Bohemia Village Voice

[From ‘Bohemian Bagatelle‘, published 1979 by the Bohemians]

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL TREAT

Father never went to Church, but he insisted that the rest of the family did! This was no hardship to me, but my brothers and sisters often rebelled. One pleasure we had each year was the Sunday School treat. St. Mart’s was always the best in our town, and we looked forward to it with pleasure. There was something special about our old Church, and there was something VERY special about our Parson. The Church was small, and tucked away, it seemed miles from anywhere, nestling quietly amongst a circle of beautiful trees. I enjoyed going to Sunday School, and always felt at peace there. Our Parson knew each member of his flock, and he took a personal interest in us all. In return, we loved him, although we plagued him unmercifully at times. He was a middle-aged and wealthy bachelor. He had an unfortunate nervous twitch in his left eye, which we used to mimic during his long and often boring Sermons. If he noticed, he never let us know it, and was always patient, kind, and understanding. Even though we had a two and a half mile walk to Church, and often did it twice a day, I always looked forward to it. If we took the road, which we sometimes had to do in winter, it meant a three mile walk. We were allowed a right of way across Farmer Burr’s fields – this was a narrow path running along the edge of the fields. We had to keep strictly to this path, unless we risked the Farmer’s displeasure!

Every walk to Church this way was an adventure, and a nature study in itself. We watched the crops grow from their sowing to fruition, and even to my childish eyes this was a wonder and a delight. The first tender shoots of corn and barley, and then their rapid growth each week until they became a sea of gold waving in the breeze. A blaze of scarlet poppies, which we scrambled to pick, and carried, clutched in hot hands, as a gift to the Canon – as we always called him. We’d see a scurrying rabbit, or a fieldmouse having a feast, and be enchanted. We were not always popular with Farmer Burr, but he, too, turned a blind eye to many of our exploits. His field of hog beans was often raided , as we went home from Sunday School feeling hungry. We picked totty grass and wild roses, and searched for cocoa grass, and were excited when we found it, carefully sucking the succulent stalks to avoid leaving tell-tale cocoa stains all around our mouths!

The high-light of our year was the Sunday School treat – the night before was always in agony of indecision – should we pray for a fine or a wet day. Each had its merits. If fine, the treat would be held in the Rectory grounds – if wet, we’d have tea in the beautiful old house, with the priceless old Persian carpets, sparkling glass, and gleaming silver. Who but our Parson would have a mob of about thirty children at large in his house? What a treat we had! Our Canon set himself out to give us all a happy time. There were so many exciting things to do and see. Swings, see-saws, sideshows of every description, three-legged races, coconut shies, a tug-of-war, and bowling for a real live pig! Tea was a sumptuous affair, fruit and jellies, bread and butter, cakes big and small, and all home-made.

When we could eat no more, we were each given a bag of nuts and an orange. After tea we would gather round waiting for the money scramble. Out would come the Canon with a beaming smile, carrying his bags of silver threepenny pieces and sixpences! He would scatter them around as a Farmer sows seeds. What a scramble there was. A crowd of excited children, laughing and shouting; “Over here, Sir! Over here, Sir!” until all the money-bags were empty. If some children were unfortunate in the rush, they always got a share afterwards – no-one was allowed to go home empty-handed. I was sometimes lucky enough to go home with two sixpences and a threepenny piece clutched in sticky hands. A lot of money in those days! At six o’clock our parents would come to collect us, and we would be arranged in a group with our dear Canon in the centre, and have a photograph taken. That would be the end of a perfect day!

There was so much that was good in the “bad old days”!

Louise Stuart