Dean Spanley

Morning.

it is a commonplace observation

that remarkable events often have ordinary beginnings.

Never was this more true than of my talks with Dean Spanley,

which form the spine of our narrative.

- Morning. - Morning.

Properly speaking, they began on a Thursday,

the day on which i visit my father, Mr Horatio Fisk.

This habit - one might even say ritual -

commenced after the death of my younger brother Harrington in the Boer War

and the subsequent demise of my dear mama,

occasioned by her grief at this unsupportable loss.

I'm coming, I'm coming.

Morning, Mrs Brimley.

- How are you today?. - As you see me.

Could complain, but what'd be the use of that?.

Yes, indeed.

And himself?.

Oh, he's working himself up into a head of steam.

You know how he gets.

Sent back the paper, he did, to have it properly ironed.

I'm just finishing the obituaries, so you can take it in to him.

I thought he didn't read the obituaries.

No more he does, but he wants them ironed just the same.

Says he doesn't read them

because he's afraid he'll come across his own name one day. I ask you!

Do you believe in the transmigration of souls, Mrs Brimley?.

I don't believe in letting foreigners in, if that's what you mean.

No, um... reincarnation, not immigration.

Um, the belief that the immortal soul has many earthly homes.

Well, I haven't given it much thought, I haven't.

After Albert died I went to one of them mediums,

but she couldn't get hold of him.

I wasn't surprised, mind you. He never said much when he were alive.

I couldn't imagine him piping up once he were dead.

Mind you don't crease that, now.

He won't know what day it is, not having seen the paper.

- Oh, young Fisk. It must be Thursday. - It is indeed.

Very handy, a Thursday. Keeps Wednesday and Friday from colliding.

You're here, then.

You should have the garden seen to, Father.

- That was your mother's job. - Nevertheless...

Nevertheless. What does that expression mean, I ask you?.

Nevertheless.

Might as well be clearing your throat, for all the sense it makes.

Well, it's a fine day, Father. Have you anything particular in mind?.

I can see how fine the day is.

As for particular in mind, everything is particular when you get down to it.

What I meant was, do you have any plans?.

Are there any concerts or exhibitions, diversions you wish to attend?.

There's nothing about the war.

We're not presently at war, as far as I know.

Diversions, you say.

That's all that's left, you know,

before stepping out of the anteroom of eternity.

There is a display of aboriginal weapons from our wars of imperial conquest...

Such was the common procedure of my relationship with my father.

i, carrying out my filial duty, would arrive with the best of intentions.

He, indulging his practised yet primitive paternal instincts,

would play a strange game of control.

As Thursday upon Thursday arrived,

I'd become more and more determined to see this game dismantled.

A collection of Georgian shoe buckles. Over 2, 000 items.

That was an era when a gentleman could spend a fortune ornamenting his feet.

Did we win the Boer War?.

I believe we lost more slowly than the other side.

Garden never recovered from it.

You know, there is a lecture by one Swami Nala Prash

on the transmigration of souls.

Poppycock!

Think if we had souls they wouldn't get in touch?. Of course they would.

Think your mother wouldn't be on to me about that garden?. Of course she would.

Still, it seems the most likely of the lot, wouldn't you say?.

It's being held at the home of the Nawab of Ranjiput.

- Isn't that the cricketing Indian chappie?. - Yes, I believe so.

Oh, well. Let's take a look.

Heard tell he's turned the ballroom into a cricket pitch.

Mad as badgers, these nawabs.

Oh, by the way, I've invested in a chair vehicle.

Makes walking unnecessary. You'll enjoy it.

Mrs Brimley! My chair!

- Watch your step, young Fisk. - Thank you, Father.

- How is it going?. - Very smoothly so far.

So it should. Latest model.

Guaranteed to last longer than the user.

- Not that that means very much. - Nonsense, Father.

Damned machines!

Be the death of all of us, they will.

Progress, Father, occasions certain inconveniences.

- Galsworthy, old son. How are you?. - Very well, sir.

Hey-ho! Well done, chair.

Give you a hand with the buggy?.

- Grab hold. - That's kind of you.

- Buggy, indeed! - My pleasure, sir.

Clyde-built by the feel of it.

Always a pleasure.

Thank you. Thank you.

Damn foolish game, cricket, if you ask me. Too many rules.

- Howzat! - Not out, I say.

