If you find the early chapters of this a bit too much nostalgia for you; please be patient. There is much about how a church came to be built and what a privilege it was to be involved with this. Looking back it was indeed interesting at the time or else how could those involved have put up with being pushed into things quite forcefully--as indeed they often were-- by a very determined Priest-in Charge.

IT WAS VERY INTERESTING AT THE TIME

by William T. Bates (copyright reserved)

Chapter One

Once again it was Sunday afternoon and I made my way towards St.Mark's Sunday school. It was quite a nice afternoon and I would far rather have been out for a walk or playing out with my friends. But no! I had to go to Sunday school whilst they had either been allowed to stay home or never did go anyway. In spite of all my protests I had been given no choice and neither had my two younger brothers who were no happier about it than I was. Although it was becoming more usual for children not to go to Sunday School there were still a considerable number of parents who regarded a good religious upbringing as an essential part of a child's education and a necessary adjunct to building character. There was also the added bonus for the parents of a nice, quiet, uninterrupted afternoon nap with the kid's out of harm's way. Mind you no one could accuse my dad of not practising what he preached. He was a regular churchgoer himself and gave his not inconsiderable talents as a singer to the church choir and was also the choirmaster for some years.

My mother was involved in church too as a member of the Mothers' Union although perhaps she was not there as frequently as the rest of us. My brothers and I were members of the choir and so were expected to be present at morning and evening services as well as Sunday school. Mother was something of a musician herself and played the piano quite well. She tried to teach all three of us to play from an early age. I remember the first touch I had on a keyboard was when I was brought downstairs to see a piano my parents had bought second-hand. I must have been very young indeed for it seems that I first had to learn the alphabet in order to be taught the "lines and spaces”. There came a time however when it was too difficult for my mother to keep on teaching all of us and my brothers gradually gave up their lessons. Perhaps it was fortunate that I had just learnt enough to allow me to really enjoy playing so that I kept practising. From time to time I would retire to the privacy of the parlour and have a go at some piece of music belonging to my mother that had taken my fancy. The resulting weird and wonderful sounds would soon provoke a reaction and mother would come to play the piece for me and give me a quick lesson. Dad would occasionally allow me to accompany him whilst he sang and this also encouraged me to practise. But that's enough about family life, let me return to Sunday afternoon.

I eventually arrived at Sunday School (however reluctantly) and found the curate waiting at the door for me."Billy", he said,” How would you like to play the hymns for us this afternoon?” How would I like to play the hymns indeed! There was almost no need to ask! My whole Sunday afternoon was at once changed for the better as I relished the thought of playing for an audience. On the other hand I was a little bothered because I really only knew two hymns, so I first asked,” What hymns are we having?”“ Whatever you know best will be fine.” the curate replied.” Can we have 'Abide with Me' and’ All things bright and beautiful?” I asked,"Certainly!"He said, apparently disregarding completely any question as to their suitability or otherwise, and so it was that my career as an organist was launched; although I didn't know it at the time.

My first public appearance could hardly have been looked upon as an unqualified success. The only real experience I had of playing the church organ was an odd few minutes snatched when I got the chance and the few times when my father had asked me to play the melody line for a choir practice when the organist was away. I had only the most rudimentary knowledge of that which has been called the” king of instruments” and it was only when I seated myself on the organ bench that I realised what a responsibility I had so cheerfully undertaken. There were, it seemed, a thousand things which might go wrong and a hundred things to do before I could even play the first chord. Which stops ought I to use? Should I use them all and just hope for the best? These, and a myriad of other questions, crowded into my mind. But at least I didn't have to worry about the pedals! I couldn't even reach them!

After what seemed like an interminable length of time it seemed that everything was in order and I nodded to the curate to show I was ready. He announced the hymn and, taking firm control of my nerves, I pressed firmly and confidently upon the keys. To my absolute consternation there was complete silence! In my eagerness to avoid keeping everyone waiting I had forgotten the first essential any pipe organ must have; a supply of air! I had failed to signal the little boy who had been press-ganged into pumping the bellows. Frantically I tugged at the cord, which operated the signal, and this was immediately followed by a frenzy of noisy activity from the rear of the organ. Noisy, because the boy tried, in vain, to make up in enthusiasm for that which he lacked both in experience and strength which led to quite a lot of rattling and banging from the bellows.

