"THE PRIEST." [Preview available]

Episode summary:

"In the autumn of 1916, the village of North Turning, located in a remote part of Yorkshire, welcomes the new parish priest; Father Peter Meyer, who has been a Padre in the British army and served for two years in Northern France. The young priest quickly proves popular amongst the villagers; especially amongst the many widows and wives of serving soldiers!  But what lies behind this priest, who’s favourite saying is; 'God has little to do with religion!' But strange happenings in the village bring Jericho on the scene."

 

Warnings: 

Alcohol – Smoking - Strong language – Violence [including references to child sacrifice] – Very strong, graphic sexual references – Demonic references & Strong horror – Devil worship and witchcraft.

 

Author’s notes about this episode: 

[1] This episode contains very strong sexual references and witchcraft including child sacrifice during Devil worship.

[2] The original Title for this episode was: ‘THE PRIEST AND THE WITCHES.’

[3] A ‘Jericho Tibbs’ original story.

[4] This original drawing was found in the Public Domain with NO Copyright details or even artist displayed. If you know anything about this please contact the author via his website: https://stephenjohnwilliams.blogspot.com

[5] There is NO Alexandra version available.

 

Episode details:

Concept date: 6th February, 2019

First published: 19th October 2020

Status: COMPLETED & PUBLISHED.

Location: BOOK SERIES 3 – EPISODE 3.

Revisions: 3 [last revised August 2020]

Version: Final.

Published Episode No. 027

Previous episode: “33AD.”

Next episode: “Stranger’s Market.”

Age recommendation: 15+

Average reading time: Approx. 45 Minutes.

Angel-in-charge: Margret 

Team Assigned: Team 74

Human Time: 1916AD-1334AH 

Mission: 2 - 248224 - 2 – 1916

Episode Preview:

Father Peter Meyer could easily be considered 'handsome'; he was over six feet tall with dark curly hair and dark eyes. Thanks to his love of rugby, he had the physical appearance to match his looks; rugged. Despite only being 28 years old, there was a string of disappointed women in his past. Priests of the Holy Roman Church cannot marry.

The Bishop's Secretary, a weedy little man with glasses and an annoying cough, had shown the young priest into the Bishop's study. The odd little man coughed [again] into his hankie and smiled; "His Grace will be here shortly Father Meyer." The secretary turned to go, but stopped and glanced back at the young man in uniform; a very handsome young man. He wondered about the rumours and gossip concerning this Priest; the women, the drinking, the defying of church doctrine and why he had been returned to civilian service after two years at the front.

 He also wondered about the sense in sending such a priest to North Turning, with all those old legends and stories about the place. But that was not his concern. North Turning had been a hotpot of apparent witchcraft and strange happenings for centuries. It had always required the presence of a ‘strong’ priest of firm character. This young man certainly didn’t fill those requirements. Still, there was a war on; the parish would have to accept what it was given.

 "I thought you would be wearing your cassock and not your army uniform?" The little man wiped his face and sweaty hands with his large hankie, then adjusted his glasses. Father Meyer didn't smile; "All my stuff is in storage at the Parish I was at, when drafted into the army padre service in '14. They are sending it onto me at Turning Village." The secretary nodded and said nothing more and motioned the priest to sit, then left the room to organise some tea from the kitchen.

 Peter sat quietly smoking; he turned the packet of 'Woodbines' around in his fingers several times. With each little turn, his mind returned to the trenches and the faces of the men with who he had shared the cigarettes with. Each face had a name; each face had a mother, wife or sweetheart. Most of the faces were young and all were now dead.

 Father Peter Meyer had defied both Church rules and army discipline on 1st July 1916; he simply could not let his 'boys' go without him and so on that dreadful morning; Father Peter Meyer went 'over the top' carrying a medical kit and extra water bottles.

 Every man in the Company that he served with cheered the priest loudly and with much spirit. The very young Lieutenant grinned broadly and slapped Peter's steel helmet with the butt of his pistol; "We can now say, with some honesty, that we go with God!" The sound of whistles drifted down the packed trench and Peter glanced at his watch: 7.30am.

