Very interesting read I must Say…You take a go at this read and tell me whats your make of It .
My mum was from a family of fairly strict Catholics, so the fact that she married my dad, a non church goer, was always a surprise to me.
Throughout my childhood we would go to church every Sunday without fail. I hated it. We attended a small church in a Devonshire village which was built as a temporary place of worship during the war, the size of a hall. We knew everyone in the small congregation. My nan was in charge of the upkeep, the priest’s vestments, getting the communion hosts ready and choosing the hymns.
It was a short drive every Sunday – about 15 minutes across the Devon/Somerset border. The village was in a valley, and every week I would start to ‘feel ill’ as soon as we started to descend the hill. Mum rarely fell for it.
My dad would never come to church. His place…
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