Manners and customs; Rites and ceremonies -- Great Britain
We used to be told at school that on Sundays we got a taste of Heaven, for
we went to church and sang God's praises. I do not quarrel with the
teaching even now, I think there is something in it. But I used to think,
in those tender pinafore years, that in Heaven there would be one
improvement, namely, that we should not stand on cold damp stones and feel
half perished. There were forms running up the centre of the church, the
whole length of it, on the cold bricks, no arrangement at all for
kneeling, and on these forms we sat during lessons, prayers, sermon; and
many a cold in the head did I catch. The best singers among the boys, of
whom I was not one, went into the gallery. The old Rector established a
school in the village, and we learned the Tonic Sol-Fah, and the singing
was said to be the best for miles round. I think it was in 1842, two years
before his death, that the fiddles and clarionettes were disestablished,
and the music was entirely vocal.
There was one feature of his incumbency which I must not forget, I mean
his church catechising. It had always been a favourite doctrine of his,
that catechising in church should be a feature of church work, and every
Sunday afternoon in Lent, the boys were marshalled round the reading desk
and catechised. Perhaps rather unfortunately, he had a keen sense of fun,
and occasionally a bit of humour in his questions, or his comments, set
the congregation in a titter. But there was no question that those who
listened picked up a great amount of Biblical and ecclesiastical
knowledge.
One mistake as I know now, the dear old rector made. He did not know of
the archæological interest of the church, disfigured as it had been by
country carpenters and painters and white-washers, and he built a new one,
designed by Sir G. Gilbert Scott, then a very young man. And so S.
Wilfred's Church was pulled down, and a modern building, handsome enough,
has taken its place. But before it was finished the old rector died. So
now my recollections pass on to another building and another idea of
service.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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