• Memoirs of Richard Herbert Taylor
• Richard Herbert Taylor by I. J. Chivell

      I suppose old age has its compensations. The only claim to riches most of us have is our wealth of memories, if they are pleasant ones, and our friends, although, unfortunately, our friends tend to disappear, one by one. We would be glad to be rid of some of our memories. However, this cannot be. We must carry all of them tucked away in our brain cells until the end of the journey. My family have told me that in view of my varied experiences, so far covering 86 years, an account of what has happened along the road would be interesting to my family at least. True, there is nothing very exciting to relate. I did not win the DSO in the first world war, or, for that matter, the OBE, granted the Beatles for their contribution to world history and, (forsooth) bringing great honour to the land of their birth. But here goes!

      My birthplace was on the farm three miles from Strathalbyn on the Sandergrove Road.

      A word or two about the town: It was a Scottish settlement. The name is composite, "Strath," meaning "broad valley," and "Albyn" from "Albion," an early name for Great Britain, or Scotland. The river Angas, in summer nothing more than a creek, flowing through the town and lending beauty to it was named after G. F. Angas, one of the founders of the colony of South Australia. The handsome Presbyterian church in the centre of the town suggests the numbers, wealth and self-devotion of the early settlers.

      Memory loves to linger on the surroundings of the little five-roomed home on the hillside, with its potato ground below the house, where father grew several tons of "Spuds" every year; its little orchard of apple trees and vines, the fruit of which was hawked around the town. Below the house on the other side of the road stood two gum trees, always of interest to us children, one a giant, the other, a 100 yards away in the paddock, smaller and more beautiful, the pair suggesting a burly husband and his gentle partner.

      The farm itself contained only about 150 acres, the greater part of it pasture land and the balance, some 50 acres, used for wheat growing. On this property, including, the garden and potato patch, my parents eked out a precarious living. They had bad luck with their small herd of cows, one after another of the boot animals dying of what was then known an "dry bible". I can still hear the bones of the sick cows creaking as they came down the hill from the pasture to the milking yard, suffering from the first stages of the deadly disease.

      A word about my parents. Father was just a plain, hard-working farmer, a practical Christian, who believed and followed the Golden Rule, and who loved his church and served it to the utmost of his ability. Mother belonged to the Robinson family, well-known in the Old Country in the highest social circles, one member being Sir William Robinson, an early governor of South Australia. We children felt that mother regarded herself as being on a little higher scale than dad. But she was a good wife and mother and is gratefully remembered. In the first batch of the family there were four children, two boys and

two girls. Later, with a ten years space between them, there were three more, two boys and a girl. Goodness knows how our parents managed to keep out of debt and rear all of us. Mother was a wonderful housekeeper and made every penny count. Pennies in those days, when milk was a penny a pint and butter at one shilling a pound, meant much to a frugal mother.

      Among our neighbours, grandfather Richard Taylor had settled in 1849. Grandmother had died before we children were born. Two aunts and a great-aunt shared the little thatched farm house. Grandfather was a typical Cornishman, who often told us children of his early life and boasted of his physical strength, displayed in his ability to outwrestle any of the lads in the neighbourhood. Both aunts were hard workers. The younger did the work of a farm labourer on the potato patch and the dray in the hay field. She thought nothing of walking four miles to church on a Sunday evening, with her skirts pulled up to her knees to give freedom of movement, and another four miles home. It is said that hard work never kills, and my aunt was a good illustration of this dictum, for she lived for 98 years.

      We Taylor children first attended school at Sandergrove, two-and-a half miles away. I well remember the first morning my brother Will, 18 months older than I, trudged off on his long walk at the age of six We were always mates, especially in mischief, and separation from him was the saddest hour of my life up to that point. I howled and moped around all the live-long day. My persistent grief and copious tears touched the sympathetic chord in my parents, and within a few days I was keeping company with Will. It was a good effort on the part of a five-year-old lad to walk a total of five miles daily to pick up the rudiments of learning. I have been a good walker ever since.

      When we were a few years older we lads helped dad on the farm and the potato patch. Potatoes brought in perhaps thirty or forty pounds to the purse in a good year. We also followed the harrows on the ploughed land after father had hand-sown the grain. The mid-summer days saw us helping to clear alongside the winnower. This was impelled by the strong arms of my grandfather throughout the heat of the day when the temperature ranged around the hundred mark. Father fed the machine, while brother Will looked after the golden grain as it flowed from the winnower. I looked after the heads which remained unbroken. I referred to the potato patch. Here we boys were employed to plant the "spuds" as dad did the ploughing. Dad was always careful in selecting the seed potatoes. Every year he went to Bull Creek in the hills to purchase them. He would select large tubers and cut them for planting into small pieces, each piece with two eyes. He thus secured better results, for his experience had taught him that the larger the seed the better the returns.

      Lured by results of mining in Western Australia on the goldfields Father left home in the nineties to try his luck. On a selected site between the Great Boulder and Ivanhoe mines, in order to strike the

lode supposed to be running in that direction, the party of three dug to a depth of 100 feet without success. Thereupon the mine was "Salted" by Dad's enterprising partners, i.e., samples of gold-bearing rock were introduced at the bottom of the mine. The shares rose in the market. The other partners sold their shares, but Father was too honest to take advantage of the deception and sold his shares at 10d. each. He soon returned home a wiser man to carry on the struggle as before under the increased financial burden of providing for his growing family. For him riches did not lie in the golden west. Our heroic Mother kept the home fires burning while Dad was away. It is only fair to the memory of Dad that his struggle to make a living on the small farm was due to its small size and the lack of artificial manure to feed the hungry soil.

      When I was about ten years old Father sold the farm, and we removed to Strathalbyn to a six-acre property on the northern boundary. Our parents did not want their boys to have to engage in a struggle like their own as clod-hoppers. Instead of becoming farmers, when the time came we had to seek an opportunity to learn a trade. Our primary school education was completed in the town. At the age of 13 years Will became apprenticed to a local bootmaker, while I, at the age of 12, joined the staff of the "Southern Argus." For the first year I was paid six shillings a week and an increment each succeeding year to the sixth which increased my wage to one pound. I was then regarded as a journey-man printer and was paid thirty shillings per week until I finished with printing three years later, One of the exciting events in the town in my early adolescence was the advent of the motor car. The local doctor introduced the machine, which on its appearance created tremendous interest, people rushing to the door to see the strange object pass. Along the country roads the horses in some cases, stood on their hind legs as the monster roared by, and the doctor thereby stood a good chance to create new patients from overturned traps and spring carte. However, nothing as serious as this happened, although nerve-shaken greybeards loudly complained that such dreadful modern inventions should not be allowed on the public highways. What was their world coming to!

