I was born at Moonta, S.A., on October 1, 1890~~the sixth child, with six to come. Before we left Moonta when I was seven, I started school there, and still remember the names of playmates and of the three dogs we owned! At the time we moved to Wallaroo Mines things had gone against farther, and we lived in a very poor place, where we had to sleep on the floor for some time. Bitterness increased father's drinking habits, but mother never lost her faith, and I can well recall hearing her at prayer behind the closed bedroom door.

      My days at the Mines school were cut short when it was discovered on the first day back after the Christmas vacation in 1900 that I could not see any writing on the board or read any printed work from the book. Sunday School is the only school I have attended since that day, nor have I ever sat for an examination since I was in my tenth year. The pain I suffered in my eyes I shall never be able to describe. For more than two years they were in bandages, and twice weekly I visited doctors in Kadina for agonising treatment, until a locum named Dr. Rome put me through agony of agonies~~but it was the beginning of the cure. The days of my blindness were over, though my sight has never been good. But I have got by, and have, I suppose, done as much reading, of a kind, as any man in any profession.

      My brother Sid and I were fond of boyish pranks, and were enterprising. We tried, with passing success, to make money by organising children's concerts and bicycle races, and had a few warning encounters with the local police constable, though we never ended up in court.

      From those days I recall the peace celebrations at the end of the Boer War, and the death of the great Queen, who was always an old woman to me. I remember the visit of General William Booth, of the Salvation Army, and how he put his hand on my head and inquired about my eyes.

      There were sorrows in our family, with the deaths of Ida, when I was three, and Hilda when I was six; Harold's blindness and Frank's death from fever in 1902. When I recall the sorrows of my parents I feel some tenderness for father in his weakness for drink.

      But mother "took it to the Lord in prayer" and she was always the stronger. Fever was a common enough complaint, with sanitary arrangements so crude. We had no bathroom in the house. I never knew a house that did. We used to bathe in a tub in the kitchen on Saturday nights, when we had to buy water and cart it in kerosene buckets. Then mother would mend our clothes, wash and dry them in readiness for our two sessions of Sunday school the next day.

      As a child I was very religious. I am sure that I have never had a purer faith, and one more beautifully simple, than when I was eight to ten years of age. In secluded places I would talk with the Lord Jesus as friend to friend. The time came when I was thrown amongst the worst of companions, and I certainly degenerated. But when I came back my welcome was as real as that told in the immortal story of a prodigal's homecoming.

      In September, 1902, I started work on the picking tables at the Wallaroo Mines. Deductions of 6d. each were taken from my weekly pay for sick pay and the "doctor's club", but the remaining 5/6d was welcomed in our home. I handed my pay over (and continued to do so till I was 21, as was the custom in those days) and received 3d. for pocket money. Bloated capitalist I was. From this revolting job amidst a deafening din, I moved to the concentration plant of the Wallaroo Mines at Devon. The shift work there was neither hard nor skilful, and I stayed there until

      After early years with the Bible Christians (a Methodist sect) and the Salvation Army, I had strayed badly from church and Sunday school. Then I had become interested in some friends who were members of the Kadina Church of Christ, where E. G. Warren was then doing a magnificent evangelistic work. Their services appealed to me. I joined their Bible school and later made my confession of faith and was baptised. Happy amongst enthusiastic people who had such an absolute assurance that they possessed the truth, I was quite satisfied to limit the use of whatever gifts I had to the needs of the young people of this congregation. But other forces were at work, unknown to me, and I had to learn that God had a fuller, larger work for me to do.

      In response to an urgent Saturday night request from my sick pastor, I preached, on a Sunday morning in May, 1912, to a good congregation, my first sermon, on "Christ Is All" (Col. 3:11). This fluent, flimsy sermon was the only one I preached before, a couple of months later, the call came for me to become a full-time preacher. Mr. Warren showed me a letter he had received from someone on the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia; T. Pedler, I think. Mr. Pedler, it so happened, was with another visitor from his district in the congregation the morning I preached in the Kadina church. He must have been pleased because the letter Mr. Warren was showing me was an inquiry as to whether he thought I would accept a call to the home mission work on Eyre Peninsula, and whether he could recommend me. Robert Harkness, B.A., was finding the work too much, and the number of members moving into the district was increasing. If I would come I could be assured of support, etc.

