Date: Sat, 03 Feb 2007 18:23:05 -0700
From: Joseph Farrin <bigblaise@hotmail.com>
Subject: THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD

THE VICAR OF BLANCHARD

PART ONE

I was born in Brooklyn and lived there until my mother
died of influenza during the winter of 1985 when I was
twelve years old.  My father didn't think he was capable of
continuing both working and raising me.  So he sent me
to England to live with his parents, whom I'd never seen.

I was one mixed up kid the night my dad took me to JFK
International and, after much reassurance mixed with
many tears, put me on a night flight to Heathrow --
London. I had a window seat next to a well-dressed,
young man -- probably a businessman.  Despite my
stress, I began to drowse and the young man buzzed the
stewardess and asked her to bring a pillow and two
blankets for me.  His placing the blankets around me and
tucking them in was my last conscious memory until,
some wee hour of the morning, I woke and looked out the
window onto an icy cold looking, blue colored world with
just enough light that you could see the curvature of the
earth. It was a spectacular sight but, at the same time,
vacant and eerie -- even a little frightening for a twelve
year old.

Shortly thereafter, the pilot announced over the intercom
that we were approaching the north coast of Scotland and
would be landing at Heathrow within an hour and ten
minutes if there was no problem in getting a landing
clearance and the stewardesses would now start serving
coffee and breakfast rolls.  The businessman stayed with
me until we reached the customs counter and my Nana
started waving and hollering "Morgan, we're here!" and
pointing to the man standing next to her, said, "This is
your grandpa!"  My seat partner called back, "We have to
wait for our luggage to arrive and be inspected.  I sat next
to Morgan on the plane and he did fine."

After Nana gave me all the hugs and smooches only a
grandma can give, the man I'd sat beside introduced
himself as Jeff Montgomery and grandpa reciprocated
with introducing himself and Nana as John and Mary
Townsend and me as Morgan Townsend.  We all shared
a taxi to London, as we were all traveling west by train
from Paddington Station.

After Grandpa, Nana and I arrived in Torquay I was
amazed when I saw Palm trees.  Grandpa explained that
Torquay's location on the English Channel was at the tail
end of the warm waters of the Gulf Stream after it traveled
north along the east coast of the U S from the Caribbean,
turned and crossed the Atlantic at some point and
continued down the coast of Ireland and entered the
English Channel, giving Torquay a sufficiently warm
climate to support the only Palm Trees on the British
Isles.

After a good life with my grandparents, who both loved
and spoiled me, I told them six years later that I'd had
several conversations with our local Vicar at St. Anne's
and had decided to attend an Anglican seminary in
Canterbury that he recommend.

Believe me the impact could not have been greater if I'd
told them I'd accepted employment as a garbage collector
with the Torquay's Department of Sanitation.

I'll never understand exactly what takes place when a
young man announces to his family that he is going to
take the first step toward becoming a priest. I just know
that at first they go berserk, absolutely berserk -- first my
grandparents, then my dad, then my two uncles, then my
older cousins.  Then they settled down to lecturing me
about the lifelong commitment I was making and trying to
dissuade me.  Finally came acceptance of the fact that
they would still see me, they could still write letters to me,
call me on the telephone, and we could spend time
together during my vacations.  In the end they all
conveyed the pride they felt in my becoming a priest.

PART TWO

The end of the story about the seminary in Canterbury
took place the day I was ordained a priest in the Church
of England. All my relatives, including my father, attend
the ceremony to watch my ordination, which included all
those being ordained lying face down on the cold marble
floor of the cathedral as we recited our vows before the
Bishop of Canterbury and received his blessing.

Later, the reception turned out to be a time of
congratulations as well as a time of more tears, at least
for everyone except me.  I now perceived myself as a
priest and it was both a good and a happy perception.
Whether it was customary or not, everyone slipped me a
greeting card which, when I later opened, contained
checks that, to me, totaled a small fortune. Grandpa and
Nana also bought me a new Mini Cooper.  Gas was
purchased by the liter at a price that would equal $8.00
per gallon in American money.  I was happy at their
choice, as it was one of few cars I could afford to operate.

