He had little doubt that this was the right path for him to tread. He could picture himself now at the altar in the place of the vicar and it felt so right, so natural and comfortable. So much so that it had a feeling of inevitability about it.
He stood, walked to the altar and knelt again, crossing himself each time as the sacraments were presented to him.
* * *
At the end of the service he waited by the font whilst the vicar spoke to the elderly couple. As they left, he turned and smiled.
âGood morning, James,' he said, his hand outstretched.
âGood morning, Michael.' James smiled back and firmly shook the proffered hand.
âYou had a good conversation with Paul Swinburn yesterday, I hear?'
âYou already know?' he replied, a little taken aback.
The vicar chuckled. âHe rang me last night. He was most impressed. He has already formed the impression that your faith is sincere and firmly founded, and believes you have the potential to be a great asset to the work of the Church.'
For once in his life, James felt embarrassed and struggled to find the right words in response. âI don't know what to say.' He gazed at Michael. âI am quite humbled. I can only do my best; but I am sure that there are many others out there doing far greater work than my own,' he heard himself saying.
âIt serves us all well to have a touch of humility within our characters, James. Though meekness, however praiseworthy, should not overpower our confidence to guide others in life. Some of the best priests are those who are able to blend piety with strength of leadership. People often come to the Church because they are looking for someone with authority, someone who will take the initiative on his or her behalf and show them the way forward. You have those qualities, James. You have had the confidence to follow your heart this far. Now you have to harness that credence and let it boldly take you forward in the service of Christ, to the ultimate benefit of your fellow man. All this the Archdeacon saw in you. Whether you like it or not, you are a natural leader. This is part of your destiny, James; you cannot escape what is meant to be. Understand all this and you will be more than adequately empowered to travel your predestined role in life.' As they talked, they walked towards the back of the church.
âYou have been a good friend to me, Michael, and I thank you for your wise counsel. I will remember your words.'
âDo not think that it has been a one-way process, James.' He paused to open the West Door and then stood aside as James walked out into the porch. Michael followed him. âWe all have the ability to inspire each other,' he continued. âI, too, have benefited from our conversations over the past few years. Continue to believe in yourself and others will believe in you and be influenced by your words and deeds.'
For the second time that morning, James was speechless. Michael smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. âGet used to it, James. You have much to offer others.' His hand patted the shoulder twice. âYou have a good day now.'
With that, he turned and went back inside the church, leaving James alone to ponder their conversation.
* * *
Barminster was coming to life as James walked down into the market place, with the shopkeepers and stallholders all busy preparing for the day's trading. He casually wandered through them all, nodding to one or two whom he recognised as patients of the practice.
So far, so good
, he thought, taking a deep breath of fresh air. He sensed that he was at a turning point within his life and it felt good. The jigsaw was slowly coming together. Now there was just the small matter of a practice partnership to sort out and⦠his train of thought paused for a moment. He was very conscious of the fact that, however in control he was with the rest of his life, he was still unable to fit one piece squarely into this particular jigsaw. It was a matter that cast a shadow over all other aspects of his life. His relationship with Janice was a problem he seemed powerless to influence and for which he could see no practical resolution. He had made his solemn vows and now he had to somehow find a way to live with the consequences.
âSo, God, how do I sort that one out?' he said, with an imploring look towards the sky.
Like a northern outpost of the county of Lincolnshire, Bishopsworth nestles alongside the banks of the River Humber, forming, before the advent of the Humber Bridge, one of the major crossing points for the ferry to the East Riding of Yorkshire.
An ancient town, its lands are thought to have been once owned by a local Abbey, the townsfolk paying their taxes (or tithes) to the Abbot. Certain historic records suggested that the town had originally been known as Abbotsworth, with the name being changed to Bishopsworth following the dissolution of the monasteries in the 16
th
century, the tithes thereafter paid directly to Lincoln where the Church henceforth had its seat of power.
Whilst there was no doubt that a Roman settlement had at one time been sited nearby, only the Saxon church now bore testimony to the town's ancient lineage. Apart from small areas of restorative work over the centuries, the church was ten years short of one thousand years old. Around it, with the exception of a few buildings dating back to around 1600 (as the engraved stones above the door lintels proclaimed) the major part of the town had been developed during Georgian times by the wealthy merchants of that era, its narrow streets, imposing, classically styled houses and cobbled market place having since been carefully preserved despite the demands of a modern population. As a result, a sense of timelessness hung over the town and its scattering of surrounding villages, giving visitors the immediate impression of having retreated from the modern world by a period of several years.
The medical needs of the local population of some twelve thousand or so people were served by a partnership of four doctors, working from premises in what had once been the community school. Although itself an old building in the town centre, the inside had been tastefully converted to provide a spacious, modern surgery from where the GPs had built a thriving practice with a good local reputation.
