St. Fudges-in-the-marsh is a tiny church that nestles in a slight dip on the Romney marshes. In this remote church, a little known but cherished holy relic lies tucked away carefully, on a stone shelf.
It sits in a crystal box. The artefact is less than 6 inches long, vaguely cylindrical in shape, brown and withered. There is a hole in the top of the box, and people who are brave enough to venture a sniff, swear that they can still get a faint whiff of the man to whom the relic belonged.
Once every four years on February 29th the relic is taken around the local villages and unblemished maidens gently hold the object to their bosom, in the belief it will help them find true love and an ability to beguile the men folk with the skilfully executed water-colours much prized in the area, and particularly in the Cinque Port town of Rye.
Now the history of this object is not as old as one might think. It’s only been there since 1946 just after the end of the 2nd World War, and what follows explains a mystery that has confused scholars for many years.
The story goes that the curate at the time was a bit of a ladies man [the only flaw in a character that otherwise was as pure as the driven snow] and that his carnal appetites were gathering pace. All the women in the area the parish covered, had in fact been covered by Cuthbert Blenkinsop, or at least chased; even the chaste.
On this particular Sunday, a few minutes before evensong, he was lying under a hedge getting his cassock into a twist with Miss Murial Walker, a spinster who had given up hoping that she would ever know anything about the pleasures of the flesh. Cuthbert was just struggling with the buttons on the third layer of her cardigans [Miss Walker felt the cold] when suddenly he noticed that his …. now how should I put it …. his raison d’etre, had turned brown and was burning at the end. He stood up rather abruptly and the love of his life fell to the ground. He screamed and ran off and although there were rumours that he ended his days in a nunnery, he was never seen in person again. Miss Walker in her naivete, presuming that this was all quite normal if a little puzzling, picked the object up as a memento and started for home. However the excitement proved too much for her and she collapsed and died under the lychgate leading into the churchyard. She was discovered there a few minutes later by none other than Winston Churchill, who, relaxing after a rather tiring war, had been painting one of his beloved watercolours in the nearby field. He was dumbfounded to see that the poor dead woman was clasping one of his cigar butts tightly in her left hand.
Nobody could fathom out what had happened and her death remained unexplained. As her purity was a byword, the cigar butt, obviously implicated in her death in some strange way, was thought to have special powers connected with the ‘undefiled’. It was taken to the church where it was hoped it’s powers would be kept in check, and over time took on the mantle of a Holy Relic.
Using my great intuitive skills and my rather awesome powers of deduction I’ve managed to piece the pieces together to offer this full and frank explanation …… my brain power is rather scary isn’t it?
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Stumble It!
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ok, it is early … have I got it right… so the vicars willy was actually a huge Cuban??? and Winnie actually smoked willies??
not sure ’scary’ is how I would describe your brain powerbtw *
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I shall forgive your transgressions young 70’s as I believe you are returning to work this morning …… any other day I would have berated you for your lack of understanding and Earl Grey ……. what happened was …… oh never mind …….
[You must stop this working lark, it's just silly!]
ah you can not ably explain so my ‘Cuban’ ‘willy’ theory stands
[only 60 e mails at work waiting and and 3 meetings ... ooooo that is a poor showing so I must be doing something right oh
]
I’ve looked very carefully and I can find no reference to willies, winkles, pee pees or, as my mother used to say, Mr Tiny ……..
I really just wanted to say ‘willy’ on your blog if he truth be known…. revenge for the ‘pooh, bum, willy’ statements over at mine *snigger* (erm usually when I am mid product review lol)
Would I do that!!?! ….. a harmless old codger? …… never – tee hee
wasn’t it you?? My you must have a doppleganger
(there are antibiotics for that these days you know)
If my dopple was ganging I think I’d use bandages, splints and a pulley and hoist …….. perhaps I’d better check ……
Nope – fine!!! …. but my goppe is dangling …. which isn’t good …..
you repeated yourself .. I would watch out for that ..I would watch out for that … the important Q is was it gangling without its dopple… if so that could mean at the worst surgery .. at best some strange looking pills
Remind me never to ask you for medical advice …..
love English fairy tales! MORE!!!
