WHILST it is doubtless true - as St Matthew observes - that wherever two or three are gathered together so Christ will be there also, ten or 12 looks better on the team picture.

This column's only beneficial effect, indeed - particularly among smaller and more closely knit congregations - may be that after the 48 hour warning of our anticipated attendance, a familiar drill is put into operation.

Hyacinth Bucket used to call it keeping up appearances.

At Worsall Methodist Church, anyway, they had supposed that only four or five might be present - holidays, sickness - and were perhaps delighted when a good dozen turned out, Sunday-suited and suitably hatted.

Worsall sits in a bend of the River Tees west of Yarm, an attractive village of 500 or so souls - High Worsall and Low Worsall, officially - almost by-passed by the B1264.

The column, in shameful truth, would probably have continued to by-pass it, too, had not the gentlemen of Wolviston Cricket Club planned lunch in the nearby Tall Trees Hotel before their National Village Cup semi-final.

It was to be another day of birds and stones, and the good folk of Worsall couldn't have been more accommodating.

The chapel was built for £600 in 1885, principally to cater for the many Methodists among Worsall's farming community - the Weighells, the Wilsons and the Yarrows.

Now they are mainly Bainbridges and Brewsters, 90-year-old Ida Bainbridge joined on Sunday by her 85-year-old sister Ivy and brothers Cyril, 86 and Clifford, the bairn at 78.

The secret of such longevity? "Fresh air, plenty of work and no worrying," said Cyril.

"Oh aye," said George, Ida's son, "there's nothing you should be worrying about."

In the summer there is a 10.30am service, during the winter they move to the afternoons - gives the heating a chance to warm up, it's said.

Either way, said George, it had always been a homely and a friendly little church and so, once again, it proved.

The service was led by Carolyn Oliver, a thoughtful local preacher from Stockton who runs a post-adoption service in Newcastle. The rain rattled rhythmically off the roof - "that'll settle the cricket," someone said - her ear rings glinting amid the gloom.

"I suppose you could say I felt called to preaching," said Carolyn. "I just felt there was something more I could be doing."

Her theme was forgiveness - "God's gift to a broken world". We sang There's a Wideness in God's Mercy - Barbara Gill on the organ, as she has been almost every week for the past 30 years - listened to the scripture, Matthew again, about forgiveness being seventy times seven.

Carolyn also wondered why children had always to be reminded to say "Please" and "Thank you" and "Sorry", though these days they don't seem to say sorry at all, rather - universally - "I'm sauce."

It is a most curious linguistic development which someone may be able to explain. Could it possibly owe its existence to soy sauce?

Afterwards, as always, they stopped for a chat - family service, family gathering - remembered when there were more than 30 in the Sunday School, when there was a joint choir with the village Anglicans and when Harvest Festival overflowed the church and the free tea that followed.

"Even now," said George, "people always come back when there is a do here."

Though several had left, they smiled for the photographer's belated arrival. It had been lovely to see them, one and all.

* Harvest festival at Wolviston Methodist chapel is at 2.30pm on Sunday September 16, followed by tea in the village hall.

Published: 25/08/2001