I hated parties, all sorts of parties, but especially those involving loads of kids, such as the annual Sunday School party. This was an event that I would quite happily not have attended but as my grandfather was superintendent of the Sunday School and my mother was a teacher it was imperative I attended also. Not that I didn’t get on with all my peers in the Sunday School, I did, it was all the annual temporary hangers-on that I disliked, and of which I disapproved, that suddenly swarmed like wasps around a jam jar.
There were two events annually in the Sunday School calendar when, a few weeks before, attendances would suddenly increase, the party and the Sunday School trip. Suddenly there’d be an influx of kids that wouldn’t normally bother to attend but with the promise of a free treat or trip they’d join-up for a couple of weeks beforehand. In addition, there were those kids who turned up at these events who never set foot in Sunday School and whose only qualification was that a parent or grandparent was a member of the church or was somehow otherwise associated.
It always seemed these hangers-on were the most rowdy children and I’d try my utmost to hide in the background and not become involved in any of the boisterous and noisy games that these young usurpers seemed to take a delight in participating. It didn’t always work and as I was always a little uncoordinated, catching the dreaded spinning plate before it fell to the floor was impossible and I was always having to perform a “forfeit” of one sort or another, and once they knew my number they thought it was funny to keep repeating it until some kindly organiser would take pity on me and let me sit out the rest of the game. Most of the other games were very easy to avoid playing by getting caught “out” in the early stages, musical chairs for instance; and then there was “Postman’s Knock”, what a ridiculous and embarrassing game for kids of ten or eleven years old and even more silly when you recall how strict and narrow-minded many chapel goers were in those days. Then there was the ritual of food, very unpleasant being slyly flicked with jelly or sandwich crusts or squirted with juice from a drinking straw and I’d do my best to sit well away from the rabble.
Thankfully though the party would all be over in a couple of hours and I’d be able to put the dreaded experience to the back of my mind – until next year.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I have no photographs of any of our Sunday School parties of the 1950s and early 60s, so have once again turned to the wonderful collection of childhood photos belonging to Philip Howard who has kindly allowed me to reproduce an appropriate party picture to illustrate this tale.
I never much liked parties either and would usually come down with a mysterious ailment on the night, ensuring my being unable to attend. I still don’t like parties and never attend any, but I guess that’s just because I’m not very sociable. Having said that, I’m never actually invited to parties, but that just suits me fine.
I’m still not really a party person unless I have some element of control over the situation. When my 60th came round I decided rather than have others organise something I’d do it myself, needless to say the whole thing was rather eccentric!
Can I have some more details on “Postman’s Knock” please?:)
Oh, it was a silly game where the boys and girls were separated and each given a number, boys odd numbers, girls even numbers. To start the game a boy (or girl) would be chosen to leave the room, he (or she) would then have to choose a number of the opposite sex who would then enter the room with him (or her) for a quick kiss before the postman (game organiser) would knock on the door and the first person (boy) would leave the room. Then the girl would request a number and so on – I know, the whole thing is completely daft!
Oh I hate that sort of games. This is an obligatory entertainment during weddings in Poland; it usually forces me to spend a considerable amount of time hiding in a bathroom. So yes, I feel your pain.
We were just kids though Anna!
Some of the Methodist Sunday Schools in the 1960s would have the odd party and invite children from a National Children’s Home to their event (we were Methodist indoctrinated) so we were a deserved cause, they also raised funds by selling small printed photographs of us to raise funds for our Homes (Sunny Smiles).
Generally we were well behaved, but a few of their Sunday School children were not, so I can see exactly what Mike had to go through at an event.
The only reason we did not equal their deeds would be the report that would follow us back to the Home.
But thanks again to all those who went to Sunday School and raised funds for our toys and the like.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/22326055@N06/5801534194/
Philip
The Sisters would not have approved of Postman’s Knock…….
Thanks Philip, I had forgotten when I penned this piece that kids from the local Cottage Homes also attended Sunday School but I don’t recall they were responsible for any misdeeds – Oh, and yes, we too used to have “Sunny Smiles” to sell, I was hoping I’d come across an unused one for you in all my stuff one day, but so far no luck on that.
Yes, I know, lucky you – we managed to develop it into all-ages ‘entertainment’. Just imagine..