The End Of The World !s Nigh!

I've been quite perplexed about the seriousness with which some people seem to have taken the end of the world predictions. Perhaps that's overstating it though, as I had no idea anything out of the ordinary was expected to happen last weekend and I've only more or less caught up with the whole kerfuffle this week.

I read something on FB about people wondering which time zone something they referred to as Rapture was referring to ... New Zealand? Eastern Australian time? or where the prediction was coming from which seemed to be the USA. My friends seemed to be idly wondering which calendar was being used for the prediction as well. there are quite a few in use after all - it was all a little perplexing.  If I'd spent more than 2 seconds thinking about the so-called prediction, I would have come to the conclusion that it was all a bit sus.*

Anyhow, it was my hubby's birthday and we were going to celebrate, end of the world or not!

You may wonder why I am so sanguine about THE END OF THE WORLD which I'm sure will be accompanied by dramatic and extremely atmospheric organ music.

My mother was born in 1916 and used to tell the following story.

As a little girl she remembered being dressed in a new white frilly Sunday Best dress. Except it wasn't Sunday, and she wasn't used to having new clothes. Mostly her clothes were hand-me-downs from her older sister. She was absolutely delighted and wanted to twirl and dance, but the atmosphere was sombre. Her older sister helped her with her new socks and shoes, brushed her hair till it shone, then tied it with a bow.

The whole family, sisters, parents, aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas, many neighbours, farm workers and mill hands all dressed with extra care. Those who could afford it were wearing new clothes. They then proceeded with great solemnity to trek to the highest point of the highest hill near their small village in Norfolk, England.

Hymn sheets were passed around, prayers said, absolution made. Then they raised their voices to heaven and waited for the light of Jesus to carry them to heaven.

They raised their voices to heaven again and waited   and waited   and waited

I often think they must have felt a little awkward when they finally came to the realisation that nothing was going to happen and they'd need to pick up the hymn sheets, go home and get dinner for the no doubt confused and possibly squabbling children.

Some people had apparently sold all their belongings including houses and all their goods and chattles. I wonder what happened to them? Did the preacher apologise, put them up, feed them and help them find their feet again afterwards? I don't understand the motivation other than an abnormally greedy desire for power and the enjoyment of having gullible people fawning over your empty words.

I remember my mother saying that their particular preacher continued to change the dates and claim that the next time was the right date. Some parishioners believed him, but there were less and less as time went on.

My mother's family never went up to the top of the hill again. They emigrated to Australia instead. I think they were right to be skeptical after being duped once, and I'm confident mum would have smiled at the latest doomsday preacher.

A good spot to hang out and wait for the end of the world.

* suspect or suspicious