A Splendid Day

"Does anyone have anything further to say?" Moira looked around the members of the Ladies Circle.
"Yes, I have something to add." Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson leapt to her feet. "I have some wonderful news."
Moira groaned inwardly. So far, Hilda Smythe-Pattinson hadn’t interrupted once.
"I thought it was too good to be true," whispered Olive, looking at her watch. "I hope she keeps it brief; I need to get home. Gordon went to band practise this evening and forgot to take his door key."
Hilda beamed around the group. "As you know, my husband Maurice is chairman of the Parish Council..."
"We should do by now; you tell us every week," interjected Margaret.
"Earlier this evening," continued Hilda, peering at Margaret over the top of her glasses. "Maurice received a phone call from the Bishop to inform him that our new vicar will be arriving a week on Thursday."
"That’s all very nice," said Moira. "But I fail to see what that’s got to do with us."
"Why! It has everything to do with us," Hilda shrilled. "My husband suggested it would be a good idea if the Parish put on some sort of a welcoming party for him."
"Yes, I can see that would be a nice gesture," said Moira thoughtfully, "But I still can’t see where we come into the equation."
"Nor me," said Olive rising to her feet. "I’ll have to go, Gordon..."
"Sit down, Olive! Gordon can wait. This is important." Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson looked hurt that her news wasn’t getting the reaction she had hoped for. "I believe the Ladies Circle should organise the whole thing." She paused, allowing her statement to sink in. "We can’t leave something as important as this to the Parish Council. They’re all getting on a bit now and wouldn’t have a clue." She hesitated. "Except for Maurice, of course, but then he has me to rely on."
"I don’t think we should muscle in on something the Parish Council is organising." Margaret looked at the others. "What does everyone else think?"
There were a few murmurings of agreement. Events such as these were usually undertaken by the council.
"But we wouldn’t be ‘muscling in’, as you put it," insisted Hilda. "I suggested to Maurice that the Ladies Circle could take the burden off the council on this occasion and he wholeheartedly agreed. In fact, he seemed rather relieved. Of course he knows how well I’m able to cope with functions of this nature."
Moira glanced at the others. Hilda and her husband hadn’t lived here for very long. Yet in a short space of time, not only had Maurice wheedled his way onto the Parish Council, but he had also managed to get himself elected as chairman. Not to be outdone, his wife had joined the Ladies Circle and somehow had been voted onto the committee.
"Of course my husband was firm with Bishop regarding the kind of vicar we wanted here," Hilda continued. "Once the Reverend Johns announced he was retiring due to ill health, Maurice and I decided we weren’t going to be fobbed off with any old minister. Oh no! What we wanted was a man of good breeding. Someone who is upstanding, well spoken and comes from a good background – such as the aristocracy. Maurice made that very clear to the Bishop from the outset." She clasped her hands together. "I understand the new vicar is called, Paul Matthews. The name has a certain biblical ring to it, wouldn’t you all agree? I can see he’s going to fit in here very well."
There was a long silence; Olive was the first to speak. "Surely all vicars are upstanding."
"Well – yes, of course they are; to a certain extent." Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson looked slightly ruffled. "However, Maurice and I feel that some are not quite up to our standard. What we are seeking, is someone who is used to dealing with people of our class."
"I see," said Moira, unable to believe her ears. "And what did the Bishop say to all this?"
"He was both sympathetic and understanding." Hilda beamed. "Such a delightful man. He said he would do his utmost to ensure we got the man we deserved. So you see – that’s why I feel we owe it to this new vicar to put on a superb welcoming party. To make it a day he’ll always remember." Her eyes glazed over. "A splendid day."
"I don’t know what to say..." Moira began.
"I quite understand, my dear!" Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson interrupted. "This is a small town; you’re not used to this kind of thing. That’s why I put myself forward to organise the whole thing."
"Well I’ve got to go!" Olive stood up. "Gordon will be beating down the door."
"Can’t you stay?" Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson sounded irate. "I want to outline my plans."
"What plans?" Moira intervened. "I thought you had just heard about the new vicar this evening."
"Yes, I did. "Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson smiled. "But I knew it was only a matter of time before the Bishop found the right man for our Parish. Therefore I’d already begun to think about what we should do to welcome him."
"That was a bit high-handed of you," said Margaret. After all, we managed perfectly before you moved into the town."
Moira hid a smile. Margaret was known to call a spade a spade.
"Managed, is the operative word!" Hilda declared. "I intend to take this Parish up the social ladder."
"For goodness sake, get on with it. Tell us what you have in mind! I have to go." Olive was beginning to lose her temper.
"Well to begin with, I thought we could hold the party in the vicarage garden. I’d like Gordon to bring the band and..." Hilda began.
"Good! I’ll ask him," interrupted Olive. "The rest I’ll hear another time. I’m off now."
"Wait! I’ve chosen the music. I’ve discussed it with a friend who’s a conductor with a large orchestra and he says..." added Hilda, as Olive strode towards the door
"Another time," Olive called out.
"You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you, Hilda?" said Margaret, sarcastically. "Why go off and discuss the music with a friend? You should have talked it through with Gordon."
"I think we should all leave now and meet up another day." Moira could feel a row brewing. She called across to Olive who was just about to leave. "Wait! Margaret and I’ll walk home with you."
"The nerve of the woman!" Margaret sounded angry as they walked home. "What must the Bishop think? He’ll be under the impression the whole community asked for a vicar of ‘good breeding’." She mimicked Hilda’s voice.
"I thought that too," said Moira. "I’ll feel rather embarrassed the next time he visits the church."
