Written By John Caverhill
Some of my most ‘deep-seated’ memories of being a kid at Vanneck Church involved the church pews. They were made of flat pine boards; when the church was built in 1860, pine was comparable to present-day plastic for cheapness and availability. With their narrow seats and high, slightly angled backs, they were far from being the last word in comfort. Even the most financially prudent and dour of Scottish Elders, which included my Great Grandfather, must have been well satisfied with the minimum cost (and comfort) offered by those pews.
During my earliest years, I stood up on the seat and looked over the top of the people in front of me. I could see the minister and behind him (always ‘him’ at that time) was the choir, and in behind the choir was the organist sitting at the organ. All the choir members looked very solemn. I had to be careful not to squirm or wiggle too much. Dad was in the choir and if my wiggling caught his eye, his solemn countenance became sterner, prompting me to become temporarily, but only temporarily, more stationary.
Looking at the backs of people’s heads for what seemed like hours was not an exciting pastime, so I would start to turn, little by little, gradually being rewarded with a side view of some people’s faces. Being thus encouraged, I would continue slowly turning until I could actually see the centre back pew where all the older boys, including my big brother Ron, sat. Inevitably at this moment my mother would nudge me, and I knew this was the signal to face the front and the backs of people’s heads once more.
My first real contact with Vanneck’s pews came when I was deemed tall enough to sit, rather than stand, on the seat. The novelty of sitting on the seat like the grownups soon lost its lustre. Instead of looking at the backs of people’s heads, I now had a close-up view of the pew in front of me. Also, my legs were too short to reach the floor, so they dangled over the hard edge of the seat which rubbed uncomfortably behind my knees.
In my preschool years, the redeeming feature of church services was the music. At first, the hymns and choir anthems were simply a break from listening to a lot of big words I didn’t understand. The announcement of the closing hymn was especially welcome. I felt a strong sense of relief that the whole thing would soon be over and I would be back in a world of comfortable clothes and chairs, and I could walk, run, wiggle or talk out loud just as one did any other day of the week.
As time went on, however, I grew to love the hymns with their familiar melodies and words, and enjoyed singing them as well as listening to them.
In retrospect, I guess that Vanneck pew was at least partly responsible for my lifelong love of music.
