My parents were not church goers – not because of any great lack of belief or strongly held principle. My Mother could sing many of the well known hymns but attendance at Church was just not part of our weekly timetable; long hours working in the factory or my Dad driving his lorry across the length and breadth of the country meant that the weekends were for other things. And, as I sat on those hard pews in St Matthew’s surrounded by my school friends I can remember vividly gazing around trying to make sense of it all and conscious that churches, schools, vicars and teachers represented a different world from the one that I was growing up into, but a world I wanted to know more about.
In particular I can remember the hymns that we sang. In the weeks leading up to a church visit we would practice in class the words of the hymns that were to be sung on the day and so we would make a success of the event. The practice was something to be got through, usually on pain of punishment from the fierce Headmaster, Mr Roberts, who would walk amongst us with his cane in his hand as we warbled the words. But when the day came and we stood together in the Church singing these hymns – nearly always, what I would call, the great hymns of the Church not children’s simpler stuff – I sang my heart out, carried away by the occasion, gazing around me in awe at the place I was in and sensing that this was about something bigger than me, something that mattered and was worthy and that I should understand. I can remember listening to the Vicar reading from the Bible and being drawn into the words, savouring them without understanding them. This was in the days before editions like the New English Bible were available with its more “accessible” (dumbed down?) vocabulary, grammar and syntax so we were listening to the wonderfully rich and beautiful language of the 17th century King James Bible – even today I couldn’t countenance a Bible reading from anything other that the King James. And when we sang a hymn I can still today feel the same emotions and feelings of awe and wonder at the language used. I didn’t necessarily understand it but I knew how it made me feel. The words of hymns like “Immortal, invisible, God only wise” mesmerised me as I sang them and looked around the Church:
“Immortal, invisible, God only wise,
in light inaccessible hid from our eyes,
most blessed, most glorious, the Ancient of Days,
almighty, victorious, thy great name we praise.
Unresting, unhasting, and silent as light,
nor wanting, nor wasting, thou rulest in might;
thy justice like mountains high soaring above
thy clouds, which are fountains of goodness and love….”
And when Christmas approached and we sang some of the great Christmas carols and hymns like “Hark the herald angels sing” I can remember (and still do) having wonderful pictures conjured up I my mind:
“Hark! the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the newborn King:
peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!"
Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
join the triumph of the skies;
with th'angelic hosts proclaim,
"Christ is born in Bethlehem”!
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
risen with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
born that we no more may die,
born to raise us from the earth,
born to give us second birth.”
What I felt was not a religious experience. It was, I suppose a combination of the occasion and the place in much the same way that one might get “swept along” at a great sporting event when the crowd are cheering their heroes or a great musical ”gig” where one’s favourite orchestra or pop group are performing. Indeed, I have had not dissimilar feelings when at a concert and listening it Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony or, sitting as we did many years ago with 13000 others at the Sheffield Arena, watching the group Dire Straits pound out Sultans of Swing; it is the feeling that one is so very small in the great sweep of history and mankind, it reminds one of one’s place in scheme of things. It reminds us that we are human and important but it also tells us that there are greater things – be they ideas, people, places or beliefs – that we need to understand and recognise.
We humans are not omnipotent; as Shakespeare reminded us in his verse from Cymbeline, “Fear no more the heat o’ the sun”:
“…….Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust……”
All of which brings me to the present. Last night Pat and I enjoyed a short programme on TV: “The Big School Assembly Sing Along” (If you haven’t seen it then you can watch it via BBC i-Player). It was, as the name suggests, a sing-a-long of school assembly hymns voted for by people across the country – a sort of school hymn top twenty. It was a delight. I’m not a huge fan of Aled Jones who was the compère for the show but leaving that aside it was a joyful romp through twenty hymns that I knew the words to and as each one was sung by the audience of children, parents and teachers I was taken back to my own teaching career, leading school assemblies, taking the weekly hymn practice and singing all these lovely songs of praise. When the intro to one of the first songs began I turned to Pat and said – "This was always the one that the children chose to end our weekly hymn practice – whatever the season." It was called “Autumn Days” I wondered as I listened and joined in how many of my past pupils remembered it:
“Autumn days when the grass is jewelled
And the silk inside a chestnut shell.
Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled.
All these thing I love so well
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget.
To say a great big
Thank You
I mustn't forget
Clouds that look like familiar faces
And the winters moon with frosted rings.
Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces
And the song the milkman sings
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget.
To say a great big
Thank You
I mustn't forget
Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered
And a swallow curving in the sky
Shoes so comfy though they're worn out and they're battered
And the taste of apple pie.
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big thank you
I mustn't forget.
Scent of gardens when the rain's been falling
And a minnow darting down a stream
Picked-up engine that's been stuttering and stalling
And a win for my home team.
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big thank you
I mustn't forget.”
