Choir Boy

I joined the church choir, seemed the thing to do.
Mates were in it, at least one or two.
We got paid, maybe it was the reason why,
I had a very good voice, no solos, far too shy.

About twelve of us boys, all sopranos of course.
Men, altos, tenors, baritones, why didn't he get hoarse?
St Augustine's was the church in which we sung.
Sometimes we boys, the church bells we rung,

Sometimes on Saturday, on couple's wedding days,
Work on a Saturday! Didn't mind, it pays!
Other gigs were so very, very sad,
Funerals especially of a young girl or lad.

The church had an organ, beyond its outer visage,
We knew not its range, not at this stage.
The organist, a master of music and playing,
After morning service, to test the organ, was staying.

Us lads gathered 'round to see what he'd do,
He played trumpets, drums, stringed instruments too!
Half circles of keys, four or five, knobs aplenty,
His feet flying over wood peddles, at least twenty!

We implored him to play modern, maybe a mod song.
He started to play, not a key, knob or foot wrong.
But it was jazz he was to play; trumpets, drums and saxophones.
All of us thought, including him, that we were alone.

Unbeknownst to us all, an old lady had walked in,
Heard trumpets, the Almighty has called her in.
She sat in a pew; fervently she prayed,
Got up, a very swift exit she made.

About this time a new cousin arrived.
He was about four, going on five.
Uncle had married a lady from Germany;
Mum minded him, so houses they could see.

Of course the lad, a stranger then;
Of the other's language neither could ken.
He spoke, no ken, he got very frustrated,
What he wanted he indicated.

Open mouth, point something in here,
Mum plied him with food, poor little dear.
Not hungry, well what was he thinking?
He pointed at the tap 'drinking! drinking!'