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duties in the parish took up much time, quietly supporting parishioners and trying to improve life for those in Rusfield, although he would never have given claim to either.
    Whilst he appeared unaware of the apparently contrasting sides of his personality, Eleanor knew all too well that many villagers saw him first as rather an austere parish priest, but ultimately a kind, generous and caring man. He remained strict to his interpretation of the Bible and how priests were expected to act, but was loving and generous in his understanding of people. It was the latter that had drawn this seemingly different couple together, when Arthur had all but given up hope of ever finding someone to share his life again, after the appalling death of Florence, his first wife. He never ceased to thank God for his beloved Eleanor, kind and beautiful in looks and spirit. He knew that it was her smile, her good sense and love that gave him strength. Her faith was much simpler than his, fine-tuning her life to the Sermon on the Mount. Not for her the ancient utterances of the Old Testament, often advocating revenge. Christ’s simple words were the tenets of her Christianity; her vision of God was not easily compatible with ornate cathedrals, academic debates of complicated church teachings and church artefacts, but of Jesus on a hillside speaking to poor people from nearby villages. Arthur understood this driving force behind his wife’s life, albeit that his own faith was built more on the Ten Commandments and canon law as much as Christ’s teachings. But these differences in belief mattered little, indeed somehow they seemed to bring them closer together, for their love for each other, both spiritual and physical, was never in doubt. Both rejoiced in their deeply intimate relationship.
    Passing through to the up-train platform, he was surprised to see one of his parishioners, one of around a dozen travellers waiting. Susannah Jones, a pleasant if rather careworn middle-aged woman, was doing her best to shake the rain off her umbrella. Arthur went to her, raised his hat and asked if she, too, was going to Canchester.
    â€˜Nay Reverend, just to Branton,’ naming the small town two stops before his own.
    â€˜You must have been very proud when the schoolmaster spoke so well of the school team, I know Albert was an important player in that team. Where’s he working now?’ Arthur asked.
    â€˜Pity is he’s now working at Bifields in Branton.’ Arthur recalled that it was at the same brewery where Sidney, Susannah’s husband, had met with his accident two years previously.
    It seemed rather a trite question to ask how Sidney Jones was, but ask he must.
    â€˜Well, he can’t work: getting a job when you’ve had your arm cut off makes that impossible. That’s why I’m off to the brewery now, to see the buggers.’
    Arthur gave a slight smile of what he hoped was encouragement and in no way an admonishment of her vocabulary. Indeed, the thought flashed through his mind that whilst he didn’t approve of such words, Eleanor would have smiled and said, ‘Well, she used the word because it was probably right.’
    At that moment the train pulled in and it was natural that both should get into the same compartment. ‘I’ve had this latest letter from them,’ continued Susannah, ‘saying that they’re not prepared to give anything.’
    â€˜Why, what did you ask for?’
    â€˜Well, Albert, young though he be, spoke with the union man at Bifields, but a fat lot of good that was as the brewery does its best to keep the union quiet. Albert was even warned that if he made any more enquiries, his work might be found to be wanting and as there are lots of people looking for jobs, he might join them. I spoke to the schoolmaster and he kindly wrote a letter which I carefully copied out. It said it was the company’s fault for not looking after their machines properly