Assembly and prayers seemed to drag that day, our headmistress had more to say than usual. Sitting in rows along the length of the hall we sang the Lords Prayer, finally filing outside towards our classes and the beginning of the school day. It was nearly Christmas; always a time for celebration; as part of the schools annual festivities, our class had an appointment with God. We were due to go on a school trip to our local church, St Columba; a chat with the vicar and religious instruction was on the cards and I for one was looking forward to the journey ahead. In the 1970s, religion and church attendances were on the decline; an excursion to a Christian house of worship, would most certainly not be on the cards today. As a child I had always felt spiritual in some way, eulogising Christmas and Easter with gusto, even saying prayers before I went to bed, it was yet another difference between my peers and I; something that made me different and a part of my personality I still haven’t lost today.
Walking hand in hand we left the school, travelling along Hillson Drive towards the Church at the end of the road. Compared to children today, we were well behaved, listened eagerly to our teachers and never spoke until we were spoken to; a testament to the times we grew up in, a mark of respect unheard of in 2018. St Columba was large and imposing, a modern building built during the housing boom of the 1960s, The structure was surrounded by a large Council estate, well maintained with residents taking great pride in their homes, very different to the extensive developments we are used to in the 21st century. This is where I was Christened, celebrated Weddings, harvest festivals and sang Christmas Carols; it was an edifice I was very familiar with; friends and family living in and around the grounds in which it sat.
Walking inside the Church, I was amazed by the sheer size of the hall, eagerly looking around in every conceivable direction, trying to take in everything before me. Standing, still grabbing on to the back of the last row of pews, holding on for dear life, out of fear or incredulity, I contemplated this vast space, gazing straight ahead towards the alter; the letters IHS stood out, a monogram for Jesus Christ. The large white candles, the font, Bibles, stacked neatly on each chair and as I moved my head upwards, the open, monumental dark wooden ceiling, illuminated by spotlights on either side of the auditorium. This was a wondrous site for a young lad, unable to contain his excitement at this oar inspiring vision; wide eyed I continued to walk up the isle behind my class mates, turning towards the vestry beyond, briefly looking back towards the large wooden doors; it was a magical site, just as it was intended to be.
We all stood huddled in a group, facing the vicar as he gave a talk about the Church and St Columba. It was then he pointed to me, and asked if I would come to a large cupboard at the back of the small room. Not knowing what to say or do, I did as I was told, everyone turning their heads, following me as I walked across the parquet floor. He opened the door, revealing a row of vestments inside; robes, religious attire and cassocks, all neatly pressed, covered in plastic. Some were brightly coloured, embellished in gold, beautifully embroidered ruffs for the choir and a musty smelling cloak, looking as though it had seen better days. The vicar asked if I wouldn’t mind putting on one of the outfits to show the rest of the class, which I duty did; turning red in the face, looking down towards the floor, I stood, rather embarrassed as our mentor described the clothes I was wearing. I was a person who liked to blend into the background not wanting to stand on show; for me this was tantamount to hell, hardly religious.
Approaching school, after our religious outing, I was philosophical about my excursion to the Church. Back then I believed in God and for the brief stroll back to class I even thought about becoming a priest. My life took a very different path, one could hardly call me a saint, but I will always remember that day with fondness, when we went to meet God in his house, in the church at the end of the street.
47 year old Author, Columnist and Blogger.