November 29, 2007

The Verger

A very interesting story by Somerset Maugham

There had been a christening that afternoon at St Peter's, Neville Square, and Albert Edward Foreman still wore his verger's gown. He kept his new one, its folds as full and stiff as though it were made not of alpaca but of perennial bronze, for funerals and weddings (St Peter's, Neville Square, was a church much favoured by the fashionable for these ceremonies) and now he wore only his second-best. He wore it with complacence, for it was the dignified symbol of his office, and without it (when he took it off to go home) he had the disconcerting sensation of being somewhat insufficiently clad. He took pains with it; he pressed it and ironed it himself. During the sixteen years he had been verger of this church he had had a succession of such gowns, but he had never been able to throw them away when they were worn out and the complete series, neatly wrapped up in brown paper, lay in the bottom drawers of the wardrobe in his bedroom.

The verger busied himself quietly, replacing the painted wooden cover on the marble font, taking away a chair that had been brought for an infirm old lady, and waited for the vicar to have finished in the vestry so that he could tidy up in there and go home. Presently he saw him walk across the chancel, genuflect in front of the high altar, and come down the aisle; but he still wore his cassock.

'What's he 'anging about for?' the verger said to himself. 'Don't'e know I want my tea?

The vicar had been but recently appointed, a red-faced energetic man in the early forties, and Albert Edward still regretted his predecessor, a clergyman of the old school who preached leisurely sermons in a silvery voice and dined out a great deal with his more aristocratic parishioners. He liked things in church to be just so, but he never fussed; he was not like this new man who wanted to have his finger in every pie. But Albert Edward was tolerant. St Peter's was in a very good neighbourhood and the parishioners were a very nice class of people. The new vicar had come from the East End and he couldn't be expected to fall in all at once with the discreet ways of his fashionable congregation.

'All this 'ustle; said Albert Edward. 'But give 'im time, he'll learn.'

When the vicar had walked down the aisle so far that he could address the verger without raising his voice more than was becoming in a place of worship he stopped.

'Foreman, will you come into the vestry for a minute. I have something to say to you.'
'Very good, sir'. The vicar waited for him to come up and they walked up the church together.
'A very nice christening, I thought, sir. Funny 'ow the baby stopped cryin' the moment you took him.'
'I've noticed they very often do,' said the vicar, with a little smile. ‘After all I've had a good deal of practice with them.'

It was a source of subdued pride to him that he could nearly always quiet a whimpering infant by the manner in which he held it and he was not unconscious of the amused admiration with which mothers and nurses watched him settle the baby in the crook of his surpliced arm. The verger knew that it pleased him to be complimented on his talent.

The vicar preceded Albert Edward into the vestry. Albert Edward was a trifle surprised to find the two churchwardens there. He had not seen them come in. They gave him pleasant nods.

'Good afternoon, my lord. Good afternoon, sir,' he said to one after the other. They were elderly men, both of them, and they had been churchwardens almost as long as Albert Edward had been verger. They were sitting now at a handsome refectory table that the old vicar had brought many years before from Italy and the vicar sat down in the vacant chair between them. Albert Edward faced them, the table between him and them, and wondered with slight uneasiness what was the matter. He remembered still the occasion on which the organist had got into trouble and the bother they had all had to hush things up. In a church like St Peter's, Neville Square, they couldn't afford a scandal. On the vicar's red face was a look of resolute benignity, but the others bore an expression that was slightly troubled.

'He's been naggin' them, he 'as,' said the verger to himself. `He's jockeyed them into doin' something, but they don't 'alf like it. That's what it is, you mark my words.'
But his thoughts did not appear on Albert Edward's clean-cut and distinguished features. He stood in a respectful but not obsequious attitude. He had been in service before he was appointed to his ecclesiastical office, but only in very good houses, and his deportment was irreproachable. Starting as a page-boy in the household of a merchantprince, he had risen by due degrees from the position of fourth to first footman, for a year he had been single-handed butler to a widowed peeress, and, till the vacancy occurred at St Peter's, butler with two men under him in the house of a retired ambassador. He was tall, spare, grave, and dignified. He looked, if not like a duke, at least like an actor of the old school who specialized in dukes' parts. He had tact, firmness,-and self-assurance. His character was unimpeachable.