      The coming of a full time preacher to the Church of Christ into the town changed the current of the lives of Will and myself. We were not larrikins, but we had reached the age that is liable to kick over the traces and go its own way. Father and Mother were earnest Christians and gave utmost support to the church. No doubt they were often grieved over the conduct of their sons, fast rising into man-hood, who had no regard for the Lord's Day and no respect for what the church should have meant to them. However, their example was about to bear fruit. The new minister grasped the opportunity to win his way into the hearts of the country lads by joining them on one of their rabbit-shooting expeditions. They started attending church services and before long confessed their faith in Christ and were baptized. This was on September 1st, 1901. Be it said that the preacher had two attractive sisters. I fell in love with

the younger at first sight. This romance lasted for many years.

      My duties at the printing office, starting as "printer's devil," gradually extended to journalism. Reporting football matches and other events of general interest came my way. Mine was not a facile pen owing to a lack of higher education, but I did my best. Sometimes I worked until the early hours of the morning to write copy for the coming day. I never looked for extra pay. Employees did not worry about being paid in those days for a few extra hours thrown in to meet the master's demands. By the way, my employer delayed payment of the wages due to his staff. When he returned from one of his trips to the south to collect accounts the men and boys, from the foreman down, would slip into the master's office to solicit a sovereign or half sovereign to reduce what was owing them. He was not a mean man. When he had money he lavishingly spent it on any object but payment of wages. Six or seven pounds, plus compound interest are still owing me seventy years later. In the course of my attempts to provide material for the "Southern Argus", I wrote a short story or two which were printed in an inconspicuous place. In order to render better service as a reporter I taught myself Pitman's shorthand.

      So the years passed. Brother Will and I became deacons of the church, which was short of manpower and called upon to do platform work in presiding at the Lord's Table, as well as essaying to preach or inflict "sermons" on patient, long-suffering congregations at Strathalbyn, Milang and Point Sturt when the churches were very hard-up for speakers. On one occasion I went to Goolwa where the infant church met in the Foresters' Hall and attempted to "Exhort the brethren." It was a lengthy discourse, some 45 minutes in length. In my stress of feeling I completely forgot the time. I don't know what I tried to say, and trust the congregation had short memories. They were a hardy lot of folks. Later, a fellow student in college, who unfortunately happened to be present that morning, reminded me more than once of some ridiculous statements I had made on that occasion. However, I became the preacher in that church afterwards for a short period before going to America for training in the College of the Bible.

      My entrance into the work of a preacher of the Gospel came about in this way. My girl friend and I attended the meeting celebrating the jubilee of the Point Sturt church in 1906. We sang in the choir. T. B. Verco, a stalwart southern churchman and a member of the Home Mission Committee in Adelaide, called me aside from the crowd into the sandhill and asked me if I cared to give up my trade to become the preacher at Goolwa. Such an idea had never entered my head of entering the Christian ministry. I don't know

what answer I gave at the moment. The shock was too great. I do remember that on the way home in the bosses' buggy with my lady friend at my side, I had little or no thought of her, I seemed to be in the seventh heaven of delight over the proposal of being a preacher. So at the age of 21 years I entered the sacred ministry and found my life work. I suppose I was called by God. He has his own way of calling men, not by a voice from heaven, but by a human voice. Certainly it was not the prospect of financial gain that prompted this momentous step. My salary was thirty shillings a week and find myself.

      True, for a short time I was given board on a farm. Then I paid a pound a week. Six months were spent at Goolwa. I threw myself whole-heartedly into the work. The people especially appreciated my pastoral activities. My preaching (?) Well, you can imagine a young country fellow without special training and little experience, attempting to expound the word of God, as the Bible was almost an unknown book. I found I had to be trained and go to college. But where? The College of Bible would open in Melbourne in 1907.

      I asked my dear old friend and adviser, T. J. Gore, whether I should remain in Australia and become one of the first students to enter the college in Melbourne, or go to Lexington, Kentucky, and train under J, W. McGarvey. He had himself been trained there. He said, "Kentucky." I decided to go, with fifty-four pounds I had saved over the years, I had enough to get there and start my training. To my surprise when I informed my Brother of my decision he decided to leave his trade as a bootmaker and go with me.

      So here we were, two raw greenhorn chaps, facing a long journey to begin a four-years' course of theological training in a strange land not knowing for sure how we would support ourselves, except that each had a good trade to fall back on if other ways of making money failed us. Blessed by good health we felt that seeing we had committed ourselves to the work of the Lord, He would see us through. What our parents felt they did not tell us. There were tears in father's eyes as he bade us farewell at the railway station. In early October we sailed from Largs Bay on the great adventure in the Orient steamer Ormuz, steerage to Naples and second class to New York (we eventually landed at Boston). It is hardly believable that our fare amounted to £29/10/-. We travelled steerage to Naples. The food was poor. We had to pick our way through the porridge to avoid unwelcome strangers. But we were young fellows and not fussy. A few hardships did not hurt us.

      A heavy storm faced our old ship in the Bight and laid us low with sea sickness. Albany, Colombo, Suez, and Port Said were our ports of call before reaching Naples. Foreign ports, about which we had read, thrilled us. We spent a day in Colombo, wandering around the city observing the strangely clad figures of the natives and visiting the Buddha, the "Enlightened One", (his image, of course), squatting in his temple. Rickshaw boys conveyed us thither. Passing through the Suez canal we had a glimpse afar off of the mountains of Sinai across the desert. The ship coaled at Port Said. From barges alongside half naked Gypos, each with a basket of coal on his back, trailed up gang-ways, and emptied the contents into the bunkers. We saw some of the main streets of the city and were warned of the dangers of side

streets. A few days later we were in Naples. The blue sea and the glorious sunsets were a delight. No wonder the ancient Greeks thought the Isles of the Blest lay to the westward towards the sunset with its beautiful colours. Nearing the city of the Naples we passed the island Capri, an Italian holiday resort, on the left hand, and Vesuvius on the right. A wisp of smoke was rising from the summit of the volcano which in 70 A.D. had exploded and buried Herculaneum and other towns. It is now quiescent and vineyards cover the slopes to a short distance of the summit.

