The Rift at the Medusa Cascade

Recently the local churches have been waging a kind of battle for hearts and minds and souls. We're talking street corner preaching. We're talking leaflets through doors. We're talking descending en masse on the local poplace. Regular readers (gods help you) of this blog will have seen me document some of these happenings in the past - well - it kicked off this evening.

I was walking home and saw, to my dismay, that one of the local churches - I think it was the one that had the Easter thing, with the rapping and dancing and that twitching Jesus nailed to the cross (disturbing - why did they have to make it twitch?) had arrived at Albert Road for a mass door-knocking. Adults accompanied by kids, in squads of three, hitting loads of houses simultaneously. Intensive!

But . . . what's this? Holy moly. On the OTHER side of the road . . . Jehovah's Witnesses in equally large numbers! Crikey. They hurried along upon seeing their rivals and started to fan out. The other church ceased their knocking and turned to regard their rivals icily. I swear that the whole street fell silent. There was no traffic . . no planes overhead . . . hell, even the birds stopped singing.

The scene was set.

The fire-and-brimstone preacher, featured in this blog earlier this year, advanced across the road. His counterpart from the Jehovah's lot strode out to meet him. And in the background, paraphrased from 'High Noon', you could just discern on the breeze 'do not forsake me oh my Lord-a, on this our preachin' da-ayy . . '

'Afternoon, Brother' the fire and brimstone guy said.

'Afternoon, ' replied Mr J. Witness, somewhat warily.

'Busy preaching the Lord's word, Brother?' asked Brimstone.

J. witness rolled his eyes. 'We're distributing our Watchtower leaflets, yes.'

Brimstone smiled a smile devoid of much mirth. 'My preaching is done direct to people, not through the pages of a magazine, Brother.'

By now J. Witness was becoming visibly irritated. 'Better my magazines than you shouting at people outside the tube station . . '

'Carrying the Lord's message!'

' . . . harrassing people who've jsut got home from work . . .'

'Doing my good works, bringing the sinners to the Light!'

' . . .oh this is pointless, isn't? You're not listening to me!'

Brimstone paused in his rhetoric. He looked sorrowfully at J. Witness. 'No Brother, I'm not. but you should be listening to me.' They both looked up and saw that everyone had come out of their houses to watch, to Brimstone's delight. He beamed at his audience and spread his arms wide.

'Brothers and Sisters! I bring you great news - the news that Jesus wants YOU!'

('So do the T.V. licence people, for non-payment!' some wag shouted out)

'He wants to save you Sinners from eternal damnation!'

('Oh, he's going to give Leyton Orient some decent players this year?' another voice yelled)

'I implore you, ' Brimstone continued, undeterred, 'Come along to our Church and . . .'

He was interrupted by Mrs Shah from number 57. She'd walked right up to him, unnoticed.

'Excuse me,' she said, rather politely.

'Yes Sister, how can this Lord's servant help you?'

She looked him in the eye with a gimlet gaze. 'I am not your Sister.'

Brimstone nodded mutely, caught in the headlights of the formidable pensioner.

'I have often seen you preach and I have often read the Watchtower magazines your friends (J. Witness quirked an eyebrow at this but said nothing) give out. And I ask you this.'

The street held its collective breath.

'Their magazine has a crossword puzzle. What can you offer that is better than that?'

Brimstone gulped. He attempted a reply. 'Eter - eternal life in the, um . .the garden of . . um . . .'

Mrs Singh seemed to grow a couple of inches in height. 'Two across, two words, four and three. Something - off. '

Brimstone beat a hasty retreat followed by his flock. The Witnesses jeered - a jeering that was silenced by Mrs Shah wheeling to face them.

'And your bloody magazine is crap and the last one didn't have a crossword. Put it back in, please. Does this issue have a crossword puzzle inside?'

J. Witness shook his head.

'Well, bugger off then and don't come back until there is a crossword puzzle. I like my crossword puzzles.' Mrs Shah turned and stormed off back to number 57, an unhappy woman. The Witnesses left and went home, leaving the street quiet and undisturbed once more. We were free of the doorstep invaders.

And as I passed number 57 I saw Mrs Shah at her window - and she winked at me.