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For forty years she climbed the rickety red staircase as many had done before her.
High aloft she sits in solitude, the keys before her, waiting for the wind to blow through the pipes before pulling out all the stops.
Frozen fingers rubbed and suppleness restored,
Ready to touch and play the chord.
For forty years she pedalled and kept up the tempo and they responded with voices rising upwards to the wooden keel.
Hearts were uplifted,
Spiritually renewed and firmly cemented in the joining of vocal and instrumental unity.
Forty years, Sunday by Sunday...........

Now silenced by the pandemic,

2 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Neville Hunt about 1 year ago

    Shame! True story eh? Not you I hope? Very nicely done, whoever it is. Hopefully the church roof can be raised again soon as we all get in the vaccine queue.

  • avatar

    Marion E Ball about 1 year ago

    It is me but I don't think our small congregation of mainly aging widows will ever raise the roof but they enjoy a good sing. Smashing little organ with two manuals and quite a history to it.

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