St Stephen's with St Julian's Church, St Albans

05/09/2026

Seven sleeps to go 💤until our Desert Island Discs with cream tea afternoon 🏝️🏝️🧁

Tickets £15.00 per person on the door.

03/09/2026

31/08/2026

The bane of Parish Life through communication!

NO-ONE TOLD ME!

There is a sentence which, once you have worked in parish ministry for more than about eleven minutes, begins to echo in your soul.

“No-one told me.”

It is usually spoken on the Sunday AFTER something has gone unexpectedly well. The concert everyone is still humming. The supper people are still talking about. The MAGNIFICENT Christmas party during which the Vicar sang 'Santa Baby'. In a tutu. While standing on a table. You can tell it was good because biscuits were upgraded to CAKE. That has run out and people are standing up chatting, instead of sitting down resignedly.

That is when it comes. Over the post-event coffee. With a faint note of injury.

“No-one told me about it.”

This is always a puzzling moment, because the thing in question was told. Repeatedly. In multiple formats. There were posters. There was a notice on the noticeboard. There was a notice in the pew sheet. There was a notice in the notices. There was a 20 foot banner strung between those two rotting tree stumps in the churchyard. There may even have been a sentence beginning, “Just a reminder that tonight…” spoken by a real human being holding a microphone, at the morning service.

And yet here we are.

I used to think this was about communication. That if only we found the right combination of fonts, colours, emails, WhatsApp groups and interpretive dance, everyone would feel perfectly informed at all times. I am older now. I know better.

Because “no-one told me” is rarely a statement of fact. It is more of a posture. A way of being in the world. A gentle protest against the possibility that one MIGHT have been told and simply not noticed.

Sometimes it is said by people who, if they are very honest, thought the event would be awful and are now quietly furious that it wasn’t. Sometimes it is said by people who genuinely did miss everything, despite our best efforts and several laminated signs. And sometimes — though I say this with love — it is said by people for whom information does not so much arrive as pass through, like light through stained glass, leaving no lasting impression whatsoever.

My pastoral instinct, at this point, is always to apologise. I’m not entirely sure what for, but it feels safer. I say things like, “Oh, I’m so sorry — we did try to advertise it,” while silently reviewing the posters I personally blu-tacked to at least nineteen surfaces around the parish.

And then I remember that loving a church means loving people as they are, not as we wish they were. Including the people who are slightly aggrieved, slightly wounded (maybe even clinically depressed - head-down against a world that has let them down) and convinced they were excluded from something wonderful.
So we will keep telling people. We will keep putting up posters. We will keep making announcements. We will keep saying, “Just to remind you…” even when we suspect we are reminding the same twenty people for the fifth time, and no-one else is listening.

Because one day, the person who says “no-one told me” might come. And they might have a lovely time. And they might stay behind afterwards, clutching one of Mrs Rivers' macaroons (world famous, you know) and say something extraordinary.

“I’m so glad I came. Someone told me.”

And on that day, we will try very hard not to look too surprised.

Rev Sandy Lintel, Curate
"Holding Everyone Up"

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This article was previously published in Volume 2 of The Parish Life. It has been slightly modified in places where the Author thought he could be funnier. He was probably wrong.

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Enjoyed your visit to Havnot?

If you would like more parish life everything begins here: http://www.tomkennar.com

There you will find books, e-books, audiobook, merchandise and Substack, all gathered together in one alarming but useful place.

Print books are also available — in person only — from St Faith’s Charity Shop, 4 North Street, Havant.

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A final word about Artie Fischal.

Some readers have asked whether the stories are written by a real human being, especially because Facebook sometimes labels them “AI content”. For the avoidance of doubt, they are. The label appears because we use AI—known in Havnot as Artie Fischal—to create the illustrations that help our stories travel on Facebook.
Artie is our illustrator and occasional assistant. He is not our author. The ideas, characters and final words remain stubbornly human.

We trust that clarifies the matter.

Judith M. Crowther
Parish Administrator

29/08/2026

One sleep 💤to go.
Come along and join us in the morning for a more relaxed service in the Cavalier Hall.
Singing, prayers, activity, companionship, a cuppa and a bun

27/08/2026

Three sleeps to go 💤..........

