spirit of Woodstock into the discipline of organised religion.
All these organisations were doing the same thing, playing on the guilt of those people who had grown up through the values of the Sixties and now felt embarrassed by their middle-class materialism. And all of them demonstrated the eternal history of business – that the urge to make money is a permanent force, which will adapt itself to whatever happens to be current at any given moment.
When Brother Michael reached the end of – or at least a paragraph-break in – his peroration, Mrs Pargeter asked innocently, 'And how is it all funded?'
He was not embarrassed by the question. Clearly it was one he had been faced with and dealt with on numerous occasions. However, the vehemence with which he answered suggested that he might be anticipating disagreement.
'Well, of course, we do sell some produce from the estate, but the majority of our income comes from voluntary contributions.'
'Oh? And how are those voluntary contributions made?'
'Novices who join the Church make over much of their wealth to us.'
He responded immediately to her raised eyebrow. This, too, was an objection he had encountered before. 'When I say "make over to us", of course I do not mean that it's made over to any individual. The money goes into the charitable trust set up to run the Church.'
'Oh, I see.'
'It would hardly be appropriate,' he joked heavily, 'for the novices to give up all their worldly goods simply so that the leaders of the Church could live the life of Reilly.'
'No. No, it wouldn't.' Mrs Pargeter paused. She wondered whether it was the moment to change tack. After all, the last thing she wanted was to become a novice of the Church of Utter Simplicity. She was only there in an investigative capacity. 'As it happens,' she continued casually, 'I heard about the Church through a friend.'
'Oh?' The priest – or whatever he called himself . . . probably just 'Brother', Mrs Pargeter reflected – was instantly alert, anticipating trouble.
'Yes, a friend called Theresa Cotton.'
At the name the black eyebrows drew together into one bristling line, like a particularly noxious caterpillar.
Mrs Pargeter wondered for a moment whether she had overstepped the mark, but it soon became clear that Brother Michael's anger was directed not at her but at her supposed friend.
'Theresa Cotton is not, I am afraid, a name that is heard with great enthusiasm within these walls. She misled us into believing that she would be joining us as a novice
'Sister Camilla.'
'That is correct. She was – ' The eyebrows grew even bushier as a new thought struck him. 'Was it you? Were you the one who rang up asking for her?'
No point in denial. 'Yes, it was me.'
But this did not divert his anger from Theresa either. 'She left us in the lurch. We had made plans for her joining the Church. We had set up her Becoming Ceremony . . .'
'Yes, she mentioned that. I didn't quite understand what she meant.'
'Before you can be a part of the Church,' he explained with limited patience, 'you have to become a member of the Church.'
'And once you are a member of the Church, what do you do then?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Well, having become , what do you do after that? Do you just be ?'
'Yes. From then on you are .'
'Oh.' Mrs Pargeter nodded wisely, as if that explained everything. 'Erm, one thing that did interest me,' she continued, 'was something Theresa said about how one prepared oneself for entry to the Church.'
'Yes?' The question was guarded. He became very self-protective each time Theresa Cotton's name was mentioned.
'She said something about having to clear one's mind of resentments and grudges . . .'
'That is certainly what we recommend. It is ideal that one should come to one's Becoming Ceremony with a mind receptive to God, a mind uncluttered by worldly thoughts and aggravations.'
'Yes, of course. And what,' she asked cautiously, 'would be the best way of getting oneself into that state of
All these organisations were doing the same thing, playing on the guilt of those people who had grown up through the values of the Sixties and now felt embarrassed by their middle-class materialism. And all of them demonstrated the eternal history of business – that the urge to make money is a permanent force, which will adapt itself to whatever happens to be current at any given moment.
When Brother Michael reached the end of – or at least a paragraph-break in – his peroration, Mrs Pargeter asked innocently, 'And how is it all funded?'
He was not embarrassed by the question. Clearly it was one he had been faced with and dealt with on numerous occasions. However, the vehemence with which he answered suggested that he might be anticipating disagreement.
'Well, of course, we do sell some produce from the estate, but the majority of our income comes from voluntary contributions.'
'Oh? And how are those voluntary contributions made?'
'Novices who join the Church make over much of their wealth to us.'
He responded immediately to her raised eyebrow. This, too, was an objection he had encountered before. 'When I say "make over to us", of course I do not mean that it's made over to any individual. The money goes into the charitable trust set up to run the Church.'
'Oh, I see.'
'It would hardly be appropriate,' he joked heavily, 'for the novices to give up all their worldly goods simply so that the leaders of the Church could live the life of Reilly.'
'No. No, it wouldn't.' Mrs Pargeter paused. She wondered whether it was the moment to change tack. After all, the last thing she wanted was to become a novice of the Church of Utter Simplicity. She was only there in an investigative capacity. 'As it happens,' she continued casually, 'I heard about the Church through a friend.'
'Oh?' The priest – or whatever he called himself . . . probably just 'Brother', Mrs Pargeter reflected – was instantly alert, anticipating trouble.
'Yes, a friend called Theresa Cotton.'
At the name the black eyebrows drew together into one bristling line, like a particularly noxious caterpillar.
Mrs Pargeter wondered for a moment whether she had overstepped the mark, but it soon became clear that Brother Michael's anger was directed not at her but at her supposed friend.
'Theresa Cotton is not, I am afraid, a name that is heard with great enthusiasm within these walls. She misled us into believing that she would be joining us as a novice
'Sister Camilla.'
'That is correct. She was – ' The eyebrows grew even bushier as a new thought struck him. 'Was it you? Were you the one who rang up asking for her?'
No point in denial. 'Yes, it was me.'
But this did not divert his anger from Theresa either. 'She left us in the lurch. We had made plans for her joining the Church. We had set up her Becoming Ceremony . . .'
'Yes, she mentioned that. I didn't quite understand what she meant.'
'Before you can be a part of the Church,' he explained with limited patience, 'you have to become a member of the Church.'
'And once you are a member of the Church, what do you do then?'
'I'm sorry?'
'Well, having become , what do you do after that? Do you just be ?'
'Yes. From then on you are .'
'Oh.' Mrs Pargeter nodded wisely, as if that explained everything. 'Erm, one thing that did interest me,' she continued, 'was something Theresa said about how one prepared oneself for entry to the Church.'
'Yes?' The question was guarded. He became very self-protective each time Theresa Cotton's name was mentioned.
'She said something about having to clear one's mind of resentments and grudges . . .'
'That is certainly what we recommend. It is ideal that one should come to one's Becoming Ceremony with a mind receptive to God, a mind uncluttered by worldly thoughts and aggravations.'
'Yes, of course. And what,' she asked cautiously, 'would be the best way of getting oneself into that state of
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