SearchThe owl hooted, his doleful note accompanied by the dreary symphony of the howling wind - and was there something else? A low chanting sound - perhaps ghostly monks in the ruined abbey, perhaps a coven on witches - probably just the wind.
“Oh darling, why did you have to be a vicar - I hate these rambling old vicarages!”
Twenty years old, imaginative, romantic, passionate and naive, Helen looked like an Ingres odalisque in the pale moonlight. She was wearing one of those night dresses which do more to warm men’s fantasies than the wearer’s body. As an added enticement, she had allowed it to fall open in the hope that her husband might notice her for once.
He did notice, but not in the way she had hoped.
“You will catch cold, my dear,” he said, hardly glancing up from the book he was reading. David was a clergyman of thirty. He had always been zealous about religion, but recently he had become increasingly fanatical. It seemed that he was wrestling with some spiritual problem which made all earthly matters seem insignificant. The book he was poring over must have promised a heaven-sent solution for him to find it more interesting than his young wife, whose beauties would have tempted a saint.
“What are you reading?” she said, wriggling closer and allowing her nightdress to slip down a little further.
“Nothing!” he said.
She leaned over him and reached for the book. As she did so, the strap of her nightdress slipped down to her elbow and her breasts popped out - almost in his face. He pushed her away.
“Can’t you see I’m reading!” he snapped.
She turned her back to him and sobbed her heart out, her tears trickling down her beautiful cheeks and splashing on her breasts - a sight that would have moved most men to put down their books, however interesting, and kiss away the tears until dawn.
When she awoke, the place beside her was empty. At the side of the bed was the book her husband had been reading. Helen picked it up and read the title: “Modern Witchcraft”. She flicked through the pages wondering why her husband had taken an interest in such an obscure subject.
She found out at Matins when her husband began his sermon:
“I have reason to believe that there is a coven of witches in this parish that is trying to overthrow the work of this church. I have heard their satanic chanting. No doubt they dance naked as they cast their wicked spells...”
At the word “naked” the few young men in the church seemed to snap out of their reveries, and take an interest in the sermon for the first time in years.
“Who are they?” he continued, “they are among us. They are your friends and neighbours - some of them may even be sitting in this church! We must be wary, my friends, and look out for the signs of the devil in those around us...”
Members of the congregation glanced nervously at each other.
“Remember the words of the sacred text: ‘Ye shall know them by their fruits’,” he concluded. “Let us now sing hymn number 666.”
The conversation at the coffee morning was more animated than usual. Not that Helen heard much of the negative comments. Her presence was enough to silence those. However, she gathered that there were at least three schools of thought: 1) that the vicar was off his rocker (this was the view she inclined to herself), 2) that there was no such thing as witches, but it was a good idea to preach against them, just in case, 3) that he had completely misunderstood witchcraft.
It was the latter view that interested Helen the most, and she had an interesting conversation with one of the Sunday School teachers, a middle-aged woman called Marion, who also taught RE at the local school.
“Witchcraft is simply a survival of a much older nature religion,” explained Marion.
“But, isn’t it evil?”
“That’s just propaganda put about by the early church. It’s about man living in harmony with nature. I think it has a lot to offer the modern world - you know, environmental concerns, alternative medicine, new age philosophy, astrology - things that would have been scoffed at in the age of Pisces, but which we take seriously today.”
“The age of Pisces?” Helen was mystified, but fascinated.
“Oh, sorry. The age of Pisces ended in the year 2000. We are now in the age of Aquarius. Pisces is the sign of the fish - does that ring a bell?”
“Should it?”
“Think of all that Christian iconography all over the church.”
“Two fishes were an early Christian symbol.”
“Exactly. So the ages of the fishes - Christianity - has passed, and the age of Aquarius has just started.”
While Helen was talking to Marion, another, more serious conversation was taking place on the same subject. Henry Charlton, who had been churchwarden for the last ten years, was taking to task on his sermon.
