Lurching & Churching

I think it is possible that in Ellie’s mind the church is indivisible from the pub as a meeting place, though to be fair she does seem to recognise the need to be quiet in church, unlike in a pub, where she will talk to everyone and anybody.

We take her to church more often than the pub. (Uncle George takes her to the pub on any possible occasion! And she loves it.) Only say the word “PUB” and the little meerkat ears go up like veritable antennae, seeking out the nearest possible location, to the extent that she even recognises some of the local pubs when we drive past and the look of disappointment on her face, when we do not stop, is hilarious.

Even worse than not stopping at the pub though, is leaving her behind when we go to church which is quite often as my husband is churchwarden to two local churches: Great Badminton and Little Badminton.

The appeal of each is probably different, we gather: Great Badminton was for a long time a place shrouded in secrecy for her as it is approached down a long drive guarded by big gates which mysteriously unlock at the tap of a few fingers. You cannot even see the church until you have walked along the path bounded by hornbeams on one side and a ha-ha the other, looking across at the most glorious pastoral view of horses grazing amongst the picket fencing. It is a scene utterly reminiscent of Stubbs’ painting of the English landscape.

Oh, the excitement when she was first allowed into this enormous building, especially the length of the aisle, and the odd wooden pews and smells, the musty vestry, the cold and sometimes damp smells. But the mystery there is that there are never any people, at least that must be what she thinks, seeing no-one but us.

Little Badminton is quite different:

There is a large graveyard to play in and snuffle through the grass and potter along the side of the church as if for all the world it is her own garden. It reminds of a story of a vicar who was being visited by someone in his parish who was found in his graveyard, as it were, and hiding behind a gravestone, looking very shifty.

“What are you doing, Vicar?” said the parishioner in an astonished and somewhat disapproving tone.
“Why playing hide and seek with the dog of course,” replied the Vicar insouciantly with an air of complete innocence, for he was indeed being entirely truthful, apparently much to the chagrin of said enquirer who was probably taken most aback.

There is another charming anecdote about a vicar, who asked how he was lucky enough to grow such wonderful roses, replied that the cats were coming up roses. On further enquiry, the questioner was enlightened by the further explanation that the former feline residents of the Vicarage, whose job it was to keep down the church mice, were buried under the rose bushes.

I digress, the best thing about Little Badminton is that Ellie likes to meet and greet people at the door. She is a most sociable and charming animal where people are concerned, but less so around other dogs, unless of course they are either family or friends or long dogs. The hierarchy of the canine social distinction and scale never ceases to amaze me. The snobbery and air of being set apart is not only precise, but has also been a characteristic of all of the lurchers we have enjoyed.

Herein lies the similarity of the church to the pub – there are people to talk to, though the pub comes with the added possibility of a morsel or two as well.

So imagine the times when we are getting ready for church and we have to tell her “No, not this time”. And hear as the protracted sigh, that proclaims the beginning of a sulk, is slowly exhaled as her head slumps down on her paws on the sofa.

She has had some reasonable excitements and outings in her time to church, and as you know she, with the other dogs joined in our wedding celebrations with great enthusiasm. It is lovely that around here, with few exceptions people are delighted to see her, and take the view that dogs are all God’s creatures too. We actually had a dog that came to church regularly for the service, called Bella, an elderly but charming little terrier who was a great friend of Ellie’s and there was Badger, another lurcher who she meets in the church yard, and Pepsi, the spaniel, and so on. In fact it is a charming sight to see the meeting and greeting and exchange of news with them all.

When I was a child, I was peremptorily informed by a Roman Catholic priest, in our drawing room at the Old Parsonage, that animals do not under any circumstances go to Heaven. I am not afraid to say that I renounced my intention to go to Heaven, much to the horror of the assembled adults. I have always adhered to that opinion, heaven without animals, particularly dogs, would be hell to me. What was the point of the Ark, then? I am sure Noah would agree with me.

One day when the first of us has shuffled off our mortal coil and is laid to rest in our churchyard, I hope, then Ellie will be there too. We can never think of a more pleasant and peaceful place to forever play hide and seek amongst the gravestones and the old yews and the spring flowers. One hopes and prays for the continuity of this way of country life and parishes, of welcoming worshippers and forgiving vicars, as we are all God’s children in my book.