'It's our Sunday school picture. Can't you tell by the way we are dressed in our Sunday clothes, all smart and washed for the occasion?'

Maggie was furious to think that this stranger had mistaken a perfectly innocent picture of her Sunday school class for that of a Reform school.

'Where are you from then?' Maggie asked, very annoyed with the man. He had stopped her, and on a Sunday, and asked to see the picture she was taking home to show her mother. The cheek she thought, but what do you expect from these summer visitors. He wasn't even dressed for Chapel, with trousers tucked into long woollen stockings to his knees with little tabs of red flannel peering out on each leg. A 'looking both ways hat' of Harris Tweed, on his head with a string bow on top. He carried a shepherds crook though he, probably, had only seen sheep from the train; my God he looks silly she thought. Shame about his eye, he wore a monocle which hung on a long narrow silk string around his neck, which he kept adjusting on to his right eye. Probably lost the other in Flanders where my father lost his leg.

'I'm from England,' he replied, 'have you ever been to England at all?'
'Is that the other side of London, where the king lives? '
He did not to pursue the matter. He pointed to the picture and asked, 'Can you tell me about these friends of yours in the picture?'

'Look,' she said, after some thought and still a little upset, 'that's our Minister in the front row. Does he not look Holy and good, shame about his trouser front being open. He is only human after all. Fair play for God's sake. Not at all like the one before him, he used to fondle all the girls. Said it was natural and Christian to suffer little children to come to him. He was promoted and is now a prison padre, they say, in Liverpool.'

'Exactly where are you in this picture my dear, can you show me?' he smiled at her.'

'That's me standing in the second row behind the Sunday school Superintendent. A good man - buried three weeks ago he was.'

'Poor chap, I am sorry.'

'Yes, a shame really, that's what happens when you try to help people – his heart - he overdid it with Mrs Evans River View, I heard my Mam say. He used to give her singing lessons in preparation for the chapel Eisteddfod. Some say, he failed to develop her breathing as he would have wished, and lost the will to live, being a professional. She has other talents, that's what people say.'

'I'm sure she has' he replied.
He stared at the picture for a while and then pointing to a rather attractive blonde, he asked,

'And is this lady here?'

'That is Mrs Davies the ministers' wife, a lovely woman.'

'What do you know of her my dear?'

'I can only tell you what I've heard.'

'Of course.'

She lowered her voice conspiratorially and said, 'The Reverend left it a bit late to get wed; he's over twenty years older than her. He married on impulse, he said, after he had stayed at Mrs Davies's home one Sunday. He had been invited to preach at her place of worship. The moment he saw Mrs. Davies he received the call. It's not clear who it was that called but Mrs Davies' mother is suspect. It was not long afterwards they were married. The woman next door said there is a problem, what sort of problem I have no idea and no one will tell me. It is because of her problem that Mrs Davies has become our village redeemer.'

'Really?'

'Yes. When she addressed the Womens' Guild she told them that her one great ambition was to become a truly Welsh Christian woman and to be a shining example to us all. A lot of good it will do the poor woman in this village; we are all sinners thank God. Just imagine living day in and day out as a saint, God it must be awful. Do you know - I heard her pray once; it was last summer, her kitchen window was open. I'll tell you.' He was going to protest but decided against.

'Lord,' she shouted, 'can you help me please? I have tried my best to be a good Welsh Christian woman. I'm devout in chapel; I am shrewd in the market place; why am I denied the third great attribute, the chance to be frantic in bed? Many a good woman would settle for two out of three Lord, but does it have to be the first two? I am your obedient servant in great anticipation. P.S. I have signed the pledge.'

'When I told my Mam, what I had heard, she said the price of purity was high, and I should take heed.' He coughed with embarrassment.

She continued, 'The Good Lord was listening, oh yes, he never lets his faithful servants down in case they turn to the Church of England. The Lord sent the angel Gabriel disguised as a policeman, the crafty devil. He called, when the Reverend was out, on the pretence he was investigating something or other. They got talking and as he had plenty of time on his hands he introduced Mrs Davies to the unspeakable joys of heaven. Mrs. Davies is now euphoric, Mam says, whatever that means.

I heard her shout, “Hallelujah! The ways of the Lord are truly wonderful; I am now a truly Welsh Christian woman.” The Reverend was over-joyed, he fell on his knees and gave thanks to the Lord. The village W.I., not to be out-done, gave praise, their voices rising to a crescendo, as they sang 'Jerusalem'. Their lady chairman carried away with emotion, tears pouring down her cheeks, shouted.'

'One of us in this Branch is saved unto the Lord. Yes! Those feet are still walking in this green and pleasant land. This is our road to Damascus. Praise the Lord.'

'What happened then?'

'We had a religious revival, it's a funny world.'

Turning to Maggie and still clutching her sepia photograph he said,

'I must not keep you, I'm sure your mother will be wondering where you are. Before you go however, who is that lad on the end of the first row?'

'That's the boy who ran away to London; no one knows where he is now. He was called Tomos.' She looked up at the stranger and to her surprise tears streamed down his cheeks.

He stood motionless his mind in another world.

'Tomos Hughes, is it? I'm glad to see you after all these years,' an old childhood friend had recognised him and was moving forward to take him, warmly, by the hand.
Startled he looked around him, Maggie and her sepia picture had disappeared. He turned to his old friend and asked, 'Did you see that girl with the photograph?'

'You must have met Maggie; she sometimes appears on this road in the summer months. She was run over and killed, you know, on her way from Sunday school. A horse bolted, poor girl, it must be fifty years or more since.'
Visibly shaken and still upset by his experience he turned to an approaching cyclist and asked, ' Have you ever seen the girl with a photograph on this road?

The man passed without even an acknowledgement.

'Don't tell me he was a ghost also.'

'No Tomos Huws we are, you passed away yesterday. Now come and meet the rest of your old childhood friends in the picture.