There is often a difference between theory and practice, and such is the case of inflicting curates on unsuspecting priests and parishes. Some parts are set in stone – you leave theological college, get ordained as curate, and spend three or four years effectively apprenticed to an experienced vicar, being made a full priest after your first year. After that comes a parish of your own.

The rest is a little more complicated. In theory there’s official guidance about which parish gets which curate, and talk of Parish Profiles and the like. The practice can be a little more variable.

Consider Martin Day, who was to become the new curate at St. James the following week. Bishop James had suggested at my wedding reception that I should have a curate. As I had been in my first parish for a little under two years this was a high complement. Not to mention that having trained a curate was definitely one of the rungs of the ladder on my way to fulfilling my destiny to become Archbishop of Canterbury. I could hardly refuse.

Why had Bishop James decided that Martin was suitable for St. James? Because he recognises my unique abilities and strengths which he felt might be suitable for bringing out the best in Martin. And, I am told, he enjoys a good laugh as much as the next person. I think the idea was that either Martin would learn what he needed to learn, or die trying. That seems to have happened a lot during my incumbency.

A week before he was due to be ordained, he had come to the Sunday service at St. James, where he sat quietly at the back, in a neat mid-grey suit. This kind of soft introduction to the parish is quite fashionable and not without merit. It gives both congregation and curate an informal chance to meet without the enforced socialising that attends the ordination.

Martin is short, about five feet six inches tall, a little pudgy with a soft face. For some reason, he feels it necessary to grow a moustache. It is acceptable, even admirable to grow a moustache in November. The Movember charities have done remarkable work and should be praised. Yet this was not November and so his facial hair was less praise-worthy. He had been assistant manager at a department store which employment he had left for unspecified reasons. After a few months unemployed he had felt a calling to become a priest. It is not unusual for people to feel a “calling” when they find themselves at a bit of a lose end. Whether this is because such times give people the opportunity to reflect, or whether this is because they are trying to live on benefits with – in Martin’s case – a wife and two kids is a moot point.

At the end of the service, I processed from the business end of the church to the rear and pronounced the dismissal. The organ music swelled and people began to rise from their seat. The required people were in place to dispense tea and coffee. I collected coffee and a biscuit and began to mingle. Very soon I came to Martin who was standing by himself looking a little lost, mug of tea in hand.

“Good morning,” I greeted him. “How are you settling into your new home?”

It had, of course been necessary to find Martin and his family a suitable place to live during his curacy. I had managed to locate a small three bedroomed house in Sutley, although that had taken an inordinate amount of time.

“Morning, yes, we’re settling in well, thank you. Liz is still sorting out all the boxes, but we’re getting there.”

“And the children’s schools all sorted out?”

“Yes, Ethan’s going to the Agatha Knightley Technical College in Musdon, and Zoe is going to be at the primary school here.”

“Ah, I understand that Agatha Knightley has a good reputation, and of course, we have a strong relationship with the primary school.”

“That’s good to know. It’s a worry getting the right school for the children.”

“So I understand. Now here’s someone you might like to meet – Violet, meet Martin our new curate.”

I left Martin in the tender care of Violet Johnson, who immediately invited him to come and watch the fairies at the bottom of her garden. Curacy is about learning to be a priest in the Church of England, and I could think of no better introduction to the role than Violet.

As I circulated the congregation, Porker attracted my attention.

“Hi, David – you know you were wanting a demo of those escape kits? A field trial?”

This was another example of the difference between theory and practice. If Porker were to be selling the crypt tombs on behalf of the church, and boosting the price with the inclusion of his “Added-Value Crypt Escape Kits”… Well, let’s just say that someone who has been prematurely interred is already having a bad day. They do not need it to be made worse by discovering they had purchased an escape kit that worked in theory, but not practice.

“Yes – have you arranged a field trial?” I responded.

“Got everything arranged. It depends when you’re free. Mike wanted to see the demo as well and he can do any lunchtime except Monday this week.”

I nodded, and checked my diary. “How does Wednesday at 12:30 sound?”

“Great – I’ll let Al know.”

“What’s Al’s interest in this?”

“Oh, he just knows where to get video equipment from. If we tape the demo then it’ll be useful promotion material.”

I made a note in my diary and moved on. It is important to circulate after the service. Many people won’t pick up a phone to discuss their problems but will attempt to catch your ear after a service. Eventually everyone departed and I was able to lock up the church. I always regret locking up the church, because it should be accessible to anyone at any time. Unfortunately, the insurance company had a different opinion, and as they had just paid for the new church it was advisable to listen to them.

