Q; Today we visited St George’s church Kidderminster use the experience to write a short story or Travel piece about the church. (Include word count and header)
She stood at the bottom of the long sloping drive once more. Her collar turned up against the cold January wind, the bells were still ringing. Good she was not yet too late for Sunday service.
St George’s tower was a gray monolithic in the Kidderminster skyline. She pondered for the moment how the skyline had changed over the years, yet still he stood tall and strong against the winds of change. She wondered if he were alive, could he see his daughter churches of St Chad’s and St Cecilia over all the scurrying below.
Mandy had been to many places in her thirty years of life. Yet for reasons unclear she would always return to this cold old industrial town, middle England, middle class. She walked past the tall trees along the driveway, not as tall has the magnificent dark green pines of the Northern Rockies that she had lived with. Her heart ached a little for the huge openness of Canada. Mandy missed the clean air and the deep evergreen smell of those cherished days.
Pauls Jeep all shiny and black was parked close to the entrance; Mandy knew this meant Granny was already seated in her old hardwood pew. “Gann’s pew” Mandy smiled to herself, seventh from the back, not quite the middle, not too far away from where the clergy could see her presence but also not so close as to look un-Anglican. It was this kind of English behaviour that would have made her friends in Nevada and Utah laugh so much. There a jeep was used for the purpose it was designed for and very few where in the shinny category. Salty sand of the Great Basin Desert soon put nice paint jobs to brown work trucks. When it rained and snowed all that you could see was muddy wheels and snow covered hoods, not chrome alloys and a sun roof. Still it was good to know she was still going to church, it was reassuring to know that something’s in this world don’t changes as quick as the weather in the desert or the wind in the mountains.
Mandy paused in the towers entrance to straighten herself out a little before entering. How she wished mother had not insisted on her wearing a skirt to church, there was no written rule about this it was another of those “its what’s expected” things. It didn’t matter really she remembered how granny always used to tut at Ms Barkers huge bright colourer dresses and leggings. That lady’s floral patted scarf’s and mad curly hair were perfect for a Sunday school leader. She was brilliant and as good a reason for a young Mandy to have gone to church as any sermon they would preach to the adults. How strange it was to think back now. Mandy’s mother brought her here on the day she was born to be blessed, here not straight home or to Granny’s house. Years on Mandy too bought little Jessica to show her to family and friends even though both were sick and weak. This entrance she had sheltered her when the big rain storm hit Kidderminster and Mandy had to wait for her farther to rescue her. It was so sad to see the huge gate that had to be install to keep vandals out no one would be sheltering here from the weather unless a service was on.
Mandy hurried along to Gann’s pew, it was one of the few that were left now. The back five rows had already been pulled out and replaced with chairs. Soon all the pews would be taken out and the choir stools too. The winds of change had blown in though St Georges old heavy oak doors, now in order to keep such history as a “Waterloo” church they had to gut it out and kit it up. Like the fire 1922 he will lose some of his history but be rebuilt for peoples use, and like the architect Sir Gilbert Scott they will rededicate stone by stone St George to His purpose.
Mother moved aside for Mandy without out words it was clear that she was expected, granny was waiting for her. “Sorry, I got delayed at Birmingham again” Mandy whispered discreetly.
Granny slowly lent over to Mandy’s ear “Lots of things change in years that pass, yet something’s cannot be changed only added to. St George’s is our family, our home we can return to. There can be no warmer welcome than the prodigal child’s return”