Organs "speak" of course; they don't simply make musical sounds in the manner of lesser instruments. Unfortunately, in my confusion, I kept one hand firmly holding down a chord all this time so that as the air filled the bellows the voice with which the organ "spoke" was accompanied by noises from the bellows and sounds like a bellowing cow with a bad attack of asthma from the pipes! The curate looked at me and gave an encouraging smile, as curates no doubt must under such circumstances, and he waited patiently until the organ began to produce a more normal sound before leading off with the singing. I got through the rest of the verses without further incident beyond an odd wrong note or two and returned to my seat in class thinking that this would be the last time I would be allowed to play. I doubted if I would even be asked to play the second hymn. But when the time came the curate beckoned me forward to take the "hot seat" again and I managed to finish the closing hymn of the afternoon without any further great disaster. His smile became much less forced and he thanked me for helping out saying,” We must let you have another try quite soon.”

True to his word he called on me quite often afterwards and I gradually increased my repertoire of hymns. It was to be a long time, however, before I could play the first chord of any tune without recalling the anguish with which the organ spoke on that first Sunday afternoon. Indeed, even today, I recall the incident with a shudder of horror!

Chapter two

Inside every mission church there is the potential to become a parish church and St.Mark's was no exception. The ambition to build a permanent church to replace the existing "Tin Tabernacle”, as it was affectionately known, was one, which was often mentioned when various fund raising activities were being organised. We were probably more fortunate than many mission churches because we had a legacy of £5000 which was left solely and exclusively for the purpose of building a "proper" church and in those days, before the Second World War, this was a considerable sum of money which probably only needed to be doubled before building could commence. Unfortunately it always seemed that all the money raised in various ways was at once swallowed up in routine running expenses and the building fund, if it grew at all, only did so very slowly indeed.

So it came about that the church council in their wisdom decided that as many of the fund raising events as possible during the year 1937/38 should be devoted to increasing the building fund and all the various groups such as Mothers' Union, Men’s Institute, etc. should be called upon for some extra effort. The young people were also to be encouraged to do their share and each class in the Sunday School was asked to help in whatever way they could. My dad, who was a St.Mark's stalwart from way back had much experience of this sort of thing and made the rather cynical remark,"Well, Billy, I hope they do well, but I am afraid that St.Mark's will still be trying to build a new church long after I am dead and buried.” which was his way of saying that it would never be built. In spite of this I nevertheless found the prospect of helping to build a church quite a heady one as indeed did most of the members of my class and, encouraged by our class teacher, we got our heads together to search out a few ideas.

There were about a dozen of us and we were around thirteen to fourteen years old. As a group our reputation left something to be desired and it would be perhaps kindest to describe us as being of a somewhat over enthusiastic disposition and to leave it at that. Sunday School teachers seemed to stay with us only briefly until a certain young lady, whom I shall call Sally, arrived one day and took firm charge of us. The fact that she was amply blessed with feminine charms and knew how to use them was something which was considerably to her advantage because the whole class promptly took a fancy to her and become as putty in her hands. Soon she had us talking seriously about how we might work to get some money for the building fund and made us feel that this was the most exciting thing in the world.

Making a mile of pennies was a popular way of raising funds in those days and this was the first thing we thought about but others had already taken this idea up. By the way they were talking about it you would have thought they were intending to do far more than a mile without any trouble at all but a mile of pennies, although it represented a heck of a lot of money, also represented a lot more work than most people realised. Nevertheless in such matters it is often the intentions, which are just as important as the results, and it was certain that these were well worth pursuing. Of course our class could still help with the pennies if we wanted to but Sally felt that we ought to at least try to do something special of our own and so it came about that, after a lot of discussion, the idea of forming a mouth-organ band was born.

Amongst our number there was one who proudly announced that he could play already and would soon show the rest of us how it was done. There was nothing to it, he said, why he had only been learning a few weeks and already he could play two tunes. He undertook to have us all playing like Larry Adler in no time at all. Some of us, of course, had more of a problem than others because we not only had to learn the instrument but also had first of all to persuade someone to let us have the money to buy one. But parents were badgered and nattered until eventually we all had our mouth organs and furthermore one parent loaned us his pigeon loft to practice in. In fact immediately after we had finished our first rehearsal in his front room he was absolutely insistent that we should use the loft.

