(Illustration; The Primitive Methodist chapel, Norman Terrace, where I first began to sing)

 Photo courtesy of:

https://www.myprimitivemethodists.org.uk/

My very first thoughts concerning God were born in Sunday School in our local chapel at a very early age. My sister’s faith and mine were handed to us, served on a platter, by our family of staunch Methodist women, the ‘Primitive’ variety! I say women, because dad would only attend church on very special occasions, and granda, who was also a practising Methodist, was a quiet and reserved devotee, compared with our mother, our nana and our great grandmother.

So I was an innocent, trusting child, who believed in God implicitly; there was no questioning, no doubt whatsoever.

‘God was in his heaven and all was right with the world!’

I loved my Sunday School teacher, Mr Les Chisholm, who taught us wonderful Jesus’ stories, and was such a kind and gentle man. Sometimes at the close of a class he would allow me to pick out a made-up tune on the piano for everyone, as I was so keen to make music, even then.

The hymns we sang told of God the Father’s love for us, and of Jesus, his Son who was meek and mild, and who loved children. We sang songs such as ‘Jesus loves me this I know’, ‘Jesus wants me for a sunbeam’. ‘Jesus bids us shine with a pure, clear light.’

You never forget such words.

One lengthy hymn became a firm favourite of mine, because it made my heart soar, even though I was too young at the time to understand why, or what the words meant! But it told me that something glorious was on its way . . .

‘There’s a light upon the mountains,

and the day is at the spring,

when our eyes shall see the beauty,

and the glory of the king!

Weary was my heart with waiting,

and the night-watch seem’d so long.

But the triumph day is breaking,

and we hail it with a song!

Another of my favourites was about a young boy named Samuel, who was called by God three times (‘four’ if we include the call he eventually responded to) as he slept in the temple, where he lived with the prophet Eli. 

It began:-

‘Hushed was the evening hymn,

the temple court was dark,

the lamp was burning dim,

before the sacred ark.

When suddenly a voice, divine

Rang through the silence of the shrine.

Looking back now, this threefold call of the boy Samuel by God, was rather like mine, as I hoovered the kitchen that day as a teacher, in her first year of teaching, which I mentioned in Chapter One:

1 Samuel 3. 8-10

'A third time the Lord called, “Samuel!” And Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am; you called me!”

Then Eli realised that the Lord was calling the boy. So Eli told Samuel, “Go and lie down, and if he calls you, say, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening”

So Samuel went and lay down in his place.

The Lord came and stood there, calling as at the other times, “Samuel!” “Samuel!”

Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.” '

I didn’t have much clue what all the other hymns meant, but they were magnificent, and so full of depth and passion when sung by a full congregation, with chains falling off, and dungeon doors flying open; and with pilgrims treading the verge of Jordan!

Hymns we were taught were such a joy to sing, and music, ever since that time in Sunday School, became a major part of my life; a gift I've always treasured.

I enjoyed Sunday School anniversaries, where we all, as children, had to stand on our chairs, in front of the congregation, and perform! When it was our turn, we each recited poems, or sang songs, which we’d been asked to learn 'off by heart'. I still recall a song I sang on my own as a toddler:-

‘Dainty wee daisy,

woke with the sun,

“Up, “ said the skylark,

“Morning’s begun”

My husband, Bob, remembers the piece he said too,  for his church anniversary, at his local Methodist chapel.

"I am a little soldier, I’m only three years old,

I mean to fight for Jesus, and wear a crown of gold!

Jack, his family’s local baker, told him to put his fists up in the air, when he said the word ‘fight’, but being the shy boy Bob was then, I doubt he complied.

The church wasn’t the only place where I exercised my vocal cords though.

Wallsend Slipway Canteen was the other venue.

This canteen was the place where my parents played badminton, every Saturday evening. It was here that my sister and I would chase one another, in front of the stainless-steel kitchen ovens and plate warming cupboards, which ran along the entire length of two courts. We were also taught a few badminton skills by players who were ‘sitting out’ waiting their turn for their next match. Consequently, Joan and I came to be very skilful at racquet sports, by the time we were both teenagers.

But sometimes, when not much was happening, I would tiptoe away by myself, up some small stairs onto the stage, and go down through a door, which led into another large dining hall which contained many canteen tables, with chairs around them. This huge room was always empty and very badly lit, but oh how it echoed!

Looking back, it was decidedly creepy in there, but I didn’t notice that then. I simply wanted to sing my little heart out, to an invisible audience. The acoustics were fabulous, and made my voice sound powerful. Here I would sing whatever songs I could remember from the radio, from church, or from Saturday night TV’s ‘Six Five Special’, which we listened to before we left home for the club.

‘Bo Larry’ was one of my favourite songs, but later, I discovered the title was actually ‘Volare’ sung by Dean Martin, and had nothing to do with Bo after all! It had something to do with being able to fly up there in the blue sky.

Then there was ‘Perry Como who would ‘Catch a falling star’ and put it into his pocket’ and Frankie Vaughan who got all excited about an old piano being played, behind a ‘Green Door!’ He would often flick one leg high up in the air, as he sang. Why did he do that? This was the song where his voice slid up, on the word ‘do-or ’. I practised that time and again, until I had perfected ‘the slide’ . . . “Do-or!” 

Another favourite was ‘Stupid Cupid’, by Connie Francis, and she did the same with her voice too, on the ‘pid’ of the word Cupid.

‘Stupid Cu-pid, stop picking on me!’

There was also Frank Ifield’s song, ‘She taught me to yodel’. Oh how I loved to try and copy his yodelling! So I was actually yodelling long before Julie Andrews gave it a try, as a demure nun with puppets.

I would make words up, simply because I couldn’t really make all of them out! Perhaps I was a little deaf even then? Throughout my teenage years right up until now, I could never make out all the lyrics of a song, unless they were written out for me, but I knew all the repetitive choruses really well.

Like the comedian Peter Kay explains today, the lyrics he once heard and sang repeatedly, simply tumbled together, and were changed into words that were more familiar to him.

What was his version of the Titanic theme song again?

‘Near, far wherever you are, 

I believe that the ‘hot dogs’ go on?’

That is exactly what I did; I made words up:

‘Bo Larry, can’t Harry, oooh hoho’

My first experience of classical music came in the form of ‘The Hall of the Mountain Kings’, by Peer Gynt, which we played on our old record player at home. As that 78 record gained in momentum, I would hurl myself around the room getting faster and faster, twisting and turning, like a ‘whirling dervish’.

It’s strange, that one of my favourite songs later in life, in 1962, was ‘Bobby’s Girl’ by Susan Maughan; 

‘I wanna be Bobby’s Girl’ were the lyrics, ‘and if I were Bobby’s girl, what a grateful, thankful girl I’d be!”

How prophetic that song turned out to be, six years before meeting my future husband, Bobby?