      We made up for our poor diet on shipboard when we reached our hotel in Naples and sat down to dinner. Not knowing Italian we began at the top of the menu and went as far as we were capable of going. We never had such a feast before and never since. Can you blame us? Naples itself did not impress us, at least what we saw of it the next day as we wandered around, with the aid of a guide, to arrange for a passage to U.S.A. After 24 hours ashore we sailed in the White Star Republic bound for Boston, carrying over 2,000 passengers, mostly Italians, who were seeking, a new home in the West. On this stage of our journey we travelled second class. Going west we passed the volcanic isle, Stromboli, in the night, its bright flames piercing the darkness. We spent a day at Valencia, on the Spanish coast,, while the ship loaded grapes for the American market. They were packed in sawdust in small barrels. Valencia, once occupied by the Moors, still has its old wall. We visited the market and saw a large basket of snails at the entrance set out for sale. A luxury for the Spaniards, not for us. We also visited the bull ring, a building of considerable size, but did not see any bulls or Matadors. Gibraltar lifted its magnificent face towards us as we passed into the Atlantic. Britain still retains this bastion at the gateway to the East.

      The voyage across the Atlantic was not without its anxiety. The conductor of the ship's band died and his coffin was landed at the Azores. The cause of death may have been diphtheria--it was throat trouble of some sort. Brother Will's berth happened to be on the other side of the partition separating the sick man's cabin from ours and his bed was on the same level, with an open space above, so that if the disease was infectious Will was in grave danger. As it happened he developed throat trouble and had to be moved to another cabin in isolation. There for a few days he battled with his serious infection. I remember how I knelt in his cabin and poured out my soul in prayer for his recovery, He came through the ordeal. We met a fierce storm near Newfoundland. (Twelve months later the Republic foundered in these waters). We reached Boston with thankful hearts. A day later we were in New York and a day more in Lexington, Kentucky. It was now early November.

      Fortunately, we met friends immediately, for four other Australian students offered to share their flat with us at 428 North Upper. When the group broke up owing to the return to Australia of two of the

company, Will and I joined seven other Aussies in a two-storied house in Broadway. Here we stayed until we finished our course in the College. In our flat one of the chaps did the cooking, another was the "Town Buyer" and bought the supplies, and so on. My job at first was stoker and I had to bring up the coal from the shed.

      On cold mornings I had to rise before the others, replenish the coal buckets, and stoke up the fires. Muggins! I needn't go into the details of college life. Twenty odd Australians were on the roll. As students we kept up our reputation. John McGarvey, now an old man, was President. He had a remarkable knowledge of the Bible and we were privileged to sit under him. Another personality was S. M. Jefferson professor of philosophy, who covertly chewed tobacco, slipping the tasty quid under the lid of his desk when a student surprised him between lectures. However, he was a fine character and a deep thinker, and we highly respected him. Benny Deweese, Calhoun, and W. C. Morrow, were the other members of the staff. The little experience I had had back home helped me to secure a week end appointment for a church fifty miles south of Lexington for a salary of eight dollars each fortnightly trip. A second appointment was secured twenty miles from Lexington, near the locality where the famous Indian fighter, Daniel Boone helped to make America's early history. The fort he and other settlers built on the bank of the Kentucky River has a monument on the spot. Some flint arrowheads, gathered near the spot, were given me and these are now in the Adelaide museum, in addition to a stone axehead found a few miles distant.

      Kentuckians, especially the mountain people, pride themselves on their spirit of hospitality, Will and I had an experience of this when we went south to hold a "protracted meeting," as they describe an evangelistic mission, but we did not suffer the embarrassment, of some of the other student preachers. These friendly people loved to have the preacher stay with them for a night. Some of the mountain homes had limited space and the whole family and preacher occupied the only bedroom. One of our boys, meticulous regarding the proprieties of the bedroom, was told by his host to occupy a double bed with two boys, while he and his good wife occupied a double bed on the other side of the room. My friend overcame the difficulty of changing into his pyjamas by sheltering behind a big armchair. In the area where Will and I conducted our mission "Mountain Dew", (whisky) was produced in illicit stills out of reach of the police, and by the way, of the preachers. Family feuds were not uncommon. One of the deacons of the little church told us that he was the only male member left of his family. The others had been shot one by one over the years. He showed us where a bullet had struck a door lintel as he was coming out of a building. The same man courageously attended the night meetings during out stay, walking for miles through the forest with lighted lantern in hand. At the Sunday Morning communion service the deacons sat in the front row chewing tobacco and spitting juice on the floor. Another worshipper sat on a bench near the open window and more circumspectly spat his juice outside. Relatively he was more reverent.

      One experience I shall never forget. A mountain family had moved to the "Blue Grass" and occupied a four-roomed, two-storied frame house near the Kentucky river. The father, mother and daughter were members of the church where I served. With characteristic mountain hospitality they wanted me to spend the week-end in their home. The local school teacher advised me strongly not to accept the invitation. However, I went. It was summer time. At night I had the large bedroom to myself. The bed had a wooden frame. No sooner had I blown out the light than I was attacked by innumerable bed-fellows. It was impossible to sleep under such torment, so I resigned myself to sleep on the floor. Morning came, and my host was amazed to find me out of the bed. I explained, "It was too hot for me up there." At dinnertime (the school teacher fearing the worst was there to see to things--God bless her!) There was the inevitable chicken and the trimmings. Hordes of flies were kept off the food by means of a branch of tree which the hostess swept over the table. Some escaped and crawled in and out of the jam. My kind friends were anxious that I should have a full meal. Scones ("hot biscuits" so-called in Kentucky), were offered, and the teacher asked for a jam spoon, which the hostess promptly supplied, licked it, and wiped it on her apron, and passed it to me. These were good people and I appreciated their kindness in spite of. Speaking of the Kentucky taste for chicken, two fellow-students, who conducted a three-weeks' mission (protracted meeting) for a country church, reported on their return that every meal while away chicken had been served at the different homes where they had stayed. The story is told that chickens on farms, knowing the preachers' love for poultry, when the men of the cloth drove to the door, they promptly went to the wood pile, laid themselves on their backs on the chopping block ready for the axe.