After a two-week vacation in Spain with Nana, grandpa
and my dad, I received notice of my first assignment.  It is
customary in both the Anglican and Roman Catholic
Churches to assign newly ordained priests to locations
other than those they had been raised in to avoid all
previously formed, local impressions and opinions and to
give the new guy on the block a fair chance to succeed.
My first assignment can only be explained by the fact that
the pastor of the place where I was assigned had just
died.  And that is how I became Vicar of Blanchard.

PART THREE

I'd never heard of Blanchard and actually had to look at a
Road Atlas of Great Britain to locate it.  Blanchard turned
out to be a village of 195 persons located in the northern
part of Britain, on the very northern border of County
Durham in Northumbria, and looked to be on the Atlas
about eight miles from Hexham and another four on to
Hadrian's wall. The wall was built by the Romans and
crossed the island from the North Sea to the Irish Sea to
keep out, as the Roman's called them, "the hairy men
from the north" now known as the Scots and which wall
still stands.

The wall was named after the then Emperor of the Roman
Empire and marked the last and most distant expansion
of the Empire from Rome.  It is still an engineering
marvel, considering the time, location and available
materials at the time it was built.  It was something I
wanted to see someday.

Blanchard turned out to be an "L" shaped courtyard
surrounded by a continuous row of one-story cottages,
stonewalled and roofed.  There were a few stores at the
north side of the courtyard that catered to tourists, along
with an impressive Entrance Arch for a two-lane road that
continued across the courtyard to an opening at the south
end and a bridge crossing the River Derwent. At one side
of the North Arch was the King's Arms, a hotel, pub and
restaurant.  To Blanchard's credit, both the village and the
surrounding countryside were beautiful and unique
enough that it never lacked for tourists and the small,
stone church was included in all the daily tours.

The church was located north of the courtyard as was the
school, a few row houses and the vicarage.

The church's heating system consisted of four-inch
diameter, steam pipes laid atop the floor at each end of
each row of pews -- it was ineffective as a heating system
but very effective as something to stumble over.  It
seemed the parishioners couldn't remember the pipes
from one Sunday to the next.

The vicarage, too, had it's shortcomings, all mitigated by
Maggie Partridge, who was a left over from the previous
vicar and came every Friday to clean and do the washing
then taking the ironing home.  She also brought a
chocolate cake or Cornish Pasties with her every week.
She was a Godsend, she truly was.

The furnishings belonged to the church, such as they
were.  Dishes, glass and silverware, cooking utensils,
bedding and such was left over, unclaimed property of the
former priest.  After I got settled in Maggie went shopping
for new cookware and bedding.  I went shopping in
Hexham for new table linen, silverware, glassware and
china.  Maggie said the former priest had been ill for the
past few years and gave up all thoughts of delivering
good sermons, mixing in with the community or making a
home of the vicarage, so I should look for new carpeting
when I could find time and put it on the expense list for
the Vicarage.

Blanchard turned out to be the coldest place in Britain if
you excluded Northumbria's North Sea Coast to the east
and the Pennine Mountains a short distance to the west.
No Palm Trees grew here -- that's for sure.

PART FOUR

My first personal friend was an elderly parishioner named
George Fisher who arrived one evening with a canvas
bag that had handles on it and was used for carrying
groceries or other items home from a store.  It contained
six bottles of Newcastle Brown Ale and we drank all of
them before he left.  He was a good storyteller about the
antics of some of the more colorful, past parishioners and
past vicars.  After his first visit he came every Monday
evening.

Next came James Killian, the school principal who I first
met in the lounge of the King's Arm during afternoon tea
one Saturday.