Who are you calling a fairy!!! – I might sway a bit when I walk and I do occasionally wear fairy wings, but only on special occasions …… honestly Froglet …. sometimes I despair ……
scary? More like terrifying
Morning Nursey ….. and coming from a medical person I take that as a great compliment – tee hee
Well I am very confused – what exactly is the artefact? A very long cigar butt or a very short raison d’etre – I don’t think we have the full gory story here…….
History is shrouded in mystery ….. as is his story ….. perhaps we’ll never know the full truth …….
I always thought man’s raison d’etre was woman…shows you how wrong I can be.
But that is such a titillating story. (I love that word, titillating. Not only because it has the Tagalog word for a man’s raison d’etre [according to you] in it!)
Titillating is a lovely word for many reasons ….. apparently ….. tee hee
I suppose the raison d’etre varies from peabrain to peabrain ….. mine of course is the humble gingernut [never dunked!]
St Fudges in the Marsh seems to be remarkably close to the birthplace of my Great Great Grandfather, the remarkably named William Nimrod Bates. His father came from Chichester but his children were born in Peasemarsh. It could be that Miss Walker was a relative. Please treat her memory kindly.
Of course it would appear that Rev Blenkinsop was a bit of a hunter – - -
Highly likely on the relative front – no public transport – mates had to be found within an easy bike journey and 2nd cousins were seen as very fresh meat indeed …….tee hee
>>>a tiny church that nestles in a slight dip on the Romney marshes
I’m not familiar with your countryside but wouldn’t a dip in the marshes put the church under water?
I dwell on the mundane when the big issues like Winnie Churchill’s cigar/Cuban penis conundrum is too mindboggling to ponder.
Hello David – The marshes have mysterious and ancient swellings thus providing the opportunity for the odd dip or two. It is in such a rare formation that St Fudges nestles ……. [*phew* - managed to escape that one .... probably]
Mysterious and ancient swellings….that sounds like a viagra commercial.
Tsk! Next you’ll be telling me the ‘Turin Shroud’ was actually the original wrapping for the big-end of a 1939 Bugatti Type 57C Van Vooren Cabriolet………..
The Turin Shroud has been researched enough. I was wondering if the remarkable case of the Tea Stained Tissue might be worth investigating ….. I could get sued by PG Tips of course whose secrets are protected by pyramids ……..
oh i make a new artefact in the backyard everyday, are they worth money? after i nibble some of the humans jalapeño nachos they even come out lit!
You’re beginning to annoy me now Nooter – that made me laugh …… tsk
Using my great intuitive skills and my rather awesome powers of deduction I’ve managed to piece the pieces together to offer this full and frank explanation …… my brain power is rather scary isn’t it?
DP.. you know how much I love and revere you and your brain power, but it wouldn’t be responsible of me to not mention that one certain, William Clinton, seems to have also, the brain power to piece that story together… and have used it to
scoreinspire some cigar action of his own, back a few years ago.Perhaps the two of you might enjoy lunch? Shall I (as Fracretary of course) arrange such a luncheon date for you?
(Word to the TG… I give my fraccy promise to make sure there are no young ladies wearing blue dresses… and no cigars… attending such a luncheon. Nay, it should just be a nice opportunity for two blokes with some awesome brain power to enjoy each other’s stories.)
Well you could pencil me in for morning coffee one day …. as you know I’m terribly busy. I’m just looking at my diary now ……. I happen to be free tomorrow …. and Thursday strangely …. *flick* …. oh, and Friday …….. look, I tell you what, just for Bill, any time would suit me so long as my afternoon siesta isn’t interrupted. Thanks, you’re a darling …..