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The
recent commemorations of the last war prompt me to write something about how
it was to be a chorister in those days.
I
joined Saint Mary's church choir in 1938 at a time when the choir comprised
some twenty boys and twenty men.
It
was after morning service on
3rd
September 1939
that we all assembled on the vicarage lawn to hear Neville Chamberlain
(Prime Minister) announce over the radio that war had been declared. One or
two ladies started to cry, but we boys found the idea exciting. And, of
course, for us, it proved to be exciting.
Choir practice, services, and cricket in the church field, went on more or
less as usual, but evensong was a little earlier to allow us to get home
before the evening air raid began, and choir practice moved to the vicarage
– to save lighting and heating in the church.
It
was from the church field that I watched the first daylight air raid on
Croydon airport. I recall that it was not until it was all over that the
air-raid sirens sounded when, of course, we all dutifully made our way into
an underground shelter in the church field.
This
was followed by an afternoon raid when Rutlish School was damaged and a
delayed action bomb put the level crossing out of action. It came just
before Tuesdays choir practice – needless to say we all turned up as usual.
As did the organist /choir master Mr C Hyde, who never let us down
throughout the war – travelling to and from Earlsfield whatever the time or
conditions.
Walking down Church Path recently, I noticed that the green door in the wall
was open, with a view of path, flowerbed and house beyond, and it reminded
me of one incident during the war. Walter Taylor (later to become our
organist/choir master) and I were on our way to Matins when we noticed earth
all over Church Path, and that the wall and wooden door were damaged. We
discovered that one of the bombs that had been dropped the night before had
exploded just behind it. This incident in particular sticks in my mind
because, when we remarked to the vicar (Rev H.W. Dunk) that it was lucky it
hadn’t hit the church, he said ‘It was meant to be!’ When I told my mother
what he had said she was not very impressed. Her response being, ‘Did he
feel the same way about bombs that had fallen on peoples homes’?
(This incident had quite a profound effect on my view of the establishment –
a seed of doubt had been sown. Subsequently, I have come to realise that, if
one is ever going to gain a better understanding of the Scriptures, it is
essential to ask questions; and to go on asking them until the doubts are
put to rest).
Needless to say, in the fullness of time the church was damaged by a V1 that
blew out the East window, removed a good deal of the roof and brought down
plaster all over the pews. Fortunately no service was in progress at the
time, though there were occasions when, during a service, everyone ducked
down beneath the pews on hearing an approaching missile’s engine cut out.
The
church in those wartime days was very well attended, in fact, in order to
accommodate everybody at festivals and when there was a special ‘Day of
Prayer’, it was necessary to place chairs all down the aisles, making it
most difficult for the choir to process.
There was a wonderful atmosphere on such occasions. We sang our hearts out.
Surely there can be few better ways of nourishing the Spirit than singing in
a good church choir. How grateful I am to my parents who encouraged me to
join. And now, although, because of deafness, I can no longer be a
chorister, I find that those hymns, psalms and anthems, practiced and
performed many times have become part of my being.
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