the girl in white

I crossed out the address of the Vicarage.

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Copyright © 2016, Michael M Wayman

While the new Vicar taught Religious Instruction to the other girls I searched the Vicarage. Simple, I reappeared in the vicar's office, I found all sorts of things, but not the last vicar's new address. I took some headed notepaper and some bills for repairing the church tower and other stuff.

Where was the last vicar, I needed an address, address means letter, I must think.

I asked the new vicar for the address of the Bishop, I wanted to write a letter to him. He showed me a typed letter from the Bishop to congratulate him on his new job. He was proud of it. I could understand that, I copied the address. “Read it, if you like.” It was pompous, lots of stuff about being a good vicar. I told him that I hoped that he would be a good vicar too, he beamed.

But where was the last vicar?

Gottit! I took a handwritten repair bill for the church and copied it onto a blank sheet of paper, with a few details changed: the name and the address of the repairer were fiction and all the prices multiplied by a hundred. I put it in an envelope with the name of the last vicar, the word PRIVATE, the address of the Vicarage and a stamp. I took another pen and crossed out the address of the Vicarage, added the word REDIRECT and the address of the Bishop; and posted it.

I was hoping that the last vicar (where ever he was) would receive the letter redirected by the Bishop, have a shock at the huge bill to pay, realise it was intended for the new vicar, and redirect the letter to him.

A week later I found the letter in the Vicarage. It must have shocked the new vicar, it lay on the top of the heap together with the envelope. No, it was not the envelope that I had used, it did not have the new address of the last vicar crossed out on it.

The last vicar had been clever and used a new envelope, no new address on that. Wrong, it had a postmark: a date and the word CRAYSFIELD. How many priests in Craysfield?

The next day was an on-yer-bike day, Craysfield was a long way away, and I was prepared to visit all the villages in that area to find him. However it was easy, the first church I found, had a large, wooden, black sign outside it:

St. Andrews Parish Church in Craysfield, a big cross, the times of the services and freshly painted in gold:

Reverend Jakob Haitsbury