It was to this practice that James had come to work as a locum towards the end of January. Initially meant for only a short period of time whilst one of the partners recovered from an operation, there had been complications delaying his full recovery and James was asked to stay on for a while longer. Six months had subsequently elapsed, with no imminent sign of the invalided partner returning to work.
Overall, a very useful situation to have landed in
, thought James as he strolled through the market place one sunny July afternoon, absorbing in passing the abundance of architectural interest offered by the surrounding buildings. It had been quite by chance that he had heard of the vacancy back in January. A medical colleague in Barminster, whom he had first met during his time as a senior house officer in paediatrics at the East Yorkshire District Hospital, one day mentioned in passing that she had accepted a partnership in the Midlands and, by so doing, had to let down a practice in Bishopsworth, where she had previously agreed to do some locum work.
Being near to the end of his post-graduate training and never one to miss an opportunity, James had that very day telephoned the senior partner and enquired as to whether the practice was still in need of a locum. Happily for James, the answer was in the affirmative and, with locums always in short supply, he was immediately offered the job. James had been much relieved by this fortuitous happening. He did not intend to look for a permanent position in Lincolnshire, the countryside being far too flat for his liking, but at least it would help to pay the bills whilst he set about the task of applying for a partnership elsewhere.
His arrival in the practice had caused quite a stir amongst staff and patients alike. For a while, he had to contend with the repeatedly heard phrase âyou look too young to be a doctor', alternating with âyou're not from round here, are you, Doctor?' as the gossips of the local population came to gape at the new attraction whilst pleasantly trying to extract as much information as possible â or so it seemed to James.
With the existing four doctors all being somewhere in their fifties and sixties, a young fresh face and mind was a great lure for the patients, or at least it was for the more hypochondriacally minded ones amongst their number, whose own GPs had long since become inured (probably as a survival mechanism) to their trivial and often bizarre anxieties and symptoms. The arrival of James was a chance for them to dredge up many years' worth of undiagnosed (and often diagnosable) ailments, revelling in the fact that at last there was âa doctor who listens', as James tried to professionally and attentively wade through the onslaught without giving any hint of impatience. His concern was always that somewhere amongst the seemingly endless trivia could be a serious and genuine complaint that demanded due and proper attention, as indeed there often was. Apart from which, even the âworried well' deserved his polite consideration. After all, they perceived themselves to be ill; it was James' task to reassure and convince them otherwise.
âI should be honoured that they feel able to come and consult me,' he often said to anyone questioning the time and trouble he took with such cases.
As for the practice staff, the receptionists were the ones who made him feel most welcomed from the moment of his arrival. It was only later that he realised that this was probably their way of getting the most out of him! For them, the fact that someone was more than willing to answer any of the more difficult telephone calls that came through or would visit patients in the outlying villages without a murmur of dissent was a breath of fresh air after years of having to contend with the four somewhat jaded and cynical partners. Furthermore, it was a great relief to have someone they could rely upon to sign any number of so-called âurgent' prescriptions at a moment's notice without making the receptionists feel as though they were at risk of having their heads chewed off. The problem was that the urgent prescriptions were rarely urgent ones at all, but were usually the result of a lack of planning on the part of the patients. However, getting them promptly printed and signed allowed the receptionists to avoid the unpleasantness of a confrontation with an irate patient. A doctor who did this for them was someone worth nurturing and supplying with the occasional extra cup of tea. By such means, Dr Armstrong, as everyone in Bishopsworth formally knew him, rapidly started to make a favourable impression on all who came across him.
* * *
The partnership was a well-established one, having been started just after the formation of the National Health Service. Although the three founding partners (Drs Hartley, Dodds and Gilchrist) had long since retired, the present two most senior partners had at one time been junior to them. Since that time, and owing to the expanding population, the partnership had itself grown by the addition of one more doctor.
Outside the main door to the surgery, a brass plaque announced:
Drs McGarva, Hawkins, Carey & Slater
Physicians and Surgeons
A separate white, plasticised sign gave the surgery hours, asked that requests for visits were telephoned in before 10 a.m. and gave a telephone number for evening and weekend emergencies.
With time to spare before the afternoon surgery started, James turned right at the end of the market place and entered the park, making his way to a wooden bench, so positioned to overlook a lily pond. A small sign on the back of the bench stated:
In memory of Phyllis Turpingdon
1915â1987
Whose dedicated campaigning turned visions into reality.
Mentally pausing to wonder what the erstwhile Mrs Turpingdon had looked like and whether she had been responsible for the development of the lily pond, his thoughts then turned back to the present surgery partnership.
Drs McGarva, Hawkins, Carey and Slater were all very different to each other. Indeed, apart from the fact that they were all General Medical Practitioners, there was probably nothing else they had in common.
That, however
, thought James,
is nothing new
. He was sure that if one randomly selected ten doctors, one would have ten very different personalities and probably half a dozen different opinions on how to solve a particular problem. Almost as bad as solicitors, he mused, except that they would have ten different opinions, with each one having multiple qualifying clauses and exceptions!
