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 Christmas is often a time for creepy tales and ours was inspired by one of the memorial stones in the aisle of St Peter’s Church. The beautifully carved stone remembers Edmond Marcon who was buried on 16 September 1709. It was this date – 1709 – the year of ‘The Great Frost’ – which caught the attention of our talented fiction writer, Claire Jordan. Originally written for our Facebook Page. Claire was set quite a challenge: create a ghost story in less than 500 words. That’s not even a short story! We hope you agree that she did a great job.

Our story is entirely fictitious – there was no heartless priest at St Peter’s that we know of. But there was The Great Frost and we can only speculate about what this meant for the people of Forncett in 1709. Freezing conditions began in January 1709 and snow and ice were still around in mid April. There were frost fayres on the frozen Thames. When the thaw started there was wide spread flooding and devastating crop failures lead to starvation. As if that wasn’t enough Europe was in the grip of a flu pandemic. Hundreds of thousands of people died. You can find out more about The Great Frost .

Sadly we know nothing about Edmond Marcon or his relatives also memorialized on the stone. The fact that he was buried in September suggests he did not succumb to the cold, but perhaps the other terrible events of that year took their toll. What a research project if anyone would like to follow it up!

So, are you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin…

One Cold Night: A Ghost Story for Christmas

Crossing the short distance from Rectory to Church the Forncett Parish Vicar wished he had done so earlier. Several villagers, leaving the graveyard, turned away. He was not well liked, they thought him arrogant, lacking "fellow feelings". His predecessor had known every farming family well, always showing a gentle kindness, a true Christian they said. Dusk had fallen and the penetrating cold added the first hint of white frost in the fading light.   He put down his lantern and turned the great key in the church door, stepping inside with relief. The chores for Sunday's service could be accomplished quickly. Tomorrow he was invited to luncheon by Lord Liddlestone. He mused pleasantly, perhaps he could gain preferment, be a Bishop yet. Using his lantern he lit two more candles and placed them on shelves apart. As he did so his eye fell upon a memorial slab. The date at the top, 1709. This date, some 40 years earlier was engraved on his memory too. It had been the year of 'The Great Frost', when birds fell frozen from the trees, The Thames was covered in thick ice and people starved or froze to death.

He was then an undergraduate in Cambridge and he remembered with a shiver an icy starlit night, rather like this. He had had an unpleasant degrading experience. A small grimy boy had accosted him, grasping his silk and wool great coat and fixing fanatical eyes upon his own. He had disentangled himself with difficulty; indeed, he had had to use force, and then quickened his pace. On returning to his lodgings later that night a small bundled corpse lay in his path.   It was the same boy.

He sighed. The improvident poor, they were everywhere.   His fingers in their cream kid gloves were benumbed already. He must hasten. Tasks completed he turned to leave, snuffing the candles.   As the church darkened a sound above him took his breath away. The bell, the great bell, had been struck, one sombre knell. Breathing hard and suppressing an irrational sense of doom he held his guttering lantern aloft. All was still. Trembling, he hurried forward and wrenched the door of the bell-tower which swung open. Through the gloom of the interior he could just make out the bell rope, swinging gently.   Stepping towards the stairs, he glimpsed on the turn, a shadowy child-sized outline; at that moment his lantern failed, and the heavy door swung shut behind him.

His body was found the following morning. The local doctor declared it was "death from freezing" on the coldest night of the year. A sad accident, but, whispered by those who knew him better, 'heaven's audit, though delayed must and had, been repaid.'

Thanks to our talented author Claire Jordan

 

Details

Written by: Claire Jordan, with an introduction by Ally Rae

Published: 06 January 2021

I hope that this finds you all well and coping with the restrictions on your lives.
This note is to give you an update on where we are with the plans to restore our lovely church to its former glory.

We have an active Buildings and Grants sub-committee who are busy going over plans for the work to be done. Unfortunately the result of this is that the amount of money to be raised has increased to somewhere in the region of £750K, so we need to crack on as soon as we possibly can. The buildings team are in discussion with the architect so that as soon as possible the immediate work to make the church safe can be done. Then once this current crisis is all over we will be able to have a service in the church to give thanks for coming through.

The Publicity committee is also very active, setting up information on the Forncett info website and creating Facebook and Wikipedia pages. When these are in full swing I will give you the log in details so that you can view the info yourselves.

The Events sub-committee have also met to discuss any way that we can further the social side of things during the current crisis. We are very keen to still have our bric-a-brac sale and hope that we may be able to hold this in late summer or early autumn. Its impossible to make positive plans but we are very keen to get the ball rolling as soon as we can. If any of you have ideas for events to be held, either during or after the crisis, please let me know. We are very aware that many people are experiencing financial restrictions and so asking friends to pay for virtual events would be wrong. There are so many charities in severe need of funds and ours is just one of many. However, I have been surprised to receive some donations for the fund even at this time.

If there is anyone who would like to donate please make cheques payable toUpper Tas Valley All Saints PCC Project and send to me at 26 The Poplars, Forncett St Peter, NR16 1HP.

Last time I asked for poems about the current crisis. I received three and here they are:

In the Time of Covid (with apologies to Gabriel Marquez Garcia)            

In the time of Covid
Spring slipped in behind
Death's dark juggernaut.
And while contagion blind
Its victims sought,
White laced blackthorn and blossom
Brushed with pink, and primrose banks
Bloomed to songs of tiny birds.
And when screens remorseless ranked
Numbers, pain and grief,
The buds of tenderest green broke from their sheath.

 

Going with the Geese  

My eyes were on the shirts and socks and pants,
My mind was thinking "Oh, I'll have to put a stitch in that,
The knees on those were looking bare
I don't know where I'll get another pair!"
And then I heard from overhead,
A sound that made my heart turn over
And such a longing for - I don't know what - take over
The geese were flying where the planes once were,
Making their arrows in the air.

They were so fine, so purposeful and so intent,
And I was just a speck below them, by a washing line,
With all my powers of human intellect and thought,
Standing in a garden, hanging out a shirt - a dot.
I would have gone to them,
And soared around the world with neck outstretched,
Beyond the edges of my discontent.
We'd share the morning's end and evening coming,
And circle all the earth with heartbeats drumming,
And breathe the high, cool air of empty places,
And feel the wind of freedom in our faces.

I wanted wings, and think they nearly came,
But then I heard a human voice,
"Are you OK?"
And all my geese have flown away.

 

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Written by: April Carlin

Published: 04 June 2020