Dr John Coulter: Who needs Shakespeare? We've got a Presbyterian Soiree

This was where anyone and everyone in the Sunday school who could dance, sing (even out of tune!) recite a poem, or dress up got the chance to display their talents before a ‘live’ audience of the church congregation.

The platform of the church hall became the stage, equipped with lights, and curtains, along with my dad as the minister acting as MC for the evening.

For weeks beforehand, we would meet after school in the church hall for rehearsals with the ever-patient church organist Mrs Sadie McWilliams. She had the patience of the Biblical Old Testament character Job - she needed it as it was - until the evening of the performance - a total mess about time!

While it was a case of ‘It’ll Be Alright On The Night’, talent-wise, Simon Cowell and his judges would have been blasting on their Britain’s Got Talent buzzers the second they heard us in action!

We were divided into four sections - junior and senior girls, and junior and senior boys. No matter how young or old you were, if you were in the Sunday School, you got a spot in the limelight before a packed audience.

The comedy was clean and slap-stick; there were no rude jokes, double-entendres or innuendoes - nothing that would have embarrassed a clergyman! In spite of an excellent public address system for the event, some kids were so shy on the ‘big stage’ you could hardly hear them whisper!

But who cared! We were the actors and actresses of the future as we performed our amateur (and I mean amateur!) dramatics with enthusiasm and gusto. Who cared if we missed our lines, or even forgot them; we were performing before a live audience who would clap and cheer with fanaticism no matter how ‘wick’ the act.

For the quiet wee preacher’s kid like me, the annual Soiree was a real confidence booster. As a budding wannabe Ozzy Osbourne in the making, I could belt out the hymn tunes no matter what key Mrs McWilliams was playing in and I would receive thunderous applause from the audience - everyone was a winner on Soiree night!

Of course, some of us - well, me alone as the preacher’s kid! - would sometimes push things to the limit. One year for Christmas, some of us lads had asked Santa for the ultimate gift at that time - a plastic gun known as a Johnny Seven The One Man Army. It looked like an RPG7 rocket launcher, bolt action rifle and M60 machine gun combined, but it was the super toy of the Sixties!

One of the choruses we would sing at the Soiree was about being a soldier in the Lord’s Army (not the paramilitary group of the same name, but a reference to being a child of God bound for Heaven).

A number of us lads - the so-called Junior Boys that night - had Johnny Sevens on display and part of the chorus was where we fired the machine gun noise on the ‘weapon’.

However, we had been given very strict instructions by our tutor, Mrs McWilliams, that under no circumstances, were we to fire the grenades into the audience in case someone got hit by the plastic devices.

Stuff this, I thought; this is a chance for us lads to make a political statement to the Kirk Session elders. I arranged for the lads on this singing event that instead of firing the machine gun noise on the Johnny Seven, when Mrs McWilliams gave us the cue to ‘shoot’, it would be the grenades which would be launched at the elders!

There was only one problem; with lights out in the hall, and the stage lights on us, we couldn’t see where members of the Kirk Session were sitting.

The rehearsals had all been completed. We did the dry run, but that had been during the day time and the wee members of the Junior Girls had all ducked when we fired the grenades - evoking a severe telling off from Mrs McWilliams that there was to be no repetition of this behaviour on the night.

And that fateful Friday night came in the Sixties; all the lads arrived with their Johnny Sevens; grenades primed and ready. Our act was about half way through the evening. Then dad announced what we’d all been waiting for - the Junior Boys and their rendition of ‘We Are In The Lord’s Army’. It was action stations.

The curtains swished aside and there was thunderous applause as we stood there, bedecked in our combat gear and Johnny Sevens; no one suspected the mayhem we were about to unleash. But where were the elders sitting; we couldn’t make out who was whom.

There was only one solution - fire the grenades and hope for the best that we pranged an elder. Then came the cue - shoot! - Volunteer Coulter stepped forward, breaking ranks - Johnny Seven grenade launcher locked and loaded; safety off - and then I fired!

There was a sharp intake of breath from the audience as the hard plastic grenade sailed into the darkness of the congregation; followed by a yelp from an unknown victim; a hit, I had scored a hit! But on whom? I turned to my comrades to see how they had fared, but only then did the horror strike me.

The other lads had bottled it, or to be fair, obeyed Mrs McWilliams’ explicit orders not to fire the Johnny Seven grenades. My chums were staring at me in disbelief. Mission failure as I got a severe telling off after the Soiree. I didn’t hit an elder, but I’d made a point - the preacher’s kid would not following the ‘norm’!

Dr John Coulter has been a journalist since 1978. His late father, Rev Dr Robert Coulter MBE, was a Presbyterian minister for many years.