After 87 days in Derriford having his head seen to, team curate finally moves on to rehab. Having spent that long in bed, remobilisation could take some time, but physiotherapy regime looks suitably rigorous, and hopes begin to rise. Also relieved to find that hospital gowns have now been replaced by smart casual, and topics of conversation have moved beyond bodily functions.

Summoned to bishop’s palace in Exeter with new team rector, to be re-commissioned for ministry in new united benefice. Get there just in time for cup of tea in cathedral refectory before ceremony, and then follow obediently behind rector as he takes us through the corridors of power, to enter by the tradesman’s entrance. Feels strangely like a scene from Harry Potter, but then turns into more of an Ealing farce when Bishop and his staff are nowhere to be seen, having expected us to arrive at the front door. After much coming and going, finally settle down in his chapel for prayers and laying on of hands. Have to swear obedience to God, Queen and the Bishop of Exeter, and then kneel to receive the cure. When he presses down rather hard on my head, wonder whether he noticed the slight involuntary hesitation when it came to the unqualified obedience bit.

Having been unable to take part in Walk South Devon for personal, pastoral and theological reasons, am delighted when an alternative opportunity for perambulation presents itself. Have no hesitation in offering a blessing to those who are beating the bounds of the manor of Spitchwick, and set out to join them for the first section along the bank of Dart and Webern. Having been warned that this is no easy amble, reconcile myself to coming home exhausted without having completed the full course. After an hour and three-quarters of clambering over rocks, absailing, getting left behind, losing the way, and even having to resort to hands and knees at one point, eventually make it to Ponsworthy when everyone else has had their rest and is about to set off again. Puts a whole new perspective on “not for ever by still waters”. However, after brief respite, a change of boots and assurances that the next stage is all on the level (!) am persuaded to continue. Anaesthetised by cheerful fellowship manage to carry on until lunch stop. Having decided to beg a lift home at this point, am told that it would be a shame not to get to the bound stones which are just around the corner (!) Foolishly agree to carry on, only to discover that the rest of the party have decided that in the absence of choirboys, they are going to create a ‘first’ by beating the vicar on the bound stone instead! Find myself hoisted into the air by two strong farmers over a rather pointed piece of granite. Fortunately they don’t let go, and it’s only afterwards that I overhear comments about pagan fertility rites. An hour later, after pouring rain, squelching bog and a couple more bound stones, they finally take pity on me and send me home. Sometime later, lying in a hot radox bath, with a cup of cocoa, reflect that ten out of the sixteen and a half miles wasn’t so bad for a first go, especially for someone who spends most of the time in the car.

Return to Exeter for farewell service for favourite Archdeacon. Will miss his quiet wisdom and mischievous sense of humour, and all the concern and support he has given to us particularly in the last two years of parochial upheaval. Feel rather bereft having lost two respected senior staff in a short space of time.

Yet another farewell as Huccaby churchwarden heads off for Dubai. Drink a toast to him and hope that in due course he will return to challenge us with his own unique take on Church of England spirituality. His memorable talent as an Harvest Auctioneer will be sorely missed.

As others move on to pastures new, and colleague sets out on the road to recovery, try to get my head around all the things that have been happening in the last few months. Despite efforts to make time for other things like spinning and knitting and wine-making, wonder whether ‘normality’ is actually achievable or whether it is only ever a figment of our imaginations. Maybe we’d get bored with ‘still waters’ all the time. Suspect that in reality life and ministry are always going to be like a perambulation, you set out knowing it’s not going to be easy, but hope that with good company and grim determination, you might get further than you even dreamt of.

Copyright © 2005 Corynne Cooper.

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