For the next four weeks those pigeons were serenaded on two evenings a week and on Sundays after Sunday School. What optimists we must have been! We saw no problems at all in learning to play from scratch and attaining the standard required for a public performance We planned, confidently, to make our debut at the annual Garden Party which was to be held in one month's time. Today I shudder at the mere thought but by our last rehearsal on the evening before the Garden Party we had learnt four tunes; well more or less learnt them anyway. Although we might not be quite perfect if there was any justice in the world we would attain instant stardom.

The great day dawned fine and sunny and we were soon busy helping with the many tasks, which are needed to ensure the success of all social events. We were well used to helping on these occasions by loading tables on to lorries and acting as unpaid labourers. Sometimes we might justifiably be accused of getting under everyone's feet but we liked helping; it was fun; and there was always the chance of an odd "perk" or two in the shape of a free bottle of pop, a cup of tea, or a sticky bun. Riding a lorry or a horse and cart loaded with tables and chairs was great fun in itself. We were busy one way or another right up to the official opening so busy, in fact, that it was with some surprise that I heard a voice saying” I have made all the arrangements you are on in twenty minutes. Will you be ready?” It was Sally and she sounded a little bit anxious. Quickly I felt in my jacket pocket and as I did so my heart skipped a beat,"Oh dear”, I heard myself saying,” I have left my mouth-organ at home."

Sally continued to round us all up from the various distractions of the Garden Party until eventually it became clear that I wasn't the only one who had been forgetful. One by one everyone confessed to the same failing,"Oh dear! I have forgotten my mouth-organ.” Absorbed in the delights of the day we had lost all track of time until it was now far to late to go home for our instruments and be back in time to perform. Sally was a right good sport about it though and simply said, in her most sympathetic manner,” Never mind, perhaps you can play for the prize-giving instead.” She must nevertheless have been most embarrassed at having to apologise to the organisers of the entertainment for our absence. But circumstances conspired to make sure we never did perform together in public as mouth organ band at a prize giving, or on any other occasion, and to this day only the pigeons and ourselves will ever know what the world of entertainment has missed.

Not all of our ideas failed to come to fruition although sometimes the end result bore little relationship to what was originally intended. There was the time when the church council decided to brighten up the image of the traditional walking day by including a number of floats in the procession and these were to have a religious theme. This would, it was reasoned, encourage more people to take part in the procession and, just as importantly, attract more people to watch. A prize would be awarded to the Sunday school class, which came up with the best-decorated float and another for the most novel and original idea.

It was hardly to be wondered at that our little band of enthusiasts could not let this chance to shine pass them by and that we spent all of one Sunday afternoon apparently studying open Bibles, whilst furtively discussing, in badly concealed whispers, just what our contribution should be. It soon became clear that we would first have to overcome a manpower problem because some of us were in the choir and were duty bound to walk with our fellow choristers. It was therefore decided that the remainder of the class would bear the brunt of the responsibility and we who were in the choir would help with any construction work that was needed. After this it was decided that the theme for our float should be based upon some Bible story or other although we weren't sure which it should be. We spent so much time talking about this that eventually those who were not in the choir and were most involved simply said,” Don’t worry about it any more just leave it all to us. We will sort something out and if we do have any problems we will let you know in good time."

Sally apparently decided that it was best for her to stay in the background. That way she didn't get blamed and could more easily pick up the pieces afterwards. She left everyone to get on with it and, strangely, we who were in the choir also seemed to be surplus to requirements for, as the time passed and the walking day came closer, all our offers of help were politely, but firmly, rejected. We were a bit concerned at first that we might have another fiasco like that with the mouth-organ band but when we suggested this could happen we were told quite firmly,” Don’t worry we have everything sewn up and we're going to win hands down."

Walking day arrived at last. The church gradually filled up with people making preparations for the procession and the air became filled with an excited hum of voices above which could be heard the occasionally raised tones of teachers giving out last minute instructions. At one point, when the babble of voices became overwhelming, an even more penetrating voice was heard demanding instant quietness and reminding everyone,” After all this is a house of God let us please behave accordingly."Which, after the first initial reaction, didn’t make any perceptible difference at all because everyone was far too excited to take any notice. Then finally an even more compelling voice rose over the din as the curate called us all to order and led us, first in prayer, and then in singing the hymn,” Onward Christian soldiers.” The processional cross was carried out into the street followed by the choir and we all tagged on behind in due order ready to start out.

