God's Country

Part One

The Winds of Change

June 2019

'Within the covers of the Bible are the answers for all the problems men face.'

Ronald Reagan

Harry Trevor laughed out loud at his father's graveside. Not out of any particular malice but in relief that it was over and that the old man was gone. He did not hate his Dad but they had clashed since he reached his mid-teens and formed opinions and ideas of his own, and he had to admit that they did not like each other very much. But it was more than relief, he told himself, putting his head back and closing his eyes, feeling the sun on his face. He was rich all of a sudden, according to the will he had seen that morning before the funeral finally got underway, although in harsh reality he always had been, of course. Harry had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and enjoyed the best of everything right from the start, but his father always controlled his access to hard cash, to bend his son to his will, to make him live the life Daddy had planned for him, as if his destiny was preordained before he could walk let alone think of an alternative.

So Harry was laughing at the thought of freedom as much as anything else. He had genuine independence for the first time in his life. He felt free. He had never been free before. He had always had a path to follow before, something to live up to, something to aspire to whether he wanted to or not, but all of that pressure died with Jonathan Trevor. He could finally do what he wanted with his future, without paternal disapproval or interference, and without the worry of how to pay for his social conscience. Burying his hands in his trouser pockets, something his father considered common, especially on holy ground, he kicked at a pebble in the grass and stepped gingerly back towards the path, feeling his expensive shoes crunch on the shingle as he looked back towards the beautiful Norman church. No one could really say no to him anymore and no one could make do anything he did not want to do. Not that he wanted to waste his inheritance. He was not a rebel by nature.

Harry Trevor just did not want to live a lie anymore. Despite his background, he was not going to pretend that he was happy with the status quo, anymore, or be part of a class who lived only to maintain the decaying edifice of a society that was dying on its feet, anymore. It made Harry laugh again, just thinking about it, because Jonathan would have preferred him to be gay. The old boy had said that once, in the middle of another argument, because he really thought that his son was betraying his people, not just his family. But Harry did not actually care about what his grandfather had done, or his grandfather before him, because he wanted to make a difference. Puffing out his cheeks, he looked up at the spire and the stained glass windows, all of which the family had paid to restore. No one else was there. His mother and sister were comforting each other in the car, heading back to London, because the burial had been a private family affair. There would be a memorial service to suffer in a few days but Harry had stayed on to have a proper meeting with the solicitor. He was free but he still had a lot of new responsibilities, and yet he reasoned that any man could cope with almost anything if he had ten million pounds in the bank, plus the Sussex estate, the London town house and a healthy portfolio of shares. He was lucky. Much luckier than most, he was sure, because at least he knew where his next meal was coming from and had no need to worry about how he would put food on the table.

Heading inside the ancient church, he sat down at the end of a pew and prayed, because it brought him some peace. Sebastian Osborne was right, Harry grinned, failing to remember one of the psalms he had learned at school; it helped to talk to someone. Maybe God did have a plan for everyone. Maybe God had set Harry free from his father's shadow to follow some higher purpose. He had never wanted to be a corporate lawyer. He had never wanted to spend his days in the city chasing the next bonus. He wanted to make that difference. He wanted to change things. For the better of course, not for the benefit of his own kind, not to further line his own pockets. Maybe Sebastian was right about that, too. Sitting back against the hard wood he took the folder out of his jacket pocket and flicked through it again, fascinated by the objective. Ironically, he thought that if he could have got his father to look at it properly and not dismiss it out of hand, Jonathan Trevor might have approved of some of it, because the old boy mistrusted progress more than anything else. The simple idea that progress had got out of control would have intrigued him and the proposed solution might have appealed to his old-fashioned, misogynist ethos.

Like Jonathan, Harry was supposed to be a natural born Tory. His family had been linked to the party since his great grandfather served under Disraeli, and he still had a cousin in the House of Commons and an Uncle in the House of Lords. His father and the law firm that still carried the family name with pride both donated funds to the party, an investment, Jonathan always told his son, to ensure future influence. Harry was therefore supposed to think like a capitalist and not give a hoot about the common man, the man in the street, like so many of his peers. However, Sebastian Osborne, who came from a similar if rather less well-heeled background, believed that you could subscribe to some traditional Conservative beliefs and not others; an opinion Jonathan Trevor would not have shared in a million years. Sebastian suggested that Christian values could show the world the way to a different path, a better path, a more rounded approach to the modern world in the twenty first century.

The traditional way of things did not work anymore. That was what Jonathan Trevor had always failed to realise. He had never moved with the times. He died believing that they all still lived in the same old world that his great grandfather helped create. He died sure of the order of things, sure that all the problems in the world could be solved on the playing fields of Eton, and polished by an Oxbridge degree. Harry could see a new way thanks to his new friend and mentor, Pastor Sebastian Osborne, and he wanted to know more about the notion of Christian Reform. As he folded the document again and put it back in his pocket he remembered something from the bible, not the psalm he was seeking earlier but a quote one of his housemaster's at Eton was fond of hurling at the poor little rich kids in his care. Harry said it out loud, holding his head high and looking at the statue of Jesus on the cross. "The rich man's wealth is his strong city: the destruction of the poor is their poverty."

"Proverbs 10:15? Is it something you hold dear, Harry?" Reverend Fisher asked, surprised to find the young man still hanging around, sometime after the service.

"My father did not believe in sharing his wealth, Reverend...he did not care much for his fellow man I am afraid...I was just thinking about our differences." Harry admitted, offering the local vicar a rueful smile.

"And you do care?" Fisher was smiling but Harry could hear the doubt in his voice. He did not care what he was, what he sounded like. He was inevitably a product of his upbringing and he could not deny that because everything from his accent to his wardrobe gave it away. He was a most unlikely man of the people.

"I am trying too," Harry replied, holding out his hand to shake. "Thank you so much for this morning Reverend."

"Think of the organ fund if you want to show your appreciation, young man."

Harry nodded and took his leave. Everyone had their hand out one way or another. Pastor Sebastian Osborne called it the disparity of give and take. Everyone wanted something but few were really prepared to offer a fair price in return. Self interest took precedence, when as a country, as an entity, the British people needed to act for the greater good. It was not about one man's wealth, health or happiness, but about what was available to all. Christian Reform was about instilling the idea of the greater good in all people, in God's name. So Reverend Fisher would not get a donation to the organ fund but Harry would write a cheque to the local food bank. Music might be the food of love, but cans of baked beans were of more use to those who could not afford to feed their kids.