- Not exactly a full house, is it?. - This is where you need to go.

Want to be where we can see the yellow of his eyes.

I declare, that's Spanley, dean of St Justus.

Not that I ever go there, so he may have been kicked out by now.

- Father, keep your voice down. - What?.

Shh.

Dean Spanley, did you say?.

Not me. Chap with the dog collar.

What's a dean doing at a sermon on reincarnation?.

- Exactly my thought. - I think it shows open-mindedness.

Impending apostasy, more like. Seen the error of his Christian ways.

- The name's Wrather, with a W. - Fisk.

- What brings you here, Mr Fisk?. - Ask young Fisk. His idea.

The lesser of several evils.

Well, there you are.

I thought I got a thin edge onto my pad,

but when the umpire raises his finger, you have to walk.

That's life... and cricket.

Well, then, time to bring on Swami Prash.

Of what he will tell you I have no particular opinion,

but I've always held him in high regard as a cricketer.

Bowled decent left-arm leg breaks before he went holy.

Haven't seen him play since, but I've no doubt he's still the sportsman he was. Hmm.

i confess, the appearance of Swami Prash came as something of a surprise,

even a disappointment.

For although i had no clear expectation of what a holy man would look like,

i had imagined one with such a title and discussing such a subject

to have been dressed more... traditionally.

The question of the transmigration of the soul,

perhaps more familiarly known to you as reincarnation,

has been the structural underpinning

of Indian philosophical and religious thought for millennia.

Only recently...

What ensued proved to be as unilluminating a 50 minutes

as i can remember spending outside the confines of parliamentary debate.

.. esoteric wisdom come to the attention...

indeed, the most significant fact i gleaned from the experience

was that with my eyes closed, the lecturer could have been a Welshman.

A little, if only a little, closer.

I should be pleased now to answer any questions you may have.

- Where am I?. - Be quiet.

You are, my dear sir,

in the anteroom of eternity with the rest of us sojourning souls.

- What?. - Yes, madam?.

I was, er... we were, that is, wondering if...

- Did he say the anteroom of eternity?. - Shh.

- What?. - Shh.

- If they... - Pets, really. The souls of pets.

That is a most interesting question and I thank you for asking it.

It is generally supposed that the animal soul

must be of a different and, by inference,

inferior nature to the human soul.

The soul is that part of the Godhead, of All That Is...

What you said before, sir, about the anteroom of eternity...

Would you be kind enough to allow the swami to finish his thought, sir?.

- Well, well. - Shh.

- What?. - Shh.

However, although all animals have their specific awareness of the Godhead,

the dog is, by virtue of his singular relationship with all mankind, unique.

What about cats?.

The dog amplifies...

the cat diminishes...

man's estimation of himself.

Poppycock!

So I shall wish you gentlemen good day.

I can be found here most mornings and of the occasional evening.

What exactly is a conveyancer?.

Well, nothing, exactly. More a service of facilitation.

Assisting a thing to be moved between parties.

So you're a middleman.

Well, sometimes in the middle and sometimes at either end.

- Been a great pleasure, sir. - You're easily pleased, is all I can say.

Mrs Travers, did I ever tell you that I collect birds? I'm a real cornucopian.

What's that?.

Only thing that made sense in the whole damn farrago

was what the chap said about dogs thinking you are better than you are.

Canine flattery is a survival mechanism, according to Darwin.

The chap never had a dog, is all I can say.

I thought he had a beagle.

I had a dog once. Wag. One of the seven great dogs.

At any one time, you know, there are only seven. Did you know that?.

I can't say I did.

Neither did that swami. Made me think he didn't know much about dogs.

Let's go to my club, have a stiff one.

I thought you didn't go there any more.

That was in the past. This is the present, young Fisk.

There's no time like the present, as that swami called it.

- What was it?. The Eternal Now?. - I don't know, sir. I wasn't listening.

- How are you, Marriot?. - I'm well, sir. And yourself?.

Oh, one step nearer the grave.

How's that boy of yours?. Tommy, isn't it?.

Yes, sir. Tommy, sir.

He... he's dead, sir.

The war, sir. The Boer War.

Oh, the Boers. Lost one myself in that nonsense.

Haven't seen you for a while, sir.

Hasn't changed much.

Clubs aren't supposed to change, surely. Part of their charm.

There's that chap again. Is he following us?.

Where are you going?.

- Fisk. - What?.