The banner, which seemed to us at the time to be truly immense and magnificently embroidered, was raised up in the teeth of a slight breeze by stalwarts from the Young Men's Institute. They staggered from the initial effort and cautioned each other in anxious tones,” Steady on, I’m not ready yet!"---"Mind how you handle that rope!"----"Be careful!!"---"Mind the gate!” until the banner was at last in the middle of the street and ready for off.

The rest of the procession gradually sorted itself out and, at the very end, came just two floats. Two only, because the idea had been less enthusiastically received than had been expected and furthermore, as we looked back along the procession from our leading position with the choir, we could see no sign of our classmates anywhere. Then, at last, we saw them running pell-mell through the church grounds towards us pushing what appeared to be a very large and dirty wheelbarrow filled to overflowing with rubbish of all kinds.” Could this possibly have any relationship to the Bible at all?" we wondered as our "float" at last joined the procession and it became painfully clear to us all that any religious theme there might have been had been sacrificed on the altar of topicality and originality.

At the time there was a long running, popular programme on the radio in which there was a character called Sid Walker. Based on the traditional image of a rag and bone man he had become quite a cult figure and the theme song with which his sketches were introduced had also become very popular. As our classmates pushed they also sang and the words of their song rose clearly above the choir's rendition of 'The church's one foundation.'

"Day after day I'm on me way,

Any old rags, bottles or bones,

Any old rags, bottles or bones."

There was little doubting that our 'float' had topicality and originality but had it a Biblical theme? Of course it had, as our friends insisted when taken to task by Sally,” Everyone has heard of the valley of dry bones! Haven’t they?"

Chapter 3

Sunday School was gradually becoming less important in the life of the community but was, as yet, still relatively well attended. Regular attendance was rewarded at the annual presentation of prizes and this was a highlight in the church's year because as well as the prize giving there was also entertainment in the form of a concert given by the members of the Sunday School.

The thing I used to look forward to most of all was, however, the enormous tea, which was laid on by the Mothers' Union. They would spend most of the day making their preparations, bustling around preparing great piles of bread and butter, filling cake stands until they absolutely groaned under the weight of home-made cakes and buns, stacking plates with buttered scones, and strategically placing dishes of strawberry or blackcurrant jam upon the tables,. But these were only for the "filling up the cracks"(as the saying goes) for at the last minute, when everyone had seated themselves, a plate would be placed in front of each person which had upon it succulent slices of boiled ham decorated with a garnish of lettuce and tomato and then, adding a final touch to the meal, a dish of fruit was also placed in everyone's place. When all was ready there would be a rapping on the top table from the curate's spoon and a call for silence whilst grace was said. Such a meal was certainly a blessing from on high if anything ever was and everyone was indeed truly thankful for the gifts of time and talent, which had gone into providing the feast.

From that moment on all conversation was down to the bare essentials for a few minutes.” Pass the sugar please.” Any more tea anyone?” Has anyone seen the salt?” That jam's good. You must try it. Who made it do you know?” But eventually even such remarks became restrained as everyone knuckled down to the serious business of relieving the groaning tables of their burden of food until, as the end of the meal came closer, other remarks began to be heard,” Come on you young lads. What are you playing at leaving food on the table? I could eat a horse when I was your age. Get those cakes eaten, we don't want any left over.” Such encouragement was really hardly needed as the last remnants were willingly disposed of and a gradually growing trickle of people rose from their chairs and left to take their ease in the grounds or started to clear the tables ready for the evening's entertainment and for the prize giving itself. Soon all the crockery and table-cloths disappeared in the direction of the kitchen where a babble of conversation and laughter mingled with the sound of splashing water and clattering crockery whilst the men added their own contribution to the general clamour as they moved forms and chairs into position in front of the stage.

So many willing hands soon had everything ready and the seats, which were now laid out in neat rows, began to fill with children and their parents. The children, of course, made a beeline for the front rows and these soon filled but the grown ups were not all that far behind and it wasn't long before all the seats were taken and everyone was ready for the prize giving. There was an expectant buzz of anticipation in the air and interesting bumps and bangs could be heard coming from behind the curtains in front of the stage before they opened to reveal the Vicar, the Curate, and the Sunday School superintendent gathered around a table piled high with all kinds of books. Those who had managed to get a prize began to be called to the stage to receive them from the vicar to the accompaniment of unstinting applause from the audience.