      I said "No." I talked with my parents about it. Mother was all for my going, but my father said I would be a fool. When finally I did go he said I would be back looking for a job within three months. I might have been doing that, too, if he had not said so. I fought against going, conscious of my limitations, but letters of appeal kept coming to me, and finally I decided to go. I took with me a Bible, a Cruden's Concordance, which my mother gave me for my 19th birthday, and two or three books which I felt might help me. At my welcome, David Butler, on behalf of Butler church, expressed great disappointment because I was so young and so small. I assured the meeting I would grow out of the first, given time, and with regard to the second, it was better to measure a man from the shoulders upwards.

      When I agreed to accept this work it was made very clear to me that no guarantee of salary could be made. It was promised me, however, that all the members of the Ungarra church competent to do so would reap for my benefit absolutely seven acres of crop. It so came to pass that only one man had a crop. His was not a big crop, but it was up to expectations. However, because the others who had made promises were unable to keep them, he declared, to my utter amazement, that he

      Mr. Harkness was a Bachelor of Arts. He promised he would tutor me, but when I failed to understand his exercises in parsing and analysis he told me I was wasting my time trying to be a minister. But others gave encouragement and I survived.

      It was impossible for me to keep a record of the miles covered while in the saddle of my little chestnut pony, Monny, though on one Sunday in every month I often did 42 miles in the saddle, conducting three services and a Sunday school. I can well recall the bitterly cold night of June 1st, 1913. My limbs were frozen stiff as I sat in the saddle on my return trip from Fort Neill to Butler, some time after 9 p.m. Tired as well as cold, I decided I could go no further until I got some warmth into my bones. With the aid of the paper lining of my little straw hat, I made a small fire on the roadside and got a little warmth. But I had barely travelled on for more than a mile when I was as cold as before. On these monthly trips I would reach home about 11.30 p.m. Everyone would he abed, and I would go supperless and cold to my bed.

      One Sunday in the month I would be at Tumby Bay for the afternoon service (they had no morning meeting) and preach at Lipson at night. Frequently I would ride the eighteen miles to Butler after the Lipson service. Sometimes I would be made a welcome guest in the Nankivell home, one of the loveliest families I have known. Two boys, Joe (later killed in World War I) and Wilfred, went to Glen Iris College.

      A comparatively easy and delightful Sunday in the month was spent at Pillana as guest of Mrs Black, devoted mother of George D. Black, one of our preachers. I enjoyed the company of Boswell and Will. Sometimes I was guest of Mr and Mrs Ira Durdin, a young couple in Cummins. Ira later went to Glen Iris, and became a highly esteemed minister.

      It was at Port Neill (otherwise called Carrow) that I had my first wedding, that of Fred Burtt and Annie Hunt in February, 1914. It was there also that I had my first funeral, that of Jack Easther. In Butler I had my first real experience of farming. Mr Young was ill during the seeding time of 1913. No labour was available, nor was there money to pay for it, anyway. Mr Young was making himself worse by worrying about his seed and "super" being out in the field, so in real desperation I promised him I would put in the crop for him. He was amused and a little sarcastic, but finally agreed that I could not possibly make matters worse. George, who was then about ten years old, came to the sheds to help me harness. I had been out a couple of hours earlier to feed the horses, but had never harnessed a team and anxiously watched George. I did exactly as he did. He was quite unaware of my ignorance and I was determined he should remain so. When all was in readiness I drove the team out to the paddock to the drill, which was standing where it had last been used. Two days before, Charlie Humphrys had seen no sense in my asking to ride with him around a field on a seed drill, but I had learnt that day how the horses were attached to the drill, how and where the seed and super were loaded into the drill, and how to distinguish wheat, oats and barley, which before this had all been the same to me. So, with this limited knowledge, I drove my team to the job. It was sunrise, and the cold was biting into my hands and feet, but we got going and I rather enjoyed covering so much ground. When Mr Young asked me the first night how I had got on, and I told him I had covered so much ground and used so much seed and super, he thought there was something drastically wrong. Mr Humphrys (bless

      About September, I rode over to Mr Young's, and he suggested we go out and have a look at the crop. We got into my sulky and drove across the paddocks. I suggested that we tie the pony to a tree and walk through the crop, but Mr Young said we could drive through the crop. I asked if that wouldn't damage it. "No," he said, "we can drive between the rows!" And we certainly could. I had missed enough ground between the rows to drive a wagon and team! However, he had plenty of country, and as long as I hadn't wasted the seed, he was pleased. As a matter of fact, he reaped from my sowing an average equal to any reaped by experienced farmers in the district.

