MEMORIES OF SYDNEY CARTER
As some of you will already know, back in the dark ages in another life, Christine and I were very involved with a religious drama group that travelled around the country in the early days of using religious drama in churches within the context of worship. On occasion we worked with a number of then well-known names, one of whom was Sydney Carter.
Although perhaps best known for his hymns ‘Lord of the dance’ and ‘One more step along the world I go,’ (both of which have made it into mainstream worship), he penned many other works as well, and was never happier than when having a gentle dig at the status quo or commenting on life’s little anomalies.
On one occasion we were all involved at a very large weekend-long clergy conference on worship in Holborn. The days were taken up with serious seminars looking at new ideas in worship and how they could be used in services. Saturday evening however was billed as an entertainment, with those who had been involved in presenting the seminars being asked to join forces to stage it.
Imagine the scene: a largish hall full of rather staid clergy, all in clerical dress, waiting to be ‘entertained.’ Sydney decided to liven things up by performing a song that he had just written called ‘The Vicar is a Beatnik’ !!!
(Whilst most readers will probably be aware of what a Beatnik was, here is the dictionary definition for any readers of more tender years who don’t remember those times. ‘’A person in the 1950’s or 1960’s who rejected the normal attitudes of established society, e.g. by unconventional behaviour or dress).’’
The words of the song are as follows:
THE VICAR IS A BEATNIK
(by Sydney Carter)
“Good morning,” said the vicar, a banjo round his neck.
“We’re digging up the crypt,” he said, “to make a discotheque.”
So we’re writing to the bishop to say that we are shocked,
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
At early morning services he plays a mandolin
I’ve never been to hear him, but I know it is a sin
So we’re writing to the bishop to say that we are shocked,
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
We love the merry organ and the bells across the snow.
We love the Church of England, although we never go,
And we love the dear old Bible, with “Jehovah” and “begat,”
It’s not that we believe in it or anything like that.
It’s not that we believe in it or anything like that.
Just marry us and bury us the way you used to do
With a blast upon your organ and not on your kazoo,
So we’re writing to the bishop to say that we are shocked,
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
We love the merry organ and the bells across the snow.
We love the Church of England, although we never go,
So we’re writing to the bishop to say that we are shocked,
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
The vicar is a beatnik, he ought to be unfrocked.
The problem came in verse 3, when Sydney brandished a set of sleigh bells with such vigour, that all of the little round bells became detached from the handle and rolled under the audience’s chairs.
We shall never forget the sight of Sydney Carter on all-fours, scrabbling about under the legs of all those startled vicars, trying to retrieve them.
It does (and will) live long in the memory.
Arthur Sibun
