The Challenges of Ministry: Open the Baa, pour two bottles of Heineken into two glasses simultaneously .......
I'm certainly not claiming to be Tom Cruise. I'm taller than he is and I'm not a scientologist. But we have both played at Barman. He more successfully and much, much better paid than ever I was.
But yes I have been a Barman.
It was, admittedly a summer job, but I was a Barman in the Privates bar in a NAAFI in Germany. My work colleague won the lottery that day and became Barman in the Corporals Bar.
The Squad, in question, that the squaddies were members of was the Sherwood Foresters.
Of course there were many fabulous stories told.
My favourite, although sadly it may have been apocryphal and certainly didn't happen on my watch, was the night that the Barman closed the Bar. He announced 'the Bar is closed' and, pulled the shutters closed.
As he headed back to the office along a long T shaped corridor, he heard a crashing sound as the Juke Box came through the shutters landing on the counter and a chorus chanted 'its open now'.
I did however have one or two moments.
The bar sold bottles rather than draft or 'a la pression' or 'Bier von Fass' so given the high demand for speed and accuracy I had to quickly adapt to the system of pouring, with two hands holding two bottles, into two glasses at the same time. As most skills it is easy once you have practised sufficiently and acquired 'the knack'.
One especially hot evening I was serving, and because by then the squad had worked out that I was a student training to be as they agreed, 'a Vicar' my Bar had become a confessional, a mercy bench and a counselling point.
Many the Dear John letters I read and occasionally helped draft a hopeful reply to.
On this evening a soldier came to the bar in shorts, no T Shirt, no Shirt and, as sometimes happened when trying to be clever, no Tie, he ordered, I served and as was often the case he stopped to chat.
Then a whisper went round the bar that the RSM was on his way. The soldier panicked as this was a serious offence against a variety of standing orders. Quickly, eyeing my tunic top he asked if he could borrow it, I obliged and, with his back to the bar, continued to drink his beer.
The RSM was not amused, he was ordered to return the waiters outfit and then return to his quarters. Then it was my turn, after threatening a variety of horrendous punishments, the RSM acknowledged that all he could do was report me to my employers but his parting words were ominous, 'I will be watching out for you longhair' (sic).
Of course, all in all it was good training, for ministry, the priesthood and life.
A nearby village has a small, standing room only pub called, The Baa, an appropriately punning name, as sheep wander at will though the village. I haven't tried it yet but will (the Baa that is not, wandering at will through the village).
However before I venture to the Baa, that I became a Barman again last evening when Snods Edge played Corbridge at Carpet Bowls.
A winning evening for the local team and for the bar.
I couldn't help noticing the differences that have taken place over the fifty years since I last stood behind a bar. Prices of course, even allowing for NAAFI prices, inflation has worked its magic, making the essentials of life unaffordable and how much more unaffordable after Brexit I wonder?
But, as with the running a bar, changes have also arrived in the way Ministry is exercised. Most of the communications I receive from the Diocese, indeed the bulk of the meetings I have been encouraged or required to attend since my last licensing, have been concerned with Safeguarding and with Health and Safety issues generally.
Still there is Good News, I haven't heard any rumours about the RSM planning a surprise visit, although I understand that the Archdeacon is due in February, perhaps we should open the Baa?
But yes I have been a Barman.
It was, admittedly a summer job, but I was a Barman in the Privates bar in a NAAFI in Germany. My work colleague won the lottery that day and became Barman in the Corporals Bar.
The Squad, in question, that the squaddies were members of was the Sherwood Foresters.
Of course there were many fabulous stories told.
My favourite, although sadly it may have been apocryphal and certainly didn't happen on my watch, was the night that the Barman closed the Bar. He announced 'the Bar is closed' and, pulled the shutters closed.
As he headed back to the office along a long T shaped corridor, he heard a crashing sound as the Juke Box came through the shutters landing on the counter and a chorus chanted 'its open now'.
I did however have one or two moments.
The bar sold bottles rather than draft or 'a la pression' or 'Bier von Fass' so given the high demand for speed and accuracy I had to quickly adapt to the system of pouring, with two hands holding two bottles, into two glasses at the same time. As most skills it is easy once you have practised sufficiently and acquired 'the knack'.
One especially hot evening I was serving, and because by then the squad had worked out that I was a student training to be as they agreed, 'a Vicar' my Bar had become a confessional, a mercy bench and a counselling point.
Many the Dear John letters I read and occasionally helped draft a hopeful reply to.
On this evening a soldier came to the bar in shorts, no T Shirt, no Shirt and, as sometimes happened when trying to be clever, no Tie, he ordered, I served and as was often the case he stopped to chat.
Then a whisper went round the bar that the RSM was on his way. The soldier panicked as this was a serious offence against a variety of standing orders. Quickly, eyeing my tunic top he asked if he could borrow it, I obliged and, with his back to the bar, continued to drink his beer.
The RSM was not amused, he was ordered to return the waiters outfit and then return to his quarters. Then it was my turn, after threatening a variety of horrendous punishments, the RSM acknowledged that all he could do was report me to my employers but his parting words were ominous, 'I will be watching out for you longhair' (sic).
Of course, all in all it was good training, for ministry, the priesthood and life.
A nearby village has a small, standing room only pub called, The Baa, an appropriately punning name, as sheep wander at will though the village. I haven't tried it yet but will (the Baa that is not, wandering at will through the village).
However before I venture to the Baa, that I became a Barman again last evening when Snods Edge played Corbridge at Carpet Bowls.
A winning evening for the local team and for the bar.
I couldn't help noticing the differences that have taken place over the fifty years since I last stood behind a bar. Prices of course, even allowing for NAAFI prices, inflation has worked its magic, making the essentials of life unaffordable and how much more unaffordable after Brexit I wonder?
But, as with the running a bar, changes have also arrived in the way Ministry is exercised. Most of the communications I receive from the Diocese, indeed the bulk of the meetings I have been encouraged or required to attend since my last licensing, have been concerned with Safeguarding and with Health and Safety issues generally.
Still there is Good News, I haven't heard any rumours about the RSM planning a surprise visit, although I understand that the Archdeacon is due in February, perhaps we should open the Baa?
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