The vicar began briskly. 'Foreman, we've got something rather unpleasant to say to you. You've been here a great many years and I think his lordship and the general agree with me that you've fulfilled the duties of your office to the satisfaction of everybody concerned.'
The two churchwardens nodded.
'But a most extraordinary circumstance came to my knowledge the other day and I felt it my duty to impart it to the churchwardens. I discovered to my astonishment that you could neither read nor write.'
The verger's face betrayed no sign of embarrassment.
'The last vicar knew that, sir,' he replied. 'He said it didn't make no difference. He always said there was a great deal too much education in the world for ‘is taste.'
'It's the most amazing thing I ever heard,' cried the general. 'Do you mean to say that you've been verger of this church for sixteen years and never learned to read or write'
`I went into service when I was twelve, sir. The cook in the first place tried to teach me once, but I didn't seem to 'ave the knack for it, and then what with one thing and another I never seemed to'ave the time. I've never really found the want of it. I think a lot of these young fellows waste a rare lot of time readin' when they might be doin' something
useful.'
'But don't you want to know the news? said the other churchwarden. ‘Don’t you ever want to write a letter?'
'No, me lord, I seem to manage very well without. And of late years now they've all these pictures in the papers I get to know what's goin' on pretty well. Me wife's quite a scholar and if I want to write a letter she writes it for me. It's not as if I was a bettin' man'. The two churchwardens gave the vicar a troubled glance and then looked down at the table.
'Well, Foreman, I've talked the matter over with these gentlemen and they quite agree with me that the situation is impossible. At a church like St Peter's, Neville Square, we cannot have a verger who can neither read nor write.'
Albert Edward's thin, sallow face reddened and he moved uneasily on his feet, but he made no reply.
'Understand me, Foreman, I have no complaint to make against you. You do your work quite satisfactorily; I have the highest opinion both of your character and of your capacity; but we haven't the right to take the risk of some accident that might happen owing to your lamentable ignorance. It's a matter of prudence as well as of principle.'
'But couldn't you learn, Foreman? asked the general.
'No, sir, I'm afraid I couldn't, not now. You see, I'm not as young as I was and if I couldn't seem able to get the letters in me 'ead when I was a nipper I don't think there's much chance of it now.'
'We don't want to be harsh with you, Foreman,' said the vicar. 'But the churchwardens and I have quite made up our minds. We'll give you three months and if at the end of that time you cannot read and write I'm afraid you'll have to go.'
Albert Edward had never liked the new vicar. He'd said from the beginning that they'd made a mistake when they gave him St Peter's. He wasn't the type of man they wanted with a classy congregation like that. And now he straightened himself a little. He knew his value and he wasn't going to allow himself to be put upon.
'I'm very sorry, sir, I'm afraid it's no good. I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks. I've lived a good many years without knowin' 'ow to read and write, and without wishin' to praise myself, self praise is no recommendation, I don't mind sayin' I've done my duty in that state of life in which it 'as pleased a merciful providence to place me, and if I could learn now I don't know as I'd want to.'
'In that case, Foreman, I'm afraid you must go.'
'Yes, sir, I quite understand. I shall be 'appy to 'and in my resignation as soon as you've found somebody to take my place.'

But when Albert Edward with his usual politeness had closed the church door behind the vicar and the two churchwardens he could not sustain the air of unruffled dignity with which he had borne the blow inflicted upon him and his lips quivered. He walked slowly back to the vestry and hung up on its proper peg his verger's gown. He sighed as he thought of all the grand funerals and smart weddings it had seen. He tidied everything up, put on his coat, and hat in hand walked down the aisle. He locked the church door behind him. He strolled across the square, but deep in his sad thoughts he did not take the street that led him home, where a nice strong cup of tea awaited him; he took the wrong turning. He walked slowly along. His heart was heavy. He did not know what he should do with himself. He did not fancy the notion of going back to domestic service; after being his own master for so many years, for the vicar and churchwardens could say what they liked, it was he that had run St Peter's, Neville Square, he could scarcely demean himself by accepting a situation. He had saved a tidy sum, but not enough to live on without doing something, and life seemed to cost more every year. He had never thought to be troubled with such questions. The vergers of St Peter's, like the popes of Rome, were there for life. He had often thought of the pleasant reference the vicar would make in his sermon at evensong the first Sunday after his death to the long and faithful service, and the exemplary character of their late verger, Albert Edward Foreman.

He sighed deeply. Albert Edward was a non-smoker and a total abstainer, but with a certain latitude; that is to say he liked a glass of beer with his dinner and when he was tired he enjoyed a cigarette. It occurred to him now that one would comfort him and since he did not carry them he looked about him for a shop where he could buy a packet of Gold Flake. He did not at once see one and walked on a little. It was a long street, with all sorts of shops in it, but there was not a single one where you could buy cigarettes.

