SUNDAY SUPPLEMENT: As we head into the season of ghostly stories and things that go ‘bump’ in the night, DAVID MORGAN has a tale for troubled times in Croydon…
The tram rattled along Church Street and came to a halt at the stop. One of the handful of people who got off was an elderly man. The collar of his black overcoat was turned up against the cold. He seemed unremarkable, although if you looked closely, his coat didn’t seem quite right. Unfashionable, certainly, in fact quite old fashioned, and quite worn on the back, as if whoever was wearing it had been sitting for too long on hard benches.
His black shoes, untidily laced, seemed at least one size too large.
He walked into the café near the stop, ordered a coffee and sat down at one of the tables.
From an inside pocket he pulled out a leather folder. You had to look very carefully to see the worn lettering on one corner: “JW”. He took five sheets of paper out of the folder. He kept two himself and placed one at each at the other three places on the table. He was obviously expecting company.
Chairman of the Heavenly Archbishops of Canterbury Committee: John Whitgift
After five minutes, two more men entered the café. One of them, an ancient fellow with a long white beard, strode to the counter and ordered two teas before he went to sit down at the table where the papers were placed. The other, younger, bald as a coot and with a look that made you think he came from the Mediterranean or somewhere like that, sat opposite the first. Both the second and the third visitor took out leather folders.
The one belonging to ancient man had the initials “EG” on it.
The bald man clearly had a L on his, and it looked newly engraved.
The first man kept checking his wristwatch. It was an old wind-up one and the face was scratched. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, the café door flew open and a man with a jolly face and a long colourful scarf burst in. He could have stepped in from the set of Doctor Who.
“So sorry I’m late,” he said, “I lost my bearings.”
Indicating to the man behind the counter that he wanted an Americano brought over, he quickly occupied the fourth and final seat. From the depths of an inside pocket of his American greatcoat he, too, produced a leather folder. The initials “TH” were monogrammed in a corner.
“Thank you for coming down at such short notice, gentleman, but the situation is dire,” the first man said, carefully emphasising the word “dire”.
“As you can see from the agenda paper which I have put out in front of you, we have one urgent matter to discuss.
Palace fan: Archbishop Edmund Grindall
“I therefore declare this emergency meeting of HACC open.”
If the proprietor heard that the HACC meeting was under way, he didn’t show any reaction as he placed the Americano on the table.
This was the first meeting of the HACC to take place on Earth for some considerable time. At least 90 years. The Heavenly Archbishops of Canterbury Committee hadn’t convened any kind of meeting since Cosmo Lang had been very high-handed with Edward VIII and his divorce back in the Abdication Crisis of 1936.
The Coffee Time café was a very different meeting place to the Lyon’s Corner House on The Strand. But then, the Lyon’s isn’t there any longer. This was very much a different time, and place.
The first man to speak, the chairman of the meeting, was John Whitgift. He had chosen three other HACs to meet in his beloved Croydon.
Lanfranc, who they just referred to as Frank, was there because he was the one who had first invested in the place more than a thousand years ago.
Edmund Grindall had an invitation because he lived in the palace for eight years and he wrote to others telling them it was his “Croydon House”.
Spirit of fun: Thomas Herring
And Thomas Herring was there because he was great fun and never stopped talking about the times he would go riding while he lived at the palace and what he had accomplished in the way of interior design in his 10 years of him living there.
“They’re going to sell the palace. I’ve just read it here.” spluttered Edmund.
“Sell the palace? Not again,” Thomas replied.
“We had all that bother back in eighteen hundred and something, when it became a cloth factory.”
John tapped his leather file with his teaspoon, in a sort of disapproving kind of way. “And it took years to sort that out, too,” he said.
“It was a good job you convinced those nuns to move in and to start a school, Frank,” John said. “I don’t know if we can follow the same pattern this time. There don’t seem to be so many nuns about these days.”
Lanfranc looked troubled. It was hard to keep across the modern world when his time on this Earth had been when William the Bastard had become king. “Why hasn’t Aziraphale kept us up to date?” Frank moaned. “That’s his job, that’s why he was put on Earth. He’s supposed to monitor these situations. John, have you heard from him?”
“No, I haven’t. He’s so wrapped up in that Soho bookshop he’s running in Whickber Street, plus his encounters with the demon, Crowley.”
“We need a plan,” Edmund said.
“Of course we need a plan, we need to stop this sale as soon as we can,” said Thomas. “Let me just ghost into the estate agent’s office, put the wind up them, blow a few papers off the desk, that sort of thing…”
Up for sale: there’s few pupils left at Old Palace, as the school winds down in its final year. But what is to become of the historic buildings?
The other gave Thomas a look as if to say, “Don’t be so childish!”