      The building in which we met at Butler was owned by the church. It was built by voluntary labour, and certainly by unskilled workmen. It was a little building, with the roof so placed that it could not be called a skillion roof, nor a gable, nor a hip-roof. It was made of galvanised iron, and the walls were low. The platform was only about twelve inches in height but was still too high for a tall man to use. Mr Harkness had to preach standing on the floor or he would have touched the ceiling. But it served a useful purpose, and was used for State school as well as church services.

      At Ungarra we met in the home of Tom Pedler. We had a membership of twelve when I arrived. Later, Norman Laurie brought his bride from Adelaide, and a couple of others were added. The first baptism I conducted at Ungarra was in the creek, with changing accommodation behind the bushes. There was no township of Ungarra then. The railway line was going through the district and a navvies' camp was where the town now is. I did my best to conduct services among the men, but found I was able to do a more effective ministry by visiting them in their tents at night.

      Mr Harkness suffered a physical setback in 1913 and finally had to lay down the work and take a long sea voyage. I was left to carry on without him. Tumby Bay had some very good men, able to speak well~~choice souls like Joseph Nankivell, senr. and Gilbert Hammond.

      It was at this time that the Tumby Bay chapel was being erected. The church was fortunate in possessing a block of land in a good spot on the seafront, rejected by the Roman Catholics for what proved an inferior block, away from the main town area as it developed. Our church's block had on it a quantity of good quality South American grey granite. It had originally been used as ballast in a sailing ship whose company paid the Tumby Bay church £25 for the privilege of dumping what was then used by the church for its building! The seating for the subsequent chapel in 1913 cost £26/5/6.

      Arthur J. Fisher, who graduated from Glen Iris College of the Bible in 1913, accepted the invitation of the Home Mission Committee to succeed Robert Harkness at Tumby Bay, and arrived for the opening of the chapel in January, 1914. Both he and Ira A. Paternoster, President of the South Australian Conference, who came to preach at the opening services, wore their frock coats and bowler hats, typical dress for our preachers in those days. Ira Paternoster was a great sport, with an eye like a hawk, and we went shooting together and became fast friends. But it is not true that our first son was named after him, except in point of time. Our baby was so called because his mother was fond of singing, and could not imagine anyone greater than Ira D. Sankey. The "D" was found for us in her maiden name, Doley.

      But that was in the future. In March, 1914, with my savings bank account almost exhausted and only enough left for a boat ticket, I felt it was time for me to resign and go back home and look for a paying job. I gave Mr Jericho, at the local post office, a telegram to send to

      All that I possessed in things that could be handled was packed into a wooden case, about 30 inches long, with handles at each end. With that box, I set out for Berri in the first week of April, 1914, on what proved a nightmare journey in a number of conveyances. I arrived in a state of collapse, but had scarcely got to sleep when someone came, wanting me to conduct a funeral the next day. After that came our first services in Berri, held in the home of Mr Edwards who, with A. C. Jarvis, had set up the Lord's Table about 1911. After the morning service we set about forming the church. I think those present who were members were Mr and Mrs Edwards and Miss Taylor (afterwards Mrs Gernsey), Mr Jarvis and George, Harold Clarke and Mrs James. The Simon family were at the evening service, when sixteen were present.

      With numbers growing, we moved our meetings to a large room that had been built for an implement shed and was a veritable hot-shop in summer. I used the top of the piano as my preaching desk, standing on a box hidden behind the piano. After that, for two years we used a house, with a partition removed, as a meeting-place, and were able to pay our rent and save enough by letting it at other times to purchase a block of land on which to build a chapel. Then Mr Edwards was enterprising enough to build a hall beside his large shop, which was then in the most prominent place in the town. We gladly hired it, and I found it the best hall I had used anywhere. We had many conversions and baptisms there~~though our first baptisms in Berri had been in the Murray River, a memorable experience when two converts and I were nearly swept away in a cliff-slide. These young men, Tom Simon and Joe Stittiford, were, as far as I know, the first and only ones to be baptised in the Murray at Berri.

      With headquarters at Berri, I was expected to cover a lot of country, both for visiting and for raising the promised support~~10/- weekly from Berri, 5/- or more (depending on services given) from Pyap West, 5/- from Renmark and 2/6 from Noora. These places were separated by great distances, so I borrowed money from my father to buy my first pony.

