The
Good Woman
by
Barry Baldwin
Enid
Fisher devoted
her entire life
to righteousness,
faltering only
on her last day,
at the end of
which she would
be redeemed by
her appeal to
the Church and
its-sempiternally
ready salvation.
Up to a point,
this was the fault
of her parents,
two of the very
few people in
this world who
condemned the
Jehovah's Witnesses
for being too
hedonistic. In
the one bit of
him that most
people quote,
the poet Philip
Larkin says,
They fuck
you up, your mum
and dad,
They may not mean
to, but they do.
But what about
them? Presumably
they were fucked
up too by their
mum and dad who
in turn had been
by theirs and
so on. Where did
all this start?
Where will it
all stop? This
was not something
Enid Fisher's
parents had ever
considered. If
you'd raised it
with them, they
would have heard
you out politely,
unshocked by Mr
Larkin's choice
of verb - true
puritans are usually
unshockable -
and answered that
it all began with
Adam and Eve in
the Garden (the
Fishers had no
garden themselves)
and Original Sin,
and as for where
will it end, that
was up to God,
it was none of
their business.
And that would
have been that.
No point in playing
the smart alec
with them by saying
wasn't it a pity
that Pelagius
who didn't believe
in Original Sin
had lost the debate
to St Augustine
who did. They
had never heard
of Pelagius. If
they had, they
would have been
instinctively
ashamed that he
came from Britain,
being themselves
English, for which
reason they would
have felt a grim
and guilty flicker
of satisfaction
at St Jerome's
description of
him as a Scottish
porridge-eater,
liking as they
did neither Scotsmen
nor porridge.
They knew little
about St Augustine
either. Well,
not that one.
The other, he
who brought the
Word of God to
England in the
year 597, landing
on a sandbank
at Ebbsfleet near
Ramsgate, was
a different kettle
of fish. Of course,
this Augustine
had himself gone
to the devil soon
afterwards by
being made the
first Archbishop
of Canterbury:
as true English
Christians, the
Fishers did not
hold with archbishops
or the Church
of England, a
lax and immoral
institution in
which God seemed
not to be more
than an optional
extra.
But he was in
Bede, that was
the point, the
justification.
Bede, the Venerable
Bede (Enid Fisher
once had her legs
slapped sharply
for reporting
that the other
children in her
class at school
called him the
Verminous Bede),
was (suitably
edited - nothing
about Pelagianism,
for example) the
source of much
of what the Fishers
believed, or were
told by their
sect leaders that
they should, which
amounted to pretty
well the same
thing. At the
centre of this
True English Church
of theirs, apart
from God and his
son whose importance
was (of course)
taken for granted,
was that holy
trinity of Saints,
Etheldreda, Ethelburga,
and Sexburga.
Given the hostile
hilarity their
names were doomed
to inspire in
the degenerate
world in which
the Fishers had
been placed, it
was as well that
the last two of
these ladies were
less to the fore
than the first.
The leaders of
the True English
Church - assuming
they knew - did
not consider it
necessary to inform
their brethren
that St. Etheldreda
was also known
in other circles
as St. Audrey,
whence is derived
the term "tawdry"
in reference to
the cheap finery
exposed for sale
at her fair.
The important
thing about St.
Etheldreda was
not her name or
its etymological
ramifications,
but what she did.
Or rather, what
she did not do.
For just as most
of the Ten Commandments
are actually prohibitions,
so St. Etheldreda
was held up as
a positively negative
paradigm. As the
Fishers and their
small but devout
band of co-religionists
were reminded
at the weekly
readings from
the 'Historia
Ecclesiastica
Gentis Anglorum',
Etheldreda was
married at a tender
age to Prince
Tonbert of the
Gyrvii, but retained
her virginity.
Perhaps for this
reason, perhaps
not, Prince Tonbert
expired only three
years after his
happy day. Etheldreda
was then re-marrried
off by her relatives
to King Egrid
of Northumbria,
with whom she
long endured,
again in unbreachable
virginity, impervious
to his many prayers
and curses. She
in turn besought
him to allow her
to retire to a
convent and assume
the status of
nun. After twelve
long hard years,
the outnagged
King gave way.
