Little Cherub

The thing that I like about blogging is that it is almost cyclic. I read people’s posts. I often “like” them, as much to show my appreciation that somebody took the trouble to write. And, now and again, the subject matter sparks thoughts of a post of my own. Here is one such subject.

I had a period as a youngster when I was in a choir. It started very innocuously. My Junior school announced that such-and-such a church choir was looking for new members. I was about nine.

Hitherto, my religion had been limited to Sunday School, where my mum and auntie both taught. Church of England [C of E, Protestant]. Of course, at that age I had never considered the big questions on religion – I’m sure we all must come to them sooner or later, but not at nine. The choir happened to be at my local church, also C of E, with which I had no previous association.

I settled in, but it was hard to go somewhere new at that age. One of the older boys took me under his wing. He was quite unusual, a few times he would even argue with the choirmaster, an adult! (Shock, horror!) One practise, he even stormed out! But gradually I made a space for myself, made my own friends, and so on. It also prompted my parents to get involved with that church. I can look back and see it as quite sexist, but that’s how things were in the mid-Seventies. My mum helped make the coffee at the end of each Sunday service. My dad became a sidesman. I note the “man” bit – I don’t think there were any sideswomen, although the job only entailed handing hymn books out to people on arrival. But again, that’s how things were in the Seventies.

Gradually I progressed in the choir, moved up in the world. The choir had almost a ranking system. A light blue ribbon on the cassock (which we wore for services), then a dark blue ribbon, and so on. I think each ribbon gained a slightly larger “salary”, for we were paid to sing. But pennies each time, so much so that we were only paid every quarter or so, a few pounds. Weddings were the big money-spinner because couples getting married presumably paid a fee for the choir and we would get a few pounds every weekend during wedding season (almost always summer), just as long as we were able to make it on a Saturday afternoon.

The longer I stayed in the choir, the more I got to know people. The vicar was an old Irish guy. It was probably really because I was an obnoxious child, but we never really hit it off. I got on much better with his deputy, Jim, and was very upset when Jim died a few years in.

My involvement with that church probably even got me into secondary school, which was also church-affiliated. They were pre-disposed to give places to boys with a C of E background, although it was a grammar school so there was a large element of academic ability too.

To be honest I find it difficult to remember all the ins and outs. Certainly, on the “ins” side, I took myself as far as being confirmed. Confirmation is a process in the C of E where you actually affirm your commitment to the church, but as an adult, as opposed to just being baptised as an infant. I must’ve been early teens, still way too young. There should be a minimum age of eighteen, say, for this kind of stuff.

And I kept going in the choir, eventually becoming the head chorister. I don’t know how good I was, but I remember when a group of six or seven churches got together for some festival or other, I was asked to perform a solo. And again I was parachuted in to sing a solo for the church that my auntie was involved with. I guess I must’ve been pretty good, but it’s like any kind of natural talent – you just take it for granted and don’t realise that you have anything special. I know now that other people thought I had something special, but I just took it in my stride.

But at the same time, I began to see the church as very exclusive. Love thy neighbour – just as long as they’re one of us. It was not lost on me that these people followed scriptures which taught one thing, but who lived their lives according to something else. I came to view them as an insular group of people patting each other on the back. It’s a feeling I’ve had about the Church of England ever since. Again, it is quite possible that my memory is faulty here, but we tend to forget facts, not feelings, and I’m certainly able to remember that I was, in time, able to feel and express my own dissent.

Indeed, just a couple of years ago I was told that my live-and-let-live attitude (which I talk about here), which I’ve held for much of my adult life and regard as eminently reasonable, would send me straight to the burning fires of hell. By a christian, I have no idea where, or what denomination. So much for mutual tolerance, but it did reassure me that the view I’d formed all those years ago was sound.

But back in the day I was altogether coarser, and my experiences with the church just triggered an anti-religion sentiment. Especially at an age where we start to question everything anyway. But the end of my involvement, when it came, was no big bust-up. I retired as gracefully as possible once my voice started breaking. By that age, I was far more interested in going to watch soccer in any case, something which probably destroyed what little voice I had left.