      The following lines may express the feelings of some visitors to the Kentucky Blue Mountains:--

      During the last two years of my stay in Lexington I had the privilege of preaching for a country church eight miles from Lexington. My predecessor there was no less a person than Professor Jefferson. I certainly was not as profound as he, but the congregation put up with my oratorical effusions. Even here in the Blue Grass, as the centre of Kentucky was called, the tobacco chewers were in evidence. In the winter they sat around the highly-heated stove in the centre of the church and every minute or two I could hear from the pulpit the hiss of the juice as it hit the stove. I had a happy two-year period with the fine people of the church.

      The southern Americans, those below the Dixie line, i.e. the Ohio River, were somewhat different from the northerners. Their warmer climate and their close years of association with the negroes, especially in slave days on cotton plantations affected their virility in comparison with the go-getter Yankees. Their speech, too, is softer and more musical than all of their northern neighbours.

      Will and I went to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, to attend the Centenary Convention of the Disciples, the Christian Church or Churches of Christ in 1909. It gave us a tremendously rich experience of inspiring oratory from some of the outstanding preachers of the big brotherhood. The most impressive experience was our participation in the communion service, held in the city's biggest baseball stadium, where that afternoon 27,000 people celebrated the Lord's Supper.

      When my course of study drew near to a close I received an invitation to return to South Australia as a Home Mission preacher to be placed where they decided to place me at the munificent salary of two pounds per week. My fellow students felt this was an insult after four years of training at my own expense and not fair to others who wished to return to the homeland. Eventually I accepted an offer of the work at Maylands, Adelaide, at two pounds ten shillings, plus 26 pounds towards my fare home. Fortunately, we were not in the ministry for its pecuniary rewards. I would have stuck to my trade or taken up newspaper work had this been so. Incidentally, out of a group of 16 graduates I was given the honour of second place, based on an average of 93 percent of marks. This meant that I was given the opportunity to display my oratory powers at the Commemoration in the presence

of faculty and students of both University and College of the Bible. Three Australians of the four graduates of the whole institution shared the honours. I spoke on "The Social Aspect of the Church."

      In June, 1910 I left Lexington for my long journey homeward, via England (Will intended to stay for a few months longer). On my way to New York I went to Niagara to see the mighty falls. It was a great thrill. I had a few hours in New York and then joined the White Star boat, Cedric, for Liverpool, second class. In eight days I was on English soil and on my way to London. In my compartment of the express there was a runaway wife and her two children, who had travelled on the same boat, and was returning to her own people after in unhappy experience of married life in American surroundings. She wanted to talk. I was not inclined to listen, for I wanted to see the poppies in the cornfields about which one of the poets had written in lyric verse. So in the compartment I rudely held a newspaper before my face and saw what I wanted to see out in the little fields. By the way, it was Keats, in his "Autumn" who wrote the lines referred to. I spent over two weeks in London, and under the direction of a Mr. Rutherford, a member of the Church of Christ, I saw many interesting features of the great city. I heard some famous preachers among them Silvester Horne, in an open-air service in Hyde Park, R. J. Campbell. W. E. Orchard, and others. My friend took me to the Crystal Palace to a musical festival, where I heard 5,000 children in an action song, an adult mixed choir of 3.000 voices, and a choir competition, several Welsh choirs among them. What a treat.

      I went northward to Stratford on Avon to the birthplace of Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway's cottage and further to Kenilworth Castle where the Earl of Leicester once danced with Queen Elizabeth in the huge dance room. With the intention of seeing some of the finest cathedrals I borrowed a bicycle at Leamington and had a ten-day tour which took me to Lincoln, York and Lichfield. I am not capable of describing the magnificent cathedrals. Between York and Leeds I spent a couple of hours searching the records of the birth of my grandmother Robinson, with no success. Lichfield was the home of Dr. Samuel Johnson, whose biography by Boswell is a familiar classic to students of English literature. On my cycling tour I covered 500 miles in ten days. For a young fellow used to bicycle riding there was no better way of seeing England in those days. In Stamford, Lincolnshire, I heard the town crier, the last in England, as with sounding bell he made his way along the main streets, making announcements and telling the latest news. Quite different from the modern media!

      I sailed from Liverpool on the Medic (White Star) via the Cape of Good Hope. It was a one-class boat and the fare was £21. I had 1/6 in my pocket when I went on board. This was cutting my cash rather fine, but I knew that once on board I was sure (D.V.) of reaching the Largs Bay, where I could touch the pocket of whoever might meet me.

      My last half sovereign went to the taxi driver who delivered me and my goods to the wharf. I saw the giant Lusitania in dry dock as we left the wharf and the giant Mauretania passed us in grand style out on the way out of the harbour. Sixty years ago these monsters were two of the largest ships afloat. The voyage to Australia took six weeks. I could not go ashore at Cape Town with an empty pocket. My mail brought me a letter from Mother, which informed me that my fiancée of four years standing had broken her engagement and married someone else. Strangely enough I had dreamt that I saw her and a male companion driving along a hills' road. I knew that this breakaway was pending and hoped that I might have reached home in time to renew the old relationship.

      I learned a year or two later that she regretted the step she had taken. I had her photograph in my cabin and threw it out of the porthole. I arrived in Adelaide in September. The Medic anchored off Largs Bay late at night. I was not hopeful of disembarking until morning, but the pilot kindly offered to take me ashore. As the pilot boat drew up to the jetty I heard a voice I had not heard for four years. "Is that you, Bert?"

      Almost immediately I began my work with the Maylands Church, which was mainly supported by the Home Mission Committee. It was situated in a new suburb and had a membership of 71. The salary was £2/10/ per week. H. D. Smith with the wisdom that came with years, had selected the site of the church hall, opposite a large primary school. The fast growing district and a favourable situation, and the quick growth of the Sunday School, to say nothing of an excellent band of church officers and a membership ready to work, gave me a rare opportunity.

