I've just been remembering back to when I was a member of the Extremely Primitive Methodists. I had a terrible quarrel with one of the other young - as we were then - women. It was over the Banner.
The Terrific Teens had a banner, which we carried in at the start of each service. As the banner had been provided by my grandparents, I naturally had the job of carrying it in. I was very proud of getting to carry that banner.
Then one week, I was off ill. You may remember that the Extremely Primitive Methodists did not believe in artificial forms of heating, which did leave us quite vulnerable to infection. And in my absence, Mary Clary carried the banner instead.
Of course, my fears were realised. Mary discovered the intoxicating power of being banner-carrier. When I returned to duty, I had to pretty well prise the banner from her hands. The leader tried to arbitrate, of course. Suggested we alternate, or maybe even the whole group could take a turn. So I pointed out that it was my family had provided the banner, that my grandad wasn't in great health, and seeing other people carrying the banner could push him over the edge. End result being, I got to carry the banner.
Naturally, Mary and I never spoke again. But looking back now, I wonder. After all, we'll all be dead in 100 years. I've a former friend I've not spoken to in three decades. It's a shame we never mended those fences.
But, on the other hand - it was my job, carrying that banner.