with Boris Johnson

Confession: Giving Up The Ghost

Dear Father Simon and the esteemed ecumenical enclave.

This is a festive proxy confession on behalf of my father Canon Bob. Now as you can tell from the title Canon Bob is a man of the cloth and therefore most of his forgiveness will be dealt with by a higher power, but not all.

It was the Sunday before Christmas 1979 and dad was in his church in a humble little shire village in the home counties of this fair nation. It was a crisp December evening and dad was under orders from my mother to bring home his robes for washing to ensure they were in good order for the main event in a few days time. So dad waved everyone off at the church door, locked up and set off on the mile or so walk up the lane and to the imposing vicarage we all lived in. It’s interesting to note the limp he had at the time, having recently fallen down a grave while conducting a funeral at the same church…but that’s a totally separate confession…

To save time dad decided to throw his massive black, floor length, horse hair cloak over all of his flowing white robes, a decision that would later save his life...Once suitably attired against the cold off he hobbled up the lane. The moonlight sparkled off the ice on the trees and his breath billowed as he made his way home. It’s important to note that the lane in question was dead straight and about half way up there was a newly commissioned graveyard. Therefore, as he trudged home he was able to see the car that had entered the lane from the other end, and that it was moving at quite a pace. In order to ensure he was not to be the next permanent resident of the cemetery he moved into the lay-by next to the graveyard gate where the hearses pull in. However, as the car rocketed down the narrow lane it started to drift over towards where dad was standing and made as if it was going to hit him anyway. In a flash dad realised that he was head to foot in black and needed to make himself visible, and so he opened his cloak.

This action suddenly revealed to the occupants of the car a flowing white robe floating 6 inches off the ground, a gap, and then a pasty white face, contorted in fear, wearing a pair of gold rimmed spectacles. Instantaneously, there was an ear-splitting scream, unmistakably female, and the car violently swerved back into the lane and shot like a scolded cat off towards the local town. Once composure was regained, the trip home was completed without further event. The tale of dad’s scrape with death was relayed to all who would listen over the festive period and then slipped into vicarage folklore as these things do. But there is more…

A few weeks after the festive season was all packed away and the turkey was all but a distant indigestion tablet, dad was at home doing what he does, vicaring. In this case it was a baptism interview with a local couple who had brought their tiny new born with them. As the little cherub lay sleeping dad concluded the interview with the usual “Do you have any other questions?” At this the mother said sheepishly “I have a question, but it a bit stupid really. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Dad replied “I’ve never seen one, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to the possibility, why do you ask?” At this point the mother relayed a tale of how she and her husband were driving down the lane just outside the vicarage on the Sunday before Christmas and they were confronted by a hideous apparition next to the grave yard. The shock of this caused the mother to scream, her waters to break, and some hours later their family expanded to the tune of one.

To his credit dad confessed on the spot to the couple and thankfully they all saw the funny side of it. He was the ghost of the vicarage lane that had been circling the local drinking dens, and he had indeed caused the woman to give birth to a baby. It is interesting to note that in addition to his day job he was at this point in training to become a deliverance minister. This is more commonly known as an exorcist.

Therefore, father Simon and the three wise monkeys I do not seek absolution from the family, as the confession was accepted at the time, but from the hospital staff. These poor unsuspecting staff, on duty just before Christmas, must have thought their new arrival had been hit by the crazy tree with talk of ghosts and such like. They did not ask for this at such a time and forgiveness is now long overdue.

Yours,

TGP