THERE'LL ALWAYS BE AN ENGLAND
William Waldegrave argues that
doom-mongering about the Church of England is perennial — and misguided
PESSIMISM, always the true English dis- ease, has never been more fashionable. It permeates almost everywhere. It leads us regularly to describe our country which has one of the highest incomes per head in the world, one of the lowest crime rates, arguably the freest press, and certainly the most beautiful countryside (to name just a few of its advantages), as if we were in ter- minal collapse. How mad they must be, those hundreds of thousands who queue to come here!
William Oddie on the Church of Eng- land (`Hard church times', 11 March) stands for the whole genre. He is an expert at the polemics of disaster. All those ances- tral voices prophesying doom down the ages — and no literature has more of them than ours — will recognise a soul-mate in him. 'The Established Church, like Barings Bank, has to face the music: things are now beyond desperate, last-minute rescue oper- ations.' And so on and so forth. I can only tell what I see, in one parish where I live and go to church. What I see bears little resemblance to Mr Oddie's apocalypse. Perhaps I am lucky. But I don't think we are unique, down in Somerset.
This, then, is what it looks like to me. Last Wednesday evening (with the permis- sion of the Government Whips' Office, granted freely for this, something they regarded as important) I attended the church of St Mary Magdalene, Chewton Mendip, the largest of four fine churches in the parishes of Chewton Mendip, with Emborough, Ston Easton and Litton. I was there inadequately representing my invalid father, who is the patron of the living, to present our new rector, Andrew Rowe, to the Bishop of Bath and Wells, Jim Thomp- son, for institution and induction.
Our huge church, its famous tower floodlit, the flag of St George flying, was packed. Rural dean, archdeacon, canons and other clergy, robed and dignified, ful- filled their proper roles. The choir pro- cessed in fine voice. Our splendid reader was in her place. Churchwardens carried their staffs. Visitors from West Buckland — the Revd Rowe's last parish — joined force with us men and women of Mendip to celebrate. The ancient oaths were sworn according to due process of law. Formal welcome was offered on behalf of the admirable Church primary school, the Royal British Legion (the largest single organisation in our parishes), the NFU on behalf of local business, and other local representatives. My Lord Bishop preached a splendid sermon on the need for toler- ance between town and country.
The collection raised, I am told, a very considerable sum, not least because of the determination of one small collector, who, bag in hand, advanced in uncompromising manner upon the Bishop, thereby forcing his lordship to demonstrate that his splen- did vestments were devoid of pockets. Only the new organ (£64,000 raised by the parish) was temporarily recalcitrant, offering an uncalled for whine at intervals. (Perhaps it is an Oddie-ite). Our new rector, a former farmer and Royal Marine, won affection at his first outing with a dignified but genial demeanour which bodes well. Later, at the village hall, a happy and convivial celebra- tion followed. Things were as they should be.
I am not talking of the 1890s, the 1930s, the 1950s or some other golden age gone by, but of last Wednesday. Maybe, as I say, we are uniquely lucky. I suspect we are not.
`Quite suddenly, everyone has begun to fear that things have gone beyond the point of no return: the old crate is still in the air, but the tanks are holed and there will be no landfall.' Thus Mr Oddie. I wonder. I suspect his successors a century or two from now (still in The Spectator, of course) will write the same sort of thing, just as his predecessors did back to Dean Swift's day and beyond. Meanwhile in the churches of England, quieter voices will still be at wor- ship then, just as they have always been, and just as they are now. But then, without its accompanying prophets of doom, per- haps the Church of England would not really be an English Church at all. Perhaps all the Mr Oddies down the ages are essen- tial to our tradition; amiable gargoyles dec- orating the old, inexplicable, but still enduring fabric of our Church.
William Waldegrave is Secretary of State for Agriculture, Fisheries and Food.
Previous page
