THE TRIUMPHANT DEATH OF MY DEAR BROTHERS,
WOODLOCK AND BARTHOLOMEW.
BUT in the midst of our work, true as we were to each other as brothers
and to the principles of the Cross, death’s rude hand came among us and
made a breach. We were all three labouring for God at Chingford, Essex.
The following extract, which at the time was printed as a leaflet, will
afford an explanation:—
SUDDEN DEATH OF ONE OF THE “CONVERTED GIPSY
BROTHERS” SMITH.
These devoted Christian men had been holding services at Chingford,
Essex, since 4th March, 1882, and on Tuesday, 7th March, at the close
of their meeting, the second eldest brother, Woodlock, was detained a
few minutes behind his brothers in earnest conversation with an anxious
soul, and they went on ahead to take train for Stratford, leaving him
to make haste after them. Woodlock in the darkness ran with great force
against a wooden post in the midst of one of the lanes, and sustained
such severe internal injuries that he never rallied, but died in 28
hours. Cornelius, his eldest brother, stayed by him all night, while
Bartholomew, the youngest, returned to Stratford to inform their
wives and families. On Wednesday morning early Woodlock’s wife went
to Chingford, and during the day he was removed to his own little
home, Cobbold Road, Leytonstone, where he breathed his last early on
Thursday, 9th March. Though under terrible suffering he never once
lost his consciousness, but to the end testified of redeeming love.
He was a large-hearted Christian man, and never happier than when
pressing others, in his own simple forceful way, to accept God’s gift
of salvation, and faithfully to serve the Master he loved so well. He
has left a widow, a grown-up son and daughter, and an idiot boy twelve
years of age, to mourn his loss.
On Saturday, 11th March, 1882, this worthy Christian man and zealous
worker was buried in Leytonstone churchyard. He was followed by his
sorrowing relatives, and over fifty of the gipsy community, while four
hundred sympathising friends lined the approaches to the church and
burying-place. The parish church had a very unusual audience that day,
for the gipsy people pressed in with the others, and as the vicar read
the burial service hearts were deeply touched and tears freely flowed,
and again when the body was committed to the dust, “in sure and certain
hope of the resurrection,” the wave of hearty response told how solid
was that blessed hope of Woodlock. At the grave two or three Christian
men addressed the company, testifying to his sterling worth who had
just been laid to rest, urging on the unsaved immediate decision for
Christ, and on Christians heartier service for the Master. The two
surviving brothers spoke very feelingly of the loved one they were
severed from, and how much they would feel the missing link in their
chain of Gospel testimony. Hymns having been sung with much emotion,
prayer was offered, and the company dispersed.
Woodlock Smith was a hale man, only forty-eight years of age. More than
twelve years before, his two brothers and he were converted to God,
and straightway they began to testify, “Come, see a man which told me
all things which ever I did. Is not this the Christ?” And lovingly and
earnestly they laboured together from that date. When not called out to
Gospel testimony up and down the English counties, they laboured with
their own hands. In their services, Woodlock, as a rule, led off with
the first address, and afterwards gave out the closing hymn.
On Tuesday evening, at Chingford, he gave out and sang with full heart
and soul—
“Sing, oh, sing, of my Redeemer!
With His blood He purchased me!
On the cross He sealed my pardon,
Paid the debt, and made me free!”
About an hour afterwards he met with his accident, and when he was
picked up, he said to the helpers, “I have got my death-blow. My work
on earth is done, but all’s bright above, and I’m going home.” He was
no ordinary man. In clear incisive Gospel testimony, the blood of
Jesus Christ, His finished work on the Cross of Calvary, as alone the
ground of the sinners’ acceptance with God, and a consequent life of
consecration to His service, was the burden of his discourses.
Over the doorway of his cottage home stands this Scripture, “When I see
the blood, I will pass over you.”
Intensely real in what he said, never did he rise to such a pitch of
earnestness as when setting forth, “Ruin by the fall, redemption by the
blood of Christ, and regeneration by the Holy Ghost.” Within an hour
of his departure he turned to his weeping relatives and said, “I am
going to heaven, through the blood of the Lamb. Do you love and serve
Jesus. Tell the people wherever you go about Him. Be faithful, speak to
them about the blood that cleanses.” Gathering himself up he then said,
“What is this that steals upon my frame? Is it death?” and quickly
added—
“If this be death, I soon shall be
From every sin and sorrow free.
I shall the King of Glory see.