Etheldreda entered
the convent of
her royal husband's
aunt, Ebba - it
was a family affair
- at Coldingham,
whence she was
promoted after
a single year
to Abbess of Ely.
As the Victorian
lady is alleged
to have said upon
the conclusion
of a performance
of 'Antony and
Cleopatra', it
was all "so
very different
from the home
life of our own
dear Queen."
In the words of
the Venerable
Bede, Etheldreda
became "The
Virgin Mother
of Many Virgins."
Over the seven
years that remained
to her, she continued
in an exemplary
display of negative
virtues. As the
Fishers and company
were reminded
at the hebdominal
intoning of this
text, she foreswore
linen garments
for wool, washed
in hot water only
before the major
church festivals,
and ate but one
meal a day. Both
Fishers found
the first two
of these examples
easy to emulate;
Mr Fisher had
greater trouble
with the third,
being a large
and hard-working
man.
Seventeen years
after Etheldreda
had been sent
to Christ in a
simple wooden
coffin at her
own behest, an
economy that appealed
to the Fishers,
her sister and
successor, the
aforementioned
Sexburga, herself
once married to
King Earconbert
of Kent, took
it in mind to
exhume her bones
and have them
more sumptuously
reburied. Ely
being rich in
eels, hence its
namer, and fens,
but barren of
stone, they set
out in a boat
in search of material
for a new coffin.
Thanks to God
(or an anonymous
benefactor), a
white marble sarcophagus
of great beauty
was made known
to them in the
nearby ruined
city of Grantchester.
When her original
box was opened,
the body of Etheldreda
was discovered
to be as fresh
as though it were
buried only that
very day. And
this was not all.
When the linen
clothes, which
she wore in death
if not in life,
were unwrapped
to permit the
cleansing of her
person, a small
scar under her
jaw was pointed
to by one Cynefrid,
the physician
who was present
at her exhumation
as he had been
at her death.
This Cynefrid
explained that
in her last days
Etheldreda had
suffered from
a large tumour
under the jaw.
"I opened
and drained this,"
he said, "and
for two days she
was easier, but
it returned on
the third day
and she died.
When the tumour
came, she welcomed
it as divine retribution
for her childhood
vanity of wearing
jewellery."
The sumptuary
ban upon female
adornment was
congenial to Mr
Fisher and other
male members of
the select group.
Both sexes, however,
were exalted by
the concluding
details in the
story of the miraculous
cures wrought
by the original
burial clothes
and coffin of
Etheldreda: as
one of the faithful
daringly put it,
their speed and
efficacy put the
secular National
Healrh Service
to shame.
It was just as
well (it may here
be subjoined)
that they knew
nothing of the
likes of St. Edgar,
King of England,
whose body when
dug up from its
grave at Glastonbury
was also found
to be uncorrupt
and to whom miracles
were also attributed,
despite the less
than virtuous
kidnapping and
rape by him of
St. Wulfrida,
of which latter
offence St. Edith
of Wilton was
the product. No
doubt his pious
slaughter of Welshmen
enhanced his claims
to sanctity in
English eyes;
but all this came
many years after
the Venerable
Bede.
Or perhaps it
was not just as
well. Being English
of a certain class
and generation,
the Fishers found
it difficult to
rid themselves
of a guilty respect,
albeit managing
to suppress any
sinful affection,
for the Royal
Family, mentally
manuring the thought
that they were
more deluded than
vile, and having
no truck with
the notion propounded
by a former footballer
that the inhabitants
of Buckngham Palace
were actually
lizards in human
form, plotting
in concert with
other aliens including
the President
of the United
States and the
Romish Pope to
subjugate Earth
and its peoples
to their power.
This teetering
on the edge of
theological heresy
persuaded them
to consultation
with the senior
Elder, an occasion
that required
no repetition,
his response being
the immediately
understood and
at a certain moment
in the future
honoured promise,
"If you need
us,We will come."
The weekly meetings
invariably ended
with a rendition
of the hymn in
honour of St.
