Bethania, by Gwenllian Pugh

An original short story extract set in the twentieth century.

The anniversary of Bethania Chapel fell on the second Saturday in June, and by eight o’clock that morning in 1909 the vestry was full of women in pinafores. Mrs Bevington, whose husband was the senior deacon, stood by the door with a list and gave each newcomer her work. The trestle tables were carried up from the cellar and covered in white cloths borrowed from three different houses, so that no two were quite the same length. Miss Howells sliced bara brith on a board by the window, thin enough, she said, to read the hymn numbers through. Two girls were sent to the farm at Pant for the cream and told to walk, not run, on the way back. The urn was filled from the chapel tap and lit an hour too early, because nobody trusted it. Jam was spooned into glass dishes, and a jar of Mrs Bevington’s own plum was set at the minister’s place where he could not miss it. Last of all the hymn sheets were stacked on the harmonium, and the youngest children were given the task of counting the cups twice, once each way along the tables, until the numbers agreed.

List five things that are done to prepare for the anniversary tea.