The week progressed smoothly enough, with me attending to my duties in the parish. There were some details for Martin’s ordination the following week, and I had to fit in a hospital visit on the Monday. While talking to the parishioners after Sunday’s service I had discovered that a cousin of one of the congregation had been taken to hospital. As they attended Norley, it should have been the responsibility of Rev Robert Howey, but it seemed that he had failed to visit. This is one of Robert’s problems – he has several – he does not appreciate the necessity of listening to people. Still, although it should have been him visiting, it was important that someone did the job. So I did it. More typical vicaring followed, and so the week moved on to the field trial of Porker’s “Added-Value Crypt Escape Kits”.

We met in the crypt of the church. Mike Neame was there in his position of church treasurer, presumably to see that there was fair play. He had come over during his lunch hour – fortunately he works nearby – and was wearing a neat business suit as befitted the head accountant of a prominent local company. Also present were Porker, Al and his wife Danni who appeared to have gone for a Goth look today. The final participant was a coffin on a portable bier.

“Who’s in the coffin?” I asked.

“Psycho, of course. Who’d you think?” replied Porker, hefting a professional video camera. Al, meanwhile was adjusting some audio equipment. Additional lighting had also been set up.

I nodded, and, understanding the group dynamics asked, “Did he volunteer?”

“Depends what you mean.”

“Did he knowingly climb into a coffin on the understanding that he would be sealed in a tomb?”

“No.”

“Excuse me,” said Mike, “This does seem rather unethical. The idea was that we should have a willing volunteer. I’m not sure I can support this.”

“It’s like this,” said Al, “You want this to be a valid test, yes?”

Mike nodded.

“Right, so how many people expect to wake up sealed in a tomb?”

“Well, none, really.”

“So, they’ll be a bit disorientated, yes?”

“I suppose so.”

“Which means that if we had a willing volunteer, fully conscious, escape kit in hand, then it wouldn’t be a fair test. You do want this to be a fair test, don’t you?”

“Er, yes?”

“Which is why we will get Psycho to volunteer retrospectively.”

“Oh. Good.”

“So as to keep everything on the level, I need you to sign this paper.”

“What is it?”

“Just in case you accidentally get in the video. It means we don’t have to start paying you. It’s a standard form.”

“It seems pretty far reaching,” said Mike, scanning the paper.

“Like I said, it’s a standard form.”

Mike withdrew a pen from his breast pocket, and signed. Al looked over at me, holding another piece of paper, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he glanced at Porker and said, “Guess we’d better get Psycho sealed in the tomb. He’ll be coming round soon.”

Between them they manoeuvred the coffin into the tomb. Al started mortaring the seal into place while Porker placed the portable bier where it wouldn’t be seen on camera. Porker retrieved the camera, and I moved to an unobtrusive location, out of his way. Mike remained directly in front of the tomb.

“Say, Al, you did put the escape kit in the coffin, didn’t you?” asked Porker.

“Thought you were doing that.”

“No, it was you.”

“Can’t remember. Probably.”

“How much air will he have in there?”

“Not enough.”

“Well, it’ll save on funeral costs.”

“Yeah, and it’s deniable. You try telling the police you’ve found a dead body in a tomb and see how far you get.”

Mike was looking alarmed at this, clearly unaware that Al and Porker were baiting him. I made shushing in his direction.

“Sounds like Psycho’s coming round,” said Porker. “Recording now, so everyone shut up.”

Muffled thumps began in the tomb, followed by shouting and what was probably - if we could have heard it through the sealed tomb and coffin – inappropriate language. Then there was quiet for maybe ten seconds before a howl of rage. A few seconds later, thudding sounds began within the tomb, like a piece of wood being struck with a metal implement. This was accompanied by a constant stream of what was possibly profanity, although it was hard to tell. A splintering sound, a pause, and then the sound of metal against stone. The mortar hadn’t had time to set, so the seal on the tomb only lasted two blows before falling to the floor, shattered.

Psycho pulled himself from the remains of the tomb and fell heavily to the ground. He climbed to his feet, covered in dirt and dust. He stood, swaying for a few seconds, and then launched himself at the nearest person, which happened to be Mike. Psycho grabbed Mike by the throat with both hands, and started shaking him back and forth, howling incoherently.

Disclaimer: The suggestion that the police will lack curiosity over a body discovered in a tomb is quite absurd. The police ask a number of questions in these situations, including “Why were you looking in the tomb?” and “Are you familiar with section 25 of the Burial Act, 1857?”