“Who do we know in Croydon who we might be able to lean on? There must be someone with an ear that we can whisper in,” Edmund said, stroking his beard.
Thomas wasn’t giving in. “Why don’t we try Piss Poor. He’s supposed to be in charge of Croydon these days isn’t he?”
John’s reply was less than enthusiastic. “I don’t think you’ll get much response there. One or two spirits have drifted in and out of his office to see what is going on, but they couldn’t get any extra info. Despite that, we do keep a presence in Croydon.”
Frank took a sip of his tea before joining the dialogue. “I don’t think we can disrupt the sale, it’s not the done thing, is it? We must concentrate on influencing someone to come forward and buy it.”
Thomas disagreed. “That’s easier said than done. No one seems to have any money. The whole town seems run down. I flew down the High Street on my way here. Your shopping centre looks spent John.”
Frank took the long view. “John is in a jolly difficult place with all this. Did you know he stood at the back of the meeting when they decided to close the school? Nobody could see him of course, and he was the window cleaner who nobody noticed when they took the decision to sell the palace.”
Edmund sympathised. “I am so sorry John, I didn’t realise how much time you are putting into this.”
Closed shop: the fate of the shopping centre is haunting Croydon
John shrugged. “Time is something we have a lot of, gentlemen.”
He was composed, although if you looked carefully, his right leg was making rapid little tapping movements. He was cross: he forgot to put his stress ball in his coat pocket. He needed it now.
Frank continued. “In my time on Earth, there wasn’t much going on here in Croydon either. We relied on money and expertise coming in from Normandy and the rest of Europe. I know that might not be the way that some people are thinking, but I still have a few contacts, you know.”
John sighed. “We have already got some French connection with the shopping centre. I don’t think another venture will go down do well after the mess they have made of this.”
Thomas piped up suddenly. “I have it! I have it! We all had such fun at the palace didn’t we? I know Edmund, it wasn’t all plain sailing for you but the times we’ve entertained the great and the good. John, you had a Queen here for goodness sake.
“And Frank, I can never remember if you got King William down here or not, but you certainly entertained lots of nobles and churchmen. And all those dinner parties I gave, for all sorts of folk. The palace must be turned into a luxury hotel with grand dining! The Angel Hotel!
“Perhaps we could have a school for chefs here, too, and train up a new generation who can develop their culinary skills. We could call it the Angelic School of…”
“Cooking and Catering?” John completed the sentence. “It’s certainly an idea.”
“Angelic food with a twist.” Their minds were buzzing now.
“We could have had Angel Delight, but we were beaten to it on that one.”
Edmund brought them back to Earth, so to speak. “But money, gentlemen? Where do we find the backers to pay for it all?”
John nodded as if he might know. “The ear whispering must continue. Thomas, we need you to float around the Foundation. Drop some seeds here and there. Frank, use your contacts, but be discrete. Edmund, go up to Soho and speak to Aziraphale, see what he can achieve.”
“What will you do John?” asked Thomas.
“I am going under cover as a customer at Knight Grant, the estate agent. Our palace is on their books.
“I don’t believe they have ever had to deal with a heavenly host before. And I quite like being a window cleaner. I could try that again. Let’s meet again soon, we might have some good omens by then. I will let you know when and where.
“Now, don’t all leave the café at the same time, it might attract attention. And Edmund, make sure the bill is paid.”
The tram bell rang as it pulled in at the Church Street stop. If you were looking closely, you might swear that an old man got on without giving the doors a chance to open.
But then again, if you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed anything.
- With apologies to Neil Gaiman
David Morgan, pictured right, is a former Croydon headteacher, now the volunteer education officer at Croydon Minster, who offers tours or illustrated talks on the history around the Minster for local community groups
If you would like a group tour of Croydon Minster or want to book a school visit, then ring the Minster Office on 020 688 8104 or go to the website on www.croydonminster.org and use the contact page
Some previous articles by David Morgan:
- Murder mystery lingers around crimes of the Borough Poisoner
- Dr Warder’s book The True Amazons made him the bee’s knees
- Day that ‘Croydon Boys’ mourned their Secret Army heroine
- The church fire that consumed a thousand years of history
- If you have a news story about life in or around Croydon, or want to publicise your residents’ association or business, or if you have a local event to promote, please email us with full details at inside.croydon@btinternet.com
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ROTTEN BOROUGH AWARDS: In January 2024, Croydon was named among the country’s rottenest boroughs for a SEVENTH successive year in the annual round-up of civic cock-ups in Private Eye magazine
A school for chefs, what an incredible idea. A beautifully crafted story, thank you!
What a brilliantly written piece – thank you for brightening up my Sunday morning!
Very enjoyable. I hope we meet the HACC again!