AN ATHEIST REMEMBERS RELIGION

While I do consider myself an atheist, I find at times a certain peace, calm and strength in church.
Occasionally while in the city of Melbourne I am drawn to St. Francis Cathedral. It was the church my Mother took me to on our occasional jaunts to the 'city' when I was but a child.

We occasionally used to take the big journey by tram from East Coburg (number 19 tram) into town.
We would shop. I don't remember what for, Probably manchester, undies and the like at various shops around town.
I don't remember any of the shops except two.

The first was Foys.
It stood on the corner of Bourke and Swanston Streets, and what I clearly remember is that it was about six floors high. From the first floor to probably the fourth floor at around Christmas time there stood, on the first floor veranda, a huge Santa Claus. He was very benign and had a moving finger. It was his right finger and curled back and forth beckoning. An in an invitation to come inside the store. Which we did.
What happened inside the store I don't recall except for getting my photo taken on Santa's knee. 

The big event , as far as I was concerning was lunch at Coles penny sit-up.
Coles was of the same ilk as Foys. Cheap merchandise of all sorts. Clothes, school supplies, manchester, whatever a household needed.

The big attraction of Coles was lunch. The penny sit-up. This was a complete floor dedicated to eating.
It was noisy, vibrant, limited menu.
It catered to the working class which meant in those days of the late 50's and early 60's nearly everyone.
The counter snaked around one side of the wall with fixed benches.In the body of the room plenty of tables for two or four people.
The menu simple. There was the "blue plate special". I don't remember what that consisted of because we could never afford it so didn't read it.
I always chose the pie and sauce followed by the banana split.
Now the banana split was something special. A banana cut length ways with two scoops of ice cream, crushed nuts, chocolate topping and whipped cream. Heaven on a plate.!

Next and last stop was the long walk to St. Francis Cathedral on the corner of Elizabeth and Lonsdale Streets.
To me it was a grand piece of architecture and once inside a haven of peace even to a child of six or eight.
We would enter through the door at the rear which faced the huge alter. We would stop, genuflect, say a prayer or two until my knees hurt which wasn't long. 

We would then move on to the small alcove on the left dedicated to the Virgin Mary.
This alcove had a small stand set up with offset rows and candle holders. Small candles lay in rows at the base of the stand. One was expected to place a small donation into a slot, take a candle and light it from another light candle and pray for...well whoever. Deceased or alive. We did this on every occasion we visited the city.
I have no idea who my mother prayed for and no idea who I prayed for.

I still follow that same ritual most time I am in the city except now I know who I am praying for.
I sit in the body of the church reflecting and remembering my Mum and Dad. I think of my blessings. I look for strength.

Atheist?  Yes.
Reverent of my Mothers beliefs? Yes.
Finding calm in a fraught world in church? Yes. Most emphatically so.

Thanks Mum for introducing me to a place of reflection and peace.
Talk you tomorrow.