      On Sunday evenings in the Pyap West hall our congregation often numbered over one hundred. Louis Curtis, a Glen Iris graduate and an excellent preacher, shared the preaching with me~~a dear friend, as were his brother Bob and his wife. Not far from their farm was the farm of Alexander Gordon, father of Con (an early lecturer in the College of the Bible), Linley (later a world traveller and lecturer in the Carnegie Peace Movement) and Gifford (outstanding in the U.S.A. prohibition campaign). His warm-hearted brother, Donald, was the father of James Gordon, so well known in Western Australia as a preacher.

      Following my regular visits to Pyap West I would plan to leave there or Tuesday, using the Monday for a little follow-up visiting. I would make the eleven miles to Loxton by lunch-time, and would spell my horse there for two or three hours before setting out for Noora, where we would have a little service in the Connigrave home. I conducted only two or three services there, as the distance to be covered was more than the poor attendance of five or six warranted. I would ride home the fourteen or so miles to Berri on the Wednesday.

      We were not successful in our efforts to establish a church at Renmark, where we met in an olive grove. To ride fourteen miles after the Berri morning service and be back there for the night meeting was too much like my Eyre Peninsula experience, so I dropped the Renmark

      While attending the South Australian Conference in 1915 I was introduced by Theo. Edwards to Mary Doley, a soprano of unusual talent who had been soloist in the Conference choir. We spoke together for a few minutes, and I went away and thought no more of it. A little later, I received from her a request for a paper for the C.E. Society of which she was a member. I sent it. She wrote and thanked me. I replied in acknowledgment. She wrote back to say it was kind of me to do so. At Christmas she sent me a copy of Whittier's poems. In February, 1916, I was again in Adelaide, on annual holiday, and Mary was at the train to meet me. I met her again the next night and gave her a ring. I did not see her again until I went to the city of the next Conference, when we were married by Jabez Wiltshire at Hindmarsh Church of Christ on September 14, 1916. Her father, Thomas Doley, was an elder in the Hindmarsh church, and all the family were active members. We all enjoyed the reception in the church hall.

      I returned to Berri with Mary. We had a poor little rented house with a few bits of second-hand furniture, mostly hers. Our dining room suite and the double bed were bought at the auction sale of furniture from the home of Sir Samuel Way, late Chief Justice and Lieutenant Governor of South Australia. The dining room suite of a couch, five chairs and two easy chairs, is still in my possession. When we returned from our honeymoon all the money we had between us amounted to £4, but we hadn't a debt in the world, and a month's pay of £8 to come the next week. Marriage was heaven to me. Notwithstanding poverty and illness, I never once heard Mary complain. She proved a grand wife, and an ideal one for a minister.

      I was persuaded by D. A. Ewers, then Home Mission Secretary, to discontinue my strenuous circuit work, and concentrate more in the immediate Berri area, which was constantly expanding. So we started services in the home of Mr and Mrs Gray at Winkie, later erecting a hall there. At Berri we had already built a chapel, Mary laying the foundation stone in 1917, and Jabez Wiltshire later conducting special opening services, to which William Mathews, then more than 70 years of age, rode his bike the 60 to 70 miles from Morgan, and helped magnificently. Our Ira was then just one month old.

      At the end of 1917 we had notice to quit the house we occupied. As no other place was obtainable, I tendered my resignation. The church held a special meeting and decided to erect a manse next to the chapel, where limited space was available. Promises of help were readily made, but not fulfilled, despite my own efforts at making bricks. I had nearly 900 made and set out to dry on vacant land, when we had a great thunderstorm. The lime-sand bricks were absolutely ruined, as were my hopes, and those of the couple of men who had helped me.

      Again I resigned. Another meeting was called, and more promises were made. We had moved from living on someone's verandah into a tent, using the church vestry, an eight-by-eight three-ply room, for eating space. We had little privacy, With Frank on the way, and Mary far from well, I wanted to relinquish the work. But Mr Arndt began carting stone, so I carted more sand and lime and we commenced the manse. The men would come every night after 5 o'clock to place the boards and

      I was in Berri all through World War I. I was always a pacifist, a fact that brought me as much trouble as careless talk by men with German names brought them. My fight against conscription didn't enhance my popularity in some quarters, though it did in others. While I was a member of the Berri Football Club many of the team would attend my evening services, but the dislike and unsportsmanlike conduct of others forced me to leave the team. It was a relief to us all when the Armistice was signed in 1918.