Now, it’s true, Autumn Days does not have the magisterial words or ideas that some of the great hymns that I sang as a child in St Matthew’s Church; it’s of a different time and intended for young children. I could be grumpy and say it’s “dumbed down” – and maybe it is – but its message is the same. That the little things of life that we enjoy and look forward to are what make us human but at the same time there is something bigger that demands that we acknowledge it and say thank you. That is exactly what happens when we sing in Autumn Days “Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces” or “And a minnow darting down a stream” we are reminding ourselves of the simple pleasures of humanity and why we should be thankful for them. Whether that be thankful to a God or just an idea is irrelevant – it simply places us in the great scheme of things. And to see the enthusiasm and the gusto as the children sang this in our school assemblies was not just gratifying but humbling – in small way it was speaking to them.
It was the same story with all the other songs of praise that were sung during the programme, to name but three: “Lord of the Dance, When a knight won his spurs, or One more step……………..”
“One more step along the world I go
One more step along the world I go
From the old things to the new
Keep me travelling along with you
And it's from the old I travel to the new
Keep me travelling along with you
'Round the corners of the world I turn
More and more about the world I learn
And the new things that I see
You'll be looking at along with me
And it's from the old I travel to the new
Keep me travelling along with you
As I travel through the bad and good
Keep me travelling the way I should
Where I see no way to go
You'll be telling me the way, I know
And it's from the old I travel to the new
Keep me travelling along with you
Give me courage when the world is rough
Keep me loving though the world is tough
Leap and sing in all I do
Keep me travelling along with you
And it's from the old I travel to the new
Keep me travelling along with you
You are older than the world can be
You are younger than the life in me
Ever old and ever new
Keep me travelling along with you
And it's from the old I travel to the new
Keep me travelling along with you.“
All of the songs were from the excellent BBC “Come & Praise” song books that were introduced in primary schools in the late 1970s. Come and Praise was a “spin off” from the excellent BBC weekly morning service for primary schools that had been aired for many years. The gentleman that led the weekly service was the late Geoffrey Wheeler a broadcaster with the knack and voice of keeping children engaged for the twenty or so minutes that the service lasted each Thursday morning. He didn’t patronise or talk down to children, and neither did he dumb down and the children loved him for it. Each week’s assembly started with a brief piece of music serving as an intro, a way in, to whatever the service was about. I vividly recall one Thursday morning sitting at the front of the assembled school waiting for the assembly to begin, our ears glued to the school hall’s loudspeaker system. The BBC 9 o’clock “pips” (remember those!) sounded and then the glorious sound of the third movement of Bach’s “Brandenburg Concerto Number 5” spilled from the loudspeakers. Not only did my face light up at this favourite of mine but as the children listened they too smiled and began to move, wave their hands in time with the music. When the music faded away a couple of minutes later Geoffrey Wheeler’s voice broke in saying “This morning, children, we are going to think about being joyful, and can you think of anything more full of joy than that piece of music you have just heard.” There were smiles and nods from 250 heads all around the hall - and from me at the front – as Wheeler went on to say a few words about JS Bach and his music. This was school broadcasting at its very best and an event that got our school day off to a good and happy, joyful, start – what an assembly or a hymn should do, reminding us of out place in the great scheme of things and of the very essence of what it is to be human.
Most of the songs in Come & Praise were fairly recently written in the 1970s but others such as “He who would valiant be” were older, indeed that hymn was the school hymn at my own secondary school in Preston in the late 1950s. We sang it in assembly almost daily. The words of that hymn and all the ones I enjoyed in the TV programme have stayed with me and I’m obviously not alone given the audience response on the programme and the results of the national survey.
Today, my grandchildren tell me that school assemblies seem to be at best infrequent and the singing of hymns or songs of praise largely side-lined in favour of other “stuff”. I find this both worrying and, more importantly, desperately sad. I understand the issues – a multifaith society, time pressure on the curriculum, school space to host an assembly – the reasons and problems are both understandable and real. But they are misplaced. The religious element, if there be one, is the least important – although, whatever anyone else suggests I believe that the human awareness gained from experiencing an act of worship of any faith is of consummate value for the young; whether non-believers like it or not, faith and worship of various kinds are an intrinsic part of all human societies. To deny them is a failure if we are in the business of educating educating. Education is not only about knowing dates in history, mathematical formulae or how to recognise or use a fronted adverbial; to have experienced one’s own faith or the faith of others is a vital part of our humanity – and has been so for as long as mankind has gathered. And, I might add, it is only by experiencing it that one can come to an informed judgement as to its worth and value to oneself.
