A Half-Crown is better than Two Bob.

When I was a boy in Bath I became an altar-boy at St.Alphege's Church in Oldfield Park, our Catholic Parish Church. I would be about 10 years of age. The new parish priest was Father Kelly, an ascetic thin man who was real old Irish no frills Catholicism, no warmth in the man. The curate was Father O'Brian, a young red-headed Irish priest who did everything at top speed including talk in a thick Irish accent. Mass was conducted by Father O'Brian at a break neck speed. He was hilarious at times. The organist was called Miss Winterflood and often he would call her Miss Summerdrought, you never knew what he would say next! My Mum was very fond of Father O'Brian, all the women in the parish liked him. He cajoled my Mother to crochet decoration for vestments no problem. AND he had an AJS motorbike!

I was taken under the wing of Kevin O'Shaughnessy, a boyhood hero, who played rugby on the wing for Bath and Somerset. He was a big guy for a winger in those days and he took all the kicks for Bath. He was engaged to Doctor Cubbage's daughter, she was beautiful. [I was heart broken later when they split up!] Here was one of my hero's coaching me. I learnt the ceremonies, I studied the Latin, I could name all of the vestments in Latin. I loved lighting the charcoal and piling on incense and creating clouds of sweet smelling smoke. And so as time passed I became established.

Being established I was called upon to attend and serve at funerals and weddings more often during the week. Funerals were an introduction to the grief of families. It is a reality check for a child to stand close to adults who are breaking their hearts as the body of a loved one is lowered into a grave. It is solemn and the colours of those days were purple and black and not the white used today in celebration of a person's life. There were two cemeteries in Bath, one up at Whiteway that was "modern" and kind of bleak particularly on a wet winter's day. The other cemetery was at Walcot and it was a Catholic burial ground. This place nestles in the fold of a wooded Somerset hill, close to Bath, with wonderful conker trees shading it. [My Mother, and later my Father were buried there.]

Transit from the church to the cemetery depended on which priest was conducting the funeral. If it was Father Kelly then the altar boy [yours truly] had to travel alongside the coffin on a small seat with the pall bearers sat fore and aft. This was an eye open for me. The pall bearers in top hats with lugubrious features would bow in response to the public en route who doffed their hats in respect to the deceased. Under this facade the pall bearers would be discussing football! You know once I listened to a long argument about Les Compton being a "dirty" player and not like Denis Compton [the Brylcream boy]. Funny old world!

Now if the ceremony was being conducted by Father O'Brian then transit to the cemetery was on the back of an AJS motor-cycle at speed with no crash helmets. If the funeral was at Whiteway then it entailed hitting the hump backed bridge out there at speed and hanging on hard! It was fun, it was great fun! Oh I nearly forgot, for a funeral the altar-boys received a florin, two bob, two shillings in old money.

Weddings were great, particularly if it was a full blown Nuptial Mass. It was joyous, the vestments were white, the music great, and I could build up lots of smoke with the incense. The finale was great, the altar-boys got a half-crown, two shillings and six pence in old money AND a kiss from the Bride who always seemed to be beautiful in my eyes.

I have never forgotten those experiences, I can tell say the Apostle's Creed and Our Father in Latin, I can still sing the Requiem. I still vaguely remember the sadness of funerals but I vividly remember the happiness of weddings. Half a Crown is better than Two Bob.