      Faith and a sense of humour have helped me through such difficulties, as well as aiding my indifferent health, about which Dr. Harry Lucraft of Perth once said that I was like a four-cylinder car engine trying to do an eight-cylinder job. The problem for me has been that the eight-cylinder job was there to be done, and it seemed that if I did not do it, it would never be done. I have never been able to get rid of head noises that often nearly drove me to distraction, but the good Lord brought me through it all.

      I closed my work at Berri at the end of August, 1919. I felt that I was not intellectually equipped for any work already established in larger towns or suburbs, and I knew of no such places as I had worked in now calling for the limited service I had to offer. However, God took a hand in this matter and almost immediately that it was known I was to leave Berri, an offer was made to me to succeed Theo. Edwards in the work at Murray Bridge. Mr Edwards had been called to Stirling East. I knew him to be a well-trained and diligent worker, and hesitated to accept.

      Finally I yielded, for the simple reason that necessity drove me; I had to live. I was married, with two children, and was not in a fit condition to seek manual work that demanded physical strength, while educational limitations ruled me out as an office or business man. So, trusting in Him for wisdom and strength, I responded to this call. We put our belongings and our pony on the river boat at Berri, and we were at Murray Bride to take care of them when at last they were unloaded. We paid 27/6 per week rent out of our £4 per week salary.

      I liked Murray Bridge. We were given a grand welcome by the church, and at the public welcome it was a great joy to have my parents in the gatherings. The building and living accommodation, like the salary, were an improvement on Berri.

      The influenza epidemic that was then sweeping the world, following the Great War, was making its presence felt at the Bridge, and it was not until the epidemic abated that I was able to get down to real preaching work. The congregations grew, and everyone was happy with the results. I was also happy because so many returned men came to me to arrange their marriages. Marriage fees helped me to meet the growing financial burden, and during the few months I was there I must have got more income from wedding fees than from salary, though I never made a charge, leaving it to the bridegroom to give me what he felt was due. I was seldom disappointed.

      After only a few months, and just when we felt we were getting somewhere with this work, tragedy hit us hard. Mary, suffering from chest pains, was sent to see Dr. Walter Brown in Adelaide, and he ordered her into "Kalyra" for TB care. I then had the problem of meeting the needs of a four month old baby, but my mother arrived within a week or so and was a wonderful help. She could only stay briefly, after which Mary's sisters took the boys to stay with them at Thebarton, where they were in business.

      My expenses were naturally heavy, so I closed house in Murray Bridge and went boarding with Mr and Mrs Alf Overall, lovely, humble folk whose great kindness to me is another of life's treasured memories.

      As Dr. Brown was now urging me not to take Mary back to Murray Bridge, I had to consider closing my work, so recently and happily begun there, and go elsewhere. Mary hoped soon to be discharged and take up home duties again. But where? The church at the Bridge was very kind. It was known I should not be able to continue, and when the S.A. Home Missions Committee offered me the work at Kersbrook and Williamstown, in the lovely Adelaide hills district, I had no hesitation in accepting.

      So we moved to Kersbrook, an old place off the beaten track, very English in appearance with its thatched-roof houses. For nearly two years we lived there in an 11-roomed house, standing in 40 acres of timbered country, all for 10/- per week. Here we kept cows for the first time. This spacious house had been built by the first minister, who remained with the church for more than 50 years. The second minister stayed 38 years.

      The church was one of a group of independent churches in South Australia known as the "Christian" Church. They were not organised into Conferences, and although they held the same faith they did nothing to co-operate in support of each other. So, when they weakened, they had to seek help from somewhere or close the doors. Kersbrook church sought help from us. But the church never conformed to the pattern of our work. The communion service was conducted after the preaching service, which was in the hands of the minister. He would pronounce the benediction, the "sinners" would leave and the "saints" remain for the Lord's Supper. Almost everyone I knew in Kersbrook attended church, either our service at 11 a.m. or the Methodists' at 3 p.m. Each service was preceded by Sunday school, with the same children attending both schools, and the congregations made up, for the greater part, of the same people. Church members were strong fundamentalists, with definite premillennial beliefs, and their bigotry was pronounced whenever one dared to say anything contrary to their interpretation of "prophetic truth", as they loved to call it. But despite some cases of bigotry in district and church, there were lovely folk at Kersbrook, and the church people were all very generous to us.

