To Church on Sunday

Folk of my generation, in East Anglia as elsewhere, sometimes claim sweepingly that, in their young days, 'nearly everyone went to church on Sunday'. They didn't, of course. A great many people never went near a church except for christenings, weddings and funerals. What was different though from today was the

general acceptance that it was natural and normal to go to church. Those who didn't would often feel called upon to justify themselves. I recall an old Suffolk countryman saying, 'I don' gew t'chuch a lot meself, though Missus dew sometimes; but I reckon I'm as good a Christian as some o' them as dew'.

That was another difference from today. We all, church-goer and non church- goer alike, knew ourselves to be Christian. There were few self-proclaimed agnostics and no adherents of other faiths among my acquaintances. Thanks to assemblies and scripture lessons (they're called RE nowadays) at school we all had some experience of Christian worship and at least some familiarity with the Bible.

My parents were church-goers. My father had been 'brought up chapel' but, probably as a result of my mother's influence, had transferred his allegiance to the Church of England. He did so wholeheartedly and with enthusiasm.

When we moved into our house in Ipswich's Bramford Lane towards the end of 1926 we went to St. Thomas', then a small 'tin' mission church in Bramford Road, between Waveney Road and Shafto Road. When I last went past there, about ten years ago, there was a petrol filling station where it had once stood, but what had been the adjacent church hall, brick-built by voluntary labour, was there still.

I have very vivid memories of walking to church with my parents every Sunday morning and evening. My father always wore a black jacket and black and white striped trousers, stiff collar with bow tie, bowler hat and gleaming black shoes. In winter he would wear a formal black overcoat and he always carried a walking stick. On the Sunday nearest to Armistice Day (11^th November) he would proudly wear pinned to his chest his half dozen campaign medals from World War I.

He was particularly proud of two of them. There was the Mons Medal which marked him as an 'Old Contemptible', a member of the British Expeditionary Force, described by the German Kaiser as 'General French's contemptible little army', when it was sent to France at the very beginning of World War I. Then there was the French 'Medaille d'Honneur with laurel leaves' with which had come a certificate signed by the President of France confirming that Regimental Sergeant Major F.C. Hall had been awarded this particular French honour.

St. Thomas was moderately 'high church'. We didn't use incense or 'reserve the sacrament', but the most important service of the week was a Choral Eucharist held every Sunday morning at 11.00 a.m. There had, of course, already been a non-choral celebration of Holy Communion at 8.00 a.m. The priest in charge of St. Thomas' at that time (our church wasn't considered important enough to rate a vicar) was Rev. Donald Rae, a Scottish ex-serviceman with whom my father struck up an instant friendship. He wore a cassock and biretta when out of church (this doesn't seem to be the fashion among high church clergy these days) and rather liked to be addressed as Father Rae.

Those were rather less tolerant times than today. St. Thomas' was sufficiently

'High Church' to attract the attention of the Protestant Truth Society who, on at least two occasions that I can recall, mounted a street demonstration after Sunday Evensong to protest at our 'Romish Practices'. It must be said that we were not a great deal better. I can remember during a fervent 'Anglo-Catholic phase' referring to Nonconformists as 'those narrow chapel folk' and to Roman Catholics as 'the Italian Mission'.

My parents' friendship with Rev Rae drew us all into church activities. Both my mother and my father served on the Parochial Church Council and on various committees. My father, who could play any stringed instrument with competence, was the leading light in the formation of a St. Thomas' dance band ('The Whatnots'!) which performed at church dances and socials and occasionally did gigs (though we didn't call them that in those days) at other venues.

My father also became a server at the altar. Since he was by far the oldest server he was given the title of Sacristan and arranged the rotas for attendance of the servers at the various services. The servers' duties were not limited to assisting the priest at Holy Communion. They also had to light and extinguish the altar candles at the beginning and end of every service, take the offertory plate from the sidesmen to the priest after the collection, and carry the banners in the processions round the church that were held on important festivals

My mother, who remained an active and committed member of St. Thomas' Church until her death in 1978, quickly became a member of the Mothers' Union and Ladies Working Party, undertaking needlework for church bazaars, and was on the rota for supplying altar flowers and polishing altar brasses.

I joined St. Thomas', 11^th Ipswich, Wolf Cub pack and became a member of the Choir until my voice broke. Then I joined my father as a server. Choir men and Choir boys (there were no choir girls in those days) wore black cassocks, longish white surplices and 'ruffs' round their necks. We servers rather fancied ourselves in waist-level white cotters, trimmed with lace, instead of the plain white surplices!

The Church played an important part in our lives. As well as the Sunday services, there were regular socials, dances, children's parties, concerts and other entertainments. I recall, at the age of 10, being one of a chorus of 'gypsy children' in a light operetta presented in the church hall.

In 1935, when I was 14 (and at the Northgate Grammar School), we moved from Bramford Lane to Kensington Road which was, to my great satisfaction, just a couple of hundred yards from Broom Hill Park. This was definitely within the parish of All Saints Church but we nevertheless retained our allegiance to St. Thomas' where great things were taking place.