Etheldreda thoughtfully
given in its entirety
by Bede's own
hand. At fifty-six
verses, it was
something of a
physical burden
upon the older
members, hence
the middle section,
more theological
in nature with
many hard unfamilar
proper names such
as Eulalia and
Euphemia, tended
to be ragged in
tone or just hummed
along to, the
collective vigour
being reserved
for the great
uplifting finale,
from
For sixteen
years her body,
sealed away,
Remained untarnished
by the tomb's
decay.
Thine was the
power, O Christ,
that did maintain
Her holy body
and its robes
from stain...
to the self-serving
last couplet
None from
the Lamb's own
flock can e'er
remove
The souls close-bound
to Him by chains
of love.
When the Fishers
first met, both
were already members
of the True English
Church, thanks
to their parents.
He and his side
were impressed
by her having
been born on June
23, the Feast
Day of St. Etheldreda.
Or so it was said:
some members are
not above fudging
such dates in
order to acquire
extra cachet,
despite the lip
service paid to
the ideal of absolute
equality within
the order.
The two sets of
parents hit it
off at once. Indeed,
it was as if they
had fallen in
love with each
other rather than
the young couple,
for whom bethrothal
was presently
arranged. The
latter fell in
with this marital
scheme readily
enough. Neither
particularly wanted
to be wed, but
the Church required
that they be so,
hence by this
parental arrangement
they were spared
the unwanted task
of seeking, finding,
and capturing
a mate.
It would not now
be long before
the young couple
were united in
marriage; the
True English Church
did not encourage
lengthy periods
of engagement.
Rather surprisingly,
though, it did
sanction an equivalent
to what the outer
world calls a
bridal shower.
Unfortunately,
members of the
Church are no
more imaginative
upon these occasions
than their godless
counterparts.
The young people
moved forward
to their union
armed with many
copies of the
bible of the True
English Church,
but without toasters
or a single piece
of china.
However, they
faced a problem
bigger than the
prospect of a
toasterless marriage.
Children. Neither
of them wanted
any, but the Church
wished them to
have one, to be
reared in the
true faith and
so help to maintain
its numbers. More
than one was discouraged.
The Church must
survive, but as
a select group.
Salvation must
be rationed if
it is to mean
anything. As with
most human associations,
the point was
not who was let
in but who was
kept out.
The issue, so
to speak, was
furthert complicated
by virginity.
Thanks largely,
though not wholly,
to their devotion
to St. Etheldreda
and her example,
both of the young
people were keen
on chastity. He,
if anything, more
than she. But
this was not the
sort of thing
they were capable
of discussing
with each other,
let alone with
their parents.
As it turned out,
however, there
was one person
with whom they
could discuss
it. Indeed, they
had no choice.
This was the most
senior of the
church leaders,
whose responsibilities
included meeting
with and counselling
all young members
of the faith who
were in the condition
of bethrothal.
He was old and
experienced enough
to be able to
anticipate the
concerns his (as
he thought of
them) lambs would
have. So, to their
relief, the Fishers
did not have to
raise the children/chastity
conundrum; he
raised it for
them.
And not only as
a problem. He
offered them a
solution. "The
question of virginity,"
he told them in
a matter-of-fact
way, for the True
English Church
did not go in
for the fire-and-brimstone
oratory of American
televangelism,
"is much
misunderstood.
To us, it is a
tangible, not
a miraculous,
matter. In early
times, the view
that Jesus Christ
had no human father
but was conceived
by the Blessed
Virgin Mary by
the power of the
Holy Spirit was
challenged by
various groups.
The Psilanthropists,
for example. Do
not be alarmed,"
he added, seeing
their faces growing
gray with puzzlement,
"there is
neither reason
nor need for you
to know any of
this, hence there
is no shame in
your ignorance."
These comforting
words did not
altogether mask
his satisfaction
at knowing these
things that they
did not. "Our
belief is that
it is congruent
with the full
humanity of Christ
that his birth
should be like
that of other
men. On the other
hand, we honour
the ideal of virginity,
above all as it
was expressed
by St. Etheldreda.
Our veneration
is based upon
its value of self-denial
and the rejection
of pleasure, the
supreme goals
of our Church.