      Williamstown was linked up with Kersbrook in a two-church circuit, and I took alternate Sundays with them. As these two districts in the Barossa Ranges were 11 miles apart, I used my horse and buggy. Williamstown was a small church of perhaps sixty members, but so unlike Kersbrook. Both were made up of lovable, devout people; both held to the principles and practised the same doctrines, and yet there was a difference that baffles me to describe. I felt more at home at Williamstown, probably because they were traditionally a Church of Christ congregation, and did things as I had been used to doing them. Yet it is true that the Kersbrook folk loved us, and we them, equally as much as was true of the friends at Williamstown. Part of the same communion, served by the same minister, holding the same doctrines, they could never have worked as one congregation. Such is the influence of tradition, always a sure barrier to church union.

      At Williamstown, the congregation had built on to the end of the chapel, for the preacher's benefit, a little room called, as in 2 Kings 4: 10, "the prophet's chamber". Like Elisha's room, this one had "a bed, a table, a stool and a candlestick." There were also a dressing table, a safe, a fireplace, and other necessities. And as it was known when I would be coming to Williamstown, and more especially when the weather was cold, I would find every preparation made for my stay. The fire would be lit, kettle filled, tea in the pot, and scones, tarts and a little dish of scalded cream would be in the safe. It took me a long time to discover who did these kindly deeds for me~~and then it was to find that it was one I would least have expected. Outwardly, she was my most outspoken critic, a seemingly unbending elderly spinster, who played the organ too slowly in the morning and too fast at night, but whose apparent opposition was only a subterfuge to cover up her kindly deeds.

      At Williamstown, as at Kersbrook, we filled our baptistry from the roof, and the water was indescribably cold in the cement baptistry in winter. Strange as it may seem, this church did not believe that "waders", or waterproof trousers, should be worn by the baptiser. John the Baptist never wore waders, nor did the Apostles (I don't know how they discovered that), so I was obliged to go into this freezing water with no other protection than ordinary trousers. To stand there while five people came and went, as happened one Sunday morning, was more than I could endure. When I at last went to walk from the water I found I had no power to do so. I had to be lifted from the water, and my legs and feet had to be warmed and massaged for some time, with the service held up until I could use my limbs again. Ever since that day I have been the judge as to whether I should wear waders when baptising. It has long since become the general practice to warm the water for baptisms. That is not mentioned in Scripture, but I am sure it is in keeping with Paul's injunction to "do all things decently and in order."

      Towards the end of 1921 I began to feel that we were ready to move away from the Barossa Ranges. Mary's health had improved so much that we felt a permanent cure had been effected.

      The Home Missions Committee invited me to go to Gawler, where about 40 people were meeting in a hall. To safeguard Mary's health, she and the boys went to the city while I coped with the packing, farewell services in the Hills circuit, and the move to Gawler.

      As with the West Coast and Berri, this was pioneer work again. Meeting in a Friendly Society hall was not altogether conducive to worship, but we had some really great meetings there, and many were added to the church. My work was made easier and my days happier because people like the E. J. Killmiers and the William Greens came into my life at Gawler.

      Housing was one of our biggest problems. We tried two houses before finding a comfortable, homely place which cost us 27/6 out of a salary of £4. Tragically, Mary's haemorrhages returned. One of the saddest things I ever experienced was at Gawler about this time~~the end of Mary's career as a singer, when her voice gave out while she was singing in a mission meeting. But perhaps an even sadder day came in 1929 at Nailsworth, when her strength almost failed as she was playing her loved organ. I dropped my book to see her, after a long pause, slowly close the organ, never to open it again. But in those days at Gawler recurring treatments in the city gave her some relief, and for that we were grateful.

      Our ministry at Gawler lasted just on four years, and included the opening of the new chapel by W. H. Burford, with many officials from the city present. A. C. Rankine was guest preacher on the Sunday morning and I conducted the night service. It was a modest brick building, of no outstanding design. Its cost (£2000) was greater than the little church

      I felt it had been a worthwhile ministry when we left Gawler in 1925. As in all service, we had known sorrow and disappointment, but also, as elsewhere, joys greater than the sorrows and successes greater than the failures.

