My Mormon story

In 1966, my parents attended the church of England. One day the missionaries came calling and my mother had a “religious experience” when she knew everything the missionaries would tell her was the truth.

So, based on that, we became Mormons. I was ten and basically I had no choice. One week we were a normal family enjoying life, then next, we were Mormons and forbidden to drink tea or coffee.

Instead we had to make do with German Ersatz coffee, Caro and Postum. My memories of pre-Mormon life on a Sunday were of a visit to church, followed by returning home to watch a film on TV, almost invariably a war film, whilst eating ham sandwiches and drinking tea. Suddenly, that life was gone forever. Sundays became a time of never quite being good enough and of a collection of fruitcakes, loons and nutters trying to tell us how to live our lives. One fruitloop even came to our house for a week-day primary meeting with my mother and marched into the living room declaring stridently: “We do NOT watch TV on the day primary is on!”
There will be more later.