Going to Church with Gran

I spent a lot of time with Gran during the war, but always had to go home to Preston Road to sleep. On the wall at Gran’s house there was a black and white ‘lithograph’, that’s what Gran called it, of Great Uncle William who got killed in the Great War, which was called ‘the war to end all wars’. He stood there proudly in the uniform of a private of the South Staffordshire Regiment; on his head was a pillbox hat tilted to one side, and in his hand was a swagger stick. Every year on Armistice Day all the members of the family put a poppy around the frame of the lithograph to remember Gran’s twin brother who died serving his country. Sometimes after church Gran would let me look at Great Uncle William’s medals and the special plaque that soldiers got in the Great War, when they were blown up by the Germans.

Gran and I always went to St Chrysostoms Church of England in Winson Green. The church was in Park Road where Auntie Chris lived; Uncle Edwin was her husband and he was in the army serving in India. Gran said that St Chrysostom’s was opened in 1888 as a mission church and consecrated in 1889 as a real church. I think that a mission church was for poor people; I didn’t know that we were poor, nobody ever told me. It was a rough old church; there was a woodyard opposite and scrap metal yards, and a railway bridge 50 yards away. To complete the picture, weeds covered every spare inch of space. When it was built, in Victorian times, the church would have been the centre of parish life. But even then, Winson Green, which makes you think of a quaint village with a central green and a duck pond, was a dark, dirty industrial area, infested with factories.

St Chrysostom’s Church, which was demolished in 1970

At the church door, I gave out the hymnbooks, mostly to women and young girls. Then I sat down next to Gran and pretended to sing as the organ started to wail. The hymns 'For Those in Peril on the Sea' and 'Onward Christian Soldiers' are indelibly imprinted in my memory. It was at church that my interest in girls gathered momentum, and increased my confusion about my feelings for them. Blonde and brown headed girls giggled a lot outside of St. Chrysostoms. Upon entering the cold gloomy silence of the church, with its dusty battle flags of the First World War hanging from poles on the wall, these chattering girls became almost angelic. Stern penitent mothers admonished their clutches of angels sitting on hard pews, to ‘shush’.

The vicar, who was aided by three young boys in white frocks, also wore what I thought was a lady’s frock, and he had a piece of coloured ribbon around his neck with a large medal dangling from it. I didn't understand anything about what he preached, but I remember that he almost sang his words and I noticed that some of the moms would nod off to sleep. That was when I cast furtive looks at those enraptured girls, as I had looked at Georgina in the playground.

At the end of the service, some of the congregation milled around the arched doorway, while others
pushed through the heavy doors, eager to be the first away to listen to the radio. But it was compulsory to shake the vicar’s hand, which meant that there was a queue and it took some time to get out.

The evening service was a repeat of the morning one, except that only half of the congregation turned up, and worst of all, almost no girls. At the evening service there were no compulsory handshakes with the vicar at the church door, so the congregation disappeared as quickly as soap suds down the sink once the plug had been pulled.

Church over and a slow stroll home, and Gran and I would listen to ‘Grand Hotel' on the BBC Home Service. That was where I was introduced to classical music. I also listened to ITMA - 'It’s That Man Again' featuring Tommy Handley. I didn't understand the jokes, which were topical, some concerning the current war. I was old enough, however, to understand the terror of the nightly bombing.
 

Radio was everyone’s ears to the world. There were many comedy shows and drama series as well as music. I don’t remember hearing Princess Elizabeth on the radio, but she did some encouraging talks for children during the war.