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dean of little significance. He needed to pull himself together.
    Reading on, he saw that plans were almost complete for the opening of the Olympics in Stockholm and his mind turned to Abraham Richards whom he knew hoped to run for Great Britain four years on. His musing was interrupted by the approaching train.
    Once inside the carriage, he finished the newspaper all too quickly and found his thoughts returning to the morning’s unexpected outcome. Arthur wondered if the bishop had told his new dean how to run the conversation and did the dean really mean that unless he stopped his wife being an active member of the suffragettes, he would certainly not get any form of promotion? It certainly seemed so. How would he put things to Eleanor when he got home? They had always been honest with their own views and whilst they had often discussed, indeed sometimes argued about each other’s views, they always respected the other’s opinion.
    He was surprised how quickly the return journey was over. The sky further lightened and there were traces of blue above Steepleton station as he alighted from the train. It reminded him of one of his mother’s many sayings and proverbs, ‘Enough blue to make a sailor’s pair of trousers’. He thought of his mother with great affection and wondered when she and his father would next travel up from Dorset to visit them.
    He found himself really enjoying the hour-long walk back to the village. It did not matter if he messed up his shoes now, although he was careful to avoid the deepest potholes which were well over ankle-deep in water. He stopped to watch a hovering kestrel looking for an unsuspecting vole and giving a masterly display of aerial suspension; then his attention was caught by a much larger bird flying some distance to his right over Bramrose Hill - a buzzard. He was reminded of his student days at Wycliffe Hall when he cycled into the Oxfordshire countryside and enjoyed the things of nature. Arthur had never had any doubts that whilst magnificent buildings were created by men, albeit to the glory of God, birds and all nature could only have been created by God.
    Getting to the edge of the village he walked across to give a friendly greeting to Mrs Cruise, one of the oldest parishioners. She was sitting in the doorway to her cottage, busy plaiting the last of the straw from the previous year’s harvest. No doubt she needed all the light she could get, Arthur knew her eyesight was failing in her endeavours to gain a meagre income to add to her old age pension. How glad she must be that Lloyd George had introduced the pension; five shillings might not seem a lot, but he knew it made a huge difference to Mrs Cruise and others like her.
    Rounding the final corner before he would reach home, he almost bumped in to one of the Reynolds’ children. ‘Hello,’ said Arthur, ‘where are you off to?’ Although seeing one of the youngest of this family of ten children, he already knew the answer.
    Tucking the bedroll even more tightly under her arm, Lily replied, ‘Well, sir, it’s my turn to sleep at Auntie Bertha’s house this week.’
    Arthur knew that the Reynolds’ house, like most in the village with just two rooms downstairs and two up, could not possibly sleep all of the large and growing family and some of the children slept elsewhere. ‘Take care,’ Arthur called out, ‘see you at Sunday school.’
    Five minutes later, he was standing on the vicarage doorstep searching for his key when Eleanor opened the door. ‘Arthur, my love, welcome back. You must be exhausted. I’ve got the kettle on.’ She put her arms round him and they kissed. Arthur took off his mud-splattered shoes, hung up his hat, coat and cape, following Eleanor into the large kitchen. ‘Now, Arthur, you sit down. I’ve made some teacakes so have one, or more if you like, with your tea.’ He sat down in his favourite