Just made it to church in time, having been awakened by the sound of Mum slamming the front door and revving up the car preparatory to collecting Mrs Ramsbotham. Cannot understand Mum lately. This ruse has always worked before.
Hymns were awful. Amazing Grace, The Old Rugged Cross, and Morning Has Broken. Considering some of the music we Professional Organists have to play, organs should I believe be provided with sick-bags, like Aeroplanes are. And anyway Jerusalem is not a hymn at all, but a semi-mystical nationalistic rant commissioned by the Women’s Institute. We did William Blake last term in English and that is what Mr Grudge says, and I am inclined to agree with him, for is very difficult to play, even in the simple version that I use.
Nobody spoke to me after the service. One man muttered “Judas” as he passed, and I replied “No, I'm Barry”. He must be new, if he does not recognise me. I wonder if he was the priest who addressed Mum’s Women’s Group. He said he would attend one or two of our services. The difficulty with being an Organist is that you only see the congregation through your rear-view mirror and they only see the back of your head. It is a very lonely occupation.
Mum and the Vicar and Mrs Ramsbotham were in a huddle in the vestry afterwards with the lady the Vicar was talking to last week. They are probably trying to persuade her to Gift-Aid her collection money and join the Flower Ladies. She will undoubtedly be on the PCC next, as all newcomers to our church seem to be, even the new postman who had only popped in to ask for directions to the Methodists’ temple down the road. Mrs Ramsbotham says that it is fortunate that everybody on the PCC doesn’t come to church most Sundays, or we would need a lot more seating!
No comments:
Post a Comment
If you want to publish a comment to Barry, please do so here: