Sunday School and outings

Our converted dwelling coincided with my ability to remember much more. I was now six years-old and we would remain in the dwelling for the next four years of my life. Many of my memories, much like other people's, will never see light of day because they flit in and out of one's head so quickly and are gone before you can ever put them into writing.

I have already written of new homes, a new sister, home-built bikes, outside toilets and DIY electrical installations, but other memories that remain ingrained are of my early religious experiences.

From a very young age I was aware of people talking and telling me about this all powerful, all seeing being called God who lived beyond the stars in a place known as Heaven where he sat on a golden throne surrounded by winged Angels with halos on their heads.

He also had a book of stories and rules called the Bible which extolled the rewards for abeyance and the Hell and Damnation to be expected for sinning.

This mystical figure and his teachings were implanted into my young brain throughout my early formative years. What a nightmare for someone with the vivid imagination and gullibility of a young, unquestioning child.

The Camp's Chapel was on the right hand side of the main entrance off Chard Road, just below the lower buildings of today's Stewart's Court. Perhaps in earlier life it had been the guard house for the personnel who manned the only entrance into the old Army hospital. It was a single storey building with an altar, lectern and harmonium. Chairs replaced pews for the congregation.

I, as many other children, attended Sunday school with my sister Molly, not always voluntarily, but because that's what we were made to do on a Sunday morning (as our parents did before us). But I could always think of better things to be doing. Normally during the service, Bible stories were retold and the subjects depicted with fuzzy felt figures stuck onto a cloth board. Sometimes the same stories were told accompanied by a Magic Lantern show or an Epidiascope projecting pictures onto a screen.

I remember Mr. Burr, our Sunday school leader, a very enthusiastic hymn singer and a fervent advocate of prayer and Bible readings. I believe he also worshipped at the Methodist Church in Lyme Road. He seemed extremely old to me and some of his sermons were a little worrying to young ears as most of the sins he spoke of I had already committed.

Even now I can see his small white trimmed moustache, the same colour as the hair that surrounded his shiny bald crown. He wore gold wire rimmed spectacles and walked with a distinct limp, though my abiding memory is the Bown autocycle he used for his transport.

When Sunday school had finished he would ask two or three of the boys to give him a push while he sat astride his autocycle, pedalling stiff legged to get the engine started. He always remembered to give us a wave in appreciation of our efforts as he disappeared up Chard Road towards Axminster in a cloud of blue smoke.

The Rev. Tom Mayo was also involved with the Chapel, together with other Lay Preachers who took the evening services for adults.

There were one or two perks for attending Sunday school. The Christmas party was one treat ,though the most anticipated was the annual outing. This was always very popular with everyone. Exmouth, Teignmouth and Dawlish are some of the destinations that stick in my mind.

The coach left from outside the Social Hall where everyone congregated eagerly awaiting its arrival. The excitement obvious in the children's raised voices and the buzz of conversation among the mums and dads. As far as I can recall, the weather was always fine and sunny.

Mums in best dresses, dads with jackets and open neck shirts carrying bags and baskets with sandwiches, drinks, towels and bathing costumes. Children with fishing nets, buckets and spades, eagerly planning what they would do when they reached the beach.

Some families turned up with inflated swimming rings or car inner tubes only to be told to deflate them or leave them at the Sunday School. I can remember one family bringing an inflated rubber dinghy and being most aggrieved when told they couldn't take it on the bus. During our journey we would sing the popular songs everyone knew which were interspersed with a hymn or two promoted by the Sunday school personnel.

On one excursion to Exmouth I remember we joined the congregations of several other non-conformist churches on the beach. They had brought their various banners together with a portable harmonium and we took part in a full-scale revivalist meeting with very energised ministers and hymn singers. It lasted for what seemed an eternity.

I don't think too many of us had this in mind when we left The Camp. Well, perhaps the Sunday school authority did, but they certainly kept it to themselves. It seriously interfered with our recreation time although some of the dads had already slipped away to the nearest pub. On the whole, we enjoyed these outings which for many, even living so close, was the only time in the year they would visit the seaside.

Other ecumenical memories that come to mind

I did attend the Gospel Hall in Musbury Road because I had heard there was an outing in the offing. Unfortunately, I didn't stay faithful for long. I gave up when I found out the outing was still three months away. I joined the choir of Axminster's St Mary's Church for the same reason, but I only lasted two weeks when the choirmaster discovered I had been miming after he asked me to sing solo at choir practise. On another occasion I joined the Methodist youth club because I'd been told they had a new table-tennis table. But again it meant I was supposed to regularly attend Sunday school so my interest in the new table was very short lived.

One other memory that stays with me (and many other old Colyton Grammar school pupils, I'm sure) was the morning assembly for prayers and hymns when suddenly there would be an almighty bang. The school staff, who always lined up on stage, with the Headmaster (J.P Morrison at the time) would give querying looks around the gathered congregation while several of us, whose classroom was the balcony overlooking the hall, kept knowing smiles to ourselves.

The bang was created by a long length of strong cotton tied to a ruler that held up a desk lid in our classroom above. At a suitably quiet moment during prayers someone in the back row would give the cotton a sharp tug and the lid would fall down shattering the silence.

I don't know if anyone ever found out why this was happening and they never discovered who was responsible. If they had searched the classroom they would have only seen a ruler on the floor and unlikely to have seen the near-invisible cotton tied to it.