With the exception on the occasion of an odd funeral, I don’t sing hymns anymore.
But occasionally when Songs of Praise or Sunday Half Hour on Radio 2 have accidentally been left on, I find myself humming away and the locked away words just come back, along with the memories of assemblies. The cacophony of fidgeting first years, shuffling, whispering, sniggering, and the turning of pages in the little dog eared blue hymn books and getting in the last cough. Then the melange of smells; dusty curtains, yesterday’s hot pot and today’s meat pie, floor polish, second year trumps, fourth year farts, and that stuff they scatter about when somebody’s been sick.
Most of my favourite hymns are carols. But there are other favourites including We plough the fields and scatter – which conjures up images of mushroom baskets filled with out of date tins of custard, Co-op baked beans and a loaf of bread that looked like a sheaf of wheat.
Onward Christian Soldiers – that’s the one where you can shout the words very loudly and get away with it. There’s another one that’s also the German national anthem but not without reference to the Fatherland (Farterland in German). Abide with me. Lord of the dance – that’s the one where it goes “and I am the lord of the dance, said he” and the five year old Tim was convinced that he was singing about a dance settee, a sofa that you could jump up and down on and not get told off for. and then my favourite. There is a green hill far away.
There is a family recording of us all sat around our new hi-fi music centre on Easter Sunday 1975. Granny is talking about Church and Gertie Wrigg, the wonton woman next door who has holes in her towels. Pop (granddad) is talking about looking forward to getting out on the bowling green again and ruminating on this summer’s greenfly on his roses, Louie (grandmother) is talking about a recent bad leg. She had three of them. Mum sings a song that my sister interrupts followed by the immortal “she spoiled that for me didn’t she?” that she was never allowed to forget. And then right at the end we all rouse together and sing There is a Green Hill Far Away.
If ever there was a green hill far away in my mind, it was this one a couple of miles outside the walls of Conwy. The perfect setting.
There is a green hill far away,
Outside a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.
We may not know, we cannot tell,
What pains He had to bear;
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffered there.
O dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him, too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do.
Outside a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.
We may not know, we cannot tell,
What pains He had to bear;
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffered there.
O dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him, too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do.
Great photo
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