My church is busy with summer camps involving fun, wholesome activities throughout the holidays.
It keeps the local kids occupied and the close supervision prevents bullying, teaches ethics, manners and a better understanding of the Bible.
I sometimes catch a glimpse of the outdoor antics from my workplace across from the church.
While I clean and dust in a resident’s room at the lodge, my interest is piqued by a burst of laughter. I may be able to interpret the game in action but often it is indecipherable to me.
This year saw a total of 143 in attendance for the one week of vacation Bible school alone.
It brings back to my mind my own time in Bible school, an annual event from my childhood.
In our rural church Bible school occurred in August, during the hottest part of summer. I’m well aware that a great deal of planning was involved, but for those of us simply attending, the classes and the rowdy games were a highlight of the summer.
Our church was tiny; how we all fitted in is beyond me. There were maybe 20 to 30 kids as well as teachers and helpers.
I recall a class in each cloakroom, several in the sanctuary and the miniature library over the back stairs.
The basement was completely open but had room for several more tables by the windows. Our class barely had room to edge around the table to reach our spot in the corner.
Carol reminded me that our church pews were all homemade and unfinished. Several had been altered, with a drop-down table top attached to the back. Those were the tables used for our classes.
I remember our class being of eight or so local kids as well as the regular Sunday school attendees. We learned the 66 books of the Bible in correct order, memorized countless Scriptures, complete with references, sang in harmony and learned the blessing of being together.
When we broke for lunch, we ate whatever our lunch boxes contained, then joined in rousing games of tag, jump rope or hanging out with our friends. Our churchyard was largely a gravelled parking area but was large enough for games.
We had an exciting version of Flying Dutchman.
All the players formed a huge circle, holding hands. One pair was “it” and slowly circulated around the group.
Suddenly the tag was made with a smack on a pair of clutched hands and the team began to run.
The tagged pair ran in the opposite direction accompanied by loud encouragement from the rest of the players. One pair gained the gap in the circle first; the other pair became “it.”
We each held our breath, hoping that the team strolling behind us, out of our line of vision, would not choose us.
Our church was not fitted with electricity or plumbing. There was no kitchen or cold storage. I considered how that was handled.
On at least one occasion I recall that Mom had brought a large galvanized tub filled with icy well water. It acted as a makeshift icebox, chilling the containers of food, drink and even a huge watermelon.
On the Friday afternoon, we had a windup program to which all the families were invited. We showed our skills at recitation and demonstrated newly learned action choruses.
The program was followed with ice cream and cake and a time to visit with neighbours.
Those few short days in the middle of the hot and dry summer holidays were always an exciting event in my life.
Joyce Hoey is a longtime Mountain View Gazette columnist