      Three fields were offered for my choice, but as Dr. Brown felt that the lime kilns in the area of Nailsworth would be of inestimable value in the case of Mary's illness, we went there. Dr. Arthur Garnett had been helping Nailsworth at the weekends, but I became their first full-time minister when I commenced on the Sunday before Christmas 1925.

      The resultant over six years ministry there was a bewildering experience to me. Numerically, or statistically, it was my most successful ministry. There were warm-hearted encouragers and people who deeply loved the Word of God. But Nailsworth was a church of opposites, for never in my experience did I meet more hostility or receive more unjust treatment than that which came from my traducers there.

      In 1928 we laid the foundation stone of what proved one of the most beautiful buildings we had in the State. Mrs. Plenty, a widow with two little boys, living opposite the new building, helped make it a reality with a free-of-interest loan of £1900.

      After being confined to bed for weeks at a time, Mary spent almost all 1929 in bed. Mrs Plenty proved an invaluable friend with companionship and the gift of a radio, which she enjoyed. But finally, on the hot Saturday morning of February 1, 1930, Mary's choice spirit took its flight. I could write much concerning the high quality of her love and patience. She was a darling wife, who bore my weaknesses with wisdom and love. Her memory is treasured in my heart.

      Home was an empty place for the three of us, even with assistance in the house. I had my work, but at this time that was giving me grave concern. I could see a division coming in the church. I did all I could to "keep the unity of the Spirit in the bonds of peace". But less than six months after Mary left us, the storm broke. Of this I shall say nothing, save that it was a sad experience.

      In brotherhood work I became vice-president of our South Australian Conference in 1931, and president the next year. It was a new and bewildering experience for me. As president I was introduced to leading churchmen of the State and given duties for which I had no training, but I enjoyed the experience. It was in the twentieth year of my ministry, and my sixth at Nailsworth.

      Early in 1932, desirous though I was to see my presidential year completed, I had a strong urge to leave the work at Nailsworth. Early in the year an inquiry had come from the church at Fremantle, WA, asking whether I would consider a call to the church there. I asked Mrs. Plenty if she would go with me as my wife, with her two boys joining my two. When she agreed, I accepted the call. My old friend, Jabe Wiltshire, conducted our marriage on March 16, 1932, just one day before we left by sea for Western Australia.

      Our welcome to Fremantle church was enthusiastic and satisfying, though, as the church had no manse, we had some early housing problems before deciding to build our own house in Ellen Street, Fremantle. It was finished for us to move into just six weeks before our son, Ronald Roy, was born on Sunday, September 24, 1933.

      The congregations at Fremantle were always good. We had a C.E. Society of 40 young people. I had a Sunday afternoon Bible class of

      I continued with the work there till 1937. I was also engaged in much brotherhood work, becoming State president of Conference in 1934. I also served on various committees. I was not weary of the work in Fremantle, nor do I think they were tired of me, but at the end of my five years there I was being urged by the State Executive to give my time entirely to Home Mission service as State secretary and State evangelist. The challenge appealed to me, so I resigned my work at Fremantle.

      During my term of office with the State Executive, I conducted several tent missions at Palmyra-Fremantle, Bunbury, Nedlands and Lake Street. Missions were conducted without the tent at Collie, Harvey, Midland Junction, plus a few minor efforts. I delighted in the preaching, but physical and nervous strain took toll of my health.

      When the Second World War broke out I was invited to a part- time or interim ministry with the church at Lake Street, Perth, while continuing with Home Mission secretarial duties. Then at the end of 1939, the church at Subiaco sent me a warm invitation to succeed A. E. Hurren there. I accepted, and began early in 1940 on what proved to be my happiest and longest ministry~~in fact, I had two ministries here, retiring at the end of the second one, in 1956.

      Subiaco was always a busy ministry, and the war years brought great strains. The "blackouts" made it difficult for the "daughter" church at Hollywood (later Nedlands) to hold services after dark. So my normal Sunday included preaching at the 11 a.m. service at Subiaco (occasionally elsewhere), superintending the afternoon Sunday school and teaching the Bible class before hurrying to Hollywood for a 4 p.m. service; attending the Subiaco men's tea, at which servicemen were entertained, and then conducting the large evening service. I would be completely worn out, with little chance to relax on Mondays, when I was frequently called to conduct funerals. However, many happy experiences included weddings (of which, in seven years, I conducted more than all my predecessors combined) and the frequent, enthusiastic welcomes to our own returning servicemen.

