Passion Week. It gave you an awful feeling of something going to happen.
In the long narrow dining-room the sunlight through the three windows
made a strange and solemn blue colour in the dark curtains. Mamma sat up
at the mahogany table, looking sad and serious, with the Prayer Book open
before her at the Litany. When you went in you knew that you would have
to read about the Crucifixion. Nothing could save you.
Still you did find out things about God. In the Epistle it said:
"'Wherefore art thou red in thine apparel and thy garments like him that
treadeth the wine-fat? I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of the
people there was none with me: for I will tread them in my anger, and
trample them in my fury, and their blood shall be sprinkled upon my
garments, and I will stain all my raiment.'"
The Passion meant that God had flown into another temper and that Jesus
was crucified to make him good again. Mark said you mustn't say that to
Mamma; but he owned that it looked like it. Anyhow it was easier to think
of it that way than to think that God sent Jesus down to be crucified
because you were naughty.
There were no verses in the Prayer-Book Bible, only long grey slabs like
tombstones. You kept on looking for the last tombstone. When you came to
the one with the big black letters, THE KING OF THE JEWS, you knew that
it would soon be over.
"'They clothed him with purple, and platted a crown of thorns and put it
on his head....'" She read obediently: "'And when the sixth hour was
come ... and when the sixth hour was come there was darkness over the whole
land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a
loud voice.... And Jesus cried with a loud voice ... with a loud voice,
and gave up the ghost.'"
Mamma was saying that the least you could do was to pay attention. But
you couldn't pay attention every time. The first time it was beautiful
and terrible; but after many times the beauty went and you were only
frightened. When she tried to think about the crown of thorns she thought
of the new hat Catty had bought for Easter Sunday and what Mr. Spall did
when he ate the parsnips.
Through the barred windows of the basement she could hear Catty singing
in the pantry:
"'I am so glad that Jesus loves me,
Jesus loves me,
Jesus loves me....'"
Catty was happy when she sang and danced round and round with the
dish-cloth. And Jenny and Mr. Spall were happy when they talked about
Jesus. But Mamma was not happy. She had had to read the Morning Prayer
and the Psalms and the Lessons and the Litany to herself every morning;
and by Thursday she was tired and cross.
Passion Week gave you an awful feeling.
Good Friday would be the worst. It was the real day that Jesus died.
There would be the sixth hour and the ninth hour. Perhaps there would be
a darkness.
But when Good Friday came you found a smoking hot-cross bun on
everybody's plate at breakfast, tasting of spice and butter. And you went
to Aldborough Hatch for Service. She thought: "If the darkness does come
it won't be so bad to bear at Aldborough Hatch." She liked the new
white-washed church with the clear windows, where you could stand on the
hassock and look out at the green hill framed in the white arch. That was
Chigwell.
"'There is a green hill far a-a-way
Without a city wall--'"
The green hill hadn't got any city wall. Epping Forest and Hainault
Forest were there. You could think of them, or you could look at Mr.
Propart's nice clean-shaved face while he read about the Crucifixion and
preached about God's mercy and his justice. He did it all in a soothing,
inattentive voice; and when he had finished he went quick into the vestry
as if he were glad it was all over. And when you met him at the gate he
didn't look as if Good Friday mattered very much.
In the afternoon she forgot all about the sixth hour and the ninth hour.
Just as she was going to think about them Mark and Dank put her in the
dirty clothes-basket and rolled her down the back stairs to make her
happy. They shut themselves up in the pantry till she had stopped
laughing, and when Catty opened the door the clock struck and Mark said
that was the ninth hour.
It was all over. And nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
Only, when you thought of what had been done to Jesus, it didn't seem
right, somehow, to have eaten the hot-cross buns.