      A. L. Read, holding a position high up in the Civil Service, proved an excellent secretary and school superintendent. Memory holds the door as I look back on a six-years' ministry. Of course, I made many mistakes. However, one mistake I did not make when I married a good Presbyterian woman in 1913. This led to a 55 years partnership, for which I am thankful to God. Much of the success I have had in my life is due to her self-devotion, and patience and capable management of the home. The church membership rose to 267 at the end of my ministry.

      We moved to Northcote in 1916. I had offered my services as a chaplain in the A.I.F. in 1915. Owing to a long delay in my call-up I had more than once been tempted to offer my services in the A.M.C but hesitated because of inadequate Army pay would not ensure comforts for my wife and one-girl family. I transferred to Melbourne for wider experience and, I must confess, to obtain a better salary of six pounds. We were getting Five pounds at Maylands. The move was a mistake. Abundant opportunities were presented in Northcote. The church had a fine building and a loyal membership. But I was restless being anxious to do my bit in the First World War. More than anything else the house problem made us unhappy. We had six months in one house, a mile distant from the church on top of Rucker's Hill, three weeks in the next, then six weeks in single-fronted dwelling, next door to a stable, which in summer preyed on our olfactory nerves, and lastly, the rest of our time sharing a house with a young couple. How could anyone do a satisfactory job under such conditions? Army H.Q. gave me notice of an early call-up. So I decided to return to Adelaide where my wife would be in touch with her folks when the call came. Fortunately, I was in touch with a Glenelg member, who placed my name before the church officers. This led to an invitation to go to the seaside. After six months Army H.Q. gave me six days' notice to report for duty. By this time the war was nearing its close, although the situation of the western front created anxiety, owing to the advance of the German army into France making a last effort to reach the Channel ports. By the time I reached London after three months on the way, the enemy had called for an armistice.

      Now a little about the voyage. We carried about 50 munitions workers besides a cargo, on the Suevic. From Sydney we went-to Auckland, N.Z. and spent five days and nights picking up a million pounds worth of cheese for the English consumer. Food was scarce in those days owing to tremendous losses by submarine sinkings. We had on board as far as the Cape the Fullers' (?) Company of Variety Artists, quite a nice crowd who attended all our religious services. One chap, a tumbler, displayed his skill one day by grasping the rail and standing on his hands. The skipper saw him putting on this foolhardy act and warned him against repeating it. Albany was our next port of call, then Durban and Cape Town in South Africa. In Durban the rickshaw boys, fine specimens of physique, Zulus, waited at the quay for riders. One of the pranks of Diggers, returning from the war, was to put the Zulus in the rickshaw, whilst they took the shafts. Residents of the city did not smile at these antics. On to Cape Town with the Table Mountain standing like a monster guard behind it protecting it from threats from the north, a beautifully situated city. I was also attracted by the marble figure of Cecil Rhodes in the Botanical Gardens with his hand pointing northwards, reminding me of his ambition to be an instrument in creating British dependencies from the cape to the Mediterranean. His Cape private home stands on the lower slopes of Table Mountain, named Groot Schur. Two rampant lions in stone in front of the building, a British symbol of power. The port of Freetown, once called "the White Man's Grave," owing to its unhealthy conditions, the capital of Sierra Leone (Lion Mountain), harboured the Suevic for 12 days, while the skipper waited for a convoy before proceeding into dangerous, submarine-infested waters. We did not land in the town, and to relieve the discontent of those on board, a couple of lifeboats were manned and we were invited to have a sail in the harbour. The third officer took charge of our boat, and for an half hour we went along quite merrily. Then the "fun" began. The wind proved too strong for the rotten tackling of the boat, the sail was furled, and we had to take to the oars. For landsmen they were almost unmanageable. We drifted with the wind and tide.

      After a struggle to get back to the ship, we were on the shore as night fell. However, the skipper, three miles away, saw our plight and sent a tug to tow us back to the ship. My hands were raw and bleeding, the result of tugging at the oars. The Suevic joined seven other ships to form a convoy to cover the last stage of the voyage.

      An armed merchantman accompanied us. We also had a six-inch gun in the stern. Nearing England a Q-boat, joined us. She looked an innocent merchant ship, but woe betide any submarine that came within range, for she was armed to the teeth. One night as the slow convoy moved in dangerous waters, I was called upon at three o'clock in the morning. I was called out of my warm bed to occupy a spotting site on the port side of the bridge to look out on the dark, rough sea for the submarine lurking in those waters. I must admit that my nerves were on edge. I had a sort of vision, pure imagination possibly. I saw the figure of Christ moving across the water towards the ship. I remembered the story in the Gospels of Jesus walking on the Sea of Galilee in the third watch. Destroyers picked up the convoy as we neared English shores. So at last our voyage ended. It was three months since we left home.

      After reporting to my senior chaplain in London I was sent to Dorset to serve in a convalescent camp at Virne, on Portland Isle, near Weymouth. When I reported to the adjutant of the main camp he said.. "I hope you will conduct yourself better than your predecessor at Camp Virne." I replied, "Why, what has he done?". "He spent his last night until three A.M. playing poker and drinking whisky." So padres were not regarded with much respect at Virne. A nice introduction! The Virne Convalescent Camp is used during peace times as a camp for Tommies.

      It is strongly fortified, with massive walls, on a hill 500 feet high. My work there was not heavy, and consisted mainly of moving about among the Diggers and conducting, the compulsory church parade on Sunday mornings. I took the lead in arranging the Christmas decorations. For greenery I went with half-a-dozen lads a few miles inland. We saw some nice trees inside a private property. Without asking permission of the owner the lads cut off suitable branches and were loading them when the owner rode up on his horse in an ugly mood, threatening to lay his whip on them, One of the lads took off his coat and challenged him to fight it out. He was not having any and rode away with a poor opinion of the Aussies. Australians in uniform did not bear a very good name wherever they were in camp in England. Shopkeepers in Weymouth did not expose their goods on the footpath for fear of a little "souveneering" as it was called by the diggers who passed that way, Soon after my arrival in camp I went down with Spanish influenza, a dangerous form of the disease, which had spread over much of the world. I laid on my bed in camp for a few days and was then transferred to hospital in Weymouth. A couple of weeks there put me on my feet again. There were interesting historical features on Portland Isle, "Rufus' Castle," the keep of an old fortification dating back hundreds of years; the jetty on the Channel side of the Isle from which Portland freestone was shipped for the building of the

      St. Paul's cathedral in London. I used to take groups of lads to these places. One day I gathered eight lads, took them into Weymouth by train and on to Dorchester, an old Roman town, well known as the home town of Thomas Hardy, one of the best writers of novels of Wessex county. We saw the Hangman's Cottage, which stood where many were executed in the bad days of Judge Jeffries; the Roman amphitheatre; and a stretch of the Roman wall, which once surrounded the town. When we got back to camp I was put on the mat for taking men away without leave, a serious breach of the regulations. The R.T.O. at Weymouth had reported our doings. I apologized, pleading ignorance, and was let off with a reprimand.

