The Rebel Within

I soon started to realise that my husband was actually turning into a vicar before my very eyes. It was the gardening that first gave it away. He was given a greenhouse and he bought seeds and compost and then he dug a big part of the garden to make a vegetable patch. This was closely followed by a magazine subscription to 'Gardener's World'. OMG! His mum and dad would visit and the three of them would walk around the garden together discussing the individual plants. It was only a normal garden and it didn't change much between their weekly visits in my ignorant eyes but this is the first thing they'd do each and every time whilst I made them a 'nice' pot of tea - what they didn't know was that I am the world's worst tea in a pot maker. If the tea came out far too weak I would simply grab an extra tea bag and squeeze it in their cups after the milk was in. What they didn't know and all that! Other signs were being cross if I swore or blasphemed, he was so grumpy about it I had to make a big effort to stop altogether. He also wore slippers, not trendy ones but clarks old man ones with fluff inside. I threw those away quite quickly and got him moccasins instead - a wife has to be helpful where she can. Now it's not as though I am against gardening or slippers per se but you must remember that he was only just 33 when this began and I was 22.

I was desperate to build up a social life that was nothing to do with the church. My friends were from the mother and baby groups and one lady was organising a fund raising event for the disabled children's playground. I bought tickets and we were part of a table of ten. It was a lively evening with a quiz, food and lots of booze and laughter. It was definitely the best fun I'd had since we'd moved to the vicarage. So, was my husband also having a good time? Was he heck! Half way through the evening in a rude loud voice he said to me across the table - "What are we doing here? I would rather just have given the money and not come." That is really my first memory of thinking 'Oh my god, who have I married?'

Saturday social events were common where we lived, either with the children during the day or during the evening without. Everybody went as a couple. Except me. Daytime events were excused with either a wedding (fair enough) or preparation for church the next day. Evenings were avoided because of preparation for the morning, even if actually he sat in front of the TV. I became embarrassed about making up excuse after excuse for him. I continuously covered up the fact that he was just unsociable and didn't like their company. I didn't want to go on my own all the time and soon it was easier for me to not go either. The invitations soon dried up because we were clearly not part of the 'in' crowd. I saw other families going off together out for the day or even camping for the weekend. We couldn't do anything at the weekend as a family because it was just impossible to prepare for church on Friday rather than Saturday unless there was an important football or rugby match on the television, oh, or a church event!

I made a big effort I think. I went to things I hated all the time. Church being just one of them. Harvest lunch another. And how entertaining is it to have dinner with the bishop and a bunch of much older vicars and their wives? Not at all.

If friends or family came to us he would stay in his study for much of the time. When he did come into the living room where we were he'd think nothing of sitting in 'his' armchair and turning the television on. He had an amazing ability to just ignore what was going on around him. It makes me cringe to remember all that now.

I finished my second year at college whilst pregnant and got a diploma for it. Better than a kick in the teeth but I wanted to carry on to get my degree. Nobody told me I could stay on by putting the baby in the creche, I just didn't think it was an option really, so I left. Seven and a half months after the wedding our daughter was born. Two months after that we moved to a very well-to-do parish (which shall remain nameless!!) where my husband became a fully fledged vicar in charge of his own church. I was 21 with a tiny baby in a place where most people didn't even think of having a baby until they were at least 30. My next door neighbour saw my mum holding the baby at the induction service and assumed she was the vicar's wife. She nearly collapsed in shock when she saw it was me. I was young but I also looked very young for my age and quite girly still. I felt I'd arrived in an alien world among older people who had lived and worked many years already. But I tried to fit in and went to the usual mother and baby groups to make friends.

The church was really odd. I'd only ever been part of a big lively modern church and was shocked to sit in the pew Sunday mornings and see the choir all robed walking in carrying a cross at the start of the service. My husband led the way down the aisle for them and I sat there cringing like hell. I hated it. But I went - nearly every week I was there. I was always late though, I purposely delayed when I arrived using the baby as an excuse. During the service I'd then pinch her so she cried and I could leave - not really...but I did leave at any squeak from her! I soon started to take the few children who were there out to do a children's class. I was a genius - those classes were just a fantastic excuse for me to not be in church listening to sermons and doing the peace and prayers and any other crap that is part of the territory.

What I really hated was the lack of privacy. I was public knowledge and observed. I was introduced as the vicar's wife to people - I often said very strongly 'I am me, my husband just happens to be a vicar'. I had to watch what I said - no swearing, I had to not gossip, not moan, just be sunny and smiley and get on with it. People noticed what went in my shopping trolley too - how bizarre is that!

Your home is not really your own home when you live in a vicarage either. One morning about 9am I was sitting in the kitchen with my baby in her highchair having breakfast when the doorbell rang. I was in my dressing gown and didn't want to open the door so I ignored it. The next thing I knew was a head was peering in the kitchen window. It was a woman who went to the church. I had to open the door then. She tutted and was most put out that I'd ignored her so rudely when she wanted the church key from me.

Our wedding anniversary came round and we went out for a meal. The owners of the restaurant were the son and daughter-in-law of a church couple. The night was quiet for business and we said it was our anniversary but they sat and talked to us throughout our meal about the church!

I slowly began to realise that life in a vicarage was not going to be normal. People want access to you all the time day and night.

The funniest thing about that anniversary night was the church warden who was babysitting read our cards. A few days later she said to me "Can I ask you something? One of your cards says 'congratulations on your 1st anniversary' but wasn't it your second?", "No, it was our first" I said. "Then how come Hannah is over four months old?!!" Fantastic!