At that point, I fast forward to the late 1990s, for dad had stayed involved with the church until his health gave way. Within a few years, even mum was unable to cope and dad moved into a nursing home. By that time, he’d have had some association with them for more than twenty years. Only one of his former sidesmen friends, a lovely old chap called Ian, ever visited. When dad died in 2012, I told the church but nobody came to the funeral. Short memories.

My experience in the choir ultimately turned me off religion for several years, and it’s only really as an adult that I’ve taken a more rounded view that if somebody feels better for adopting a religion, then good for them. But at the same time, they can count me out.

The John Lennon/Elton John song is wonderfully appropriate here:







Author: Stroke Survivor UK

Formerly, designed and developed IT systems for banks, but had a stroke in 2016, aged pre-50! I have returned to developing from home, but some of my time is also spent volunteering with the UK charities Age UK (www.ageuk.org.uk) and the [UK] Stroke Association (www.stroke.org.uk).

10 thoughts on “Little Cherub”

  1. Religion and the institution of it, books can be written on it. I grew up in a very catholic country in a very catholic family. I do understand, when oppressed by the government, people look for something better and find that in religion. I had the ‘luck’ to be an unplanned baby so oops, not within the views of the church. I felt that very well, my family – even not on purpose – viewed me like a little outcast. I understood at a very early age that preaching one thing doesn’t equal practicing it. It made me doubt people and their ‘beliefs’. I don’t like the institution of the Church. I’ve found another spiritual path in life. I think religion is misunderstood by people, it is politically used and we need to consider that when ‘following others views’. Its is in the end made by people and it will have people-ly faults. I’m glad you found your own way but it’s sad that nobody from the Church came to the funural. That’s harsh!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It surprised me a bit that nobody came, dad was only seventy when he died and I’d have thought at least some of his ex-colleagues would have remembered him. I don’t know…maybe whoever took the message didn’t recognise his name – it can’t have been the Irish guy in charge any more – so didn’t pass the message on? Fortunately, it isn’t something I lose sleep about, and my dad was probably beyond caring.
      My wife doesn’t practise any religion but is Jewish by birth. Some of her family *do* practise, and we have been invited to a couple of events like Bar mitzvahs. I was very impressed that there was such a tight spirit there, so I suppose that’s an extreme example of how churches can promote togetherness. My mum-in-law is Belgian by birth. She celebrated her 80th birthday this year, she came to the UK at just a few months old on the KinderTransport, and has never been back to Belgium.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I have a really big spot in my heart for the Jewish culture and heritage. It ties up with my family history and the war. I visited Isreal, read some things. The ‘togetherness’ of family seems so beautiful to me even when it’s ‘promoted’ or sometimes ‘forced’. The day of forgiveness (dont’t know the correct word) is such an inspiration. It’s not a black or white matter. Maybe one day I will a post on it.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I have heard “Day of Atonement” but it is far better known just by the (Yiddish?) Yom Kippur, untranslated. But I myself am not an expert!
    That is exactly why I like blogging – somebody sowed the seed for my own post, and if I have now sowed the seed for a post of yours, brilliant. I look forward to reading it one day. It’s difficult with religion to know where to start and where to stop, just because it is such a big subject.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Wow Stroke Survivor. I just found this and your message to me. So glad that something I wrote spraked this off. I totally agree with you about churches. I have known one good one in my time (that is, from 13 to 71). But even the good one turned out not to be good in the end. I personally am spiritual, but have huge problems with churches. I have been more hurt in churches than I have been anywhere else that I have been. I have been turned on for being blind and blocking peopke’s way, told that I should be beaten with a stick, told I was stand offish for not smiling and waving back at people because I didn’t see them because I was blind. And that is only recent! I could go on. I have a faith, though it has been sorely tested. But churches – aaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh

    Liked by 2 people

    1. That’s the real beauty of blogging, I think so anyway. We all spark each other off in various directions. Probably once a day I will read somebody posting on such-and-such, and it makes me think tangentially about my experiences. So, keep sowing 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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