Twenty minutes later, Peter wounded in the leg, was dragging young private Roy Farmer back to the British lines. Farmer had been shot in both legs and chest by machine gun fire. Behind the brave priest lay the rest of 'C Company' - they had not even reached the German wire - never mind the enemy trenches. In fact, Peter had not seen a single German; now 27 men lay dead or wounded in 'No Man's Land' from the 32 that went over the top just twenty minutes ago.

The door opening made him jump slightly and he rose slowly from his comfortable armchair and greeted Bishop Henry Littlewood with a small smile and a handshake. Then he kissed the Bishop's ring when offered.

The Bishop, a large man with clumsy tendencies, eased himself behind the large rosewood desk that dominated his study; He quietly drummed his left hand upon the desk and did not smile at Peter. "I'll get straight to the point, the Cardinal is not happy with you Peter and that's why you have been posted to the village of North Turning. Your actions at the front, whilst commendable on many levels, has bought the Church into conflict with His Majesty's Armed Services. That is why you’re sitting here; the army has dispensed with your services as a Chaplin."

Peter simply nodded and lit another cigarette; two years in the fucking hell hole of the trenches and his reward is 'exile' to a North Yorkshire backwater. The thought may him smile inside; but he didn't show it. 

Bishop Henry clasped his hands together and studied the young man sitting opposite; Army High Command had not been kind to the young Chaplin - he should have been awarded medals - for his actions on that dreadful morning. Despite being wounded, Father Peter had gone back into 'No-Man's Land': twice more and dragged back two more boys who would have surely died. Then he had stayed in the trenches, administering to the wounded and dying, until ordered to the casualty Clearing Station.

 A brave and committed young priest; who had put his very life on the line. The Bishop sighed; but he also, had his orders - direct from the Cardinal - and he would carry them out - never mind his own feelings about this case. Father Meyer would get what he deserved - that made the Bishop smile - to himself.

"Just sit out your new assignment for a few years and then we'll think about another parish; a bigger one in the city maybe, when this awful war is over and everyone has settled down." The Bishop did smile and looked to the door as his Secretary entered with a tea tray. The pair drank their tea in silence. Father Peter would accept his punishment in the name of God, not the Church; after all, God had little to do with religion. That thought made Peter smile to himself. The interview ended with handshakes and peter left for the railway station in deep thought; but smiling openly now.

Father Peter stood on the platform and watched the crowds; weeping women saying goodbye to more young soldiers and old men shaking hands with their sons and grandsons; with fixed smiles and much sadness. Peter hated this common sight at Railway Stations and he turned away from it and stared at the war posters that covered the station's walls. Propaganda and total bollocks! He allowed himself a little smile and picked up his battered little suitcase, as the train came to a rolling halt next to him. 

A porter pulled open a carriage door for him and smiled; "There you go Father and good luck." Was all the elderly man said and Peter jumped into the packed carriage. He would have to stand; all the seats were taken by soldiers, old men and women with young children. Luckily, the journey to Turning was only about thirty minutes and he gripped the wooden corner of a seat occupied by a tall, skinny and elderly gentleman in a new, bright straw hat. The old man was reading a local paper extolling the 'Victories' of the Somme Battle. That made Peter wince inside and he stared out the window.

The train shuddered a couple of times and pulled slowly from the station. The shrill whistles of the platform staff dragged Peter back to that morning; the smiling young faces, the noise, the screams and shell fire, it flooded his mind and he gripped the seat with some strength. He closed his eyes tightly and prayed to God for help; any bloody help. Then realised that someone was speaking to him; he snapped open his eyes and saw a pretty young woman smiling at him; her lovely mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear what she was saying because of the shellfire in his head.