“But seriously, David, witches are all very well in plays like ‘The Crucible’, but from the pulpit of Harewell Church... Don’t you think there’s a danger you’ll make the church a laughing stock. It’s difficult enough to get young people in the village to take us seriously as it is.”
David was silent for a long time, then he said, “Henry, if you would accompany me on a short walk, I would like to show you something.”
David led him out of the vicarage, across the lawn, through the churchyard, and into to Church Woods. After a while the ground rose, and the trees became sparser. David stopped when they reached a place called the crags - a series of rocky outcrops carved out in the last ice age.
“This is the place,” said David.
Henry was looking back over the village. “Magnificent view,” he commented. “Look, you can see the church and the vicarage - and there’s Harewell Hall.”
“I didn’t bring you here to look at the view,” said Henri solemnly. “I brought you to see this.”
David pointed to a rocky eminence shaped like a “V”. Henry looked at it, mystified. It was just another rock.
“This is the place,” said David, “where the coven meets.”
Henry looked more carefully. He noticed that the grass was somewhat worn away in places, and one patch was blackened, as though a fire had been lit. Strange but meaningless graffiti had been daubed on the face of the rock.
“Well, I can see that somebody has been here. Have you actually seen them?”
“No, but...”
“Then it’s probably just kids...”
“But a lay line goes right through this point and...”
“A lay line?”
“Lay lines were believed to be lines of power. Look, Harewell Hall - which was built from the ruins of the abbey - the church, and this point, all line up and if you stand anywhere on the line and look at this “V” shaped rock, you will see the sun rise exactly in the middle of the “V” on the summer solstice.”
Henry looked at David and shook his head sadly. “Let’s walk back,” he said.
Just before they got to the vicarage, Henry spoke again: “David, have you thought of taking a break? You’ve been working very hard lately, what with the church roof appeal, and the diocesan festival.”
David smiled weakly. “You think I’m going off my rocker, don’t you?”
“No, of course not, it’s just that...”
“Don’t worry,” I won’t mention it in church again.”
Henry breathed a sigh of relief and slapped him on the back. “That’s the ticket - don’t want to frighten off the old ladies do we?”
At the Royal Oak yet a third conversation was taking place on the subject.
“A coven of witches...” said Bob.
“I wonder if men can join,” said Barry.
“Your wife wouldn’t let you!” said Bob.
Barry looked thoughtful. Being married with two single friends wasn’t easy. His wife had been difficult enough about the walking holiday in Snowdonia, but when he mentioned the lads-only trip to Ibiza, she nearly hit the roof. Well, this was one thing he didn’t mean to miss out on.
“Let’s try and find this coven,” said Barry. “I think the night of the midsummer solstice will be a good time to look.
“If we go to the crags at about midnight we will be able to see the whole area. They must have some kind of light - a fire, torches - something. We’ll see that.”
“Waste of time,” said Bob. “It’s probably a figment of the vicar’s overheated imagination.”
“Well, I’m going to give it a go,” said Barry, “even if I have to go by myself.”
Helen was at her mothers. David was vaguely worried that she was spending more and more time there. He was aware that he had been cold towards her of late, but he felt that he had no energy for anything else until the problem of the witches had been solved. This was something that struck not only at the core of his beliefs, but at his credibility as vicar of the parish. Her absence tonight was a blessing because it meant that he would be spared awkward explanations.
He had it all worked out. All he had to do was follow the plan and nothing could go wrong. At 11.30, he left the vicarage carrying a torch and a mobile phone (for use only in emergencies) and a camera with a powerful flashgun. He walked through the graveyard, through the woods , then, following the lay line, up the hill towards the crags.
He saw a dim yellow light ahead flickering on the face of the crags and heard voices. He had worked it out so carefully that he wasn’t even surprised - just grimly determined to carry through his plan. He turned off his torch and crept closer, not wanting to lose the element of surprise. At last he came to the edge of the clearing where he could see everything that was taking place.