Shortly a growing number of whispers could be heard as more and more children returned to their seats with their prizes. Most seemed to be well satisfied with their books but there were some who received theirs as a sort of mixed blessing. These had been given a prayer book, or a Bible, or some uplifting religious work and seemed unsure whether to regard their prize as an honour or an insult. I myself could never quite understand a mind, which could think a religious book, was necessarily one, which a small child would appreciate. I am sure most children would be more thankful for a book of adventure stories or perhaps even a compendium of games or suchlike. Although I concede the point that there may be some of a more serious inclination.

Last to be called to receive their prizes were those in our class and these were to be the last we would receive. At fourteen years of age some of us were already working and the rest would soon be joining them. There were just two of us who still had to spend another year or so at school because we were at secondary and grammar school but all of us, without exception, were looking forward to moving into the young men's class the following week. We received our prizes and returned to our seats and as we did so, whether we realised it or not, we were also losing something of our childhood. At the time the term 'teenager' was something we only associated with American films and this is what we had now become almost without realising it. But at last the prize giving was at an end and now it was time for some entertainment. Sally had asked us to try to do something special since this was to be our last year together and she asked that we should also be a little more serious about it than we had been in the past. I believe she had really expected us to revive the mouth organ band but not only had we come to accept that we could not really play well enough but had become bored with the idea and it no longer held any interest for us. It took a long time before we were able to think of an alternative and in the end it was Sally who suggested we might like to try to do a very short play of some kind. From somewhere or other she managed to get hold of a script for a version of Snow-white and the Seven Dwarfs which, although it was intended for small children, she felt we could use quite well if we made a few minor changes. This was a very good choice because at the time Walt Disney, that cartoon genius, had just produced the classic film version of Snow-white and it was having a tremendous impact on the cinema going public at the time. All the class had been to see this and had found the experience a memorable one and indeed my own family visit had been memorable in more ways than one.

In our town there were more cinemas than I care to remember and in the town centre there were at least five ranging from luxurious right down to 'fleapit' status; but the ultimate in luxury was without doubt the Odeon, which had only recently been built. Our family visit was intended as a double treat because this was our first opportunity to see inside the Odeon and also to see the very first full-length cartoon. So special did my father consider the occasion to be that he actually took the unprecedented step of booking our seats in advance. Normally we would have queued up for seats as did most people and I had often been envious of those who had booked in advance and were allowed to walk straight past we lesser mortals in the queue. So it was that we arrived at the cinema in less of a rush than was usually the case and looked around for a way in.

We were not surprised to see an enormous line of people stretching along the pavement but this was nothing to do with us, or so we thought, and we all walked confidently up to the entrance with Dad as he asked,” Where do we go with these?” and held out our five tickets.” Right to the end of this line.” said the doorman and waved his arm vaguely towards the far end of the building where the queue disappeared from view around the corner.” But we've booked.” stuttered my dad,"So has everyone else.” said the doorman and carefully straightening his beautiful, brand new uniform he turned disdainfully away. However there was no great delay and we were soon seated in the elegance of the town's number one cinema enjoying a truly magical evening of superlative entertainment.

Having gone through such an experience how could our class possibly be satisfied with a mere children's version of Snow-white? Obviously we would need to make quite a few changes to the existing script. We added some dialogue of our own which was largely taken straight from Walt Disney's version and changed the rather inadequate names of our dwarfs which were simply called first dwarf, second dwarf, etc., to Grumpy.Sleepy, Sneezy, and all the other names in the film. Then we added all kinds of stage effects. Mysterious lights were contrived by covering hidden torches with coloured tissue paper and these were shone on the face of the Wicked Queen to achieve our idea of a suitable sinister effect. Weird cries were introduced at suitable moments and we spent a great deal of time rehearsing our stage manager until he could produce the exact effect we needed. Indeed there was no problem beyond our ingenuity! Not having any girls in the class meant that John had to be the Queen and Alan had to become transformed into the beautiful and glamorous Snow-white and this was only achieved by calling upon Sally and a girlfriend of hers to provide suitable make-up and dresses. The film version had been the vehicle for a number of very popular songs and we were convinced that we too would need to use at least some of these if we were to achieve the success we deserved. As a result I found myself conscripted as 'musical director' with instructions to learn to play ‘Heighho, it’s off to work we go', and,'Some day my prince will come’. I was also asked to play something suitable during the interval and 'The Maiden's Prayer' was suggested. This was felt to be a logical choice for a maiden such as Snow-white but don't ask me why; it just seemed like a good idea at the time.

