Sundays are special

Subject: Sundays are special.

Sundays are special. It used to be that Sunday was a day of rest and much of that which went on during the week was closed. The shops for instance, other than those with a special "off licence" who could sell booze but usually had food and groceries on sale as well. The news agent was open until midday but his main trade was selling the Sunday newspapers and sweets. Other than that the streets were empty of shoppers and remained empty until Monday,  other than for those inclined to walk the dog until midday when another sort of dog emerged and the Pubs opened for 2/3 hours, just in time to provoke the wife's who had dinner on the table. 

Sunday was a time when if you were a cyclist you were out with your cyclist pack twiddling along the highways and byways through the countryside, out on the open road a chirpy happy crowd chatting to a friend who rode at your shoulder for mile upon mile, up hill and down dale oblivious to the toil awaiting on Monday. Little traffic and what there was was respectful since they themselves had only just graduated out of the saddle into their car. The speed of a Ford Popular was not much more than a group of racing cyclists and so the impatience we see today from the motorist to the cyclist was not evident. In the villages the tea and sandwich making shops eagerly awaited this flood of city types, out on the run from the dark satanic streets and we, captivated by the open green fields were eager to find these villages and what we regarded as quaint village people.

The pace of life in the town dropped to a murmur as those who had been "out" on the Saturday night recovered and those who regarded the "night-outer" as somewhat heathen took themselves off to church as the bells pealed and called them to prayer.

 It was a social event as much as a religious one since after the service a great chuntering began, particularly amongst the ladies who in their Sunday best cast a withering eye on anyone not up for muster. The service was traditional the hymns were traditional and the music pounded out from the church organ was traditional. It was a tradition of continuity and no one living a hundred years before would have seen much difference. The sermon was delivered in much the same way from a man who, whilst respected, was distant from his flock and knew little of their real problems as he contented himself with their sins in the eyes of god and the fire and brimstone to be heaped down on them.

"Good morning vicar" was as close you ever got to him and other than the gaggle of flower arrangers and bible distributors and those hearty folk who shuffled down the aisle collecting the plate as the congregation contributed a shilling or two, the vicar came from a different planet.  Even this contribution held the implicit impact of your worth in the congregation and anyone who laid a pound or more needed to be noticed.

The 10 o'clock service over, your mothers careful corralling in best behaviour over, the rest of the day was yours and you joined the gang, who had absented themselves from the 'blessing', in the woods to create another world, free from the constraints of parents and society at large to become that mirage of who we saw we were, with our own pecking order backed up by the fearlessness you showed as you climbed a tree or descended a cave. Your worth here was in being dared, to carry out the dare with as much aplomb as possible. The occasional fight to show who was who and being apparently impervious to danger, was all you needed to retain leadership of your clan as you trailed home at the end of the day on a Sunday evening to mothers inquiry "how you got that gash on your forehead", the mystical world of a child's environment away from the apron strings was worth any gash, no matter how painful the swabbing of Dettol caused you to blink.

The town was quiet as a field mouse as it paused to reflect on that other aspect of life away from the mill or the office, it's a pause which is missing in this frenetic life we lead now-a-days. "The peace that passes all understanding" is missing and we are all the worse for it.