Sep 18, 2026 · 6 hr 31 min · 57 segments
"Still" by William-Richmal Crompton invites listeners into a world of introspection and resilience. This poignant narrative explores the enduring themes of hope and the human spirit's capacity to…
After the meeting, William wandered down the road to the vicarage.
He pondered gloomily over his wasted afternoon.
Fate had not thrown the bishop's handkerchief in his path, but he did not yet despair.
"Do you mean to say," he said to William, "that you still use those old white ones?" William looked at him with cold scorn.
"I'm too busy to bother with you just now," he said.
William looked cautiously through the vicarage hedge.
Nothing was to be seen.
He crawled inside the garden and round to the back of the house, which was invisible from the road.
The bishop was tired after his address.
He lay outstretched upon a deck chair beneath a tree.
Over the head and face of his lordship was stretched a large superfine linen handkerchief.
William's set, stern expression brightened.
On hands and knees, he began to crawl through the grass towards the portly form, his tongue protruding from his pursed lips.
Crouching behind the chair, he braced himself for the crime.
He measured the distance between the chair and the garden gate.
One, two, three.
Then suddenly, the portly form stirred.
The handkerchief was firmly withdrawn by a podgy hand, and a dignified voice yawned and said, "Eh? Oh." At the same moment, the bishop sat up.
William, from his refuge behind the chair, looked wildly round.
The door of the house was opening.
There was only one thing to do.
William was as nimble as a monkey.
After the meeting, William wandered down the road to the vicarage.
He pondered gloomily over his wasted afternoon.
Fate had not thrown the bishop's handkerchief in his path, but he did not yet despair.
"Do you mean to say," he said to William, "that you still use those old white ones?" William looked at him with cold scorn.
"I'm too busy to bother with you just now," he said.
William looked cautiously through the vicarage hedge.
Nothing was to be seen.
He crawled inside the garden and round to the back of the house, which was invisible from the road.
The bishop was tired after his address.
He lay outstretched upon a deck chair beneath a tree.
Over the head and face of his lordship was stretched a large superfine linen handkerchief.
William's set, stern expression brightened.
On hands and knees, he began to crawl through the grass towards the portly form, his tongue protruding from his pursed lips.
Crouching behind the chair, he braced himself for the crime.
He measured the distance between the chair and the garden gate.
One, two, three.
Then suddenly, the portly form stirred.
The handkerchief was firmly withdrawn by a podgy hand, and a dignified voice yawned and said, "Eh? Oh." At the same moment, the bishop sat up.
William, from his refuge behind the chair, looked wildly round.
The door of the house was opening.
There was only one thing to do.
William was as nimble as a monkey.
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