Gumshields in, the man with the towel leaves the ring and the referee wants a clean fight.
A small boy Kay Harker, 8? From John Masefield’s ‘The Midnight Folk”
As it was Sunday, he had no lessons that morning, except the Collect for the day, which had to be learned by heart. After this he was taken to church to a pew in the forward part of the nave, from which he could see the chancel through the hollow of the tower. He was much too young to understand or follow the service.** He liked some of the hymns, and adored Miss Holyport, who played the organ. Apart from these joys, church had few solaces. Often in the summer a swallow would flit about: when there was no swallow, the only thing to do was to look at the walls, which were full of queer things. For instance, if you looked at the lines of mortar which held in the irregular stones on the walls, you could sometimes imagine that they made pictures. Close to him there was a very good portrait of Henry VIII, thus: * and a picture of a boat , thus:* which filled in a lot of time. Then, in some of the walls were the mouldings of windows and arches long since filled in: it was quite good fun to imagine the windows and arches as still there, and to go through them into some jollier place than church. He knew all the memorial tablets within sight by heart, from Captain Porkins, late of the 91st (Duke of Cumberland’s) Light Horse, who was slain while doing staff duty at Hougomont on the Field of Waterloo, to ANNABEL BETHESDA MEE, Spinster of this Parish. She rests in peace till Wars and Tumults end, We an Example mourn, the Poor a Friend.
*omitted for brevity.
It goes on and breathes there a soul so dead as an adult who doesn’t carry on reading such after the child is long asleep? Assuming souls here I thoroughly recommend it.
‘When the afternoon’s quiet brought peace to the soul, I spied a white duck on a pond,
I asked the sweet creature to come for a stroll,
And, though she did peck a bit, I wrung her white neck a bit,
Ho says Rollickem Bitem.
Then, strolling along in the field by the mill, I spied a grey gosling at grass,
Who found me all hungry and left me all still,
For a goose in digestion Solves every harsh question.
Ho says Rollickem Bitem.’
RB is a friendly fox
Masefield, John. The Midnight Folk: The enchanting illustrated tale perfect for young readers ages 10+ Kindle Edition.
Some 60 years later, I was that small boy, only in recent years would I attempt such wordsmithery, and fail. Amusing to think that 100 years ago John M thought to peer through windows with little Kay’s eyes in search of jollier things. As I do now.
Here, as elsewhere, comments can flare up beyond the topic. I am guilty, I regret choosing harsh words, like demons they escape, triggered by…but wait a moment.
My Mum was a believer. She hovered on the edge of our village Church community, Masefield’s Kay’s church so reminiscent for me. Mum, no busybody, not quite Parish Council long a cabal wary of the newcomer. My Dad would have none of it but he didn’t overtly influence me.
The times were introducing Tamla Motown, Beatles, Stones, the Who, the Kinks, jollier times beckoned to me and I didn’t want any of it either. Kumbaya not cool. Young men’s thoughts turn to the lead in their pencil. (Supposedly in Spring - nah.)
My first wife was schooled in a Convent. Being Catholic she wanted a Catholic wedding in the red brick Catholic doom house on the ring road. Good friends pointed to the twee Kay like pretty village Church, Henry VIII won and we married there. Cold stone walls, creaky pews, hand sewn by volunteers futtocks, hassocks and craddocks for both thin and ample buttocks adorned them; a horrifying reminder of defying Rome took centre stage. Where the Catholics wafted incense, the Protestants injected holy afflatus (for Tom). The Catholics promise hell and damnation, the CofE give your sleeve a tug on the way out, ‘You won’t forget will you? That’ll be a fiver’. Probably a card machine now.
Still on track ** . He was much too young to understand or follow the service.
My young heathen grandchildren, I’m not even sure they’ve ever been in a church let alone attended a service. I had their Mum and my son christened, not too agnostic, at least come the time of deciding, baptism is embarrassing at 14 because it precedes confirmation. As it was, they were having none of it while thanks to me, safer from the next Inquisition; auto da fé. Or the Court at the end of days.
Grandaughter had homework. At 9 FHS “What’s an abstract noun, Grandad? Oof, homework, so unfair.” Etc.
A good friend is a Methodist who seems to read out the hymns and sing the prayers or something odd. Like Ford drivers converting to Toyota. As with all good friends we agree to differ and leave it, apart from the odd occasion she looks triumphant when I reveal my religious knowledge is ahead of hers. (while not acknowledging her lack. Bloody typical). e.g. The Good Samaritan wasn’t good because he was a Samaritan but in spite of the fact.
Abstracts. Not things, concepts – Love, hate, desire, shame, prejudice, thought, realisation, jealousy. Soul, soulless. Stuff that separates us from the beasts, (does it? ) From the computers? Oh-oh, run away…
Children may be aware of these unnamed ideas but they say the mind is not fully mature until 25. Dogs look guilty when they’ve chewed up the couch. Neither dogs nor children get the bill. For me with the Church, the too young are presented with a bill which they can’t pay, will settle for guilty penance stretching away like a payday loan, to be settled in a future Court, time unknown.
For me religion is abstract, you know it’s there because you see others practising it. Another abstract, belief, gives you a choice and denial, yet another, it works both ways.
Denial being abstract is distinct from in denial. In denial is rejecting a known fact or circumstance regardless. Rachel Reeves, the IMF are at the door. Now there’s triggering. I turn my demons there and I suspect we’re all on the same side. See you in Court.
A very queer thing is the wind
I don’t know how it beginn’d
And nobody knows where it goes
It is wind, it beginn’d and it blows
Blinky the owl