25/08/2026

When you’re sitting quietly doing your work and you realise that the Parish Administrator (me!) forgot to add to the weekly pew sheet that there is a band of visiting bell ringers coming to the tower.

This is them getting the bells ready. 🔔

24/08/2026

Six sleeps until our Cafe Church service - a more relaxed service suitable for ages 0 - 100+ years. Relaxed worship with craft activity, a drink and a bun.
If you haven't been, come along and give it a try. We look forward to welcoming you.

23/08/2026

As this tongue in cheek on church life says it doesn’t matter what you wear to come to our churches. We’re just very pleased to see you and will give you a warm welcome.

WHAT SHOULD I WEAR AT CHURCH?

From our Churchwarden
Sally Tiredwell

Church Dress Codes (or Lack Thereof)

We are sometimes asked — usually in a slightly anxious voice — “What should I wear if I come to church?”

This question is almost always asked by people who have not yet noticed that St Faithful’s already resembles a small, slightly confused costume drama.

For example, our Senior Churchwarden, Perry Wainwright (and my mentor) often looks as though he has paused briefly on his way to go deer-stalking, wildfowling, or assisting Dr Watson with an urgent matter on Dartmoor. Tweed is involved. And boots capable of surviving a bog. One feels he could field-dress a pheasant at short notice.

By contrast, Mrs Sybil Rachett (or Rachett-Keen if you prefer) looks permanently ready to head off to Glastonbury at a moment’s notice. Layers. Colours. Textiles that have definitely known protest, possibly Greenham Common, and almost certainly rain. If there is a sudden need to form a human peace symbol in the nave, Sybil is prepared.

Our organist, Dr Lionel Hargreaves, dresses as though he is modelling for the “Distinguished Gentleman of a Certain Age” section of the Joe’s catalogue — though I am reliably informed that some items may, in fact, have been sourced from Temu. This does not affect the volume of his playing by a single decibel.

Our Verger, Alan Dobbs, looks immaculate until approximately eleven minutes into any service, at which point he resembles a man who has crawled through a hedge carrying a ladder and lost a quiet argument with gravity. This is usually on account of one of our Little Sheep doing something unspeakable to a hassock.

The clergy wear DRESSES, for goodness sake. Sometimes with alarming confidence. While I myself have been known to arrive looking as though I have dressed in the dark while running late. Which is because I HAVE.

And do you know what?

No one cares.

Truly.

So let me reassure you. At St Faithful’s, we operate a very simple dress code:

WE ARE JUST PLEASED YOU CAME. No one is keeping a clipboard at the door. No one is awarding marks for hems, collars, footwear, or seasonal appropriateness. No one will assume anything about your faith, politics, morals, or theological competence based on your jumper.

What matters is not what you are wearing on the outside.

What matters is what you bring with you on the inside —
your curiosity, your questions, your weariness, your hope, your grief, your joy, your uncertainty, your need to sit quietly at the back and see what happens.

If you come in a suit, wonderful.
If you come in jeans, wonderful.
If you come straight from work, from walking the dog, from wrestling children into shoes, or from deciding at the last possible moment that you might just give church another go — even better.

So please don’t let clothing put you off.

God has seen us all already.
And frankly, God has seen worse than whatever you are wearing.
You will be welcome.

So...see you tomorrow?

Sally Tiredwell, Churchwarden

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This article was previously published in Volume 1 of The Parish Life. It has been slightly modified in places where the Author thought he could be funnier. He was probably wrong.

---

Enjoyed your visit to Havnot?

If you would like more parish life everything begins here: http://www.tomkennar.com

There you will find books, e-books, audiobook, merchandise and Substack, all gathered together in one alarming but useful place.

Print books are also available — in person only — from St Faith’s Charity Shop, 4 North Street, Havant.

---

A final word about Artie Fischal.

Some readers have asked whether the stories are written by a real human being, especially because Facebook sometimes labels them “AI content”. For the avoidance of doubt, they are. The label appears because we use AI—known in Havnot as Artie Fischal—to create the illustrations that help our stories travel on Facebook.
Artie is our illustrator and occasional assistant. He is not our author. The ideas, characters and final words remain stubbornly human.

We trust that clarifies the matter.

Judith M. Crowther
Parish Administrator