Churches and Childhood
I was taking photographs in St. Paul's Parish Church, Shipley, when I stopped to help someone put out chairs for a meeting. I told her that there was no need to thank me, explaining "I've been putting out chairs in church for all my life". And whilst that is only true if you ignore a gap of some 50 years or so, it does go a long way to describe the link I have with churches, going back into childhood.
St. Olave's Church, York
When I was small, up to the age of eight, there was a church and a small, tree-lined park in our front garden (well that’s how it seemed, though it was across the other side of the road from our terrace house if you need to be more accurate, more adult about it). I still remember going to Brownies and Sunday School, and later to Girl Guides and then there are more memories which echo with the presence of Mum and with Nan (who lived round the corner) – church fetes, fund-raising sales, social gatherings and women’s meetings, plus the never-ending task of church cleaning.
(As a toddler, our Matthew always took a feather duster with him when we visited Mum, so he could help her with the cleaning – whether she was on the rota or not!)
So, for me, churches resound with childhood memories – links back to a time of security, constancy and stability. There's easy familiarity too – the cavernous space, the sound of organ practice, the smell of incense, the hum of a service.
It's no wonder I say that they "act like green therapy – without being green!"