Charles Street, Hull, 

A depression of shuttered shops 

No trace remains of the Pioneer Store 

Or the anonymous side door 

Into the Fig Tree Gospel Hall. 

 

The ‘blessed remnant’ entered through a porch 

Crammed with bin bags spilling 

Sweet sweat-rancid jumble sale leftovers,

“Get stuck in before the tatters come.”

 

The doorkeeper was a pig farmer 

From Holderness way

As tall as he was wide 

He kept boisterous intruders out 

And backsliders in

When the fiery gospelling

Impinged on their ‘private’ sins. 

 

He stands beside a dust and varnish table 

Stacked high with King James Version Bibles 

And well-thumbed Redemption Hymnals.

 

He shakes every hand

His banana-thick fingers 

Crush the knuckles of 

Unwary first-timers. 

 

A scatter of sisters in winter coats  

Crochet hats and sensible shoes 

Dots the rows of wooden chairs.

Careless of stolen glances

From lusting brothers in Burton’s best suits, 

Bri-nylon shirts from BHS. 

And Windsor-knotted terylene ties

Tight around button-down necks. 

 

As The Spirit moves, melting souls,

Sighed ‘Hallelujahs’ fill the hall

Until Pastor Gardner breaks the spell

With a basso profundo, “Testimony Time!” 

 

A pair of flares and leather sandals, 

Crumpled shirt and unkempt hair.

Nervous but spurred by

“Glory! Praise the Lords!” 

Tells of sordid debauchery, 

“Till Jesus came and rescued me.” 

 

The pianist thumps the keys 

Gideon Gardner beams contentedly.

 

Two dozen voices want,

“A thousand tongues to sing 

Their great redeemer’s praise.”

 

Pastor takes his tambourine from a peg 

Beats out the demons in his trouser legs. 

A rococo glissando trills into,

“When the Roll is Called Up Yonder…” 

 

From the back the doorkeeper leads,

“If you’re happy and you know it…” 

 

Happy hands clap,

Happy feet stamp.

 

Damp walls shake.

Floorboards bounce.

 

Next door

The ‘Beer Off’ proprietor  

Sighs for Monday.