North of Umber

Qualified in vicar-hood, a collar round her neck, My missis is a priest of God, and I’m a total reck. 3 years of study have prepared her, for what may lie ahead, Mrs off the paperwork, Reverend Elaine printed instead. We are standing by to move, every possession we must bring, Tables, chairs, dishwasher and all manner of other things. It will be crammed into a van and sent up north upon the old A1, To a place north of the Umber and our adventure has begun. We arrive here at the house, with bags and cat in toe, And wait for a man, driving a van, and driving rather slow. Down the laine and round the bend the back way, To avoid an 8-tun limit upon an ancient bridge. As he arrives here in the drive, with worldly goods and fridge. It takes an age to find the key to open, the vicarage front door, Boxes labelled living room, kitchen and bedrooms one too four. I make the tea, because tea is best in any situation, To calm the nerves and quench the thirst, brewing tea and aiming for perfection. Milk with two and weak with nowt, some like it strong and some without, Coffee for one and squash and water, all this to move into bricks and mortar. Is this really the place we are to spend the next ten years in service, A nagging doubt sets in my mind, we know we don’t deserve this. We look out of the front room window and there before our eyes, A castle placed upon a mound, in perfect silhouette against the skies. Job done and mover gone, as we wave goodbye to Pickford, We are in our new home, safe and sound and situated here in Mitford. A new football team to support, is Morpeth AFC, The stadium is local and just around the corner, here from me. I will support and cheer them on, in hope of goals and victory, 2-0 to us, the Highway Men, or Morpeth AFC. With cheers of adoration, shouting the loudest is the key, Then as the game comes to a close, its home in time for tea. Casper our cat is wining and dying to get out, Standing at the patio doors, he gives a demanding shout. After five days in, we give way and let him out the door, And he wonders why the garden, doesn’t look like it did before. Casper seems to realise, he’s not in Derbyshire anymore, And wanders at the space and for what Mitford village has in store. Rev Elain is to be installed with holy orders and feeling quite unsteady, Priest in charge of seven parishes and prayer book at the ready. Fully robed and cassock on, it’s time to make the vow, To serve God the Farther and the Gospel she must tell. The PCC is a place where vicars pray some were else, they’d rather be, And will ask the question, “Why, why Lord, why me?”. With parish share and finances, faculties and quinquennial inspection, Rev Eli sits behind her desk to answer any question. Meeting over, with blurry eyes, they finish from arguments flying to and throw, Not bad considering, they started five hours ago. We visit our neighbours next door, a manor house we were invited, Do you like football Rev Eli asked? Yes, I used to own Newcastle united. Our new neighbour showed us around his home, with lots of rooms to see, Then we found out the place used to be owned, by the Mitford family. The castle on the hill, across the way, looks as if once it was quite hansom, But De Middleton used to live there and hold gentry to ransom. King Edward came to sort it out and took revenge upon the poor, De Middleton was hung on traitors’ gait, as villagers took refuge in the church next door. The Army came down and set fire to it, a cruel and callose King, The innocent of Mitford lost what a sad and solum thing.