So with the stage cleared we at last made our debut as actors. I was despatched to my place at the piano and, dressed as a dwarf, I played 'Heighho', as another dwarf pulled back the curtains, and five other dwarfs marched across the stage singing lustily and carrying pickaxes and shovels as big as themselves. The Wicked Queen appeared and was an instant success, being greeted with booing and cheering from all the smaller kids in the audience. The effect was unfortunately spoiled when a torch rolled from it's hiding place and fell at the feet of a small girl in the front row who dutifully handed it up to one of the dwarfs saying,” Please give the queen her torch she has dropped it".

Snow-white 'she' was the star of the evening although he had been completely unable to confess to his mother that he was to play the part of a girl so that at the end of the first act she was heard to say,” Who is the girl was playing Snow-white? I am sure I should know her". Our confidence grew as the audience booed in all the right places and laughed at all the funny bits. The more they appeared to enjoy themselves the more we began to ham it up with the result that we ran well over our allotted time and into the time allotted to the rest of the entertainment. Still no one worried too much and at the end we received overwhelming applause and many congratulations. Our Sunday school careers had ended in a blaze of glory. At last we had made our atonement for the mouth organ band, which failed, and the wheelbarrow float, which went wrong.

Chapter Four

When I left school in1939 the war had just started but as yet it seemed to have made little improvement to the job prospects for school leavers although more and more companies were going onto war work. At our school we left a year after most people but although the extra year of education was regarded as an advantage it could also prove to be just the opposite.

Apprenticeships started at fourteen years of age for the traditional seven-year stretch up to the age of 21, which meant that at fifteen we were a bit late for starting one. This caused me to miss a couple of chances and after a while, feeling discouraged, I decided anything was better than nothing and took what was really a very 'dead end' job with a firm of sheet metal workers who were producing detonator cases for the army. This was, to put it mildly, a right mucky mess of a job. It involved cleaning the half complete detonator cases of the layers of surplus soldering fluid and grease that they had acquired in manufacture. The whole operation was 'Dickensian', indeed almost primitive. No nice, tidy, modern degreasing plant such as you see today. Just a tank of paraffin, a brush and a bucket of hot water, which soon cooled down and needed, frequent replenishing. Under such conditions it is hardly to be wondered at that I began to lose any ideas I had about’ the dignity of labour’. I used to go home smelling like nothing on earth. Then I became matey with a lad about my own age who had previously worked at one of the larger firms in the area and had been laid off. He was called back to his old job and was full of praise for his firm. Indeed he seemed to have appointed himself as their unofficial recruiting agent and promised to ask for a job for me.

He was as good as his word; I duly got an interview, and the job. The work was still a bit dirty but nowhere near as much as the other one had been and I did at least smell decent when I went home. The wage was also much better and I received 15 shillings a week instead of the ten shillings I had been getting. I hadn't been in my new job more than a week or two when, soon after I had returned home from work, there was a knock on the front door .My dad answered it and I heard a voice ask him,” Is that lad of yours still looking for an apprenticeship?” and my father's reply,"Indeed he is come in and have a word.

"A man whom I recognised as the husband of one of the ladies at St.Mark's came in and said to me,” How do you fancy being a motor mechanic?” I could hardly believe my ears for I had really begun to feel that I would never get an apprenticeship at my age.” Come for an interview after work. Just come as you are nobody is going to worry about a bit of muck in a garage. Mind your manners and how you answer our manager's questions and the job is your's". I was duly interviewed and got the job. My first wage as an apprentice was twelve shillings and sixpence a week which was half-a-crown less than I was used to, but there was one big difference which made it all worthwhile. Although I was again going home smelling of paraffin and oil I was at least enjoying what I was doing.

The first week flew by. You couldn't learn this job in half an hour, it took years, and I began to feel that there really was dignity to be found in labour provided always that the labour was interesting and fulfilling. Those first few months of the war were to become known as the’ phoney war’ but nevertheless it was beginning to make it's effects felt upon everybody's lifestyle and young men of the Men's Institute at St.Mark's began to disappear one by one as they were either conscripted into the forces or volunteered. Then there were those of us who, whilst yet too young for the forces, became involved in longer and longer hours of work and all apprentices still had to keep up with their night school studies in spite of this. Young men and indeed men of any age became a rarity in the life of the church.