      Early in April I was given a few hours notice to proceed to France from Southampton to serve in a camp at Rouelles, near Herve, called the "Delouser Camp." Here the Australian troops on their way home from the front lines were relieved of their rifles, had their clothing deloused or replaced, etc. There was little for me to do here except move around among the troops. In the few months I was in camp on French soil some 30.000 Aussies passed through the camp. Padre Gault one of the best known Methodist padres during the war, was encamped near by, and I had the opportunity of sharing one of the religious meetings he conducted in a way peculiarly to himself. In the big recreation hall, holding about 800 men, he gathered his crowd by getting a few to clap and shout. The lads who were idling in their tents filled the hall in no time. Padre first of all put on his "stunts," a sort of quiz session. Then he began his religious meeting. This was the signal for most of the diggers to move out. For a few minutes nothing was heard but "Boots, boots, boots;" The remainder having settled down padre began an incisive evangelistic message. Other diggers not too happy with the turn of events also moved out, leaving about 150. Padre made an appeal for the signing of cards to be sent to the home church in Australia. There was a very good response. One day I formed one of a small party of padres to go on a trip to Normandy. We went by sea and then by canal to Caen, the seat of William, the Duke of Normandy, called "The Conqueror," who invaded England in 1066 successfully and became William I. Roaming, about this old historic town we padres did not know its future as the centre of another invasion. This time the allied armies in 1944 as they established themselves in France to bring the Second World War to a close. A very interesting feature to us was the old church of St, Piere. Padre Gault suggested to me one day that I should take some of the diggers one evening to the park belonging to a chateau about three miles from the camp to hear the nightingales sing. He had done this on several occasions. So I saw the C.O. of the neighbouring camp to gain his consent. He details two lieutenants to take charge of the troops and about 150 lined up at seven o'clock. Off we went singing the familiar songs. We stopped halfway on the hill above the River Seine. I gave them a talk on historical events associated with the river and distributed smokes, sweets and what not supplied by the Comforts Fund. We arrived at the chateau about eight o'clock.

the sun was setting with the sky suffused with gorgeous colours and filling the avenues with light. They ran from east to west and the ends looked like huge cathedral windows. While I was stationed at Virne I had the opportunity of visiting Paris on two occasions. My senior chaplain asked me to visit him there during Easter 1919. It was a thrilling experience. I was intrigued with the brightness and clamour of the city compared with London. It is really a beautiful city. It teems with historical buildings, such as the Bastille prison, reminding one of the terrible events associated with the French Revolution, the palace at Versailles where Louis XIV lived. At the end of the First World War the treaty of peace was signed within its walls. I attended a dinner given to Billy Hughes, Australian prime minister, and attended the Jewish Passover celebrations. I remember approaching the door to the hall where the Feast was held being welcomed by a Jew and addressed as "Brother." There must have been something about my appearance which suggested my racial origin. On the way back to camp I dropped off at Rouen and saw its magnificent Gothic cathedrals and spent an hour in its museum, where there is a large collection of articles from the time of the Crusades. My second trip to Paris was connected with a visit to the battlefields. My C.O. delegated me to accompany "Snowy" who wanted to visit the graves where his three brothers were buried.

      We went to Paris and hired a taxi. Our farthest point was Charleroi a Belgian town. Canadians had been heavily engaged in the neighbourhood. Many of then had died and been buried in the huge war cemetery containing 10,000 graves. Our night there was spent in an hotel. My friend and I were given an upstairs room with a double bed and only one pillow. A tug at the bell brought the proprietor. We tried to explain what we wanted with appropriate gesticulations. Soon there came into our room a beautifully dressed young woman. We explained it was pillow we wanted, not a woman. So the incident ended. One could easily go astray in France and Belgium. Toilet facilities are particularly lacking and embarrassing situations are likely to arise. Things may have improved over the fifty years which have passed since, we were there.

      As I have said some thirty thousands of Australians passed through the staging camp at Rouelles while I was there. I found little to do except move around among the men. One evening a group of five came to my room and said they wanted to express their thanks to God for preserving their lives on various battlefields. A brief prayer meeting followed. I was reminded of the incident recorded in the Gospels describing the healing of ten lepers. After leaving the Master, one come back to thank Him for the blessing of health. Jesus said, "Were not ten healed, but where are the nine?" The camp closed in July (?) and I returned to London to await appointment to a troop ship homeward bound. A few weeks elapsed, during which I saw the victory march through London and at night a magnificent pyrotechnic display. The same night I left London for Plymouth to join a troopship I had brought six cases of Comforts Fund supplies for distribution

among the boys on the way home. I left them at Southampton, intending to send for them when needed. But I found that someone had pinched them.

      Six weeks at sea via the Cape and I was at home again. Joan was 18 months older: Peter, born in my absence, a tiny toddler. I picked him up in my arms, and said, "Hello, Peter," and "Peter" he has been ever since.

