SUNDAY SCHOOL

Chewton Congregational Church Sunday School, probably in the 1950’s.

A woman contributor spoke:

I have been remembering Sunday school; I return to this chilly morning from a warm and shadow-free place in my soul. Oh, those picnics, where I recall nothing but sun and excitement and the anniversary, (three services). I went to lunch at your home. We ate bottled cherries and played “Tinker, Tailor” with the stones. You came to my home for tea. I remember after the afternoon “performance” playing in our back-yard, holding buttercups to our chins. How slowly the day passed with that thrill of expectancy in performing within us. The platform with the green baize steps, where each year we progressed higher. The fidgeting of the feet of some of the boys who were possibly dreaming of riding bikes or kicking the footy; the adrenalin rush and nervous giggling when we entered the church and the acclaim when we left. Alas, not a photo was taken of those days but the images remain etched within as does the atmosphere, the sense of belonging, contributing and being valued. So much to remember and it takes only a single image for me to be overwhelmed with the torrent of memories. Our naughtiness in our Sunday School classes, based on the knowledge that we were firmly part of a wide family.

Congregationalists attended Sunday School on Sunday afternoons at first, and later during church time on Sunday mornings. In my case the superintendent was one of Australia’s most distinguished publishers; my teachers were usually pretty young woman in the process of getting engaged, often to young men from the church.

In adulthood, I know the bible stories, (though Daniel in the lion’s den, Noah and the ark and the crucifixion of Jesus Christ held an equal place in my mind until adulthood and theology training gave them a context). I recently found, while sitting in a café with a former Congregationalist, that we could both still recite a psalm which we learned for the annual scripture exams in the words of the King James version. What I learned has been with me always, said one participant.

Maynard Davies wrote in Beyond My Grasp of the fear felt by him and his friends during a polio epidemic. The possibility of death and paralysis did not alarm them, but they were terrified that the Sunday School picnic might be cancelled. Participants had similar priorities; picnics and anniversaries dominated their recollections.

Kindergarten

In Sunday School Kindergarten “Hear the Pennies Dropping,” and “Do You See this Penny” were well-remembered songs, and with these words, the collection has stayed in people’s minds.

Even though we usually only had a penny or a halfpenny to put in, my brother and I always put something in the coconut collection plate in the Junior Sunday School. I can remember walking around the circle with the coconut, taking up the collection, said one participant.

Several Sunday Schools had a special birthday chair, where a child sat while everyone sang
Happy birthday, happy birthday,
Little child so dear.
May the Loving Father keep you
All the coming year.

I have the kindergarten birthday chair at home, said one participant. When the church building was sold at union, I asked if I could have it.

Leaving with a coloured text as we walked out the door, said another.

When the Chewton kids picked up the mail, said a third, Mr Docking’s parcel used to contain the ‘Sunday School Scholar’ pamphlets. These were handed out each week. We used to set up scenes in the sand tray. There were lead figures and palm trees.

As we left we sang,
Our Sunday School is over,
And we are going home.
'Goodbye, goodbye,
Be always kind and true.’
‘Goodbye, Goodbye,
We will be kind and true,’ said one man, singing the third and fourth lines as tenor and the last two in falsetto.

New babies born into the church were added to the cradle roll in Kindergarten, and a song was sung then too:
Our baby’s name is on the roll
We love to see it there.
Dah dum, dah dum, dah dum, dah dum,
In God’s loving care are the remembered words.

Teachers remembered too:
When we were first married, we were co-opted to help by teaching a Sunday School class on Sunday afternoons. I can see us now, sitting on tiny chairs in a circle with all the children. One pugnacious little boy offered to punch Jack on the nose if he came near me.

