The Village Triumvirate by Ted Sherrell


RECENTLY heard on local radio was a gent of mature years reminiscing on his upbringing in a Devonshire village - and an intensely interesting discourse it was, as he made comments not only pertinent concerning his own home but ones which were relevant to so many communities during that era. Not least of these was the importance in such villages of a triumvirate of people - usually men, it has to be said - who held positions, and fulfilled roles, at the hub of local life. My own memories of such folk are post war - the forties and fifties - of the three who, probably more than any others, influenced life on the Bere peninsula. There was he who cared for the soul, the fellow who looked after the body and, finally, the burly chap who maintained law and order.


The vicar at that time was a character or, in the words of many local folk, “a brave case”. An unconventional man he gained notoriety by making the pages of the “Daily Mirror”; his “sin” was, by today’s standards, very minor, but in those more puritanical times the photograph of him gambling - namely, making out his football pools coupon - scandalised many people, although a goodly number on the peninsula were secretly quite proud that one of their number had made a major newspaper. The only other time during that era when one can recall


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national coverage for the parish was when three local sporting heroes contested the Plymouth Argyle versus Southampton fixture at Home Park - the legendary Langman Brothers, Peter and Neil for the Pilgrims and Pat Parker for the Saints - an accomplishment of which folk, in a village where sporting prowess was exalted, were very proud; this made the Daily Express - but, then, only the sports pages.


The good Reverend, though, was popular for more important reasons than his gaming pursuits. For he was a man with the “common


touch”, a steadfast guardian of his flock - saint and sinner alike; also, something probably more important in a clergyman then than it is now - he was a first class preacher. His sermons were works of art, possessing a rare mixture of love thy neighbour, peace and goodwill, powerful advice for everyday living, with the odd measure of “hellfire and damnation” thrown in to enrich the flavour. So good was he, that his Anglican congregation was often augmented by nonconformists (then, as now, a very strong minority on the peninsula), chapel folk who always valued a bit of passion from the pulpit.


On the medical front there was generally good news for the impatient. For there was no question of having to phone a health centre or clinic, as one would today, in the hope of seeing a doctor within the week; rather, if you were poorly then you just attended the surgery in the middle of the village (no need to make an appointment), took a seat in the


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