All is well.”
Who made the difference in this man’s life and death from that of an
ordinary unconverted gipsy? The Lord Jesus Christ.
Thus was our beloved brother taken from us. We had knelt with him at
the Cross, laboured together in the cause of Christ, and we shall live
together around His resplendent throne.
Two years after the death of Woodlock, when I had scarcely rallied from
that heavy blow, my dear brother Bartholomew died. I was quite overcome
with the death of Woodlock, and now this terrible blow for the time
seemed to unfit me for work, but the precious last hours of Bartholomew
will live in memory.
His last few days on earth were spent in Mildmay Cottage Hospital,
where he was lovingly tended, and all that human skill could devise
under the Divine blessing was done for him, but gradually growing
weaker, he pleaded to be carried to his own little cottage home at
Leytonstone, to die beside his dear wife and children, and the wish
was granted. He only survived the removal about ten hours, but to the
last he glorified God in the fires of affliction. A few hours before he
passed away he called his family to his bedside and implored each of
them to meet him in heaven. His dear wife naturally felt it extremely
hard to part with him. He rallied somewhat in his last moments, and
said, “There! I was almost gone then. They had come for me.” When asked
who had come, he replied, “My Saviour.” Turning to his wife he said,
“You are clinging to me; you will not let me go; and I am sure you do
not want me to stay here in all this pain. I must go home, I cannot
stay here. I have made it all right for you and the children. God will
look after you. I know your difficulty, but He will bring you through.”
Trying to comfort her I said, “Tell the Lord, Thy will be done.” She
looked at me, and said, “Oh, it is so hard.” I said, “Yes, but the
Lord is going to take him to Himself, and it will make it easier for
you.” We then knelt down. He sat up in the bed with his hands clasped,
looking at her, whilst she poured out her soul before the Lord, and
told Him her difficulty. God gave her the victory. She said, “I can
now say, Thy will be done.” She then kissed him once more on earth,
and then he clapped his hands and said, “Now I can go, can’t I? I am
ready to be offered up. The time of my departure is at hand. Lord,
let Thy servant depart in peace. Receive my spirit, for Jesus’ sake.”
Bartholomew’s soul had fled from its tenement of clay. The bed-chamber
was filled with a halo of glory. He was interred in Leytonstone parish
churchyard, in the same grave with our dear brother Woodlock, there to
await the resurrection morn.
Six months after Bartholomew had passed away God gave to his widow
another life, and true to His own promise He has sustained her and her
nine children.
A very singular thing happened just before Bartholomew died. He said,
“There is another going on a long journey,” and he also mentioned the
name of one of his married daughters, and twelvemonths to the very day
she was laid in her grave, and we trust she has gone to be with Jesus.
Two years before my brother Bartholomew’s death God gave me another
helper in my dear wife. He knew when He took away my dear brothers that
I should feel their loss, and feel unfit to go to meetings alone, so my
wife was given me. She had been in the mission work for years, and had
been made very useful both in connection with the Christian Missions,
in whose meetings she was converted, and also in the Salvation Army.
And now, while we write, the Lord is making us a great blessing. Our
time is fully spent in the Lord’s work, and wherever we go souls are
saved and saints are blessed. Jesus Christ found me a poor wandering,
neglected, simple gipsy, and brought me into the light, the eternal
light of God, and I want to preach Him to my fellow-men as long as I
live,
“Happy if with my latest breath
I may but gasp His name;
Preach Him to all, and cry in death,
‘Behold, behold the Lamb’”
THE END.
John Heywood, Excelsior Printing and Bookbinding Works,
Manchester.
————————————
Transcriber’s Notes:
Italics were denoted by underscores. Small capitals appearing in the
front matter, the first line of each chapter and on the contents page
were changed to all uppercase capitals. Finally, a small number of
obvious typographical errors in the original have been corrected where
leaving them unaltered would likely be an unwelcome distraction for the
reader. These were:
- “nothin” has been corrected to “nothing”
- “was a a very” has been corrected to “was a very”
- “godlylives” has been corrected to “godly lives”
- “ost” has been corrected to “lost”
- “it wa gone” has been corrected to “it was gone”
- “riends” has been corrected to “friends”
- “they came for ward” has been corrected to “they came forward”
- “The The work was” has been corrected to “The work was”
- “im prisonment” has been corrected to “imprisonment”
- “my dear bro-brother” has been corrected to “my dear brother”
September 2026