Now, there is
a way by which,
with God's help,
you may produce
the child that
is your obligation
without detriment
to your mutual
purity. It was
long ago established
by science, which
has its uses when
put to holy service,
that what we call
Virgin Birth or
Parthenogenesis
is a common state
of affairs among
certain lower
orders of life,
for example the
greenfly. Not
(permitting himself
a bonhomous smile,
unreciprocated
by the listening
pair) that I am
equating yourselves
with the insect
world. Science
has shown that,
while exceedingly
rare, it is possible
for a human virgin
to conceive. I
must tell you
at once that I
have explained
all this to many
a young couple
within our midst
before, and none
of their endeavours
have been blessed
with success.
It may be that
you shall fare
better. This is
what you must
do."
He told them in
precise unfussed
terms what they
must do, and they
did it. First,
her hymen was
surgically ruptured
by a sympathetic
doctor, not called
Cynefrid. Then,
on the single
honeymoon night
sanctioned by
the True English
Church, within
the unerotic confines
of two single
beds pulled together
in a boarding
house in Cleethorpes
run by another
co-religionist,
with St. Etheldreda
smiling down benignly
if a little sickly-looking
from a cheap reproduction
of a cheap portrait
of herself, he
placed himself
between her thighs
and provided the
requisite liquid
and, lo, the one
spermatazoon needed
to do its holy
work made its
heaven-sent way
into her portal
and a child was
conceived and
born of woman,
namely Enid Fisher.
So, that was the
first hurdle jumped.
The marriage need
not now be consummated,
and it never was,
but with a child
on display no
one was ever going
to think about
that, let alone
know it, not even
the senior man
of the Church
whom they decided
should be deprived
of the satisfaction
of knowing that
his scheme had
at last worked,
to save him from
the sin of taking
pride in such
knowledge. Him
they told that
they had after
all yielded to
a single union
of the flesh,
for which lapse
they were and
ever would be
mortified. This
they also did
lest he betray
their success
and accord them
a status among
the brethren which
would bring the
further danger
of esteem. Of
the couple, he
was the more relieved.
She, during the
procedure, had
felt some slight
stirring of a
physical sensation
to which she could
not give the exact
word but knew
it to be the forbidden
feeling of pleasure.
Now came the bigger
business of bringing
the thing up and
ensuring its devotion
to the ways of
the true English
Church. The parents
were especially
agitated as Enid
grew up into a
beautiful young
girl. So much
easier, they worried,
had she been ugly.
In point of fact,
a worldly fact
of which they
were unaware,
youths tend to
be intimidated
by good-looking
girls, hence Enid's
unwanted beauty
was more of a
protection than
a threat.
The parents were
not cruel. Apart
from the occasional
smacking of legs,
they never laid
a hand on the
child. She was
decently if plainly
fed, and allowed
to attend the
local school.
There, she baffled
the teachers by
coming top in
every subject,
despite not showing
the slightest
interest in any
of them. Any other
such academic
cynosure would
have had their
life made a misery
by the other members
of their class,
but there was
something about
Enid Fisher that
stayed the hands
and voices of
even the roughest
element. One or
two of the teachers,
those old-fashioned
enough to take
a greater interest
in their pupils
than in the political
posturings of
their union and
in going home
the moment the
final bell rang,
sometimes spoke
to each other
in concerned tones
about Enid Fisher,
how she seemed
to have no friends
and never participated
in school outings
or social events
and, strangest
of all, attempted
to refuse to accept
her prizes on
speechday.
These well-meaning
creatures did
not understand,
not being members
of the True English
Church, indeed
not knowing of
its existence,
that for the Fishers
what was not done
was what counted,
as the story of
St. Etheldreda
made clear. After
all, she was credited
with no miracles
until after her
death: in life,
she was a paragon
of not doing rather
than of doing.
Give me a child
before he is seven
and I have him
for life. The
Jesuits have no
monopoly on the
power of early
example. The True
English Church
was quite as successful
in this. As a
child, Enid Fisher,
like her parents
before her, was
moulded for all
time. But some
qualification
of this is called
for. Enid Fisher
never changed
her basic principles.
But it is a mistake
to assume that
no such child
will ever revolt
against its parents.
