Who is to know for sure what causes things to spring to mind? I had a sudden visual image of a church bench, wooden, high-backed. That opened a floodgate of images, snippets of stories. In our little rural church the benches were handcrafted, a soft, light-coloured style, unstained but lightly sanded. I had always presumed that our church was old, but learned later that it was in existence for only about 20 years or so. The church building and fixtures were built by local church members, including my great-uncle, grandfather and my dad. When we stepped through the door, we entered directly into the vestibule, with coat hooks along the back and a few benches to encourage one to rest awhile. To the left was the women's cloak room, an unusual title. The area was curtained off to give the illusion of privacy. It too had coat hooks, a bench and a mirror to ensure that the hair and lacy covering were securely in place. There was also a small table to allow for changing diapers as the need arose. Our little sanctuary had only six or so benches per side, separated by a narrow aisle. The benches at the back had been altered to include a drop-down desktop. I believe that these were added to accommodate the summer vacation Bible classes. I recall there being a ridge along the forward edge to catch wayward pencils from rolling off to disrupt the lessons. I attended the West Zion Mennonite Church occasionally with my grandparents once our church was closed. My husband made a comment on a visit to a service there, that the pews were constructed to ensure that the worshipers did not fall asleep. As I was accustomed to wooden benches, I saw nothing amiss. I recall those being high-backed, dark varnished: somber. My church in Peace River had the more modern pews, low, angular and padded. My home church has similar ones in the newer addition. The former sanctuary held the historic dark stained, high-gloss version. The balcony held even more of the staid structures. There is a certain beauty in a carved, elegant church pew. I have been a guest in several Anglican churches over the years. Most of those held pews of much earlier construction than any church I've been a part of. The little Anglican church in Heritage Park has a certain charm. The pulpit, miniscule altar, the guest book: all draw my attention. Carol and I gingerly settled on the creaky, slat-backed bench. We listened while Judy coaxed out a familiar hymn on the antique pump organ while the staff member standing in as the priest's wife stood by. My niece has a lovely photograph, taken at a family wedding. My dad was feeling fatigued and lowered himself onto a short pew that sat in the hallway, just outside the church kitchen and dining facility. Leanne's eldest child wasn't much more than a toddler and apparently was also weary. She crawled up beside her great-grandfather and sat politely, poised beside him. Her navy dress with wide white collar and her ruffled white socks were a perfect match for the navy hat and white posy. That of course called for a series of photos being taken with various family poses with grandpa and grandma. All had begun with the lure of a rest on an inviting church bench.
"I recall there being a ridge along the forward edge to catch wayward pencils from rolling off to disrupt the lessons."
