My first serious brush with Religion was of the Christian (Anglican) variety. I was about eleven. A late starter.
Neither of my parents were particularly "religious". Mum was nominally Anglican and Dad was technically Methodist, but they married in a corrugated iron Church Of Christ in the bush and honeymooned at Venus Bay in a tent. Then World War Two got cranked up and our new house in the city was full of soldiers and relatives but Dad wasn't one of them very often and God not at all. We did get Father Xmas once a year though. (Thank God.)
I tried out for the local Anglican (High Church) choir when I was six but that doesn't count as Religion because Hitler went kaput about then and Mum and Dad also fell apart and what was left of us moved to deep in the hills for about five years where there wasn't any Religion to be had. Not close at hand. Or neighbours.
I was about eleven when, back in the city, I was ushered towards a makeshift church by my well-meaning Mum. Probably because us boys were looking a bit free-range and needed the benefit of learning some holy texts.
This church was a converted temporary home up on stumps, and had once served Tom Playford's post-war housing plan but was now destined for higher things. Like hymns and Sunday School. It was Anglican I think but it could've been Methodist. It surely wasn't Catholic or Salvation Army because working-class WASP parents in the 1950s could only stretch their tolerances so far in any direction in the quest for Eternal Life.
Her name was Primrose. (Okay, it wasn't but I'm not going to snitch, even at this late date.) Primrose ran the Sunday School part of it. She was about fifteen. Face of sweetness and dearly loved by the adults because she was so churchy. Knew all the Moses-bullrushes and Jonah-whale and Loaves-and-Fishes stories and told them well.
But Primrose had a secret thing for boys. Especially eleven year olds. Primrose scared the (be)Jesus out of me. Actually. Sadly I was still too young and naive - and yes, prudish - to appreciate the opportunity that this was, to discover some wider aspects of life, and instead seemed to spend a lot of time making out I didn't understand what she was suggesting. After a few weeks I just stopped going. Somewhat disillusioned.
My next brush with Religion was also Anglican. Mum was determined. She said I was twelve so I needed to be Confirmed. It was part of the Anglican rules. So I had to ride my bike all the way across to Payneham every Saturday morning where they had a real church. Made of real stone. Had coloured windows and an organ and a polished brass eagle pulpit and proper uncomfortable pews with racks in front to put your Prayer Book and the Hymn Book and stuff.
Here I was taught The Words. Rotes and rotes of Words. Words that reputedly had a touch of magic that would help you get Eternal Life. The Words that said What I Believed In. Whether I did or not. But you had to be able to recite all of it to qualify to be Confirmed. It was the most boring three Saturday mornings I have ever spent in my life. On the fourth and fifth ones I bunked off. The Minister baled Mum up and said I was missing in action and I was in a bit of trouble for a while but I stood my ground and said what I thought and Mum buckled. I'm not sure Mum's heart was really in it anyway.
When I was 13-14 the wheels came off the family again and Mum and us kids went back to the bush for a year. Lived on a farm with very religious folk. From the Church Of Christ tin church with the dunking tank under the stage. Which I was invited to get into several times. But never did. Because a church camp finished me off. Religion-wise. It was about Fellowship and Youth and Salvation and I'm sure the elders who ran the show were decent God-loving God-fearing Eternal Life-believing people. All except one. Only God knows how many boys he managed to exploit. Got inside their heads and their pants while all that Salvation stuff was being spoken/sung.
He only caught me once, and I know now that he was just a terrible aberration, but it made the light come on for me. It sowed a primal seed in my mind, made me start standing way, WAY back, so I could see the human condition more clearly, and made me study it, made me think about it, till in time it grew into a clear understanding of how contrived this whole "Religion" thing is. One big organised, structured, illogical, blind-eyed, not-reasoning, medieval, cult-driven pursuit of Nature's First Law - Thou Shalt Survive. Adapted by all/most religions as "Just Do What We Say And You'll Live Forever."
So, from then on I've sought only the fundamental answers. Stayed a bit prudish and probably a bit "above it all" for a lot of years but always realised I'd never find what I needed to know about God and God's Works in "Religion". Nowadays I'm not so prudish but a lot more grounded, and still looking.
Cheers.....
T.R.E.
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