Chapter 9

That admirable man of business, Mr Fenton-Jones had shepherded the last of his charges into the coach, which then glided smoothly away on its journey to Little Sprodwell under Fosse and tea with his Aunt, the redoubtable Mrs Jenkinson, while the tourists drank in their fill of the fete and its lurid attractions. This lady had phoned him a minute or so before his departure to brief him on the latest developments and he had been able to assure the excited party that they would arrive shortly after the commencement of a re-enactment of an ancient sacrifice in which a young virgin was slaughtered to appease the Fertility Goddess and secure a good harvest.

One or two of the more nervous ladies in the group had gone pale at the receipt of this titbit of information, but he was able to assure them that the lovely and naked young lady volunteer would not suffer the ultimate fate, but only a more gentle, though deeply humiliating one - precisely what, they would find out later in the day! "I wonder how she fixed it?", he thought to himself as he sank back into his seat and let the miles go by.

His assistant Mr. Goldberg kept up a running commentary for the benefit of those who had not been lulled to sleep, being very careful not to be too specific and inadvertently trigger any awkward to answer questions - there were a couple of smart-arses in the party and they would have to be treated very carefully. The first stop of the day was setr to be at a country hostelry, where the two associates intended to stay long enough to make sure the party were, as near as possible, high as kites by the time they arrived at the village.

The theology student Rugby team and their supporters were on their way to the game and would not be in the village until early evening, in time to see the so-called sacrifice. They would then follow the girls as they rounded off the day with their canal side walk. Sadly for these young people they would see little else. And there would be much else to see as the day progressed.

The International Anthropological Congress was also on its scholarly way to see at first hand this ancient relic of England's pre-Roman past. All except the cynical and world-weary Professor Potts-Johnson were eagerly looking forward to the day's outing. They were armed with notebooks, tape recorders and cameras, prepared to take home with them a full record of all that they saw and heard and the many recorded interviews with ancient locals with all their wealth of antique memories.

As far as the Englishman was concerned, a call to his friend, the Rector had confirmed all his very worst fears about the day's forthcoming events. This particular Fete promised to be the sleaziest yet, with an assortment of half-naked and totally naked girls being displayed in a variety of degrading and unpleasant ways. He comforted himself with the thought that he would at least get to look at a bit of bare and, hopefully, luscious young female flesh. After that he would find somewhere to get a decent pint before going to the Rectory. The Rector had invited him to stay for afternoon tea and also meet a distinguished colleague, his predecessor as Incumbent of the Parish. He closed his eyes wearily and fell asleep as his colleagues chattered excitedly around him in a multiplicity of languages which was making his head spin.
...

Professor, Canon Hurst-Pierpoint-Majors was also on his way to Little Sprodwell. His other engagement for the day had fallen through at the last minute, and he had phoned his successor and very good friend, the Reverend Mr Jeremy Scott-Talbot. Old Jerry was a delightful fellow, as well as very able, and Canon Majors was a little surprised that over the years he had continued to occupy this obscure rural incumbency when he had several times been offered a Canonry at one of the country's most famous Cathedrals.