"When the Bishop comes, we’ll make it plain that the community had nothing to do with Maurice and Hilda’s requests," chirped Olive, as they
reached her gate. "I’m sure he’ll understand." She looked up the drive; the car wasn’t there. "Gordon must be running late."
"We’ll all sleep on it and I’ll be in touch tomorrow," said Moira.
"I expect we’ll hear from Hilda long before then," Margaret laughed.
Sure enough, first thing the following morning Moira received a call from Hilda. "Sorry to ring so early, my dear, but we have such a lot to do before next week."
"We have?" Moira enquired. "Surely it won’t take too long to organise a few sandwiches...?"
"Sandwiches!" Hilda’s voice rose an octave. "No! Sandwiches are not on the agenda! Tell everyone to meet me in the church hall at 11 am sharp!"
Despite the groans Moira had received on the telephone, she was relieved that most of the members of the Ladies Circle turned up.
"Good!" exclaimed Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson. "I’m delighted to see that so many of you realise the importance of this event. As I said yesterday, it’s imperative we welcome our new vicar in the style to which he is accustomed." She paused. "Olive, did you tell Gordon to bring his band to the welcoming party?"
"I asked my husband about it," Olive retorted. "He said he would speak to the band today."
"Excellent!" Hilda clapped her hands. She appeared not to notice the sting in Olive’s tone. "As I tried to tell you yesterday, I’ve chosen the music. Perhaps you could take it home and show it to Gordon. Will he understand it?"
"Of course he will!" Olive snatched the music sheets from her hand.
"Now for the other arrangements," Mrs. Smythe-Pattinson paused, as she picked up her list. "This is what I propose..."
It took two hours for Hilda to outline her proposals, by which time Moira and her friends were heartedly sick of the new vicar before the poor man had actually arrived.
"I think that covers everything." Hilda beamed. "Are you all clear about what I want?" She hesitated. "Perhaps I should run through it again?"
"No!" gasped Moira. "That won’t be necessary. "I just wonder if Reverend Matthews will think we have gone a little over the top." She looked around the group for support.
There were nods of agreement from several members.
"What Moira means is – will the vicar want such a posh affair." Olive looked down at the food list. "I don’t mean to say, he doesn’t deserve some
sort of a welcoming party," she added hastily. "But will he be expecting something of such – extravagance? Take the food for instance. Caviar, smoked salmon, pate... and that’s only the starters. Isn’t it just a shade ostentatious?"
"Of course it’s not!" Hilda’s voice rang around the hall. "He’ll expect it. People of his station are accustomed to being greeted in this way."
Over the week, Hilda dished out orders like a Regimental Sergeant Major. Instructing Mr. Peterson, the Choir Master to liaise with Gordon regarding the music, she told him to make sure the boys were well scrubbed for the occasion. "And please tell the youngest boy, not to sniff! It’s so disconcerting."
Turning to Moira, she handed her a folder. "Inside is a list of people I think should be invited together with invitation cards. I’d like you to write them out and post them."
"Invitations! Surely the whole Parish will be here to welcome the new vicar." Pulling out the list, Moira recognised some of the names. Only the elite had been invited.
"Good heavens, girl. We couldn’t invite all the riff-raff." Hilda cried. Absolutely not! The good man will meet them soon enough. As I said, this is going to be a splendid day for all concerned."
"A splendid day, she says. I think it’s going to be awful," said Moira, gloomily as she and her two friends walked home.
"So do I," said Olive. "Quite apart from anything else, Gordon’s very unhappy with the music Hilda’s chosen. It’s so depressing, not the kind of thing for a welcoming party. I gather Mr. Peterson feels the same way. He said it was much too difficult for the choir boys."
"And the food," Margaret added. "It must be costing a fortune. I hope it doesn’t rain..."
"Didn’t you know," interrupted Moira. "I understand Hilda’s ordered a marquee."
"Never!" Margaret stopped in her tracks. "Couldn’t we have used the church hall?"
"Hilda said it was too impersonal," uttered Olive, miserably.
"Well there’s only a few days left, thank goodness." Moira looked at the folder. "Which means I must get these invitations written and posted this afternoon."
At last the big day arrived. As the appointed time drew near, Hilda lined everyone up outside the marquee.
"The Bishop said the new vicar was a punctual man. He’s due at two o’clock sharp," she shrilled. "Look out for his car," she called to Gordon. "It
will be something large. As soon as you see it, strike up the band." She looked down at choir boys. "And please, no sniffing."
With only a few minutes to spare, a young man opened the gate and strode towards them. He was wearing jeans and a denim jacket; a gold earring dangled from his left ear. Behind him were several people from the town.
"Oh no!" cried Hilda. "He’s the last person we want here today." Clutching her hat, she hurried to stop him. "This is a private party, you must all leave immediately."
But I’m the new vicar," said the young man, calmly.
"No! Impossible!" Hilda roared.
She staggered backwards and believing she was about to faint, Moira rushed forward with a chair.
"I’m Paul Matthews. When I arrived on the bus, these good people gave me directions; they said something about a party so I brought them along."
"But the Bishop..." Hilda whimpered.
Paul grinned. "Yes, a lovely old man. He said I was exactly what this Parish needed." Glancing around, he saw the band. "Play something we can all dance to."
Seizing the moment, Gordon struck up a tune from the pop scene.
"You know," said Moira, laughing at the horrified expression on Hilda’s face. "This might turn out to be a splendid day after all."
"We couldn’t agree more," chorused Olive and Margaret.

The End