'That's strange,' said Albert Edward.
To make sure he walked right up the street again. No, there was no doubt about it. He stopped and looked reflectively up and down.
`I can't be the only man as walks along this street and wants a fag,' he said. `I shouldn't wonder but what a fellow might do very well with a little shop here. Tobacco and sweets, you know.'
He gave a sudden start.
`That's an idea,' he said. `Strange 'ow things come to you when you least expect it.'
He turned, walked home, and had his tea.
`You're very silent this afternoon, Albert,' his wife remarked.
`I'm thinkin',' he said.

He considered the matter from every point of view and next day he went along the street and by good luck found a little shop to let that looked as though it would exactly suit him. Twenty-four hours later he had taken it, and when a month after that he left St Peter's, Neville Square, for ever, Albert Edward Foreman set up in business as a tobacconist and newsagent. His wife said it was a dreadful come-down after being verger of St Peter's, but he answered that you had to move with the times, the church wasn't what it was, and 'enceforward he was going to render unto Caesar what was Caesar's. Albert Edward did very well. He did so well that in a year or so it struck him that he might take a second shop and put a manager in. He looked for another long street that hadn't got a tobacconist in it and when he found it, and a shop to let, took it and stocked it. This was a success too. Then it occurred to him that if he could run two he could run half a dozen, so he began walking about London, and whenever he found a long street that had no tobacconist and a shop to let he took it. In the course of ten years he had acquired no less than ten shops and he was making money hand over fist. He went round to all of them himself every Monday, collected the week's takings, and took them to the bank.

One morning when he was there paying in a bundle of notes and a heavy bag of silver the cashier told him that the manager would like to see him. He was shown into an office and the manager shook hands with him.

'Mr Foreman, I wanted to have a talk to you about the money you've got on deposit with us. D'you know exactly how much it is ?'
'Not within a pound or two, sir; but I've got a pretty rough idea.'
'Apart from what you paid in this morning it's a little over thirty thousand pounds. That's a very large sum to have on deposit and I should have thought you'd do better to invest it.'
'I wouldn't want to take no risk, sir. I know it's safe in the bank.'
'You needn't have the least anxiety. We'll make you out a list of absolutely giltedged securities. They'll bring you in a better rate of interest than we can possibly afford to give you.'
A troubled look settled on Mr Foreman's distinguished face. 'I've never 'ad anything to do with stocks and shares and I'd 'ave to leave it all in your ‘ands,' he said.
The manager smiled. 'We'll do everything. All you'll have to do next time you come in is just to sign the transfers:
'I could do that all right,' said Albert uncertainly. 'But 'ow should I know what I was signin'?
'I suppose you can read,' said the manager a trifle sharply.
Mr Foreman gave him a disarming smile.
'Well, sir, that's just it. I can't. I know it sounds funny-like, but there it is, I can't read or write, only me name, an' I only learnt to do that when I went into business.'
The manager was so surprised that he jumped up from his chair.
'That's the most extraordinary thing I ever heard.'
'You see, it's like this, sir, I never 'ad the opportunity until it was too late and then some'ow I wouldn't. I got obstinate-like.'
The manager stared at him as though he were a prehistoric monster.
'And do you mean to say that you've built up this important business and amassed a fortune of thirty thousand pounds without being able to read or write? Good God, man, what would you be now if you had been able to ?'
'I can tell you that, sir,' said Mr Foreman, a little smile on his still aristocratic features. 'I'd be verger of St Peter's, Neville Square.'


November 28, 2007

Celebrating your small small wins

In the busy journey of life many feel burned out. Many feel success evading them. Many feel low because of it.

But why does this happen? Have you thought about it?

It is because one doesn’t pause to take a proper look at what he/she has done in the past. He/She has never stopped to celebrate and enjoy the little successes he/she gained. It is important to celebrate the little successes one gains. Success breeds success. Celebrate your little success, and feel lighter and motivated. That will fetch you bigger fishes in your net.


What do you want?

Here's an interesting clip from the movie - notebook. Towards the end of the clip Noah asks Allie the question "What do you want?"

In real life, many find it hard to answer that question.



November 18, 2007

Addiction to loneliness

"I don't think I'll get married" My friend said sipping his beer
"Why?" I asked
He said "Over the past four years I have developed a liking for loneliness. After the hectic work in office, I look forward to go home and soak myself in the peace that loneliness offers. It gives me the space I need! Everyday I dearly need some time exclusively reserved for myself with no one in the nearby vicinity of MY 'time-space'. A marriage will ruin the bliss loneliness offers. I value my loneliness so much that I will do anything to guard it"

I nodded. I was able to fully understand what he meant. Sometime back another friend had mentioned something similar. In her case, her mother wanted her to end her lonely stay. Her mom feared that she would get addicted to loneliness and would eventually decide against getting married. Anyways, after constant pressure from home, she packed herself to her hometown.

