I would like to commend the Vicar on his dedication to the 8am communion service.
Last week my aunt Constance was away on holiday at Lake Constance. With her not in the country, I decided to enjoy a lie-in rather than get up so early on a Sunday.
But it was nice to know that Nathan was still there, taking the service on his own. I am sure that he will be rewarded in heaven.
Constanza Nearby, “Donebloggin'”, Woodby
More trouble with our furry friends at Great Tremlett, I hear.
I am not referring to the seven remaining members of the Congregational Chapel. But rather the badgers and rabbits that have been undermining the churchyard wall.
Well, they will be a problem no longer. And I hear the “Game Pie” went down a treat at the Hanged Man Inn last Friday.
Ask no questions….
“The Masked Avenger”
Once again the Vicar allowed George Herbert’s Day to pass by with barely a mention at Morning Prayer.
I remember the good old days. Every year the Vicar would be chased around the village with sticks by the school children. And then driven to exhaustion by the Trim Valley Hunt, in their last official meet of the season. Although it was a terrible mess the time the hunts caught Old Father Maybold in Marion’s Covert.
Ah, times are no longer what they were.
Chas “Charlie” Charkles, Hanged Man’s Close, Gt Tremlett.
Why all the noise at Synod about gay marriages? If we just kept quiet nobody would want one. We’re only creating a demand we can’t fulfil.
Solomon Snodgrass, Station Road, Gt Tremlett.
I have been mainlining Creme Eggs since mid-January, in the knowledge that I would have to give them up for Lent. This morning I realised in a panic that I would have to eat the three remaining boxes before the end of the day, to avoid having Creme Eggs about the house on Ash Wednesday.
The temptation would be too great.
Therefore I have eaten them all, bringing on what I believe is called a “sugar rush.”
I am scribbling this note on a church newsletter I have found in my suit. Can someone please get me down.
Yours “par avion de papier”
Major J Dumpling, the top of the church spire, Lt Tremlett
I see we had Candlemass again this year.
I’m not saying it was not welcome the first time. But every year? What else did Jesus do beside get born and grow up? Surely we could mention that sometimes?
Solomon Snodgrass, Station Road, Gt Tremlett
As the days lengthen, our thoughts turn towards the Spring Equinox.
The coven will meet on Grumbler’s Tump at 9am on the 20th-21st March. Please note that the Equinox is early this year. Last time this happened, four people turned up a day late, ran around “skyclad” and alarmed some paintballers.
Advance warning that the Vicar will be checking the magazine in future for what he refers to as “pagan goings on”. Publication dates are a bit short this month so I think I’ve got away with it. However please in future check the church notice board. I can normally get the notices up there for a week or two before he spots them.
Mildred Flossett (Mothers’ Union Branch Secretary), Jasmine Road, Gt Tremlett
Take me out tonight
Because I want to see people
And I want to see life
Driving in your car
Oh please don’t drop me home
Because it’s not my home, it’s their home
And I’m welcome no more
Samantha Giblings, Church Green, Woodby
Time for another of my famous “vicar” jokes.
Q – Where does the Vicar go on his holidays?
A – Anywhere with a wi-fi connection. He’s got a lot of rotas to plan for the next few months, and wants to get ahead on the parish admin before he’s back at work!
Tom Chancellor, Primrose Path, Woodby
I am told that, finding there was no congregation at the 8am Communion last week, the Vicar decided to have another nap and went back home.
Terrible dedication. Of course in these circumstances he could not lead a Communion. But I feel he could at least have sung a few hymns so God knew we cared.
Dr Sandra Ireland, “Dunphlebbin'”, Great Tremlett
Spring will soon be here!
Up in the eaves, O welcome sound
The house-sparrows are scratching round
To build their tiny summer home
Where chicks may thrive, and learn to fly
And then in summer start to roam.
The hedgehogs, stirring in the loam
Will soon raise hoglets in their home.
They venture out in search of bugs
And as they look, by hedge and brook,
May hap upon some tasty slug.
The rabbits, freed from winter’s frown
Now skip and gamble on the down.
All day they feast on grass so fresh
And at the dusk, when darkness creeps
They venture underground – so nesh!
But summer is so short a time
When grass is free from snow and rime
The days pass swift for mortals all
Though birds may fly, and fill the sky
Half will be dead before the fall.
Death death death
death death death
death death death.
At least half.
Could be more.
Mellissa Sparrow (Mrs), The Hollow, Grilsby-on-the-Hill