Third was Michael Longley, who I met in the local grocery
one Friday afternoon, a place I went to on occasion when
I'd forgotten something in Hexham or Consett, a small
market town east of here that had a supermarket. Maggie,
however, was in and out of the place every day.

Michael asked if I was the new Vicar.  I asked if he was a
member of my parish, to which he replied in the negative.
I was fascinated with the boy and asked if he'd like to
have tea with me at the King's Arms.  He replied he would
if he could get in.  I told him underage persons were
admitted to the lounge and being in the company of the
local vicar was a key for getting into a lot of places.  I lost
track of the number of cups of tea he had and the number
of trips he made to the serving table for more scones,
cakes and the other goodies being served.  I fact, I
wondered if it was the first food he'd eaten that day.

During tea, he asked why I'd chosen to come to
Blanchard.  I told him because the Bishop requested me
to come here.  I asked him if he knew the history of the
village.  He said he'd learned at school that it was built in
the mid 1770's by a company that owned a nearby Lead
mine.  So, it was not old as English villages go. The mine
was now defunct; however the ruins of the main building
still existed.

Later that night, I was sitting by the fire, watching the TV,
when I heard someone at the door.  Someone calling at
this time of night generally meant an illness or a death
had occurred, so I couldn't have been more surprised
when I opened the door and saw Michael standing,
shivering on the stoop, still in his shirt sleeves.

"Morgan, may I come in?"

PART FIVE

"Of course."  I wanted to reach out and pull him inside and
out of the cold.  Once he was in I draped one of my wool
sweaters over his shoulders and told him to go sit by the
sofa in front of the fire and I'd make him some hot
chocolate.

He asked if he could have something to eat instead.  I
again told him to sit by the fire but he followed me to the
kitchen, sat at the table and watched as I prepared
spaghetti with butter and grated Parmesan cheese
sprinkled on it.  I put the dishes in the sink, turned out the
light and we returned to the sitting room.

"I'm glad you decided to pay me a visit, Michael."

"You're not angry then?"

"Not angry, curious yes but not angry?

He started to cry.  I told him to move over closer to me
and I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled him still
closer.  After ten of fifteen minutes he's stopped crying
enough to say, "My mom kicked me out and I have no
place to go."

I didn't know what his home situation was so I guess
stunned is as good a choice as any to describe my
reaction.

During the next hour I was stunned several more times,
as when he told me his mother was a whore, the cottage
was tiny so he could hear his mom and her clients having
sex, she was often drunk as she was tonight, he had only
two pairs of blue jeans, two shirts, one pair of shoes, four
pair of socks, no underwear, no winter cap or jacket. And
worst of all, the only time he had anything to eat was
when he managed to steal some of her money and buy
something from the grocery that didn't need cooking.
When he finished I was not only stunned but had a hard
time holding back tears and, at the same time, I was filled
with an anger like I'd never before experienced.

I took him upstairs to a guest room, checked to make sure
it had sheets, pillows and a duvet, telling him to leave the
bedspread on, as it would be warmer and that the only
bathroom was downstairs.  He had a look of despair on
his face as he asked, "Where will you sleep?"

Then it dawned on me: The boy was already upset and I
was asking him to sleep in a strange room in a strange
house and upsetting him more by the minute, so I asked,
"Would you rather sleep with me downstairs?"

He replied with a smile and said, "Yes."

I gave him a flannel top to a pair of my pajamas and he
undressed as I put on my pajamas.  In bed he asked me
to cuddle up to his back.  He went right to sleep whereas
it took me a long time because I couldn't clear my mind of
thoughts as to what I should do next.  Sometime during
the night I woke to find I had an arm over him and his
penis was completely wrapped in my hand.

I removed it immediately.  He reached back, found my
hand and put it back where it was.  I smiled, as I knew
he'd done it in his sleep.  So with my hand wrapped
around his boyhood, I again was wide-awake, wondering
what had made me do what I'd done -- was it a conscious
or unconscious act on my part and, either way, what did it
mean?  Was it an accident or an indication that I had
suppressed homosexual desires?  My God, here I was a
newly ordained Minister -- I'd never had strong desires to
have sex with either a female or a male. What should I do
now?  I knew the first thing I should do was remove my
hand but I was now halfway erect.  I liked holding his boy
penis, it was the first one I'd ever touched other than my
own and the flesh is weak.

