I thought that it might be fun to have a "My Most Embarrassing Moment" competition. If the thread takes off, first, second and third places will receive a prize guaranteed to BE OF NO MONETARY VALUE WHATSOEVER!
So, I've had to give a lot of thought to exactly what was my most embarrassing moment as a JW.
Was it as a 12 year old child travelling on the London Underground, whilst being forced to wear a label that shouted in lurid purple: "Gods Kingdom Rules! Is the Worlds end near?"
Was it that famous MASTURBATION talk that I endured at the convention, while I was sat next to my mother who was getting more red-faced than me?
No, my worst moment happened at the Royal Festival Hall in London.
A bunch of us JW's had reserved front seats at a Beethoven concert. The plan was to leave immediately after the last bar of music was played, to avoid having to stand stiffly for the National Anthem that always concluded this sort of evening. The WT had been tub-thumping about youngsters saluting Old Glory in the US, and much was being made of the fact that the UK contingent should make some sort of stand also, despite there only being flag saluting on Empire Day.
Back to the plot. We dozen or so dubs took our places at the front of the Festival Hall. The orchestra and audience applauded the conductor, who mounted the dais, lifted his baton, and launched into....God Save The Queen!
As one, the huge crowd leapt to their feet and lustily started to bawl the dreadful dirge. (Prince Charles has promised to switch to Land of Hope and Glory when he finally gets the crown nestling above those amazing ears) We were stunned and looked at each other apalled, if we stood we would be committing idolatry! Aaagh! The anthem was supposed to be played at the end of the concert, not the beginning. What to do?
Our PO was with us, and as we bobbed up and down in our seats - stand / sit / sit / stand, he hissed: "Stay seated!"
So we all sat down as the long version of the anthem was played, all of us acutely aware of the hostility that was being aroused in the Nationalistic crowd to the rear of us.
The interminable anthem dragged to a halt, and therein the conductor waved the orchestra into the opening bars of the Pastoral. It was quiet enough for us to hear the hissed comments coming from the outraged audience behind us: "Bloody Commies", or, "What are you, conshies?", or worse still for my ex-RAF dad who had flown on many bombing missions in WW2, "I fought in the war for the likes of snotty-nosed pillocks like YOU!"
We sat rigidly through the first half of the concert. During the interval we had a rapid discussion and decided that discretion was the better part of valour and upped and left, the row of empty seats now conveying a silent message to the remaining audience, that, indeed, strange people had been around that night...
Englishman.