Because so many men went off to the forces the Men's Institute had to be put into mothballs for the duration although during the early years of the war efforts were made to keep the club open. Eventually, however, all such attempts had to be abandoned and it was decided that the best thing to do was to try to keep the equipment in reasonable condition ready for the time when everybody came home again. Amongst other things, which might well have been expected to suffer, was the traditional concert party but because entertainment was at a premium during the war the Sunday school concert at St.Mark's actually thrived. So much so, that instead of being contrived from a hodge- podgy of varied individual efforts, it became 'The Concert Party' and it's members not only performed at St.Mark's but also were now regularly invited to give of their talents for the benefit a variety of other churches and organisations.

My contacts with the church had at this time become somewhat tenuous. Because of the war I had now become an apprentice toolmaker instead of an apprentice motor mechanic. The motor trade really suffered because of petrol rationing and we were, along with many other firms, now making aircraft parts. I rather enjoyed the swap and I liked my new job and became totally involved in what I was doing but, on the other hand, I was still working on cars at weekend with the mechanic who originally found me my apprenticeship. In these circumstances it is hardly surprising that nothing could have been further from my thoughts than St.Mark's when someone from the church stopped me in the street one day. His name was George.

George had been prevented from going in the forces because of a hearing problem and therefore had remained involved in church life.” I was just coming to your house to see you.” he said,” Are you still playing the piano?” Yes, when I have the time.” I answered.” I wonder if you could help us with the concert party." he continued,” We are losing our pianist and you seem to be favourite to take his place. We prefer to have someone from the church if we can." I was happy to try to help so he at once invited me to attend the next rehearsal. I was taking over as pianist for a concert that had already been performed a couple of times and was in great demand around the town's churches. When I realised this I became a bit worried but I really had no need to be because everyone was so well rehearsed that they were well able to cover for me should it become necessary. I also inherited the title of Musical Director, which sounds good, but I actually did very little directing at first and only came into my own when the next concert was being prepared. I soon realised that George was the driving force behind the whole group. Without him I doubt if there would have been a concert party or any kind of concert. As producer he certainly kept his hand firmly upon the tiller and made sure everyone else did a good job and that everything was 'alright on the night'.

In spite of his hearing difficulties George played the organ for St.Mark's during the war and for some time afterwards. It was he who persuaded me to pump the organ for choir practices and Sunday services and he also persuaded me to pump whilst he did his own practising. This I agreed to but only on the strict understanding that he also pumped for me whilst I had a practise and the arrangement worked out fine for both of us. The job of organ-blower carried a weekly fee of sixpence and I did this job until I myself had to go in the forces. I take pride in the fact that I never once let him down during this time.

My dad had found that long hours of shift work combined with membership of the Home Guard were very demanding and, after a short illness, he was advised by his doctor to cut his workload. His enforced resignation as choirmaster was, I often think, one of the war's less obvious effects upon church life. But there were many other effects and not least amongst them was that upon our ambitions to be build a new church. The whole idea began to look more and more like an impossible dream. I was reminded of my dad's words,"St.Mark's will still be building a church when you are as old as I am."

Chapter5

Pancake Tuesday was important to apprentices for more than the fact that it was the last day before Lent. It was the custom that we should have the afternoon off work but there were certain ceremonies and rites attached to the privilege. In fact some of the rites might well be considered to be degrading today especially when, as often happened, some people carried them to excess. There were always those who would use such things as an excuse for a certain amount of bullying and skilled men who had only just come out of their time were often the most likely to abuse the tradition. In fact it was the excesses that in the end led to Pancake Tuesday as the apprentices day being phased out.

My first Pancake Tuesday as an apprentice was one that I approached with certain feelings of apprehension although I was certainly looking forward to day off. It remains particularly vivid in my mind because some of the incidents serve to highlight the dangers of allowing horseplay in an industrial environment.

It was the particular custom for our company to shepherd all the lads to the very top floor of the building so that they were forced to run the gauntlet of all the skilled men who would be waiting on each landing of the staircase. All entrances were closed except one so it was impossible for anyone to leave except by that way. There were however more ways in and out of that place than there were doors and windows and we apprentices knew them all although a certain confidence in our own fitness and a good head for heights was essential if they were to be used.

