Chapter 1: Ruth

Ruth Harwood was no great fan of social injustice, or of the current government, but that didn’t mean she went looking for trouble. She could do more good as a voice of reason, especially as she didn’t have to fight too much to get a platform - being Archbishop of York did that for her. A seat in the House of Lords, and a slot in the news whenever she wanted it, so long as she played by the rules at least most of the time. Besides, she was the establishment.

Wendy Cope had a different perspective on things. A name Ruth had met very early in her term, who she’d come to know perhaps slightly too well. She liked Wendy, a lot, but nobody should be communicating with their bishop quite that much, especially not when they had ten rural churches and a curate to keep them busy. And yet here in Ruth's inbox was another email from her, the contents of which came as no surprise at all.

Dear Archbishop Ruth,

I’m sure you’ve seen this new legislation and you know how it’ll affect Daily Bread. It’ll take weeks, maybe months, before the rubbish gets sorted, I’m sure you agree we can’t close down for that long. Starving people are more important than paperwork, not to mention that we can hardly insist on a background check of all of our recipients. So I thought you should be aware that we’ll be continuing to operate as usual. I’d really appreciate your support.

Blessings,

Wendy

Ruth sighed. The legislation in question was something she’d fought against in the House of Lords. A messy business, the whole thing, arising from a string of charity corruption cases. It had been oversees aid first, and new legislation had hit hard. But then the perpetrators had moved on to their next target, and the result was the current mess. All charitable organisations to provide full evidence of their operations, including details of recipients. All very well for hospices and day centres and the like, but impractical for crisis services like Wendy’s food bank. Drafting a reply took a long time, and she still wasn’t happy with it at the end, but she couldn’t really think of an alternative.

Dear Wendy,

I fully appreciate your situation. As you are aware, I opposed the legislation strongly in the House of Lords, and have stood with other Church of England clergy in expressing our deep concern. However I have to counsel against openly disregarding the law, particularly in this sensitive period. As an initial action I would recommend raising the matter with your local authority to seek special dispensations which take into account the nature of Daily Bread as a front line crisis provider. I and my fellow bishops will continue to campaign for nationwide exclusions to operations such as this.

In the meantime, you could perhaps encourage our supporters to give directly to those in need, as this will not fall under the new charity control legislation. While this is not an ideal solution, as you will not be able to monitor fair distribution and client safety as you do at present, I hope that it will be enough to carry the most vulnerable recipients through this difficult transitional period. I fully understand your frustration.

With prayers for all your ministry,

+Ruth

She picked at the ring on her finger for a moment, still uncomfortable with the response. Breaking the law would get them nowhere. There was no point in keeping Daily Bread running for an extra couple of days for it to then be shut down permanently, and they certainly couldn’t afford to have Wendy arrested, but she still didn’t like it.

Pushing the matter aside, Ruth stood up and reached for her tablet and a notebook. Meetings beckoned. Just before she went, she stuck her head into her chaplain’s office.

“Tom? Hi, could you grab me something for lunch? Standing Committee now, not sure I’ll have time.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be waiting in the car when you overrun. By the way, you’ve had a letter from the York Open Churches team, it’s due to start in two weeks and they’re looking at how the changes will affect it. I’ll update you on the way to Holy Trinity?”

“Thanks.”

She smiled tiredly and passed him, heading down the stairs to the meeting room. At least there were primary school kids this afternoon, which always livened things up. There was so much serious right now, with all the attention on the charities control measure, she needed a break.

The meeting did overrun, with good reason. How to report the finances of the diocese in accordance with the new measures? How to help parishes to do the same? Resourcing and legal teams were looking at it already, but Ruth silently cursed the “effective immediately” part of the new legislation. They needed time, a chance to get it all sorted and to transition. She supposed they’d had the warning that it was coming, but nobody here had quite believed it would happen, and so they were behind. And like everything else about the diocese, their finances were a complex system, built up in ramshackle fashion until nobody really knew how it worked, only that it did work. Now they’d have to meddle with it, which would make it all fall apart.

She slid into the car twenty minutes later than planned, and Tom passed back a paper bag. Sandwiches, a drink, fruit, and a slice of millionaire’s shortbread. They cruised off down the drive, only the slightest pause at the security gate. Bishopthorpe Palace disappeared out of view and as always, it was like a strange release of tension. Silly, really, as she was still working, but true nonetheless.

Once she’d eaten, she found her tablet and opened up her emails. A reply from Wendy.

Dear Archbishop Ruth,

Thanks for your suggestion, I’ve talked to some of the volunteers and they’ve agreed to continue our work independently for a couple of days while we battle the local authority. It’s not sustainable, though, and we can’t risk missing people who need us. If we haven’t found something that works by the end of the week, we’ll reopen fully.

Blessings,

Wendy

Great. A couple of days before it would turn into Ruth’s problem, that was something. She fired an email back.

Dear Wendy,

Thank you for your understanding. I wish you the best of luck in your campaign, and would recommend that you speak to Mark West. He’s facing similar concerns regarding Open Churches and you may be able to work together. I pray that this will all be resolved quickly so that you and others affected can continue your vital work.

With prayers and warmest wishes,

+Ruth

A couple more emails, including a similar one to the aforementioned Mark West, then she dropped the tablet back into her bag with a sigh, taking out the apple from her lunch instead. “It’s a mess, the whole lot of it,” she told Tom. “Everyone’s panicking, nobody knows what to do, and they’re all asking me. Or threatening to take matters into their own hands, which I guess is worse.”

