As I have said I was born into a fervent Baptist family, so Sundays were very much days of rest except for the cooking of the Sunday dinner. 

All the family who could walk went to the Church in Cambray, the centre of the town where father rented a pew.

Afternoons were devoted to a “tidy” walk which mean't [sic] just that—no running about, for we would be wearing Sunday clothes.

[…]

If it rained the afternoon was spent reading. For those who didn’t go to Church in the evening there was hymn singing—“Jesus bids us shine”, “Dare to be a Daniel”, “I think when I read that sweet story of old” and “Gentle Jesus meek and mild, Look upon a little child. Pity my simplicity, Suffer me to come to Thee.”

What did it matter that we didn’t understand the meaning of all the words? We put our own interpretation on them and had the broad outline of the teaching. 

Personally I translated simplicity to “stupidity” knowing nothing of the one but being rich in the other!

All my life I remembered some of the hymns Dad taught us and the meanings grew and developed as we did.