I had this vision last night of a vicar doing something distinctly unvicary, so thought I’d write a quick flash on it.

It’s around 750 words. What’s that? About 5 or 6 minutes?

It wasn’t how we expected a vicar to dress. Or behave, for that matter. The fluorescent green leotard visibly bulged as it struggled to contain Pastor Ted’s generous love handles. But there he was. Unmistakeably highlighted against the darkening sky. How he even managed to climb to the top of the ancient bell tower, we never knew. But there he was, in all his glory.

On the ground, the countdown began. “Ten… nine…”

There was an ominous rumble of thunder.

“They’d better count quickly”, I warned Katy. “He needs to get a move on, before the lightning gets here.” Even as I spoke, a large raindrop exploded onto my nose, splashing droplets of water into my eyes.

But Pastor Ted was now underway. Despite the rain, he clambered painstakingly over the stone parapet, only the snug harness now defying the hundred-foot drop.

“Crikey, he’s going for it.” I became a commentator as the rain grew heavier.

I wouldn’t mind, but this had been my idea. Sowed the seed, anyhow. At St. George’s last parish council, it had been I who had suggested the sponsored abseil. Sure, it became more complicated when somebody suggested fancy dress, and took on a whole new dimension when someone else threw Pastor Ted’s name into the mix. And not least, Pastor Ted himself had accepted the challenge, in spite of the near-disaster last year at the airfield, when he lost his balance as he boarded the aircraft. Thank goodness they were still on the ground at the time. But all the same, I felt a degree of responsibility.

For the weather, though, one of those freakish summer storms, we only had the Lord to thank.

❖

He took two tentative steps, dropping six foot. I felt for him. The poor chap must be nervous, this was quite some feat for a man of his age. And cold, too, I expect. I seriously doubted that leotard was thermal, or that the tights offered much insulation, either. Not to mention the tutu!

And this breeze didn’t help. It had appeared with the storm, and by now had people on the ground scurrying to secure the flimsy tarpaulins which covered their stalls.

There were still enough spectators, though, to encourage Pastor Ted, who was now ten steps from the summit, though not moving any less gingerly.

“Come on, Pastor Ted, you can do it! You’re almost halfway”, I yelled as more droplets of rain fell onto my head. Katy echoed my sentiment, “Keep it up, Pastor Ted. You’re doing great”. This seemed to spur the onlookers, who shouted further support to our intrepid superhero.

❖

He was about halfway down when the accident happened.

For at about halfway, the old Bell Tower met the newer church roof, and Pastor Ted was forced to traverse about six foot of slated roof tiles, before completing his descent against the granite wall of the church.

It was immediately clear, though, that the pumps which had offered an excellent grip on the stonework, were utterly useless against wet slate, and it was perhaps inevitable that Pastor Ted would lose his balance again. To make matters worse, he panicked, kicking out with his feet as he fell, so as to avoid smacking into the building. The rope of the harness now acted as a pendulum, with Pastor Ted as its bob.

As if the sight of a pot-bellied old man, dressed as a seventeen-stone Tinkerbell, swinging around St. George’s church tower was not enough, as he swung back towards the church, Pastor Ted then mistimed his kick, and crashed heavily into one of several gargoyles which adorned the tower. There was a great crunch, followed immediately by a noisy grunt as the gargoyle flushed the wind from his lungs, then an ominous tearing of fabric, and, finally, loud gasps of shock from other terrified onlookers.

For an instant, my attention was diverted to a forlorn pink tutu, which, carried by the wind, blew harmlessly over my head, before I refocused on the groaning Pastor Ted, now swinging freely, forty feet above us, wearing the tattered remnants of his leotard and with only the flimsy harness left to preserve his modesty.

I pulled Katy into me, holding her close. “Oh my god, love, close your eyes. Something terrible just happened.”

But she pushed me away and, taking charge of the situation in a way that only a nurse can do, demanded, “do you think I should call an ambulance?”

I regained my composure. “No. It was one hell of a shock, but I should be all right.”