Tom looked back over his shoulder, displaying his usual trust in the automated driving system. “Let me guess: our dear Incumbent of Everywhere?”

“That’s the one. We have until the end of the week before she abandons all regard for the law.”

“Naturally. Guess her curate’s not settling her, then.”

“As you well know, it just gives her someone to look after the day-to-day.”

He laughed and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. It rotated slightly as the car entered a roundabout, and he leant back so as not to interfere. “Well, It’s not going to go away in a couple of days, I’m here if there’s anything I can do. We’re in London on Friday, and Kath’s booked you in for a meeting with Richard before you go to Lords – he was in touch this morning.”

“I thought he might be. It’ll be an early start, then?”

“I’m afraid so. We’re booked on the 5:34 – only for the Archbishop of Canterbury! Hotel’s booked for afterwards as planned. Train back up on Saturday.”

“Sounds good.”

The car slowed and turned, and a beep called Tom back to his driving duties. A couple of minutes later they were parked, a very enthusiastic headmistress greeting them at reception. Tea duly offered and accepted, and a ten minute breather before the tour began.

It was another world, seemingly separate from the chaotic world of charities and legislation. The renovated sports hall stood, gleaming and still smelling of paint, a ribbon across the doors. They went in through another door and admired the climbing apparatus, and the beautifully organised crates filled with battered beanbags and skipping ropes. Outside again, the headmistress pointed out the solar panels on the roof, and the little meter which showed their output. It was a grey day today, but they would make a big impact when the sun was out, and it was important for the children to see renewable energy in action. Plus, of course, it got the grants.

They gathered the younger children together in the biggest classroom, and Ruth talked to them about church and the Gospel, about helping other people and the parable of the Good Samaritan. Who was the good neighbour?

“The nice person, who helped the man who was hurt, when he didn’t have anything because it had all been taken by the bad thieves. He didn’t have to help but he did, and God says we should help people even if we don’t have to.”

Put that on a postcard and send it to Downing Street, thought Ruth.

There was quite a gathering for the hall opening, most of the village turning out for it. They’d all helped to fundraise, something which from now on would be harder. At least they’d finished on time, escaping the need to worry about extra paperwork. They’d baked cakes and thrown wet sponges at teachers, called on employers and made presentations for funding bodies, to fill the gap the government left. That was how these things were done, how they’d always been done. That was what this law would stop.

She blessed the building, and then cut the ribbon to a resounding cheer. The doors thrown open wide, the kids streaming in to run around screaming at the excitement of newness. The main event over, covers came off the trays on the buffet table. Tom disappeared into a swarm of small children, while Ruth posed for photos.

“We usually have homework club at this time,” said the headmistress beside her. “Then tea at five, free for the tier one free school meals kids, or parents can pay for their children if they work too late to cook. We’re stuck on the free meals kids, though – obviously today is special, but we’re not sure how it’ll work over the next month or so. It’s usually funded by the church, but with the changes we can’t take any donations until we’ve finished the paperwork, and the savings won’t last long. We have twelve children eligible for free tea, and up to six are paid for by their parents. It’ll be difficult if we have to suspend the free meals, right now it’s all confidential so only staff know which children are being paid for and which are not, but if some have to stop coming for a month it’ll be obvious.”

Ruth made sympathetic noises. “I do see your challenge. It’s having effects everywhere, I’ve been talking to the organisers of food banks and emergency shelters already, and they’re very concerned about the effects this will have.”

“I can see the point in making sure donations are going where they’re needed. But the bureaucracy is a nightmare, especially for small projects like ours.”

“I can see that. Please, let me assure you I’m doing everything I can to get this changed, particularly the current implementation. We must pray that everything will be resolved quickly.”

"Indeed. And do whatever it takes to fill the gap in the meantime."

About fifteen minutes later, the children waved her off as Tom took the car gently down the school drive. Then the vehicle took over and he turned around in his seat again.

“One in eighteen of those kids is tier one free school meals,” she said. “Tier one. I hate the tier system, as you well know – what matters isn’t how much they need it, but the fact they need it – but it does show, those are the kids whose parents might not be able to afford to put the heating on in winter. And now they’re losing one of their meals. And everyone will know that they’re tier one, that’s horrible for them and their parents.”

“A lot of people care and are fighting it. It’s a massive setback, but they’re not going to stop fighting.”

“They’re just going to fight harder. I know.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should get back to the emails…”

“See if you’ve anything else from the Incumbent of Everywhere.”

She snorted, and was grateful as ever for his ability to keep everything upbeat. “She only has ten churches, you know, I’ve several vicars with over fifteen.”

“Oh, that’s true enough – officially. Don’t forget she’s pretty much taken over St Stephen’s and St John-in-the-wood for the interregnum.”

“Oh yes. I remember turning a blind eye to that.”

“Keeps her happy.”

“Indeed.”

With that, Ruth picked up her tablet again. A quick look at emails, and then she settled herself more comfortably. Lords on Friday meant briefing documents to read, that was her next job. Yet another way in which this stupid bill was taking over her life, because it was almost unheard of for all of the Lords Spiritual to attend together, as they had started doing every time the topic appeared on the agenda. Oh well, it was a privilege, other people would say. She'd just like if every now and then she could find time for something that wasn’t politics.

© 2021 E G Ferguson