Addiction to loneliness is an interesting subject worth studying…

Gospel

My niece - Laya - has a friend called Matthew.

She is 2+ years old and is a little bit naughty. My sister takes her to the church on Sundays. Church is not that "holy" to my niece. So she spends her time roaming around, observing people - especially kids, who would also be busy doing the same. What else can you expect from a two year old?

But last Sunday, when my niece went to church, while roaming around she caught one sentence of the priest - "The gospel written by Matthew"

She stared at that sentence for a while and then came running to my sister "When is the priest going to say 'the gospel written by Laya'?"

My sister chuckled...


November 17, 2007

The beautiful horizon

On my flight from Pune to Bangalore, I captured the horizon using my camera phone... See the riot of colors!! Isn't the horizon a beauty...


Does the horizon always "appear" to be beautiful? When you reach the horizon will one realize that the horizon was not that beautiful? Are pastures greener on the other side?


Two Poems...

Came across two poems...

Interesting simple ones...

Feelings Poem... by Spike Milligan

There must be a wound!
No one can be this hurt
and not bleed.

How could she injure me so?
No marks
No bruise

Worse!
People say 'My, you're looking well'
…..God help me!
She's mummified me -
ALIVE!


Tonight

I’ll hold back my tears tonight
As I know I can’t have you with me
I’ll try to sleep tonight
But what’s the point?
When I wake up nothing will have changed.

I’ll be sad tonight
And probably tomorrow too
I’ll put on an act though
To try to keep a straight face around you
I know you won’t sense my pain

I’ll think of you tonight
It’s so hard to not cry
Heartbreak feels so low
I’ll try to forget my sorrow
As I know you won’t think of me

I’ll see the stars tonight
And watch them twinkle in the charcoal sky
If the universe is infinite
Then I’ll look for a parallel world
Where you and me are together

And I’ll just wish I was there.


November 12, 2007

Leadership & Griping

How many times have you cribbed along with your team members? Countless? If yes, please take a look at the following conversation between Captain Miller and Private Reiben. It offers some tips to handle a cribbing session. Both are entrusted with a mission, which Reiben believes is a waste of time and resource. Miller too feels the same, but doesn't reveal his thought in the open.
REIBEN (Referring to griping-about-the-mission): And what about you, Captain?

MILLER: Reiben, what's the matter with you? I don't gripe to you. I'm a captain. There's a chain of command. Griping goes one way, up, only up, never down. You gripe to me, I gripe to my superior officers. Up, get it? I don't gripe to you, I don't gripe in front of you. How long you been in the army?

REIBEN: I'm sorry, sir, I apologize.

After a pause...

REIBEN: But if you weren't a captain, or if I were a major, what would you say?

Miller considers his response.

MILLER: In that case, I would say this is an excellent mission, with an extremely valuable objective, worthy of my best efforts.

Reiben rolls his eyes. Miller plays it straight, with no obvious sarcasm.

MILLER (continuing): In addition, as I pointed out earlier, I have a fondness for cheese and I hope to have the opportunity to sample some of the Ramelle products, when we arrive there, to see if they live up to their excellent reputation. Moreover, I feel heartfelt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and I'm more than willing to lay down my life, and the lives of my men, especially you, Reiben, to help relieve her suffering.

Captain Miller's army men thoroughly enjoy his performance.

And the Captain wins the heart of his team's heart without griping!


The above script is lifted from the movie "Saving Private Ryan".


November 11, 2007

A breakfast conversation

It was quite sometime since I had visited my hometown. On the dining table at my home, while having my breakfast, I thought I'll catch-up with the latest local news and gossips. I asked my mother to unravel the bundle of gossips.

She started. The first one was the sad story of a neighbor. The second one was an unhappy incident that occurred to one of my acquaintances. The third one was the annoying news of a distant relative. I felt the air of discomfort surrounding me. I was expecting her to share some good news, and here I am having a bad start of the day with all those unpleasant news served with my breakfast.

Before she started with the fourth one, I interrupted and told her that she was spoiling my mood and perhaps my day, and hence should tell me only good news and stories, and nothing else. “For each bad news there should be at least two good news” I said. I was becoming unreasonable.

She paused for a while. Then looking at her plate said casually "Candy is sweet. So is sugar and honey. But lemon is sour. And bitter gourd is bitter. Can you really change their nature?"

I stared at her, then at my father. A smile spread on our faces and we exchanged a hearty laugh. I got my mother’s message. She was just sharing the local news - good, bad and the ugly ones. She couldn’t change their nature. Could she?