The days of the old tin church in Bramford Road were numbered. A splendid new permanent church, suitable to serve an ever-developing part of Ipswich, was being built at the junction of Bramford Lane and Cromer Road. The style was, I think, '20^th Century Perpendicular'. My parents and I, and other members of the St. Thomas' flock, marvelled as it went up. I was able to see it again, from the outside, early in 2007 and I thought that, weathered and matured as it now was, it was still a splendid building. In a couple of hundred years time - if anyone is still interested in such things – it may well be regarded as a first class example of 20^th century church architecture.

How well I remember the priest (it was then the Rev. Philip Butler-Smith), servers and choir, leading the congregation in procession from the old church to the new on the day that the new church was consecrated. Just sixteen, I proudly carried one of the banners. How well I remember the fresh smell of the new church, its spaciousness and light; the roomy new choir vestry in the tower.

Alas, I wasn't to know them for very long. Just two years after the new church came into use, World War II broke out and I was called up with the Territorial Army into the 67^th Medium Regiment RA, a local Territorial Regiment in which I was a volunteer. A couple of months later on 27^th November 1939, my father, aged 57, who had volunteered in vain to enlist in a local antiaircraft battery on the outbreak of war, died of a coronary thrombosis.

After his funeral, away in the army and - after the war - moving away from Ipswich, I hardly attended St Thomas' again until my mother's funeral nearly forty years later.

There is a post-script to this account of my Anglican childhood and youth. Once, when I was eight or nine years old, I spent an afternoon in Christchurch Park with a friend of mine and his mother. We came out of the park into Fonnereau Road, opposite the Quaker Meeting House. 'Religious Society of Friends (Quakers)' said a notice on a board outside.

'What's Quakers?' I asked my friend's mother. 'Coo! They're a rum owd lot boy' she answered. 'They've all got pots o' money – and they sit around in the dark waiting for the spirit to move 'em.'

Little did I think that day, that some twenty years later, disenchanted with the main-stream churches as we then saw them, my wife and I would attend our first Quaker Meeting for Worship at that same Meeting House – and that a few months later we would be accepted into membership of the Religious Society of Friends,

where we remain today.

A Further Postscript

When Heather and I joined the Society of Friends in 1948, I had lost my faith and was, in effect, an agnostic. All the Quakers asked of me was that 'I had my face set towards the light and was prepared to become a humble learner in the School of Christ'

Over the years, faithfully attending the based-on-silence, Quaker Meetings for Worship I slowly recovered my Christian faith. I became interested in the ecumenical movement and became a Quaker representative on the Clacton Council of Churches (now 'Churches together in Clacton').. The local United Reformed Church found itself suddenly without a Minister and asked other churches if they could help fill the gap until a new Minister could be appointed.

I was by that time an experienced writer and public speaker so I took my turn leading worship at the – quite large – URC Church. I chose the hymns, remembering those from 'Hymns A. and M' from my youth, led the prayers (leaning heavily on the Book of Common Prayer) had a brief and friendly chat with the children before they departed to their Sunday School and managed to preach the 25 minute sermon that the congregation expected.

They must have liked my style because after a new minister had been appointed – a very pleasant young family man who became a friend – they continued to ask me to lead their service when their minister was on holiday or otherwise available. I found myself doing this perhaps twice a year until the need, three years ago, for me to become a full-time carer for my disabled wife, made this impossible

They always offered a fee for this service, in a small brown envelope which my Quaker scruples ensured that I always refused. I therefore never even learned how much I was being offered!

In the meantime I found myself occasionally attending 8.00 a.m. Holy Communion at St. James' Church, the nearest Anglican Church to my home and was always warmly welcomed by the priest Rev. Anthony Spooner, who also became a friend. I deeply appreciated these occasions, remembering as I did, the Book of Common Prayer liturgy from my youth.

These occasional attendances also had to cease while I was acting as sole carer to my wife. It was as much as we could do to get to our Quaker Meeting each Sunday with Heather in her wheelchair. During that period I had to give up driving because of a cataract, but we continued to attend Meeting for Worship in a wheelchair-friendly taxi.

Sadly, my wife died on 12^th July 2006 – asleep, in her own bed, in her own home, with me by her side.

Immediately after Heather's death I found some solace in resumed attendance at Holy Communion at St. James' Church. I was very pleased that both Rev Spooner from St. James' and Rev. Chris Wood from the URC attended Heather's Memorial Meeting for Worship at the Quaker Meeting House. She had been a very committed Christian and an active member of the Religious Society of Friends throughout her life.

I have now had my cataract dealt with but do not think it wise, at 86, to resume motoring. I have acquired a mobility scooter and every Sunday I attend St. James' Church for Holy Communion at 8.00 a.m. and then attend our Quaker Meeting for Worship at 10.30 a.m.

I feel that both attendances are of value to me. St James' is a church with a style similar to St. Thomas' in the 1930s – though rather 'higher' I think. As Quakers say, 'It speaks to my condition'; but I still value Quaker silent worship and am very grateful for its restoration of my Christian Faith.

I therefore now regard myself as being in 'dual membership' – of Clacton Quaker Meeting and of St. James Anglican Church, a position that has been accepted by the vicar of St, James and his congregation and the local and area Quaker Meetings. This is an unusual situation but by no means unique. I suppose that the best known 'dual member' is Canon Paul Oestreicher of Coventry Cathedral who is both an Anglican priest and a Quaker.