Saturday 6 August

I do not think I made any mistakes in my organ playing this morning! Not a single one! The hymns were all easy and not very fast and I chose a simple voluntary by Mendelssohn to finish with, because my left shoulder is still hurting a little, and the LH of the Mendelssohn only requires three notes (D, G and A.)

I kept peeping in my Rear View Mirror to see if Mum’s other Priest was present in the congregation, but I could not see him. Perhaps he changed his mind or got up too late to come. Or perhaps he did not wear his dog-collar so as to be incognito while making copious notes in his Diocesan Filofax, eg “Went to that woman’s church this morning to check on the flowers and the quality of the tea and biscuits. Excellent organ playing by some young fellow. Flowers vg. Tea far too strong. NB must mention art of tea-making in future Addresses to Women’s Groups.”

And the Suffragan Bishop was here again! That is two Sundays on the run. It is possible that he is here to check up on my organ playing abilities before approving the rise in my stipend, for the Treasurer said after the service that there had been a mistake and I had been overpaid this month. But she said not to worry. If my contract was signed and the way ahead was clear she would do what was necessary to balance the books. The Treasurer is clearly not a Musician, for she asked me if, to be on the safe side, I played the guitar or if I knew of any good guitarists in our parish! No doubt she would be in her element singing Amazing Grace with Cliff Richard and the Shadows accompanying her!

I did not have a chance to speak to my old Vicar, for after the service he was in the vestry talking to the Suffragan Bishop and a lady.

The choirstalls are an awful mess! Work seems to have been stopped on the new ones, and the old ones are in pieces in the Choir Vestry. How fortunate it is that we do not actually have a choir at present, for there would be nowhere for them to robe, apart that is from the lavatory which would not be very pleasant for choir people trying to get in the right mood for a service because it always smells a little and nobody can open the window, not the church wardens or even the Vicar.

Saturday 5 August

The bag was heavier even than yesterday, if that were possible. I dread to think how many Equatorial Forests must be lost to Mankind each year so that Mankind can learn the results of football matches in faraway places.

The lady with the Chinese Pagoda has orange hair! She was outside her house still waiting for the police to turn up when I delivered her Daily Express. She seemed very pleasant, despite being quite old (at least 40, I would say) but she warned me to be on my guard because of suspicious characters lurking about.

The man at 143 Bywater Street was also outside, waiting for his Daily Telegraph. “Learnt to read, have you?”, was all he said, snatching his very heavy newspaper from my grasp. What an unpleasant and bullying person he is! I was delighted when in his haste to return to his snug dwelling to peruse his Daily Telegraph he nearly fell over the bicycle parked by the side of his porch.

But I completed my round with no mistakes, and although I suspect that my left shoulder will always be an inch or two lower than my right I was relieved that there were no complaints.

Even the newsagent was pleasant to me. “Sorry you can’t do tomorrow, Brian”, he said, “what with Sunday being double time an’ all. But you have made a good start.”

Double time? It is already a race to get to my organ loft in time for the service. If my paper round took twice as long I would have to rise at 4am in the morning to complete it in time!

Although I am very tired from rising so early and from the physically demanding requirements of my Holiday Job I will now do some practice to put me in the right frame of mind for Divine Service tomorrow. And then I will resume my reading of Goldfinger.

Friday 4 August

I have been told that my job is to deliver newspapers, not to read them! The lady at No 9 Nelson Mandela Gardens rang the police to say that there was a suspicious character lurking beneath her Chinese Pagoda and then she rang my Employers to warn all paperboys to be on the lookout.

Thursday 3 August

First the good news. My pay cheque from church came this morning. It was £10! I cannot believe my good fortune. I celebrated by playing the Trumpet Voluntary on the piano until Mum got up to remind me that I was supposed to be at the newsagents by 6:45am.

And now the bad news. The job is awful! I had to hang around with some really weedy young boys until the numbers had been put on the papers and we were allowed out. My bag was very heavy and it hurt my shoulder and it started raining just as I left the shop. The bags have a big flap to cover the papers with but nothing is provided to cover the paperboys with so I was very soon soaked.