I finally dropped off to sleep for the second time and when
I awoke at 7AM, my usual time to get up, we had changed
positions. Michael was cuddled up to my back, his arm
was thrown over me and his hand was wrapped around
my cock and it was fully erect.

PART SIX

After a quick shower and shave I laid out a large sized,
bath towel for Michael that he could wrap himself in after
he showered, put on clean underwear and a bathrobe and
went to the kitchen to fix breakfast in bed for Michael --
buttered toast, tea and coffee, so he could have
whichever he wanted, plus bacon, scrambled eggs and a
glass of bottled Orange juice.

I asked him how he'd slept; he replied very well, he was
warm and cozy all night and thanked me for letting him
sleep in my bed.  I showed him how to work the 8" long,
2" diameter, electric water heater with showerhead and
told him he'd have to make it a quick shower or the water
would turn cold on him. He urinated first and I couldn't
help but look at his boy cock. It was around 4" long and
he pulled his foreskin back to expose a pretty, pink
colored cockhead.  His balls were small.  I hoped he
didn't see me looking at his nakedness.''

While he ate breakfast, I told him I wanted to go to
Hexham and take him with me but I wanted him to check
in at home to see if the situation was still the same
because I didn't want to cross swords with his mother.
He had a chain around his neck with two keys on it -- one
to the cottage and the other to his mom's post office box.

The minute we entered the cottage my eyes started
roaming around like a periscope taking in everything that I
could, as I realized the time opening would be a brief one.

I noticed there was no fire in the fireplace, but I don't think
Michael did.

He called out "Mom!"  An empty silence was to be his only
reply.

Michael climbed a ladder to a sleeping balcony above the
kitchen and open in its upper half to the living area below
and divided into two spaces by a curtain.  He leaned over
the balcony and called down "Her clothes are gone, too.
She's left for good."

He climbed back down and we both went into the kitchen
where there was an envelope on the table addressed to
him.  It contained a hundred pounds and a note saying
she'd try and send him more every week.

I asked where the bathroom was and he replied.  "Out the
back door and in the shed roofed add-on to the left.  It's a
flush toilet if you have to go."  It was not uncommon in
row houses, even some of the older ones in London.

"Just curious."

"If you want to wash your hands use the kitchen sink.  If
you want to bathe, there's a laundry tub hanging on the
back wall and I'll draw water for you from the hot water
heater." His reply, I knew, was for information only.

My Mini Cooper had a new admirer in Michael and he had
a dozen questions.  I told him some day I'd let him drive it
if we could find just the right, no traffic, rural road.  That
cheered him up, but not all the way, his "feel bad" was
really feeling bad at the moment.  I'd brought him to
Hexham to bUy him some clothes -- blue jeans, colored tee
shirts, a couple of dress shirts, Reeboks, sweaters, a
heavy jacket and a stocking cap.  He selected stuff in a
hurry, probably basing his selection on what he'd seen
other pupils at school wearing that he liked.  I picked out
three packets of white tee shirts and thong shorts plus a
pair of black dress shoes and a black and grey dress coat
in a herringbone pattern, plus two pair of pajamas.

He questioned the need for the black shoes and the dress
coat.  I told him they would be his "go to church clothes
alone with a pair of blue jeans". The clerk that checked us
out looked first at Michael, then at me with a "You dirty old
man look."  Michael had been calling me Morgan, not Dad
and I hadn't worn my vicar duds.

Once back in the Mini Cooper, I asked Michael if he was
desperately hungry or if he could wait until I drove to
Consett for fish and chips.  He'd never had them but had
heard others talk about them, so he said, "Let's go."

