EVELYN-from-the-Rectory
Hello Sinners, I’m Eve, from the Rectory.
Father always called me Herbert, in case I inflamed men’s passions [Flaps arms.]
Mother named me Eve, before bolting for heaven. In a 4×4 with the village-builder from Rutting-on-the-Wold.
The Rector, father, was very religious. He refused to baptise village children called Adam to be on the safe side. Father excommunicated apples.
I’m looking for an Adam – I want to eat apples with him.
TO MAN IN AUDIENCE
Are you called Adam? Would you like an apple?
Have you all eaten apples? You look very relaxed for sinners …
Father would set fire to your chairs with his flame-thrower. His Hell and Damnation sermon was very popular at village evensong. Especially in the Winter.
But papa’s not all here … In fact, he’s armless. He upset headshrinkers in foreign parts.
I wish Edward was here. He’s a missionary too. (nervous giggle). Edward and I came together over father’s shrunken head. He thoughtfully carried it back from the island for me, hidden in a Bible.
It was a strange Birthday present. When I opened the Book of Revelations the Rector’s tiny head shot out and nutted the dog. Father never liked Fluffy: he said his bark was worse than his bite. I don’t think he’d say that now. Fluffy tried to eat him, then buried him in the compost heap.
It took me ages to find father; Henry said he would help my endeavours by praying. The Rector had shrunk again, from a coconut to a damp hairy prune. Even his cauliflower ears were tiny.
By the compost heap the Devil whispered, ‘Leave your father there, very ecological.’ I was very tempted: his brains would help my carrots win at The Rutting Annual Show …
No! It would make me a cannibal and it’s hard enough confessing to being a vegan at Church suppers.
At least prunes can’t work themselves up into loud rages. Doris was waggling father’s head singing, ‘No hands’ to the cook. The cook saw me, she said it was a hymn to father. Doris muttered the head smelt like a sheep’s backside. It is now a wee problem: tradesmen won’t deliver and someone’s painted a plague-sign on the rectory door.
In fact Father’s head is a loose cannon, it bounced when Doris dropped it on the scullery floor. It’s raised problems of etiquette as there won’t be a portrait of father to hang in the ancestral gallery, not even a photo. A prune, however sensitively portrayed, will be hard to spot on a large canvas. And the picture would not reflect the impact the Rector made on civilization. The image, even with a halo, might be misinterpreted. I don’t want to encourage Cook: she’s evangelical about roughage. Her Prune Crumble is to be avoided at all costs.
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All’s well that ends well! The problem of the portrait has been solved by a suggestion from the Bishop and the front door’s been repainted after the shrunken head was sprayed with two cans of Fabreze. The Rector is now safely mounted on the sitting-room wall. Between the heads of his hunting trophies: a giraffe on his left and a rhino on the right. They look peevish; Father shot them both at Whipsnade. On my Birthday trip to the zoo. I was nine.
Cook said one’s got a lot of neck, the other the horn – the one in the middle, neither. Perhaps she’s thinking Father is a disappointing addition to our Christmas Hoop-La game, not even having big ears on which to catch the hoops.
Edward is enthusiastic; he says the three heads are a new take on the Crucifixion. [Flaps arms] A cinch for the Summer Exhibition. Father’s congregation wants them too – for a new church triptych. Maybe they want to check he’s really dead, before they shed their asbestos underwear and he rises to do a Hell and Damnation evensong.
But father is now popular! It is a miracle.
I wouldn’t have met Edward if father hadn’t been rude to the head-shrinkers – God moves in mysterious ways.
………………………………………..
Edward and I share a passion. Anthropology!
Edward says London’s wicked, but I’m braving it to do vital research.
Edward wants to penetrate the Swinger’s tribe, so I’m doing it as a surprise for him when he gets back. He’s away, bravely spreading the gospel In Ibiza to clubbing natives. Barbaric!
I hid Edward’s cricket bat in his luggage, so he can defend himself.
My research says a Swinger is a thing that swings … They don’t say what thing!
The next bit is clearer – Swingers are active MODERN people. And 72% of them belong to a church. … Father’s congregation must be post-modern – the youngest, Mr Fall, is 71.
[Sings]
I’d like to teach the world to swing in perfect harmony …
TO MAN IN AUDIENCE
Are you a Swinger?
Oh, that is disappointing. I can’t seem to find anyone who knows about their tribal customs.
[Proudly] Edward’s already penetrated the Towie tribe, undercover. He researches tribal customs very thoroughly.
He’s called himself Eddie. Towie’s have mastered vowel sounds – unlike the Chelsea natives who make strange barking noises. Towie’s have lovely names, like Chloe and Barbie and Bobby.
Edward/Eddie had to paint himself brown and wear gold chains and hair gel.
Edward looks hot in the signed photo he’s given me – he’s just shared Turkish Baths with the men. It’s a rite of passage. Eddie said Towie females shave off all their body hair, apart from a thin mating line and carry huge handbags. When Barbie blew his cover, Edward was remanded in custardy. I wonder if he came out all yellow?
Towies would die of hypothermia at our rectory – we’ve all evolved long body hair, all over. I weave mine into a onesy in Autumn and have it shorn off in March by Blind Pete. Edward liked his special jumper I knitted for him, until he came out in a rash. He’s very sensitive.
And SO serious about his religious work, despite being blown by Barbie.
Edward often mentions the missionary position and looks wistfully at me.
………………………………………..
A year has passed.
When I asked the Bishop what happened to father, he told me quietly at the funeral tea that the Rector shouted ‘Nearer my God to Thee’ and someone obligingly decapitated him on the way past. The natives were in a rush to watch other foreigners doing strange things. The Bishop said he had warned father there would be unrest in the jungle when they started filming, I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. The natives rioted in one of papa’s two-hour sermons. I’ve often longed to do it myself and the handsome Bishop looked at me as if he knew.
After several months, during which the Bishop, Robert, was very kind and often dropped in to check on me, he asked me out. We recently got engaged. Edward was very sulky, but that’s what you get if you send girls shrunken heads.