      But late in 1947, I was becoming over-tired, and felt I ought to seek a work that would make fewer demands on my failing strength. Inglewood church was offered to me. I thought the smaller work would help me to relax a little. This was not so. The congregations were small and there was little, if any, enthusiasm. I did my best for three years, but all the time my heart was with Subiaco.

      Then, one night a phone call came from a well known Subiaco officer, H. L. Vawser, which led to a visit that same night by the whole Subiaco board of 11 men. Their minister had resigned to take up a teaching appointment in the East with one of our colleges, and they had come to see if I would return to Subiaco. I made three conditions: (1) We would not be required to live in the manse; (2) I would not be expected to assist in Sunday school work: and (3) Mrs Raymond would not be required to become involved in church work. They readily agreed, and I was both excited and satisfied.

      Before I went back to Subiaco, I made a trip East and paid my first visit to Canberra. One of the great surprises of the trip was to find Ira waiting for us when our train arrived in Melbourne. After a few days together, I flew to Hobart to speak at the Sunday night evangelistic service of Federal Conference in the City Hall. After Conference, I returned to Melbourne before going on to Canberra where I was introduced to a young lady I thought bore a strong resemblance to Mary. Her name was Patricia, and she and Ira were married in Canberra the following year.

      That weariness finally decided me, towards the winter of 1956 to serve notice on the Subiaco church that I was to leave them.

      In 1941 the Federal Conference was held in Adelaide, because wartime travel restrictions made it impossible to hold it in Perth, as had been planned. I had been secretary since the 1938 Sydney conference, and since we had done most of the business for two years in Perth, it was necessary for me to go to Adelaide and present the Executive report. I was asked to preach the sermon in the Adelaide Town Hall on the Sunday afternoon, and also gave the Monday night message for Federal Conference Home Missions night, when I spoke on the desperate condition of the Australian Aboriginals. The next morning in Conference a motion was carried, moved by Albany Bell, that resulted in the appointment of a Federal Aborigines Missions Committee, located in Perth, with Albany Bell as chairman and myself as secretary, an office I held until the work at Norseman was a going concern, and another and abler man in C. R. Burdeu succeeded me.

      I had my third experience of being Conference president in 1947, and was Federal vice-president for W.A. in 1948, right through till 1960, when the Conference was again held in Perth.

      It was during my ministry at Subiaco that I first met Matron Beryl Hill in 1942. She told me she had taken over St. Andrew's Hospital in Subiaco, and would like me to take part in a dedication service, soon to be held. This I agreed to do.

      She had been baptised in the Subiaco chapel during a mission there in 1936, but never joined the church until she took up duty at the hospital. In the meantime, after a course of study with the Perth Bible Institute, she had served a term as a nursing sister in a Christian hospital in India.

      In conversations I had with Matron Hill I discovered that she was setting out on this new venture in faith, and she asked me to help her organise a committee on an inter-denominational basis. I urged her to consider a committee of our own brethren, but she took a lot of persuading. However, the fact that her co-matron, Miss Mildred Murray, and other members of the nursing staff had become members at Subiaco finally influenced her to accept my suggestion that I ask several prominent members of our churches to meet and talk over with her and Miss Murray what we might jointly consider best for the hospital.

      As a result, C. R. Burdeu (Deputy Commissioner of Pensions, W.A.), W. S. Bown (Under-secretary for Law, W.A.), E. E. Nelson (retired public servant) and myself met with the matrons, and it was decided to form ourselves into a board of management, and to become an incorporated institution under the name "Bethesda". We aimed to do as much benevolent work as possible and, with this in view, to make appeals to the churches for donations. I was appointed chairman of the new board, and Mr Burdeu secretary.

      It was soon apparent that we must seek larger premises, and we finally found a suitable building in Claremont, with ample room for

      Now, as the sun lowers in the western skies of my life, and I know that soon I must leave it all, I confess I will do so with many regrets, but with no fear. Let me say a big "thank you" to all who have loved me, and to all whom God has given me to love. God love you all who are left. May He ever keep you in His love. Amen.

      Father, Lord of heaven and earth, I give thanks for all Thy loving kindness and tender mercy. Thy love has been very kind and Thy mercy very tender. Thy loving kindness and tender mercy have been with me all the days of my life, and through Thy grace I shall dwell with Thee forever. Amen.