"A tall, bony man with a mass of snowy curls, he had the habit of fixing his parishioners with an amber stare before offering them the glory of his profile.
His rooms bore witness to a well-ordered mind ...The shelves of his library were lined with sets of the classics. He knew the whole of Homer by heart: each morning, between a cold bath and breakfast, he would compose a few hexameters of his own...
To the villagers their vicar was a mystery. Most of the women were in love with him - or transported by the timbre of his voice. But he was far too busy to attend to their spiritual needs, and his actions often outraged them.
One Sunday, before Holy Communion, some women in flowery hats were approaching the church door, their features reverently composed to receive the Sacrament. Suddenly, a window of the vicarage banged open; the vicar's voice bawled out, 'Mind your heads!' and he fired off a couple of barrels at the wood-pigeons crooning in the elms."
From On the Black Hill by Bruce Chatwin.
That gave me a good chuckle. I can just see them ducking in their hats to avoid the shots.
Posted by: Jennifer | 20 November 2009 at 01:00 AM
The one and only Chatwin I have read. Strongly recommended to me by Fiona who was (is?) a great fan. I thought it very depressing though the writing was very good indeed. I don't think I will be reading any more of his work unless of course you chose one for CBG!
Posted by: Dark Puss | 20 November 2009 at 09:00 AM