Saying my Prayers

My mother was brought up a Presbyterian. If there was no Presbyterian church she was happy to worship in the Church of Scotland and, while we were in East Africa and after she retired to Sussex, in the Church of England. She was a devout woman, which didn't prevent her from also being very superstitious.

She set about bringing up her two sons to be equally devout, so Richard and I attended church with her every Sunday and, under her supervision, knelt by our beds each night to say our prayers. I remember every word of the family prayer, which started off -

        God bless Mummy and Daddy

        Richard and Jonathan

        Carolyn, Michael and Emily....

It does seem strange that I prayed for myself, even stranger that I prayed for some of my cousins by name but not for all of them, nor did I name some of my aunts and uncles. The cousins that did get a mention were all on my mother's side of the family.

In due course Richard and I progressed on to boarding schools in England where, while we no longer knelt by our beds to pray, we spent even longer on our knees in services: each morning we attended a service in chapel, and morning and evening services on Sundays; and each evening, except on Sundays, we attended house prayers.

This upbringing did not have the desired effect. While I would attend the chapel services in the boarding schools in which I taught, if it was required of me, and attend church with my mother on occasions such as Christmas Eve carol services, I lost my faith, thus following in my father's footsteps.