‘But dash it all!’ went on Victor, ‘a procession is such fun! Down the aisle, out through the west door and back through the south door, with the choir carrying candles behind and the Boy Scouts in front with the banner. It would look fine.’ He sang a stave in a thin but tuneful tenor:
‘Hail thee, Festival Day, blest day that art hallowed for ever!’
‘If I had my way,’ he added, ‘I’d have a couple of boys swinging jolly good censers of incense at the same time.’
‘Yes, but you know how much Father dislikes that kind of thing. Especially when it’s anything to do with the Virgin Mary. He says it’s all Roman Fever and leads to people crossing themselves and genuflecting at the wrong times and goodness knows what. You remember what happened at Advent.’
The previous year, on his own responsib
