mission hall

Mission Hall

 

Charles Street, Hull is now

a depression of shuttered shops - 

no trace remains of the Pioneer Store

or the anonymous entrance

to the Fig Tree Gospel Hall

 

bags of jumble sale left-overs

half-blocked the door

where a local pig man -

as tall as he was wide - stood sentry

keeping rowdy sinners out -

and backsliding brethren in

 

he shook each hand religiously - 

crushing first-timers’ unwary fingers

passing hymnals and King James Bibles

from a stacked-high dusty varnished table

 

young 'brothers' in Burton suits, and ties,

vie to catch the eye of shy teenage 'sisters',

dressed exactly like their mothers -

winter coats, crochet hats, sensible shoes -

scattered throughout the fold-up seating

 

the Spirit moves, melting souls,

sighing ‘hallelujahs’ fill the hall,

Pastor Gardiner breaks the spell

calling for a testimonial

 

an unkempt beard and leather sandals,

dirty hair and unwashed jeans,

relates a tale of sordid debauchery,

'till Jesus came and rescued me'

 

Gideon Gardiner, beaming,

gives the nod to the piano

a matron thumps the keys

the pastor bashes hell

out of a tambourine

 

the gathered voices call for

‘a thousand tongues to sing

their great redeemer’s praise’

 

a seamless segue into,

‘when the roll is called up yonder…’

 

after the chorus, a flustered silence,

then the door cranks-up the praising,

hollering,

 

‘if you’re happy and you know it…’

 

happy hands clap

happy feet stamp

 

flaky walls shake

floorboards bounce

 

next door

the ‘Beer Off’ owner

sighs for Monday.