A famous scene from literature retold by one of the minor characters
Anyone reading his account would imagine that I, a parson, was virtually irrelevant. Dismissing me with a passing reference, our ‘hero’ focuses exclusively on how he felt before dumping his messy burden at my feet and galloping off leaving me to sort out the chaos and deal with the gory aftermath.
Imagine the scene: the marriage blessing, a sudden ear-splitting blast, a shattered window, shards of glass flying everywhere and blood all over the place staining the newly-polished altar steps and ruining the hassocks!
It took an eternity to clean up afterwards with nobody offering to stay behind and help. Needless to say, the bleeding bride had merely fainted and was not mortally wounded as everyone else had supposed.
Can Oare ever offer some future incumbent a quiet living in a peaceful parish? Not, I believe, until it’s rid of the Ridds and done with the Doones!
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