His first shock was to recognise so many women from his congregation. Not just the young and flighty either. Some of his most respectable elderly parishioners were there too - stark naked and rocking to the music of some obscene ritual. Then the biggest blow of all - amongst the younger women, next to Marion, he saw his wife, stark naked and dancing and chanting like the others.
He forgot his plan, which was to photograph the proceedings as evidence, and marched straight over to his wife.
The chant stopped and there were several gasps of horror as the circle broke up.
“It’s the vicar!”
“He has crossed the magic circle!”
“The spell is broken!”
Suddenly strong arms seized him. Looking round, he saw a group of well-known male parishioners, seemingly led by Henry.
“I tried to warn you off,” said Henry. “You had better go back to the vicarage and forget what you have seen.”
“I came to get my wife,” said David, struggling to get free.
“She is one of us,” replied Henry simply.
“Let me speak to her,” said David, but his captor’s grip remained firm.
“Those whom God has join together let no man put asunder!” shouted David, quoting from the marriage service.
Henry signalled for him to be released. “It won’t do you any good,” he said.
He walked over to Helen, who was standing where he had first seen her, naked, bewildered and shivering.
“Will you come with me?” asked David, holding out his hand.
She looked at him blankly.
“I know I have been cold to you lately. I had something on my mind - this...” he moved his head to indicate the scene around him. “I will never let anything come between us again.”
She took a step towards him and collapsed in his arms.
At midnight, Barry and Bill stood on the highest point of the crags scanning the landscape as planned. It didn’t take long to spot the fire:
“There!” said Bill, pointing to a dull gleam about 500 yards away.
Barry’s heart leapt with excitement as they scrambled down the cliff face. Now was his chance to catch up on some of those sexual peccadilloes he had been missing.
They found the fire, but not much else.
“Something’s been going on,” said Bill, “the grass is all trampled.”
“Looks like they left in a hurry,” said Barry, “they’ve forgotten some of their stuff.”
“Do you think they heard us coming and made a run for it?” said Bill.
But Barry didn’t answer, he was too busy worrying about a bra he had just picked up. He was sure it belonged to his wife.
It was a passionate reconciliation. Afterwards, as they lay together in bed, David said: “How did you get involved in it?”
“It was Marion. She explained to me about Wicca, and well... I felt so lonely...”
“That was my fault,” said David, kissing her as if to reassure her that it would never happen again. “It’s all nonsense, you know. Wicca is just a recent invention. The real witches were village wise women who dealt in herbal medicines and love potions.”
“Where’s the harm then?”
“When it turns into some sort of mass hysteria - like it did in Salem in the 17th Century. Like it was doing here.”
“What will you do about it?”
“Well, I’ll offer forgiveness to those who want it, but I can predict now what will happen. The congregation, already small, will be cut by half - some people will never dare to show their faces in church again. The bishop has been wanting to close this church and amalgamate the parish with that of Little Orfield. He’ll have an excuse to do that now.”
“What about you - us?”
“I’m going to leave the church. I’ll get a job as a lecturer in a university or college, and we’ll make a new start.”
Helen gave him an enthusiastic hug. “That will be wonderful!” she said.
It happened as David predicted. Within a year, the parish of Harewell had been combined with the Parish of Little Orfield. As Harewell Church was a Victorian building of no historic value, it was sold off. Some months later, a new sign appeared over the door: “Wicca Meeting Hall”. In multi-cultural modern Britain the meeting house of yet another religious sect raised no eyebrows. The only effect was on the members of coven who didn’t seem to experience the same excitement now that meetings were official. A year later, the church had been converted into a private house.
David got a post of lecturer in Comparative Religion in the nearby university town. These days he studies all religions, but subscribes to none. He is now as comfortable with himself as any man can expect to be, comfortable enough for Helen not to need to resort to provocative nightwear to keep their relationship alive.
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