Stan's eyes narrowed at the use of 'Reverand', there was nothing wrong with the title, it just wasn't the proper one. How was Whitby? The town was on the sea, so it was cold; the damned aroma of fish seeped into everything, it's population were as near brutal as the tribal warriors he had fought in Africa, it utterly lacked the genteel sophistication of his previous parish in the outskirts of York. However, because his St. Hilda's was the Church of England, the pews were usually full. Those same rowdy men of the brine and their spawn were nothing if not patriotic in the practice of their religion. God Bless 'Em.

"The sea is nice.. good for the lungs" Stan answered, sucking on his pipe.