      I can slip over the next 20 years which covered my ministries at Glenelg (six years), Saint Morris (2 years), and Unley (12 years), by mentioning a few high lights. We seemed to fit in very well at Glenelg. The church grew in numbers and in its Christian witness in the community. I was in touch with the local R.S.L. and conducted their Anzac service on Colley Reserve for eight years. We made many close friends, both inside and outside the church. These enriched our lives. The church was in good heart when we left. The University granted me matriculation and the new field at Saint Morris made it easier to attend the lectures. The H.M. church had every promise of quick growth with its increasing population and big Sunday School. However, I had an eye to something bigger. The Unley church always attracted me with its membership of 300, and I felt, with God's help I would be able to meet the needs of its people. Largely through the influence of Will Magarey and the Messent family, when a vacancy occurred, the church invited me to its ministry. The Unley church made big demands on its pastor. Shepherding the big flock put me on the old bike at least four afternoons a week. My average number of visits a week was 75. There was a steady flow of people into the membership, which kept the total at about the same level as in 1927. I graduated from the University in 1930. It had been a struggle to keep up with the studies. I am afraid I often neglected the family through lack of time. It was not easy going during the depression years in the thirties. Social work demanded considerable time in helping some of the poorer people in the community. I asked the officers to reduce my salary as I did not wish the church to suffer from the possible criticism that we did not feel the pinch as others did. I started playing bowls at Unley Park in 1929, and at the time of writing I had only resigned after 41 years of membership. Twice I became premier of the club and other tournaments came my way. This stimulated my ego.

      In 1939 the Brotherhood appointed me Home Mission secretary for three years. This gave me the opportunity of visiting nearly all the churches in the State as far apart as those in Eyre Peninsula and Bordertown. During the period I also took the place of H. J. Horsell, my old and true friend, as secretary of the Union. The Second World War was on, and having been on the reserve, ever since the First World War, I was stationed in various military camps until my full-time appointment at the 105 Military Hospital, while I still carried on as Union Secretary without cost to the Brotherhood. For four years

      I served in the hospital. This ministry covered one of the most interesting periods of my life, as well as the busiest, for I did not spare myself in serving the lads who had done so much for their country and suffered in consequence. I went to the hospital with the honorary rank of Lieut.-Colonel with a Captain's pay. My rank was due to the fact that I was Senior-Chaplain of the United Church group of padres. Eventually I was given the substantive rank of Major, receiving the corresponding higher salary. The financial side of the rank did not concern me much, although it eventually put me in a good position financially. Col. Fred Lemessurier was in control. He was a little man physically and had great love for servicemen, having served in the First World War at Gallipoli and in France. A strict disciplinarian he was not always understood by the men, e.g., outside one of the wards the mobile boys threw their spent matches on the gravel walks. Of course, no one was to blame, so the whole ward was refused week-end leave much to their disgust and chagrin. He had a sense of humour. One lad, being A.W.L. for the week-end, was put on the mat. The Colonel said he couldn't fine him because he was shorter than he himself. He came to the church service on Sundays, and did his best in singing the hymns, though his voice was rather poor. The favorite was "Onward Christian Soldiers." I happened to come to 105 just before the seriously wounded men from the battle of El Alamein returned. Many of them belonged to the famous 41^st Battalion. They were a splendid lot of fellows, and I spent much of my time in the two wards where they were being nursed.

      Curly and Johnny had lost both legs; others had lost one; another a leg and right arm. They never grumbled. One of the sisters gave special attention to Curley and more than once when he was able to move around in his wheel chair she mounted a bike and accompanied him to the Glenelg beach and helped him to have a swim. The fifty sisters on the staff gave splendid service. Some were returned sisters.

      I remember especially their assiduous care of the prisoners of war who spent years in Japanese hands and were in hospital to have skin grafts. It is interesting to know how this operation was done. Skin was lifted from the chest and fastened to an arm. This in turn was transferred to the ulcerated leg by contorting the limb. The boys never complained and the sisters waited on them night and day with scrupulous care. It seemed as though they took their sufferings upon themselves. Speaking of Johnnie before mentioned I was able to render him a special service. One evening a group of lads, including Johnnie, were taken to the city to attend a picture show, Johnnie wan lifted from his chair into the bus. The problem at the entrance to the show was how to get him up the lift to the hall. So I gave him a piggy-back. Despite the loss of his legs he proved rather heavy. A group of men in the psychiatric wards aroused much sympathy. One, a sergeant, did away with himself by climbing the 70 feet smoke stack and throwing himself down. Another, a lieutenant, who had served on Timor Island, north of Darwin, with a commando company, and shown remarkable courage in exploits against the Japs, was in a bad way. The C.O. had his cap knocked off his head and he had a fly at mine when I entered his room. It took some time to restore his mental balance. This only came about when his parents from N.S.W. came to his help. I remember

a third man, a prisoner of war from the Burma railway area, where so many of the lads died, including Mabel's nephew and a W. A. lad whom we had befriended while his unit was in camp here. This lad of whom I write was seriously affected by his action when his men were shifted further up the line. It was night and the going in the jungle was heavy. The group arrived worn out. One of the lads, with a fine tenor voice, had often cheered his companions with his songs when their in morale was low. The sergeant said to the lad, "Let us have one of your songs." He did, and sang, "I'll walk beside you." Singing in the camp was forbidden, and a Japanese guard rushed in, grabbed the lad, hauled him outside and clubbed him to death. The sergeant felt that he had been responsible for his companion's death and became mentally affected. When at a concert in 105 a tenor had sung the self-same song his condition became much worse. How long it took him to recover his balance I don't know.

      In the officers' mess the padres were well treated by the medical staff and other officers. The padres numbered four, representing different religious bodies. The C.O. appreciated the service we gave and told us so. Our work, he said, lifted the morale of the hospital. Drinking parties were sometimes arranged by the mess. Visitors from outside and sisters were invited. The Matron, a staunch Methodist, attended as part of her duty. Her glass was filled with sherry and more than once she beckoned me to bring her a soft drink in place of the sherry she held in her hand and which she had made a pretence of drinking.

      The fine chapel was erected to meet the religious needs of R.C., C.E., and other bodies. Special services were Well attended and a few of the patients and members of the staff came along on Sunday mornings. The C.E. padre and I shared the services. Sometimes I had to play the organ with fair success. The communion services were open to anyone who cared to stay. Not many did so. The C.E, padre had his own communion service earlier.

      During the whole of the four years at 105 I carried the extra work of secretary of the Churches of Christ Union. In my spare time, usually at night, I wrote a book entitled "The Story of a Century," being a brief account in over a hundred pages of the history of the Churches of Christ in S.A. from 1846 to 1946. This was published in Melbourne and 1500 copies were sold.

