The New Vicar

The New Vicar (or how appearances can be deceptive)

Our village is small but quite pretty,

With a shop, a pub and a church.

Then our vicar broke some commandments,

And left his flock in the lurch.

The bishop he had to be summoned,

And we told him how we’d been rocked,

By the antics of our latest Reverend.

Well – in the end, he was defrocked.

It was now several months later,

And I heard it only by chance:

A removal truck had been spotted -

Our new vicar had moved in to the Manse.

So, being of a neighbourly demean,

I thought I’d meet him as soon as I could,

And welcome him to his new parish,

And nip any problems right there in the bud.

I wandered along up to his front door.

Well - you can imagine my shock,

When the door was soon answered,

By a tall young bloke in a smock.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

He stood there with a mop of long hair.

He had tattoos and an earring,

And before I knew it, I was staring.

His beard was short and quite wispy,

But the greatest of all of my cares,

Was what he was sporting below:

My God – a pair of pink flares.

He was younger than I was expecting,

And dressed up all rather fey.

If he went round the parish like that,

Some folk wouldn’t know what to say.

I’m not an expert on the latest fashion,

Nor am I up with the latest trend,

But, what had possessed our good bishop

Such an odd character to send?

Now I’m as broad-minded as anyone,

But, to me, it was as plain as the light.

I could see that we were headed for trouble,

And that I’d have to put the chap right.

It’s quite a conservative village,

And the locals don’t suffer fools,

So as part of my introduction,

I thought I’d lay down a few ground rules.

  

I told him that we liked our services

Traditional, not happy-clappy.

So if he’d like to keep things the same,

We’d be grateful, there’s a good chappie.

Singing Onward Christian Soldiers

Was just what we expected to sing.

No trendy, modern stuff would be needed,

And very short sermons – that was the thing.

Our church organist is in his eighties.

He’s deaf, and so isn’t sure when

The choir has finished already,

So the rest of us just sing the last verse again.

And after all of this advice,

I saw that his eyes had gone sort of glazed.

He looked at me in some surprise.

In fact, he was totally amazed.

Up to this point, the poor chap hadn’t spoken.

But the door he now opened wide.

He gestured for me to enter,

So I thought I’d better go inside.

“Wait there” he said all at once.

“Before you get into more of a lather,

I’ll go and get the man that you really need –

He’s the new vicar here – my father!”

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2016