A Bum Note

The war was over. In the outer suburbs of London the children of the survivors, plus some returned evacuees broke out from hibernation determined to play. We were a group of young in1946/47  and the world would have been our oyster except that none of us had any money and in any case did not know what was so special about oysters. Our suburb, in what is now known as Brent had had its share of destruction and death but was now on its way to rebuilding itself and there was a general feeling of the restlessness which was present amongst many of the country’s young, a sort of frustration with feeling that we were not important, that we had no power, no place.

We were all members of the local Methodist Church. My mother, a declared atheist in later life had insisted that her children attended church but drew the line at our traveling the extra miles to the Church of England whilst there was a possibility of being bombed. So, we ‘accidentally’ became Methodists and I personally have no regrets. We, the local young, used to meet after attending Church and often also in the evenings and local people became used to us gathering  together outside the building. However, one evening, one summer evening, there was mischief in the air although we did not recognise it as such. “What shall we do? I’m bored! Where can we go?  I’m fed up!” These were the complaints and there was no easy answer, no ready response, no reply! 

What happened next, just happened.  One of the group decided that the time had come to try a different path seeking entertainment and revealed that they had a key to the Church, not just to the Hall , but to the body of the Church where we worshipped.In a moment we became not a group of children but conspirators sharing a secret and being bound by a knowing! Decisions! Unlike the Gunpowder Plot being ‘found out’ would probably not lead to being hanged drawn and quartered, but we might be sent to Borstal, well the boys would be, and the girls would be shamed and frowned upon and not asked to parties or sleep overs! More to the point was the suspicion that we would be putting our souls in danger and perhaps there really is a devil and a hell!

Reader, in reality there was little discussion. The key was produced and the shameful little group huddled together and entered the church very quietly. An empty church always seems to me to radiate comfort unlike a classroom unexpectedly empty of pupils which always feels forlorn. We intruders wandered around peering within and behind any areas usually kept from us but there was nothing to excite us; nothing that is except in the dark corner in which dwelt the organ. There it stood , tall and somehow defiant the source of the music which beckoned into life the singing voices of the worshippers. There too was the woollen curtain which concealed the wooden chair on which sat Eric at every service, Eric, without whose efforts there would have been no music at all. To complete the scene there was the chair used by Iris the organist whose very thin hands stroked the keys while her very thin feet stroked the pedals. It was all too much for we band of sinners now that we could see how it worked. Mischief raised its head and wondered. Eric had to continuously pump air into the organ by using the handle next to his chair and if he hesitated the organ would be silenced. Iris was dependent on Eric but it was she who chose which organ keys to play. The keys were attached to pipes and the pipes were responsible for the notes which made the music. I understand now that this system was in use for large and small church organs, but of course the organ at a cathedral would need more than a gentle pumping to bring it to life.

We became aware that the day was coming to an end and that we needed to leave. However, mischief was fascinated by what we had found and the desire to interfere was heightened by the thought that being so close to ‘doing something’ might, perhaps, vanish for ever. Looking closely at the pipes we could see that they were of different heights. Did the height control the sound perhaps? Would a little readjustment  make a difference? The smaller pipes were easy to move and before long we had reorganised the works and it was time to go.

The following Sunday the morning service was very well attended. There was the usual contingent of the elderly, mainly female, and the well – scrubbed Sunday School children were on parade as expected. There were also more youngsters than usual and a surprising number of their friends, much to the delight of our Minister. Eric took his place behind the curtain and Iris arrived and settled herself at the keyboard apparently unaware of the many eyes fixed on her. A quick prayer was said and Eric began to pump as Iris poised her thin fingers.

The first couple of notes were as expected but then a very strange sort of strangled note, a bum note, sounded and the congregation began to mutter and nod while the  smallies giggled and the oldies frowned and checked their hearing aids and Eric pumped harder,  but to no avail. The conspirators kept very quiet and behaved implacably for the rest of the morning.

 The sermon was quite short that Sunday. No question was ever answered or asked