I have four streets to do on my round. Two are easy because they are quite short and everybody takes The Sun anyway, being Council House Tenants, but the other two are quite long. I am supposed to walk up one side and then back down the other, but some of my Customers expect to be served out of turn and I got a bit confused hopping over the road all the time, and then another customer chased me and said their paper was the Telegraph not the Mirror and was I a complete idiot or just illiterate. I will remember him in future. He is so surly that he is probably a teacher by trade. I have made a mental note of his address – 143 Bywater Street.

And then, when I got back to the newsagents, soaked to the skin, I was given a list. It was of people who had telephoned to say that they had had the wrong paper delivered and I was told to go back and put matters right. There were 18 of them! It took an hour, and when I had finally finished – at 9:10am - I thought of asking if I would be paid overtime for the extra work, but I decided against it because the newsagent was in a very bad temper, no doubt because of the early hour at which he has to rise.

Nothing yet in the Daily Mail. I sneaked a look while sheltering under the Chinese Pagoda at No 9 Nelson Mandela Gardens, which is one of my council house streets.

Wednesday 2 August

I won’t need to go to the library to check the Daily Mail after all. I shall be able to read it on my paper round. Yes, my dear mother has fixed me up with a holiday job. I protested, of course, because I had other plans, but under cross-examination I couldn’t think quickly enough to tell Mum what they might have been.

I shall have to tell them I can’t do Sundays, of course, because of my Professional duties. But looking on the bright side, the extra money will certainly come in handy before my enhanced stipend starts rolling in.

The priest who gave the Women’s Group a talk last night is coming to church on Sunday to sit in on our service. Knowing our old Vicar, he’ll probably get roped in to help out!

Tuesday 1 August

A quiet day. I remembered to say Rabbits when I awoke, to avert ill fortune in the new month and to consolidate yesterday’s Good Fortune. I did some piano practice then I went to the library and borrowed another James Bond book. I like Shakespeare enormously, also Dostoyevsky, but James Bond is much better for relaxing reading purposes from my particular point of view. James, or 007 as he is sometimes known, not only has a licence to kill, but is also very suave. Fortunately he is a fictional character – I certainly would not wish him and Rachel to become acquainted! Although I suspect that he would get on very well with Miss Smith, who is much more his type.

Mum is out again tonight at her Women’s Group. I will spend the evening working on A Sonnet for Rachel or reading Goldfinger, or possibly both.

I am sure the Women’s Group choose Tuesday for their meetings because it is the only night that Coronation Street is not on so there is a vacuum to be filled.

They have a speaker tonight, Mum says. A priest is going to talk about the role of women in the CofE. Mum will enjoy that – no doubt it will be all about doing the flowers and the best polish to use on ancient woodwork. Which reminds me – I must check the Daily Mail in the library every day until the piece about me appears. I haven’t told Mum – I want it to be a surprise.

Monday 31 July

The phone kept ringing all morning and I had to interrupt my piano practice to answer it, which was most irritating. I am learning the Raindrop Prelude, which is a Romantic piece and therefore very moody, and I would like to perfect it so that I can play it at Rachel when she comes round to meet Mum as surely she must, for we are practically engaged.

First it was Mrs Ramsbotham, then it was the reporter lady from the local paper, then it was someone who said he was from the Daily Mail. I said Mum was still in bed, but he didn’t mind when I said I was her son also Organist and Choirmaster in our local church. He was very interested when I told him I was only 15, and he said that the Daily Mail was very interested in Child Progenies, and would I mind answering a few questions as background in case his Features Editor wanted him to do a piece about me! He asked me a lot of questions about Ken and Mrs Ramsbotham and the PCC and the new choirstalls, and he was really friendly. And just imagine! Me in a national newspaper! I hope Rachel’s family read the Daily Mail. I can just imagine Rachel’s Dad at the breakfast table, saying “Good heavens, daughter – isn’t this the young fellow who wishes to woo you? We must invite him round for tea forthwith and give our tacit consent to your eventual union.”

The Daily Mail man said he couldn’t promise anything, of course, because it wasn’t up to him, but in the meantime he would arrange for the paper to send me a cheque for £25 as a thank-you for my time and trouble!

I think today was lucky because I had remembered that I have to say rabbits as soon as I wake tomorrow.