Barbara Pym - Glass of Blessings

Barbara Pym

A Glass of Blessings

When God at first made man,

Having a glasse of blessings standing by;

Let us (said he) poure on him all we can :

Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie,

Contract into a span.

GEORGE HERBERT: THE PULLEY

First published by Jonathan Cape 1958 Published in Penguin Books 1980 Reprinted 1981,1982

Copyright (c) the Estate of Barbara Pym, 1958 All rights reserved

The author thanks the literary Trustees of Walter de la Mare

and Messrs. Faber and Faber Limited, for permission to quote the lines

from the poem Autumn, which appear on page 82.

Chapter One

I suppose it must have been the shock of hearing the telephone ring, apparently in the church, that made me turn my head and see Piers Longridge in one of the side aisles behind me. It sounded shrill and particularly urgent against the music of the organ, and it was probably because I had never before heard a telephone ringing in church that my thoughts were immediately distracted, so that I found myself wondering where it could be and whether anyone would answer it. I imagined the little bent woman in the peacock blue hat who acted as verger going into the vestry and picking up the receiver gingerly, if only to put an end to the loud unsuitable ringing. She might say that Father Thames was engaged at the moment or not available; but surely the caller ought to have known that, for it was St Lukes day, the patronal festival of the church, and this lunch time Mass was one of the services held for people who worked in the offices nearby or perhaps for the idle ones like myself who had been too lazy to get up for an earlier service.

The ringing soon stopped, but I was still wondering who the caller could have been, and finally decided on one of Father Thamess wealthy elderly female friends inviting him to luncheon or dinner. Then a different bell began to ring and I tried to collect my thoughts, ashamed that they should have wandered so far from the service. I closed my eyes and prayed for myself, on this my thirty-third birthday, for my husband Rodney, my mother-in-law Sybil, and a vague collection of friends who always seemed to need praying for. At the last minute I remembered to pray for a new assistant priest to be sent to us, for Father Thames had urged us in the parish magazine to do this. When I opened my eyes again I could not help looking quickly at the side aisle where I had caught a glimpse of the man who looked like Piers Longridge, the brother of my great friend Rowena Talbot.

She usually spoke of him as poor Piers, for there was something vaguely unsatisfactory about him. At thirty-five he had had too many jobs and his early brilliance seemed to have come to nothing. It was also held against him that he had not yet married. I wondered what could have brought him to St Lukes at lunchtime. I remembered Rowena telling me that he had recently obtained work as a proof-reader to a firm of printers specializing in the production of learned books, but I had understood that it was somewhere in the city. I did not know him very well and had seen very little of him recently; probably he was one of those people who go into churches to look at the architecture and stay for a service out of curiosity. I stole another quick look at him. In novels, or perhaps more often in parish magazine stories, one sometimes reads descriptions of a lonely figure kneeling at the back of the church, his head bowed in prayer, but Piers was gazing about him in an inquisitive interested way. I realized again how good-looking he was, with his aquiline features and fair hair, and I wondered if I should have a chance to speak to him after the service was over.

When this moment came, Father Thames, a tall scraggy old man with thick white hair and a beaky nose, was standing by the door, talking in his rather too loud social voice to various individualscalling out to a young man to keep in touchwhile others slipped past him on the way back to their offices, perhaps calculating whether they would have time for a quick lunch or a cup of coffee before returning to work.

Although I had quite often been to his church, which was near where I lived, Father Thames and I had not yet spoken to each other. Today, as I approached him, I had the feeling that he would say something; but rather to my surprise, for I had not prepared any opening sentence, I was the one to speak first. And what I said was really rather unsuitable.

How strange to hear a telephone ringing in church! I dont think I ever have before, I began and then stopped, wondering how he would take it.

He threw back his head, almost as if he were about to laugh. Have you not? he said. Oh, it is always ringing here, although we have another one at the clergy house, of course. Usually its business, but just occasionally a kind friend may be inviting me to luncheon or something of the sort. People are so kind!

So it could have been as I had imagined. But there were two priests at the clergy house. Were the invitations always for Father Thames and never for mild dumpy little Father Bode, with his round spectacled face and slightly common voice, who always seemed to be the sub-deacon at High Mass and who had once read the wrong lesson at a carol service? I was sure that Father Bode was equally worthy of eating smoked salmon and grouse or whatever luncheon the hostesses might care to provide. Then it occurred to me that he might well be the kind of person who would prefer tinned salmon, though I was ashamed of the unworthy thought for I knew him to be a good man.

As a matter of fact that telephone call was about Father Ransome, our new assistant priest, Father Thames continued. That much Mrs Spooner was able to tell me after the service. In fact, from what I understood her to say it may even have been Ransome himself on the telephone, but she was understandably a little flustered.

I wondered if it was a good omen that the new assistant priest should have telephoned in the middle of a service or if it showed some lack of something.

Im so glad to hear that you have found somebody, I said.

Yesprayer has been answered in the way that it so often is. Of course there are still difficulties to be overcome, but if all goes according to plan he should be with us next month. Then we shall be able to get our full winter programme started. You must come and have a glass of sherry one eveningor perhaps you would like to join one of the study groups, he added, seeming to offer me two strangely contrasting alternatives. We are hoping to go very thoroughly into the South India business this autumn .. His voice tailed off and I could see that his glance had left me and fixed itself on a young man who was trying to slip past him. Now, Geoffrey, he called out, how would you like to be a server?

Geoffrey looked sheepish and mumbled something to the effect that he would not like it very much. He managed to make his escape while Father Thames was being buttonholed by an elderly woman of the type that always seems to waylay the clergy in porches and doorways.

Wilmet, said a voice at my side, dont you remember me?

It was Piers Longridge. We walked out into the October sunshine together.

I noticed you in church, he said. I was sure it was you.

I noticed you, I said, and then I seemed to get caught up with Father Thames.

Father Thames! he laughed. Surely theres something rather odd about the name?

Yes, I suppose there is, but Im used to it now. And he does seem to have lived it downthe oddness, I mean. Do you often come here?

No, this is the first time. Perhaps Rowena told youIve got a job in London now as a proof-reader for French and Portuguese books, and Im also teaching those languages at evening classes to earnest clerks and middle-aged ladiesterribly like an early novel by H. G. Wells, dont you think?