There was a red letter day at Whitsuntide that was set aside for the Sunday School treat. It was only a small school, but the officers arranged for some of the money at least to pay for the expense of the tea, so they arranged an itinerary through the district, where we sang, and a house-to-house collection was made. We introduced ourselves by singing:--

Another year has passed away.

Time swiftly speeds along. 

We come again to praise and pray,

And sing our festal song. 

We come, we come.

We come with songs to greet you. etc. 

The singing must have been poor although we were helped by a few men. There was no instrument, but men knew how to pitch the tune. The collecting was done by my uncle. The itinerary followed the same route each year, and our little legs ached as our stomachs became empty. There was one bright spot however, for when we reached the top of a hill on the return journey we sang at a farmhouse where milk was given to us. It was lovely to our tender lips, and I remember the sensation of drinking it even today; and having been refreshed, we made our way to a field near the chapel to have a good tea. All the fatigue vanished then, and we became as fresh as young rabbits. Arrangements were made for children and adults to spend the evening in the field where we shared a common delight. There was no band to entertain us, but I recall one occasion when we had a single violin. There was no dancing, but much running about. 

[…]

[…] When people felt the need for a rest, a fiddler was present to play a merry tune. It was almost like being on a Village Green in the Middle Ages except we did not have plays and dancing.