OLD Abraham, who featured in one of Sunday's readings, became a first time father at 100 - Sarah, his wife, was just 90 - begat a few more offspring when he was 125 or so and provided the hand that rocked the cradle for 50 years thereafter.

"Full of years," says Genesis, but the truth is he was nobbut a bairn.

The Old Testament is full of folk whose age far exceeds Abraham's, and in many cases were still begetting like billy-oh.

Arphaxad made it to 530 but remains several centuries short of the all-comers' record, held immortally by Methusaleh at 969 - at which point he died, adds Genesis, and not necessarily in his prime.

It was all happily coincidental, since we were in St Mary's at Bolton-on-Swale, the final resting place of Henry Jenkins who shuffled off his mortal coil on December 6, 1670, aged 169.

A large marble tablet in church records as much - "a person obscure in birth, but a life truly memorable" - the Henry Jenkins pub in Kirkby Malzeard, near Ripon, stands sentry to his claim.

Even Ruth Wigram, the Vicar, includes old Henry in her sermon. Abraham had managed a few more years, she says, though (let it be added) he had a lot cushier number as well.

Abraham, the scripture records, had herds and flocks and silver and gold and manservants and maidservants and goats and asses and, more than any of that, he clearly had God on his side.

Henry Jenkins enjoyed an altogether meaner existence. "Tho the partial world despised or disregarded his low and humble state, the Equal Eye of Providence beheld and blessed it," says his epitaph, erected in 1743.

Unlike Abraham, he also liked nothing better than a bowl of nettle stew, swam the River Swale to help maintain full vigour and made regular appearances at York Assizes as witness to what had happened more than a century earlier.

"A labourer, aged 157," noted a contemporary court reporter, as matter-of-fact as if he'd been an unemployed 21-year-old from West Cornforth.

There is also a story that, as a youth in 1513, he led a cart load of arrows to York in preparation for the Battle of Flodden Field, whence they were taken to the front by an older lad. The only flaw in that all-of-aquiver account is that Flodden Field is in Northumberland and poor Henry would have marched 35 miles in the diametrically wrong direction.)

He, at any rate, had God on his side, an' all - "a life of labour," adds the inscription, "and a mind at ease."

Bolton-on-Swale is a hamlet near Scorton in North Yorkshire, the striking abbey church of St Mary built in the 14th Century, though there were probably earlier churches on the site. Jenkins lived at Ellerton, yet smaller, nearby.

On the short walk back into Scorton there is also a stone identifying Pigg's Whin, unveiled by Mr John Pigg in 1998 to mark the return of an area to agriculture and woodland which in the second world war had been part of Scorton Aerodrome.

New housing nearby is named Blenheim, Typhoon and Beaufighter Close and Spitfire Court. Scorton also flew Black Widows, though Black Widow Way was perhaps considered inappropriate.

Miss Wigram, once a campaigner for the ordination of women, has been Vicar since 1996, in charge also of the neighbouring churches at Easby, Brompton-on-Swale and Skeeby (which, legally, remains a chapel of ease.)

She is from a line of priests and missionaries, was born in Kenya, has taught in Tanzania, enjoys country life in North Yorkshire. "It is a great privilege to be here," she says.

It is a "Family Service", the welcome very much warmer than the temperature within. "It's difficult to have a 75 degree church for a 45-minute service," says Crosbie Shield, one of the church wardens, not unreasonably.

Save for Mr Shield, who remains alone in the family pew - "the others moved away" - everyone sits together, not necessarily because they are hugely sociable but because it's where the radiators are.

It's also the day of St Mary's £10 a head "Spring lunch" from which they hope to raise £1,000 towards much-needed church funds, and rather more may be sitting down to dinner than are kneeling down to worship.

About 25 are present, including Rupert and Pip Mountjoy, children of Scorton's GP, who lead lucid intercessions and wear rugby kit for a quick getaway to training and two toddlers encouraged by the Vicar to wander round during her address.

Ann Cowan, head of the church school up the road, plays the organ. None of her other charges is present.

It's over by 10.15am, the Vicar off to one of her other churches, St Mary's officials discussing who's coming to dinner. "We need £3,000 a year just to keep our heads above water," says George Barker, one of the organisers, and holds his hand close to his chin by way of illustration.

The column walks the brisk five miles homeward. There will be more of the old, old story next week.

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