When she left
school, she left
home, never returning
to either place
for so much as
a visit. Enid's
revolt against
her parents took
a different form
from those common
in secular families:
she became more,
not less, rigid.
Revolt is perhaps
not the right
word. In deference
to the views of
the True English
Church, the Fishers
desired that their
daughter should
take a conjugal
mate from within
its ranks and
by one means or
another propagate
a new member.
Enid refused absolutely.
Her reasoning
was quite straightforward,
and to her mind
entirely logical,
which it was.
All obsession,
like all farce,
is based on logic.
It may be twisted,
but twisted logic
is still logical.
Enid would not
become a wife
and mother for
the very simple
reason that she
would have liked
to, hence true
virtue required
that she forego
what she most
coveted. The inexorable
consistency of
her position eventually
satisfied her
parents, it being
the other side
of the coin by
which they, not
wanting marriage
or children, had
had both, and
was also approved,
after an anguished
special session,
by the elders
of the Chuch.
Despite the risk
of contaminatory
pleasure by association,
Enid did choose
to remain within
the fold. The
True English Church
did not require
its members to
proselytise beyond
the family circle,
except by setting
such moral example
as might impress
and encourage
outsiders. This
made it ideal
for Enid: she
aimed to avoid
temptations that
might be thrown
at her by people
by avoiding as
much as possible
all human contact;
and if other folks
didn't save themselves,
she couldn't help
that.
Enid lived alone
and took in work
at home, anything
from laundry to
typing, doing
each job with
passionless efficiency.
No washing was
too dirty, no
typing too foul.
She once hammered
out a seven hundred
page novel sufficently
filled with obscenity
to facilitate
ts winning the
country's biggest
literary prize.
To Enid, typing
out this filth,
further proof
of the rightness
of her avoidance
of a species that
could produce
such things, was
another air-mile
point to heaven.
If pressed, Enid
could not have
explained her
vision of paradise.
For her, it was
the qualifying
that counted.
She didn't ever
read newspapers
and had no television,
of course, nor
even a radio,
but once when
she was walking
home from a weekly
visit to the shops
which even she
could not avoid,
she passed by
a street corner
political meeting.
Naturally, she
did not stop,
but could not
help hearing an
exchange between
the speaker and
a heckler. The
heckler challenged
the speaker to
describe the perfect
society. "I
don't know for
sure," the
latter replied,
"all that
counts for now
is the movement."
Enid understood
exactly what he
meant, though
she wondered how
a godless man
could be so close
to wisdom.
As she grew older,
Enid began to
feel, no matter
how hard she tried
to stifle it,
a yearning for
death and heaven.
More than once
she wished that
the True English
Church approved
of suicide. But
no, taking such
a short cut to
her reward would
be cheating. Since
her diet was healthily
sparse, and she
had none of what
more human humans
call bad habits,
Enid was never
ill. By now, she
had outlived most
of the brethren;
there had not
been a single
new adherent for
years. She began
to contemplate
the prospect of
going on and on,
even to her century.
Outsiders would
relish the attainment
of such a landmark,
above all the
arrival of royal
congratulations
in a fine crested
envelope with
a water-colour
of Windsor Castle.
Enid did indeed
attain the eve
of her one hundreth
birthday, a day
haunted by the
fear that the
next day would
see the advent
of this message
and its being
sinfully opened
and read, thus
risking her being
eventually consigned
to everlasting
flames rather
than it to the
ephemeral ones
in her grate.
Yet that evening
brought salvation.
Rembering how
she had been instructed
by her parents
and fortified
by recollection
of their fated
end, after a pilgrimage
to the nearest
telephone kiosk,
the operation
of which took
some time, thanks
to her unfamilarity
with such a thing,
Enid Fisher returned
home. shortly
thereafter to
receive a visitor
who achieved her
rescue by courtesy
of an old-fashioned,
freshly stropped,
open razor loving
applied to and
across her throat.
Though this visitant
was not, could
not, be the same
who had both uttered
and fulfilled
that same promise
to her progenitors,
his answer to
her telephonic
appeal conduced
to the same blessed
end: If you need
us,we will come.
©
2009 by
Barry Baldwin
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