Scripture exams

Each year we had to learn a Bible passage by heart. The Young People’s Department of the Congregational Union held a rally at Collins Street church on a Friday evening in October, where prizes of books and certificates were awarded for the children with the best marks in the annual scripture exams. The Sunday schools sat together in blocks; Duncan Reeves, the YPD director before Len Forward, conducted the service; he and Gwladys Barker helped to seat the children. There was a speaker, usually an LMS missionary home on furlough. Wyclif went to the city by van. A shield was presented to the Sunday School that had the highest aggregate, a wooden shield, with small engraved metal shields stating the winner for the year. Because Wyclif had the most small shields, we presented a second wooden shield when the first was full.

The book prizes were remembered, and some were retained:

I won at the exam, but I got a very small book. Mr Docking bought a larger one and gave it to me as well, said one woman.

I found a book I received in 1951 (aged 7) for getting 95% at the exam, said another. They started young, didn’t they. It has the coloured plate stuck inside. One of the stories is about Sambo and Topsy, a tad politically incorrect these days, and compared with children’s books today, quite uninspiring and pedestrian. Studying for exams— (can you believe it?????)—I can still quote “Consider the lilies of the field . . .” I still recall one of my prizes. I loved it, Gull’s Point and Pineapples.

Sunday School anniversaries

In our heyday we had five services, over two Sundays, and a concert mid-week, said one participant. Hymns were rehearsed for weeks before at Sunday School, and then we trooped into church and climbed a tiered platform erected each year by the church handyman. Another man worked the slide projector at the back of the church.

My cousin and I were hand-picked to take up the collection at one of the Sunday School anniversary services. Other people did the sides, but the middle was much harder, as the plates sometimes went right along, and were sometimes passed back. We worked out a wonderful sequence. But old Mr. Dower passed the plate the wrong way and ruined the whole thing. I can still see my cousin’s face, said another woman.

Sunday School picnic

The picnic was held once a year. The Sunday School trooped off on a Saturday, or on Cup Day, on forms in a furniture van or by train.

The picnic? said one participant. Always warm. Van with hard seats, songs sung, ‘Quartermaster’s store.’ Travelling miles and miles. Raspberry cordial, sandwiches, grapes. Three-legged races, egg and spoon. Parents arriving at their leisure to sit on chairs or on rugs.

*

I used to get car-sick, so getting into the van, I was never sure that I would make it, said another. It was great fun being all in together. We sang ‘Ten Green Bottles’ and songs like that. We learned songs that we wouldn’t have learned anywhere else and passed them on to the younger children.

One year for the picnic there were new skirts for my sisters and for me. I was so excited about that skirt. I used to enjoy the races—not the three-legged because that hurt—the running races because I used to win.

There were drinks on the table and food, and we could help ourselves, come and take what we wanted. I can see the women in the kitchen making sandwiches. Other people used different fillings, egg, tomato and mock chicken. There were cakes and grapes on a tray; there was raspberry cordial. We went to Kalorama, and to Wattle Glen.

*

From Chewton we went to Malmsbury for the Sunday School picnic. When we arrived we ate a yeast bun. Later we had a pasty, which was always called a paste-ee, said a man.

We took our own mugs. I used to win the three-legged race. We always had raspberry vinegar to drink. They bought Brooks’ Cordial Extract in a 200 ml bottle with a red wax seal. This was poured into a jug with water and sugar.
We had ham sandwiches with dry mustard, and that used to make me sick.


*

Church picnics were held at Queenscliff. We travelled there by train. There were races for the kids and raspberry cordial to drink. We sat on deckchairs in the shade and people swam, said another man.

Bible Class

Interestingly, senior Sunday School has vanished from people’s memory, except for a woman who read the cricket club honours board while the superintendent’s bald head shone during a very long prayer. But Bible Class, the most senior level of Sunday School, was well remembered:

Bible study (after we were too old for Sunday School) was open to fresh ideas, and material was examined in the setting of the times it was written, said one participant.

*

My parents took the Bible Class for a while, said another. A pilot used to “buzz” the tennis courts on Sunday afternoon to distract the Bible Class members. He was well-known in Surrey Hills. My parents had “control problems” when he flew overhead and couldn’t really get the class to concentrate after that.

*



Next: Interlude. Congregational Childhood: A Reflection

Back to index: Index