Due to her diligent and unswerving efforts to make this world a Happier and a Nicer place, our Dearly Beloved Mrs Hilda Plantagenet-Featheringstonehaugh, in tandem with Francis, Anglican Bishop of Crawley; Sister Mary Perpetua of the Little Sisters of Selective Charity (Streatham Hill); and Father Hayastan, Personal and Private Secretary to His Grace, Setrag, Armenian Archbishop of Highbury and Islington, have seen their tasks bearing fruition, as in this small edifice erected in the pleasant swathe that is Surrey. Long may they flourish.
Hours of blood, perspiration (Note well: Lower ranks and horses sweat; Ladies and Officers perspire) and tears were spent in efforts to have Dear Setrag, Armenian Archbishop of Highbury and Islington, elevated to the Community of Saints. This has, by diligence and unswerving efforts, been attained and it is with great joy that one will note that throughout this Sceptred Isle, wayside shrines, chapels and churches are springing up for the use of the Posh; the Better Class of Person; the True Desirables of the Kingdom.
In their cloistered and hallowed depths, people of Quality and Standing can worship without fear of being jostled by poor people, foreigners, day trippers and those without a hyphen to their surnames.
Never again need Persons of Class worry that they may rub shoulders with the nouveau riche, the needy, the lower classes or those of the menial orders.
Sing “Hey!” and “Hey!” again for Saint Setrag, Patron Saint of the Posh (and of Orchids).
The above is an advertisement for Dulcie cards.
All names & addresses are purely fictional; any similarities between persons, living or dead are coincidental & the product of a deranged mind.
A Timely Warning
A disturbing little tale concerning one of our more elderly Residents: Mr Jack Lincoln-Palmistry (See relevant photograph above), Poet Laureate (Retired) formerly of Little-Halstead-in-the-Marsh.
Dear old Jumbled Jack, as we have come to know him, had experienced what he thought to have been an Epiphany or some such nonsense. He had received some photographs through the post that had been part of the estate of a defunct aunt. One of the photographs (see above) showed Jumbled Jack in what could only be described as a “sensitive pose”. The old chap was seen looking down at some object “out of frame”. To all intents and purposes, it reminded our Nurse Smythe of any number of Residents, who, suffering from severe constipation have had recourse to partake of an infusion of senna pods. Nurse Smythe’s Senna Pod Tea is famed through the Home Counties for its efficacy.
Dear Mr Lincoln-Palmistry, however, was adamant that the photograph had been taken when the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to him and showed him her newly arrived Baby Jesus. In fact, he entitled the photograph: “Looking down at the infant in the manger”. (Note the lack of the appropriate capitalisation of a key word.)
One feels that “Jumbled Jack was merely trying to jump on the bandwagon, and gain some form of religious regard similar to that surrounding our Dear Archbishop Setrag.
However, Francis, Anglican Bishop of Crawley commented that, when he had been to Italy in the Summer, he had been privileged, when visiting Turin, to be shown the Turin Shroud. He stated that he thought the similarity between the photograph of Mr Lincoln-Palmistry and that Holy Relic, were remarkable if not unique. So rather than throw the “Baby out with the Bathwater”, it was agreed that Jumbled Jack would be permitted to claim fame to having a very reasonable religious artefact, similar to the Turin Shroud, although his relic having been obtained by a more modern piece of photographic equipment.
Beware of such confusion that may arise from such.
Sister Mary Perpetua of the Little Sisters of Selective Charity recalls a most unpleasant novice when she was much younger, who, on a regular basis maintained she was experiencing visitations from any number of Saints. Suspicions were aroused when the Sister Superior at that particular convent noted that they were all male Saints. The dirty little slut had entertained half the local male population in her cell. She was not dismissed, however. She had a strong back, and wasn’t very bright, so the Sister Superior packed her off to a convent in Malawi where she seems to have settled in quite nicely. Her “visitations” apparently, seem to have dwindled somewhat as she has reached a more advanced age.
Tapered off, but not ceased.
A Jolly Little Poem penned by Father Hayastan in one of his rarely flippant but endearing moments:
Surrounding this precious icon of The Blessed Visrgin Mary are our little Orchid Friends who have benefitted from your Prayers and Masses said for their recovery when they have become ill, or have fallen into the uncaring hands of lower class or working class owners.
Still requiring your prayers, and more importantly, monetary gifts, is dear little Quentin Chamberlain, at present on the mend in North London
Saint Setrag is the Patron Saint of the Posh & and of Orchids.
Please remember them in your prayers
Always in our thoughts. Get well soon, darling.
beloved Orchid of
Neville in happier days.
Rest in Peace, Dear One.
(Hermione, Countess of Suffolk)
an inspration to us all.
Keep going old Soldier,
Field Marshal Frederic Aloisius St John Butterworth K.C.M.G.
Denzel, treasured friend of
Lord and Lady Brixton.
Always in our prayers. Keep on getting better, little one.
Insert body text here ...
It is with deep regret that we must announce that an inordinate amount of prayers said to Saint Setrag, and to All the Rest of Them, have not been as efficacious as one would have hoped.
Earth to Earth
Sphagnum Moss to Sphagnum Moss
Quentin’s constant Companion, Carer and Friend, Saba Chataband (AKA Seto Cheblakian) is distraught with grief and would like dear little Quentin to make a speedy journey to Phalaenopsis Paradise, so any amount of prayers and donations (especially) towards the odd Requiem Mass, would be most appreciated.
The Honorary Almoner at Twilight Lawns, Mr Saba Chatabandian, would be pleased to accept your donations as soon as possible.
Sealed envelopes please.
The chief mourner at Quentin’s funeral, Francis (Gin Sling) Ficus-Microcarpus,
who represented his family,
the Hampshire Ficus-Microcarpi,
read the eulogy.
“There is, on our windowsill, a little spot that will forever be Quentin’s”