He wiped his face with his free hand; he couldn't seem to pull his other hand from the edge of the seat. "Are you coming back or going up to the front Father?" The young woman asked again.  Peter nodded and almost smiled; she was a slender, pretty little thing with loads of soft brown hair, curled beneath her hat which was adorned with a single white rose. She laughed - quite beautifully - and said; "Is that yes, you’re going home or yes, you’re heading for the front?" Peter managed to smile; "Going to my new Parish." was all he said and found that he could release his grip on the seat.

"So, were you there?" She gestured to the headlines on the old man's paper. Peter nodded again. The smile dropped from her face; "My brother David was there, with the Suffolk's. Do you meet anyone from that regiment?" She asked, gripping her little brown leather handbag with both hands. Peter shook his head; "I was with the 3rd Yorkshire. Sorry." His mouth was dry and he desperately needed a drink.

The young woman nodded, with some sadness in her eyes. "I see; I read about a young priest - like yourself - that went out under shellfire and dragged several of our boys in. Did you know him?" Peter managed to swallow, despite his dry throat and mouth. He was staring into those gorgeous, sad brown eyes and couldn't think of any suitable reply. The old man lowered his paper; he had been listening to the brief conversation between the pair. He stared hard at the handsome young Chaplin and nodded to himself. It was him and he knew it.

"Excuse me father, but you ARE Father Peter Meyer; aren't you?" He rested both hands on the newspaper. The priest noticed that several people around them, all turned their attention to him, including a couple of soldiers. Peter nodded. The old man eased himself up and held out his thin, almost transparent hand. "Would you do me the honour of shaking my hand father?" He said softly and removed his 'straw boater' with the other.

Father Peter gripped his hand and the old man whispered; "God bless you father." A young soldier, squeezed next to him, grabbed the priests arm and said loudly; "Thank fuck for you father. My cousin George was there with the Yorks. You’re a fucking legend Father."

"Thank you." Was all he managed to say, as several other passengers stood and wanted to shake his hand. "Went out five times despite a leg wound and dragged his boys to safety. A real fucking hero." The young soldier gripped his hand with real affection and he whispered close to the Father's ear; "All the boys know what those bastard 'brass hats' did to you!" 

Peter was really glad to see the station for North Turning appear outside the carriage windows. He made his way from the train, with people slapping his back and gripping his free hand; the other carried his small suitcase. He stood on the platform and found the young woman standing next to him.

"My dad Harold can give you a lift to the Parochial House Father. He'll be here in a few minutes. He run's the Black Oak pub on the Village green." She smiled at him and he nodded; "Thank you very much Miss; if it’s not to much trouble." She grinned; "No trouble Father whatsoever, he'll be honoured to have you ride in his buggy and it's Mrs. Father; my husband Kevin is at the Front; like most young men from the village." She gripped his hand and really did smile - in a strange little way – and Father Meyer could feel soft feminine fingers wrapping about his big hand. God; he loved the touch of her hand.

The young priest knew exactly what the look she gave him meant; he had seen such an expression quite few times before. "You’re from the village then?" He asked quietly, making no effort to remove her hand. She nodded; "Oh yes and we can show real hospitality to our brave new priest." Peter felt her squeeze his hand and they both smiled.

"Oh what the hell! What could they do to me now; send me back to the Front?" He whispered to himself and watched the single horse buggy approaching down Railway Lane. "Mrs. Cooper - your house keeper - is a friend of mine. Her old man Eric is an officer at the Front and has been for almost a year. But she's use to that; he's always been in the army. I've never met him. But she's really going to fuss over you Father." Victoria stared into his eyes and added, very softly; "Like most of us young ladies in the village." Father Meyer simply smiled.

End of Preview.

"THE PRIEST" CONTINUED IN 'TEMPORAL DETECTIVES' BOOK SERIES 3 [EPISODE 3.]

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:

“All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical figures, are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.” 

CAUTION:

“SOME OF THESE EPISODES CONTAIN VERY STRONG LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, HORROR AND SEXUAL REFERENCES. Some are RECOMMENDED suitable for persons aged 15+ years only.”

THE AUTHOR.

Copyright © 2011-2025 Stephen Williams. No reproduction of any part without permission.