Preparations for the day, at least as far as we were concerned, started on the Monday morning as we each took a little longer to carry out our various errands. We had every excuse for this because often we spent quite a lot of time searching out suitable second-hand parts for the car repairs. Yes, this was how it was done during the war because there was shortages of everything very little were thrown away. Indeed one of my own special jobs when I was transferred on to tool making was to make up new valves for car engines out of old and damaged ones, which I sorted out of the scrap. This job, and in fact all jobs we apprentices were given, took much longer than usual on the day before Pancake Tuesday.

There was a disused loading door on the top floor which was normally nailed up but by Monday night the nails had been taken out, the hinges had been checked to make sure they were working freely so that the door could readily be opened, and a rope was also tied to an old beam and tucked out of sight ready for use. The loading door on a lower floor was given the same treatment. The firewatchers also checked a trap door to the roof although this wasn’t entirely necessary because it already had a semi-permanent ladder up to it for use during air raid warnings. Once access to the roof was assured then there were many ways down from there to the street below. The particular method used was however very much a measure of the recklessness (or foolishness) of each individual.

When the day at last arrived I and my mate Jack had a couple of plans ready. One meant using the trapdoor to the roof and the other needed a fast sprint to the ropes near the loading doors, which had been prepared earlier. Jack chose to try the roof and I followed him up there but one of the older lads had got there first. His intention was to run up the slope of the roof, round an old mill chimney, slide down to the roof of a disused warehouse next door and escape through another trapdoor and out into the street easily but then, unfortunately, he slipped and began to slide down the other side of the roof until his feet encountered the toughing at the edge, then, because this had become rotted and weakened by age, it began slowly to come away from it's fastenings until it was held by only one creaking and rusty bracket. There he clung for dear life for what seemed an eternity. We who were watching were helpless to do anything and it seemed as if he must fall the full height of the four-storey building. He felt frenziedly along the edge of the roof until his frantically clutching fingers found a hole in the roof tiles and gripped some projection below it for dear life. For some minutes he hung there, still not completely out of danger, untill some reserve of strength born of desperation, enabled him slowly and painfully to haul himself back on to the roof and then down through the trapdoor to safety. For our part we decided discretion was the better part of valour and made our way back through our own trapdoor having quickly decided that our alternative idea was much safer.

Jack ran across to the first loading door, opened it and dropped the rope, which was already tied firmly to the beams, and began to shin down it to the street below. By this time some of the men had realised what we were trying to do and began to come towards me. I hadn't enough time to wait for him to reach the ground so I quickly made my way down to the other loading door on the next floor. Here I was surprised to find that the rope had been removed which meant there was now no way out for me except the official one. I duly ran the gauntlet, suffered the usual undignified treatment, and covered by a generous layer of sump oil in some very strange places at last I got out and into the street.

We all came together there and Tony, the roof adventurer, was obviously shaken although he firmly denied any suggestion that he had been in danger. Sheer bravado of course. Jack had a similar close call and had almost come to grief when someone spotted the rope going through the loading door and, not knowing that Jack was already using it, gave it an almighty swipe with an axe severing it completely with one stroke. Jack had quite a limp but again faced things with apparent calm as he assured us all that he had been so concerned to get away that he had hit the floor with his legs already running when the rope was cut.

There was one other near casualty who had taken the roof route but had chosen to shin down a telegraph pole that almost touched the building. He had done very well until he ran out of those metal stanchions that are placed on the poles for the convenience of the engineers. At that point his nerved failed and he clung there at a height of about ten feet completely unable to bring himself to allow the rest of us to support him over this last hurdle. As we urged him to jump, and assured him we would catch him, two of his pursuers hung from an open window and did their best to drench him with the aid of a stirrup pump until, at last, with some difficulty, we finally got him to the ground whilst taking more than our fair share of the water which was flying around. Putting it in a nutshell we all ended up looking like drowned rats.

Our works was quite near the main shopping centre and a fairly large crowd had begun to gather most of who found the whole thing very entertaining and applauded as each apprentice arrived in the street. There were some, however, especially amongst the ladies, who didn't appreciate what was going on at all and could only see a some poor little apprentices being bullied and treated in quite a shameful manner. Indeed the incident sparked of a lot of correspondence in the letters column of the local paper mostly on the theme of how it was time such 'barbaric and primitive initiation rites' were abolished, which was quite embarrassing for our employer and could well have had something to do with the fact that the following year we no longer had such a bad time of it. Although we still got our half-day off and there was certainly a little 'hassle' everything was in a much lower key. Later on during the war the traditional Pancake Day rites practically disappeared altogether. We also lost the half-day off eventually.