Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [33]
The effect on the hounds was yet more pronounced, if diverse. Lyell and Huxley both lay close to the ground, ears flattened, eyelids squeezed almost shut. Grant, on the other hand, jumped and barked, tugging so hard on the lead I thought he would pull me over. The din the dog made was tremendous; all the while Grant tried to pull himself towards the folly, the other two attempted to back away. All three had their eyes fixed on the folly – or, rather, on what appeared to be a light within.
It must have been a reflection of some sort, of course, or some other natural optical trickery, but it did seem, for a moment, that there was a gas lamp or some other illumination deep within the building. I could see a sulphurous glow through the outline of the doorway; the light flickered and sparked, brightened and dimmed, reminding me a little of the effect caused by dropping filings of iron on to a Bunsen flame, only writ large.
In any event, my first priority was my hounds, at that moment steadfastly engaged in pulling my arms from their sockets. As I bent to reassure Lyell and Huxley, Grant gave such a tug on the leash that I was forced to let go.
Immediately the hound ran towards the folly (a blur of fur, saliva-flecked jaws, flattened ears), snapped as if at butterflies or moths that fluttered at its nose, then veered off into the bushes. A howl, a throttled yelp, and I heard no more – even the undergrowth became still.
The other hounds were hauling me impatiently back to the house. I resisted their demands for a few moments, calling for Grant, but there was no response 56
of any kind. By now the flickering light – whatever it was – had faded, though the hounds were still unsettled.
There was nothing else for it but to return to Mausolus – with a heavy heart.
Extract from the Diary of the Reverend Mr William Macksey Thursday 24th December 1903 (continued)
Many conversations and dialogues within these pages are my remembrance of them, and are thus doubtless prone to error, confusion and, perchance, a deliberate bending of the truth on my part. I am not, after all, writing a Gospel of Our Lord, with the divine inspiration of the Holy Ghost to aid me!
But I trust these pages will forgive me if I am able to note salient phrases and the like from my own sermons, especially on a night such as this. I have my notes in front of me as an aide-memoire, after all.
I remember (and note here, perhaps to cut myself down to size!) that I revelled somewhat in the lull before the storm with an eloquent storm of my own making! As I surveyed the congregation I saw everything from fear and eager attention to boredom on the various faces.
‘The Lord came to earth,’ I said gravely, ‘because of the sins of man. Do we think our society needs Him less than ever before? Foggy, dank, murderous, brothel-stinking London might seem to be many miles from here, or indeed belong to another age, but are we so perfect that we can face the wrath of God alone?’
(I am not, of course, interested in condemnation in and of itself. If acknowledgement of our sinful state is to have purpose and power, it must lead towards the positive – towards God Himself.)
‘God longs to reach out to simple folk like you and I,’ I said. ‘Who did he tell first of his Son’s birth? Was it the rich and landed? No. Was it the keepers of religion? No. Men of authority and importance? No. The angels appeared to shepherds – outcasts from Jewish society, reputedly thieves and certainly men of low esteem. They looked after sacrificial lambs, but were unable to enter the cities, still less the great temple! Ponder for a moment on that.’
Some did seem willing to ponder, though one young lad at the front was more interested in the contents of his nose. ‘To them was the glory of Christ first revealed – shepherds,