Still Waters

By Keith McWilliam

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We have been told by a descendant of the Reverend Joseph Shooter that the book mentioned in this article, "Kafirs of Natal and the Zulu Country" was written not by the Reverend himself but by his oldest son who was also called Joseph. Please read what is presented here with this in mind.

***

A Bishop Wilton Tale of Tragedy, Bravery, Mystery and Faith.

The Fish Pond next to the Churchyard

The village fish pond holds a dark secret.

On that sunny Thursday 6th January 1842 it must have appeared to the Reverend Joseph Shooter and his wife Elizabeth that at last life was about to change for the better. The death of their daughter, the precious Betsy Matilda, three years earlier at the tender age of seven had devastated them both, but with a family of six healthy young sons and three daughters to care for they had little choice but to overcome their sorrow and move on.

Charlotte was the youngest of the brood being only one year old, followed closely by Edmund at two, then Lavinia four and Charles at six. Richard Walter although only eight years old was extremely bright and already showing great academic promise. His elder brothers, Henry Arthur twelve, George Fredrick fourteen and James William sixteen had no doubt inherited not only their Father’s intellect but also his spirit of adventure - for although I have been unable to obtain proof positive, it is possible that prior to his incumbency as parish priest of Bishop Wilton, Joseph had for a period lived and worked as an early missionary in Natal and Zululand, South Africa. The eldest of the offspring was Sarah Mary aged eighteen and she would most probably have remained at home assisting her mother in the upkeep of the house and family. It is recorded, however, that ten years later in 1851 Anne Hill aged sixteen of Alne was engaged at the Vicarage in the role of servant.

On such a day with the late afternoon winter sun slowly setting in the west how could he have felt anything but content. For the change in the weather had thankfully begun melting the ice and snow that had gripped the countryside since Boxing-day. The past Christmas celebrations in the church had been well received by the members of his congregation who attended in most pleasing numbers. Then of course there was the prospect of the new arrival, as his wife Elizabeth was into her fourth month of pregnancy. He probably made a mental note to ensure that she took life a little easier, for at the age of forty-five pregnancy could be extremely precarious. He perhaps also allowed himself to venture the thought that they may receive the blessing of a baby girl, a sister and playmate for young Charlotte; in his view daughters seemed appreciably more affectionate than sons and they were certainly far quieter.

Whilst sitting in his study contemplating his good fortune he decided next Sunday’s sermon would carry the theme of counting one’s blessings. His thoughts were no doubt constantly interrupted by the sound of the boys shouting and screaming as they played in the field adjacent to the churchyard. From the kitchen he could also hear the laughter of his younger children as they ‘helped’ Elizabeth in the preparation of the evening meal. Richard as usual had remained at home in his bedroom, his nose buried deep in a book; sometimes Joseph wished the boy would go out more, spend time with his older brothers.

He must have dozed off as he sat in front of the warm fire only to be awakened by a hammering upon the door and the sound of that mischievous Butterfield boy shouting at the top of his voice: “Reverend Shooter! Reverend Shooter! Come quick! Come now!”

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