He enjoyed every Brit's favorite food as much as I did,
although, technically, I was still an American citizen, and
we walked around the corner to the supermarket where I
picked up a few things I needed.

We went home by a direct road that, more or less,
followed the south side of the Derwent Reservoir, where I
stopped at my favorite parking area, always deserted,
above the dam at the east end of the four mile long
reservoir.  He'd never seen it from this angle and I think
he was impressed.

"Michael, speaking earlier about church, have you been
baptized?"

"I think so but I'm not sure and have no memory of where
or when."

"Would you care if I baptized you again."

"When?"

"Right here, right now?"

"You mean in the reservoir?"

"No I mean with a vial of Holy Water that I keep in the
boot of the car in a bag full of needs for sick or death
calls. Silly?"

We stood by the car and I baptized him making the Sign
of the Cross over his body and sprinkling him with Holy
Water.

He'd remember the where and when of this baptism, I
guarantee you, because as I performed the Sacrament,
three American fighter planes came zooming across the
reservoir, gained a little altitude at the damn and roared
directly over us, turning south to return to their base.
There were several American air bases in the south of
England and they seemed to use the trip to the reservoir
and the return to their base as an occasional practice
flight.

"Michael, do you mind sitting here a minute longer.  My
housekeeper Maggie won't let me smoke in the vicarage,
so I only smoke when I'm out somewhere."

"I don't mind, if you'll let me smoke too.  I do, but only
when I can swipe some of my Mom's or have enough
money to buy some."

As if the planes flying overhead hadn't been enough, a
farmer walks by with a flock of sheep -- one black ram and
twelve ewes, guiding them back to his farm.  He nodded
at me and I waved back.  We'd seen each other before
when I'd parked here.  This time, though, it seemed
almost symbolic.

Blanchard was about six miles away.  After we passed
the small village of Edmundbyers, I pulled over onto the
left shoulder, told Michael to get out and go around to the
left side of the car and he could drive the rest of the way.
Most boys his age knew as much or more about autos as
many adults.  I had only two driving tips for him -- do
everything gradually, nothing rapidly or jerky and don't
look at the road right in front of the bonnet.  Look ahead
at least a hundred feet or more.

When we came to the south gate of the Blanchard
courtyard, he asked, "Where shall I stop?"

"Just keep going, stop in front of the garage and I'll park
it.''

When he stopped he put it in park and turned off the
ignition, saying, "God, I hope some of the kids I know
from school saw me driving through the courtyard."  I
don't know if I shared his hope or not.

After dinner he tried on some of his new clothes and
when it came time to the pajamas he left them on so I
went to the bedroom and put mine on, too.

We sat, side by side on the sofa and kept switching the
stations until Michael found a move just starting that he
hadn't seen.  From my childhood I still call called it
"watching TV or television."  Michael, being British called
it, "watching the telly." We knew what each other meant,
though.

Before we settled down, he leaned over and kissed me on
the mouth and said, "Thanks Morgan.  Thanks for the
clothes the fish and chips, for baptizing me, for letting me
drive your Mini Cooper and for everything else. This has
been the most exciting day I've ever had."

Then the little bugger lies down and puts his head right
atop my crotch. He could not help but notice he'd given
me an erection but he kept changing positions every so
often and even put his hand under his head as if to make
himself more comfortable.  Then I noticed his boy hood,
fully erected, poking out the fly of his new pajamas.

Whether it was right or wrong, he'd given me no choice,
so as he'd done last night, I reached down and wrapped
my hand around it.

He responded with a question, "Morgan, are you really
into this movie.  If not let's turn it off and go to bed."

I guess you know the purpose of Baptism -- to remove the
stain of mankind's original sin between Adam and Eve.
So here I was, a very few hours after his Baptism,
carrying him, with his arm over my shoulder and one of
my arms under his legs; to my bedroom with the full
intent, despite me being an ordained Minister of God, of
having sex with a twelve year old boy.