Looking for Mr. Woosnam

“Speak to Mr Woosnam, please?”
“No , there is no-one of that name here.”
“Yes, please, Mr. Woosnam”
“No, I just said, Mr Woosnam does not live here.”
“I have special offer for Mr Woosnam”
“Look, I just told you, MR. WOOSNAM DOES NOT LIVE HERE, NEVER HAS LIVED HERE!”

Vicarage phone numbers used to stay the same for ever. OK, they may have a few digits added on the front as STD or area codes or whatever changed; but essentially you knew the Vicarage number. People in the little town have been used to ringing the same number, and getting through to the Vicarage, since Adam was a lad. Three numbers at first, then six, but with a familiarity that was comforting and reassuring. Then, for some reason, we don’t know what, either someone this end forgot to tell BT, or BT stopped reserving numbers, but, for some reason, when I arrived, the number had CHANGED.

This apparently small change had a number of consequences. First, the number which had been the Vicarage number was re-allocated to a nice man and his wife who had just come to live here. For a while, they couldn’t understand why they were getting phone calls about arranging funerals; enquiries about baptisms; and faceless Church of England bureaucrats wanting things called “Annual Returns” and “Statistics for Mission”. Then it dawned on them. They had been given the former Vicarage number. We developed quite a good relationship, once we had twigged what was going on. I referred to him as my Telephone Receptionist. He learnt a lot about what I do, and the hours of the day that people think it is acceptable to ring the Vicar. I tried to help him look on the bright side by pointing out that things could be worse; he could have been given a number formerly used by a Chinese takeaway, or a taxi firm.

Then I started getting calls. For Mr Woosnam. By the accents, from places as far away as Bangalore, Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur and Gateshead, people were anxious to contact Mr Woosnam and tell him of the special offers they had in available for him, if only they could get in touch. I had been given Mr Woosnam’s former telephone number.

This went on for three years.

Gradually the calls dwindled. And then stopped. Until today. I was just scrambling some eggs, listening to “You and Yours” on the radio, and the phone rang. “Mr. Woosnam?” AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Mr. Woosnam, if you are out there; I’ve got some really interesting offers if you care to get in touch.