Watching two female mallards effortlessly glide across the pond, he started to mentally summarise what he had so far learned about each of the doctors. The senior partner, Dr Ian McGarva, was very much an old-fashioned GP. Visually he was a short, stocky Scotsman, with black, slightly unruly hair, which had a penchant for also growing in tufts from his ears and nose. It was unusual to see him in anything other than a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers, the outfit usually topped by a trilby hat. He was softly spoken, the remains of a Scottish accent having been watered down by thirty years of living in Lincolnshire, where he had arrived soon after having qualified in Edinburgh. He had ventured south across the border, in his words, in search of a âwee bonny Lincolnshire lass', as he called his wife, Mary.
They lived on a farm. At least he liked to think of it as a farm, but it was more of a smallholding in one of the local villages. It was of sufficient size, however, to give him an excuse for owning an old battered Land Rover Defender. Or more to the point, it gave him an excuse for not replacing it with a newer vehicle, despite frequent encouragement from Mary. His Scottish parsimony saw no sense in such wasteful luxuries.
Now approaching his sixty-fourth birthday, he was looking forward to the day he could do nothing more energetic than sell his free-range eggs at the local market and further his academic research. When pressed on the nature of the latter, he usually stated that he was conducting a âcontrolled comparative study into the benefits and effects of the various malt whiskies of the Scottish Islands when consumed on a regular basis'. Rumour had it that the only âcontrolled' aspect of his research was the steadying arm of Mary when it was time for him to get up the stairs at night.
By contrast, Dr Charles Hawkins was a distinguished-looking sixty-one year old whom James had met only once in the past six months, as it was owing to the illness of Dr Hawkins that James was working as a locum. On that one occasion, he had formed the brief impression of a rather thin, tidy man about 5ft 9ins tall, with silvery blond hair cut short in the traditional style of âshort back and sides' and noticeably thinning in places. The receptionists had filled in the background information for James. Apparently, Charles was well known for wearing bow ties and blazers when at the surgery. This was seen as an affect amongst the rural community of Lincolnshire and tended to psychologically distance him from the local population. They claimed it was a reflection of him being born in Derbyshire, county rivalry not being confined to the standoff on the northern borders between Lincolnshire and East Yorkshire. His colleagues more readily attributed it to him attending St Mary's Medical School in London, although as a London graduate himself, James had more traditionally associated medical students at Mary's with rugby and beer rather than stylish dressing.
For many years, up to the onset of his illness, Charles had been an active member of the Local Medical Committee and was thought to be heading for a career in medical politics. However, his wife, Susan, herself a local town counsellor, had vetoed any such move, recognising that it would have been too much of a strain on an already precarious marriage.
It seemed, as the receptionists were most keen to relate to James, that Charles Hawkins had been in a dalliance with a local farmer's wife soon after he arrived in the area. Nobody knew the facts and, to be fair, he was not married at the time. However, rumour had it that the farmer did not see it quite that way himself and for some years Dr Hawkins was most reluctant to venture into one particular village. Apparently, tractors on the road behind him still made him a little twitchy until he was able to clearly identify the driver.
Such a local reputation had not prevented Susan, then a part-time tutor for adult evening classes, from readily agreeing to become Mrs Hawkins when he proposed to her on their second date. However, she subsequently had reason to regret her impulsiveness and disregard for history when he was caught having an affair with the practice manager of the local dental surgery about ten years ago. Following a brief separation, Susan allowed him back into the marital home, his leisure time now taken up with nothing more sinister than trout fishing at the local ponds, where his blue VW Golf could often be seen parked. All this James only heard from the practice staff. The partners were less forthcoming on such matters, preferring to restrict their discussion of Dr Hawkins to the details of his medical condition. It was Dr McGarva who had fully appraised James in this respect.
Dr Hawkins had initially found a lump in his neck around about October the previous year. Thinking that it was nothing more than a viral infection, he had ignored it for a few months. By Christmas, it was evident that it was increasing in size and, urged by his colleagues, he consulted one of the local consultant physicians. A biopsy had shown the lump to be a lymphoma, a form of cancer of the lymph glands; subsequent tests revealed that the problem was more widespread, involving the glands in his chest and abdomen. He had therefore been subjected to a course of chemotherapy resulting in his prolonged period of sick leave. Although recovery was hoped for, it was still too early to know for sure whether he would return to full-time practice.
âHiya, Dr Armstrong.'
The female voice disturbed James from his reverie and he looked up to see a teenage girl pushing a double buggy, her long, flame-coloured hair shining in the afternoon sun. At her feet trotted a small white terrier on the end of an extendable lead. As the girl spoke, the terrier shot off towards the pond barking furiously at the mallards, which immediately took flight in a flurry of water. Seeking refuge on the opposite side of the water, they sat quacking indignantly at the excited dog.