21 February 2009

Golden anniversary for Bishop Pargeter

Early this morning, before the sun had reached more than an inch of so over the horizon, the whole community began an epic journey. We staggered from the refectory door towards the outside world with a top secret and highly sought after mission of merrymaking on our minds.

Through the realm of the clerical whisper we had come to know of a most special and exciting anniversary occurring on our watch. Bishop Philip, our most noble and revered regular raconteur, was celebrating 50 years, to the day, from his own memorable ordination to the sacred priesthood. Our task, should we chose to accept it, was to go by stealth, appear upon his lawn, and in loud and celestial voice sing Ad Multos Annos.

The objective clear, we traversed the grounds, fighting back all manner of wildlife and headed straight for the gates to the most dangerous of all places, outside. Upon reaching the world, we perambled, because by now we were waking from our slumber, crocodile fashion along the pavement. Like children on our annual school trip to the library, we approached the pedestrian crossing. We were not fooled by the allusion of traffic lights giving safety, rather we stormed the road and held our heads high, oblivious of any would be traffic that might seek to plough us down. We knew well the danger of the roads.

Upon reaching our target, we reformed outside the gates before, like the peasants about to storm the Bastille, we grew in our shared mission that we might be strengthened in our resolve. There was no going back, and there were no hostages to be taken, with one voice we were to be heard choralling around the world. We would not fail.

The rector knocked upon the door and we held our breath. Would his Lordship be home, who would answer the door, were we to fail at the last? We were not. After much delay and nervous tittering from the crowds, the door creaked slowly open and suddenly, without warning we broke into song. And, boy, were we good. On note, in tune and pitch perfect. We sang like angels.

Hoorahs said, greetings expressed and thank yous over, we made the return journey. The fear of the roads, the roar of the traffic and the untold possible dangers of the outside world were as nothing. We were going home and faced far more terrifying a challenge. Some of us had Ken's class! Good luck, men, may the Lord send his angels to carry you lest you stumble.
Happy Anniversary, Bishop Philip.

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