Coming of Age
It’s funny, the things that stick in the memory from years ago.
Brought up in a Welsh Methodist environment, first memories are of Sunday School.
All the kids together in the vestry with stories, hymns and verses, particularly verses – learn a new one each week. There are a lot of very short verses in the bible, and no one better at finding them than a boy of 10. There was always someone who could recite a particularly long verse, in Welsh.
Came the day when we were promoted from the vestry to the chapel proper.
Tucked in a corner upstairs, the older men and deacons in the far corner, downstairs. Opposite them, the mature ladies. Across from us, upstairs were the young grownups.
Simultaneously, we qualified for the adults Sunday school outing.
No longer the train ride to Barry Island, lunch of fish and chips, bread and butter and a cup tea at the Merrie Friars, a ride on the fair and a game on the sand.
Now, it was a bus trip to Penarth, take your own lunch or find a café. No funfair, not a real beach.
So, this was what it is like be grown up.
Philip Morgan
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