Getting through church

Mam is pushing us out the door, ‘Come on, come on we’re going to be late. Katie come on darling put your shoes on.’ Katie, that’s my sister, always takes forever to get ready to go out. I’m standing at the door with my coat on and she’s still dawdling looking for her shoes. Mam gets fed up after a while and tells her to “just put any on, for Christ’s sake.”

We get in the car and my Mam thinks that she’s Nigel Mansell or something ‘cause she’s bombing down the road and out the estate proper fast.

‘Mam?’

‘Yes Thomas.’

‘Why do we have to go to church and Dad doesn’t.’

‘Give it a rest Tom; I’m not going through all that again.’

It only takes ten minutes to drive from our house to St Leonard’s church in Silksworth, five minutes when my Mam’s driving like a nutter! We live on the new estate down the road from the village. Some of the lads at school who live in Silksworth call us poshies but I’m not sure about that ‘cause they’ve always got better trainers than me.

We get in to the church just as Father Coyle is coming out of his little room at the side. Stephen Gregg is his altar boy today. Father asked me to be an altar boy once but I said no, Mam was upset about it, so was my Nana, but my Dad wasn’t bothered, I heard him say something about ‘He’s probably grooming them into little bum boys anyway’, and I definitely don’t want to be one of Father Coyle’s little bum boys.
We get up to a bench, face the altar, genuflect and do the old spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch sign of the cross thing. My Granddad taught me that, he was a right laugh my Granddad. Mam told me off for saying it out loud in church once so now I just say it in my head.

Church is well boring, always is. Father Coyle bangs on and on about Jesus said this and Jesus said that, and the Apostles did this so we shouldn’t do that or we’ll make God angry and he’ll turn his back on us and then Jesus won’t come back down from heaven . I reckon he would have come back down by now anyway, I mean the bloke’s been dead for nearly two thousand years, that’s a long time to keep people waiting.
It doesn’t take long before I stop listening to Father and I start thinking about the big game we’ve got coming up next week. St Leonard’s Vs St Patrick’s in the final of the Topliff trophy. All the catholic primary schools in county Durham and it has come down to us. St Patrick’s are our biggest rivals; they’re from the next village along, Ryhope.

‘So Thomas, it’s a big game, possibly the biggest of you career so far. Do you really think St Leonards have got what it takes to beat St Patricks?’

‘Well Gary I’d be lying if I said that they weren’t favourites. They’ve beaten us once already this season but I believe in our lads....’

‘And lass, let’s not forget about Claire Shotting, you’re right midfielder.’

‘Of course Gary, let’s not forget about Claire who’s been fantastic this season, proving to everyone that girls can play football. Yeah, so as I was saying I believe in the quality we’ve got at St Leonards to rise to the occasion on the big day and come away with that trophy at the end of it.’

Out of the corner of my eye I notice my Mam stand up so I follow suit and grab my hymn book, check the board by the altar for what hymn we’re singing: number 27, Christ be our light.

That’s the trick to getting through church. Keep an eye on everyone else, make sure you don’t get caught out standing when you’re supposed to be kneeling, or standing there pretending to sing when you’ve got the wrong hymn in front of you.

After the hymn I settle back into my thoughts about the big match. I start imagining how it’s all going to go. I’ll play the game of my life at centre half, not letting anyone get past this solid defence. It’s raining and the sliding tackles are flying in through the mud. At one point I get a head injury and have to play the rest of the match bandaged up like Terry Butcher. I might even pop up in the dying minutes and score a header from a corner.

‘And what about that goal Thomas, the last minute of the game, the score tied at 1-1, and then up you step like a true leader and score the winning goal, fantastic.’

‘Well Gary you know that goals aren’t really a big part of my game but it was the last minute and when we got the corner I looked over to Mr Shovelin and he just said “Get on Tommy lad, win it for us” so that’s what I did.’

I’m lost in my own head dreaming about the match when I feel my Mam nudging me. It’s time for Holy Communion; I had my first communion earlier in the year so I’ve got to do all this now. I wouldn’t mind if the biscuit thingy you got was nice but it doesn’t taste of anything, and then you have to drink that horrible wine stuff, and from the same cup as everyone else, and you know that you’re going to get it after some scruffy old woman with a moustache and false teeth, and there’s all floaters in the bottom of it. It’s rank man, rank.

At least mass is nearly over now, after communion you’ve just got the silent prayer bit, (‘So Thomas, what’s next for the mighty St Leonard’s football team?’....) and then the last few prayers, and then finally one last hymn then we can go home, but not before the best thing about going to church.

Every week after church, if we’ve been good, my Mam will take me and Katie to the little shop and get us, and her, two ounces of lemon sherbet with a liquorice stick. Usually in those last prayers I might say a word or two to God about the sherbet, just to make sure that we get it, and promise to be a good boy and all that if he comes through on the deal.

It usually works.