      Near the end of my service in the Army I was granted, with several others officers, the Efficiency Decoration, on our completion of twenty years as commissioned officers. It was awarded by King George VI. Naturally I was proud of this recognition. As I look back on my service during two world wars I feel that my service might have been more helpful to the men, especially during my 1918-9 presence abroad. I didn't always see and seize the opportunities afforded. After I finished full-time service I continued with part-time service for several years. When I retired from the Army I was granted

the honorary Rank of Lieut. Colonel. I think it was on the recommendation of my Chaplain General that this was done. I regard it as a great honor.

      From 1946 to 1955 I gave full-time service to the Brotherhood as secretary of the Union, plus manager of the bookroom, plus treasurer of the H.M. committee, plus secretary and treasurer of the Building Extension Committee, plus teacher of the Central Training Class for young men and women. In addition to this I gave two days a week to part-time duties at the Repatriation Hospital for several years. I thought it possible to carry the heavy burden, but several fainting turns forced me to relinquish the two last-named responsibilities. I had taught the Training Class for over 20 years. It was a well-rewarding service.

      I guess you wonder what was going on at home while I was so heavily engaged with duties outside. Well, Mabel simply carried on without complaint. When I sit and think of the 53 years of our married life I marvel at her loyalty not only to me but also to the church and the cause of Christ to which my life was dedicated. In a sense I was a bigamist, having two wives--the church and Mabel. The full details of my Brotherhood work would not be interesting. I have not mentioned that after giving up chaplaincy duties and teaching I took on another job, secretary and treasurer of the Christian Rest Home at St. Georges, replacing Charles Schwab, my fellow-preacher and very close friend. When I finally retired the Executive Committee arranged a meeting at Grote Street to me a send-off. About 200 people attended. Charles Schwab gave a laudatory speech. And Albert Glasson, another old friend, handed me a cheque for £300 . The occasion was somewhat embarrassing. In 1959 the Executive asked ms to write a complete history of the Churches of Christ in South Australia, covering the period from 1846 to 1959. This was printed by Sharples Bros. Printery. After retirement I did part-time work with the North Adelaide church and preached once each Sunday to a small congregation for a couple of years.

      For upwards of ten years the declining health of Mabel kept me close to home. The last six years she was completely invalided and I gave her service to the best of my ability. This partly made up for my neglect of her earlier. Then the inevitable came, Mabel passed away on July 18, 1968. Now I am in the Rest Home at Everard Park. Here there are opportunities to serve my fellows. I like to think that two passages of Scripture describe my life work. The Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would have them do to you," and "I am among you as one who serves." So with gratitude to God for His goodness, love and mercy throughout a long life I close my Memoirs,

      Herbert Richard Taylor died on May 16, 1976. For 91 years he was with us. He was born at Strathalbyn and baptised there at the age of 16. He outlived most of his contemporaries. All except one who served alongside of him in the ministry have passed on. He was the second child in a family of seven. He is survived by only two--Victor, his youngest brother, and his sister, Mrs. Dawson. Eight years ago he was pre-deceased by his wife. ending a marriage partnership of 55 years. At the funeral service, led by W. J. Philp, minister of the Unley Church, and N. S. Moore, Conf. Pres., tribute was paid to him. The writer said that he had been privileged to know and work with the deceased over the past 24 years. While in Lexington, Ky., in 1969, he copied the following facts from the Centennial Directory of the College of the Bible. . . . 'Taylor: Herbert Richard, born in Strathalbyn in 1884, came to the College of the Bible in 1906, graduated with the Diploma in 1910, Bachelor of Arts from the Adelaide University, now as a retired minister and an elder emeritus of the Unley Church, formerly secretary of the State Executive, Secretary and Treasurer of the State Building Extension Committee: author of the books 'The Story of a Century' (1946), and 'The History of the Churches of Christ in South Australia, 1930-31.' Chaplain to the Australian Imperial Forces (service overseas) 1918-1919, senior Chaplain to the Australian Military Forces, 1940-46, retired with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, 1946. After 20 years of service as a commissioned officer in the army he was awarded the Efficiency Decoration by the late King George VI.

      After four years of study in Lexington, Mr. Taylor returned to the ministry of the young church at Maylands. He was the first full-time minister to serve the Church. The following is taken from a record of the ministry: "In 1910, H. R. Taylor, who had graduated from the College of the Bible, Lexington, Ky., was invited by the Home Mission Committee to become the first resident preacher. In six years, the Church, which 'had a mind to work' could report a membership of 264, and had become self-supporting". There had been 193 people added to the church during his ministry. He then served the church at Northcote, Vic., for a short period, after which he returned to S.A. to serve the Glenelg Church. He offered for Chaplaincy service in the army and served for two years in France and England. Returning to Australia, he continued his ministry at Glenelg. After six years he was called to the comparatively new church at St. Morris, now Kensington Park. After two years he accepted a call to Park St., Unley, where he ministered for twelve years, and remained in membership there until his death. In 1941, he became the Secretary of our State Conference, retiring in 1955. Of the 46 years he spent in the ministry in Australia, 45 were in S.A. He was a scholarly man, a fine expositor of the Scriptures. Until the end, he read the New Testament using the Greek text. He was a wide reader of theology and of the classics. In the work of our Brotherhood he was a Christian statesman. He gave strong and wise leadership. He was a careful and considerate counsellor. He was loved by the patients at the Daws Road Military Hospital where he served for many years as part-time Chaplain. He was greatly respected by our S.A. Churches and by the leaders of the other churches in this state. He had a love for his brethren in all of the Christian churches, respecting their views, while holding firmly to his own. Above all else, he loved Christ and his Church. He preached the Conference Sermon in 1925, his topic being 'The dignity of the Church', indicating how careful he was to exalt the mission and worship of the church. At the age of 86, he wrote a brief memoir for his family in which he stated that he hoped he would be remembered by two passages of scripture--'I am among you as one who serves', and 'Do unto others as you would that they should do to you'. He closed his memoir with an expression of gratitude to God for His goodness, love and mercy throughout a long life. To the two children, Joan and Peter we express our Christian sympathy.

      The poet wrote:

I. J. CHIVELL