But more important than any faith based or religious aspect are the cultural and educational ones. Religion and all its trappings are fundamental parts of our culture and history – of the nation’s story and our own stories as members of that society. You might know the “facts” that are important in, say, the story of the gunpowder plot or the voyage of the Pilgrim Fathers to America but it's doubtful you would truly understand it unless you have experienced the profound feelings and emotions inherent in the right to worship which was at the root of these events for those involved. You cannot truly understand the checks and balances of our system of government unless you are aware of the historical and religious background and turmoil over the centuries that produced our current system. Similarly, the values espoused in religious stories and hymns are almost entirely positive and embrace all faiths: loving one’s neighbour, taking care of the vulnerable, standing up for what is right, obeying the rules of life and the law ………….the list is endless; all of them the sort of values that any school, any teacher, any society should and must be passing onto their charges each and every day. And, finally – although I could go on at length on this – the ideas and songs that Pat and I enjoyed last night or that I experienced as a child 70 plus years ago in St Matthew’s are both part of our musical and social tradition and vital in developing children as what I can only describe as fully paid up members of our national community, humanity and race. Singing those songs and hymns require us to put ourselves in the shoes of someone other than ourselves, to think in metaphors. When, in school assemblies, we sang “When a knight won his spurs” and the line “Let faith be my shield and let joy be my steed, ‘Gainst the dragons of anger , the ogres of greed” or when we sing the glorious opening line of Autumn Days “Autumn days when the grass is jewelled…..” we were using language at its best, widening vocabulary, lifting language from the mundane of everyday shopping lists, using metaphors, developing linguistic imagery - all things that children (and adults!) need to experience and understand if they are to develop complex language and thus complex thought. We think in words; language is the root our thought system. It is what separates us from the animal kingdom; it allows us to think ahead, reflect back on times past, forecast, analyse, The more complex our language, the more complex our thoughts. It’s as simple as that. And there is more. Learning the words to a song, a hymn, a poem, a quotation from a book etc. is not time wasted. By doing it we experience and learn the cadence of language and the beauty of our language – and this, too, aids the development of thought processes; if all we experience is simple, shopping list prose – the sort seen in bucket loads on social media and in the tabloid press then that is how we learn to think: simply, in black and white, no nuance, no depth, no reflection.
One of the songs not sung in the programme was a favourite in my school - "Cross over the road" - its words loosely based on the parable of the Good Samaritan. As I thought of this last night I sadly pondered how it would fare today in our divided, Reform Party ravaged, England where loving one's neighbour is for many now dependent upon the colour of their skin, their place of birth or their language. Certainly many in contemporary England would give short shrift to Jesus and his parable of loving one's neighbour - whoever they might be. I don't think it would be sung by many of the jingoistic flag waving thugs outside the asylum hostels, hotels or the reception centres of Essex and other places dotted about the nation. Nor, I would hazard would it be countenanced or acknowledged in the council chambers of Nottinghamshire where I live and where the bigots of the Reform Party hold sway - which probably says much, none of it good, about our contemporary society. In an England where compassion, empathy and nuance seem to have given way to aggressive and obscene self righteous selfishness I wonder, as I think of this assembly favourite what today's children would make of it when on their TVs they see foul mouthed, flag waving thugs threatening those asking for our help or, indeed, those giving it. The words of the song say it all:
"Would you walk by on the other side
When someone called for aid?
Would you walk by on the other side
And would you be afraid?
Cross over the road my friend,
Ask the lord his strength to lend,
His compassion has no end -
Cross over the road.
Would you walk by on the other side
When you saw a loved one stray?
Would you walk by on the other side
Or would you watch and pray?
Cross over the road"
Would you walk by on the other side
When starving children cried?
Would you walk by on the other side
And would you not provide?
Cross over the road"
I fear that we are creating a culturally impoverished society as we deny our children the opportunity of knowing or at least experiencing the songs, stories, events of our shared culture and history. To know the great songs/prayers/stories of worship; to have experienced (learned?) the verse of Kipling, Betjeman, or Auden; to have learned the great songs of our culture: The Vicar of Bray, The British Grenadiers, the Skye Boat Song, or Blow the wind southerly; to have a smattering of some of Shakespeare’s great lines and stories; to at least know the story lines of our culture's great books and authors: Dickens, Hardy, or Orwell – all these and so many more are not to be dismissed as “trivia”, useful to win a game of Trivial Pursuits or win a free pint at the pub quiz evening. They are what make us fully paid up members of both humanity and our own history and culture. They allow us to think about and experience things outside our immediate world and understanding; they lift us and give magic to the mundane. That is what happened to me all those years ago in St Matthew’s Church as I sang and marvelled at the glorious language of “Immortal, invisible, God only wise……” They allowed me to think and dream about what President John Kennedy termed “things that never were……….”; they are what has allowed mankind to develop ever more complex creative and wonderful thoughts and solutions, to advance and develop, to understand the world and our fellow men and women. We deny our children these experiences at our peril. As great empires and civilisations have discovered to their cost before us, deny or marginalise your history and your culture and you deny and marginalise your present and your future.
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