_REMINISCENCES_
There are numerous anecdotes and incidents connected with Canon Hoare’s
lengthened ministry at Tunbridge Wells, which illustrate his many-sided
character in a remarkable way. A few of these selected from the great
stock of reminiscence in the minds of his people may be of interest to
the reader.
* * * * *
On one occasion banns of marriage were put up in Trinity Church between a
workman recently come to the town and a young woman whose widowed mother
lived in the parish of Holy Trinity.
When the banns had been twice called an anonymous letter was received by
the Vicar, which stated that the man was already married. Careful
inquiry having proved that this was true, and that his wife and family
were living in another town, the Vicar made up his mind to punish the
delinquent in a novel way. The couple whose banns had been called were
sent for, and Canon Hoare told the girl the whole story in her false
lover’s presence. It was received with indignant incredulity, but the
proofs were unanswerable. Turning upon her companion, she sobbed out,
“James, James, I never believed you could have done this.” The man tried
to brazen it out, and laughingly said, “Well, I suppose we need not have
the banns published again?” “_Indeed they shall be read again_,” was the
Vicar’s reply.
By this time the man was getting uncomfortable under the piercing eye
that was fixed upon him, and he said, “Well, come along, Polly; it’s time
for us to be going.” “Indeed it _is_ time for you to be going,” said the
Vicar, “and you had better be sharp about it too, but Polly shall not go
with you.” With these words he pointed to the door, towards which the
offender made with remarkable rapidity. When he was gone Mr. Hoare
turned to the girl, and, taking her out on the other side of the house
from that by which the man had left, bid her go home with all speed.
Next Sunday morning in the vestry Canon Hoare called the clerk aside and
gave him some directions; then, having said to the curates “I’ll read the
banns to-day,” he took that part of the service in which they occur.
Having finished the second lesson, it was observed that in an unusually
loud voice and with great distinctness he read out: “I publish the banns
of marriage between James —, _bachelor_, and Mary Ann —, spinster, both
of this parish. These are for the third time of asking. If any of you
know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined
together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.” At this moment the
whole congregation were electrified by a loud voice at the end of the
church calling out, “I forbid the banns of James — and Mary Ann —!”
“Well, come into the vestry after service and state your reasons,” was
the reply.
The news fled like wild-fire over the parish, and the man got so
unmercifully (yet deservedly) jeered and hooted by his fellow-workmen
that he had to fly from the town. It may be added, as a curious and
significant fact, that it was not the immorality of the proceeding which
aroused this feeling, but “Jim — has let the parson do him out of three
and sixpence, for he paid for the banns, but couldn’t get tied!”
* * * * *
Another anecdote which has got into print somewhat incorrectly is the
following. The parish clerk was one day in attendance at a funeral in
Holy Trinity Cemetery when he noticed a gentleman walking about
apparently looking for something. He accosted him, and asked if he could
help him in any way. The other replied, in a very cheery and brisk way:
“Yes, you can; in fact I am looking for a nice sunny place for my grave.
I am going to die soon, the doctors tell me, and I want to get a pleasant
place to be buried in.” The clerk was somewhat astounded at the tone and
manner of the visitor, but suggested various sites. One was soon
selected, and in the same cheerful way the gentleman went on, striking
the ground as he spoke: “Capital, just the place; here it shall be; I
shall be put in here, and that will be the end of me.” The clerk
responded quietly, “Are you quite sure of that, sir? for I am not.”
“Yes, quite sure,” was the answer, and then a discussion ensued between
the two; when it had lasted a few minutes the official said, “Well, sir,
I may not be able to convince you that you are wrong, but I know my Vicar
could.” “Oh, I want none of your parsons,” said the visitor; “but who
_is_ your Vicar?” “The Reverend Edward Hoare, sir.” “Hoare, Edward
Hoare—did he come from Hampstead?” “Yes, sir, I believe he did.” “How
astonishing!” muttered the gentleman, and then speaking aloud, “Why, he
and I were friends when we were boys!” Having asked the way to the
vicarage that he might call upon him, the visitor went his way.
The meeting between the two old boyish acquaintances was very
interesting, but when the gentleman stated the circumstance of his
meeting with the clerk, Mr. Hoare replied, “You have made arrangements
about your body; have you been as diligent about your soul?” It soon
came out that, brought up, like his old friend, as a Quaker, but without
his religious advantages, he had drifted into open scepticism. Now,
however, the loving, earnest words that he heard made a great impression,
and he begged Mr. Hoare to come and visit him.
Several weeks passed by, and one day the clerk received a message from
his Vicar, “There will be an adult baptism in the service to-morrow.”
His feelings can be imagined when he saw quietly standing by the font the
gentleman whom he had seen in the cemetery! the defiant, cheery manner
gone, but instead of that a peaceful, happy look upon his face. The
illness soon progressed, but his friend of olden days visited him
continually up to the end, and had the joy of knowing that he died
resting happily upon his Saviour. In his will he bequeathed to Mr. Hoare
the valuable proof copy of Landseer’s picture “Saved,” as a significant
memento of what he had been permitted to do for his old friend.
* * * * *
The writer once heard it remarked of a certain clergyman that his many
curates were like so many sentinels posted over the country to warn
people of the danger of approaching him! The exact reverse was the case
with Canon Hoare: if any one wished to get an enthusiastic description of
the Vicar, they had only to go to one of his past or present curates. He
was “a hero to his valets”: so considerate and thoughtful of their wants
and circumstances, and yet so vigilant about their work, knowing exactly
how it was done, and never failing to notice an omission, yet doing it
all so kindly. The quarter’s cheque was always enclosed in an envelope,
with a slip of paper on which were written words like these, “With many
thanks for all your invaluable help.”
This may be a trifling thing, but it means a great deal. Canon Hoare was
like a father to his curates, and was beloved by them; he never lost an
opportunity of putting them forward, and if need be of standing up in
their defence. There are some who remember well an incident at a general
meeting of subscribers to the hospital many years ago. Some one present
had spoken very wrongly and impertinently of one of the curates, making
suggestions of evil in his remarks.
At the close of the speeches that followed, the chairman got up. He was
watched closely as he slowly took off his overcoat, and with great
deliberation folded it up and placed it on the back of his chair. The
room was very still as, drawing himself to his full height and looking
keenly round the room, he fixed his gaze upon the former speaker, and
gave him in words the most terrible castigation that the unfortunate
individual ever received in his life. It was well administered, and
equally well deserved.
The fact that in all parochial work he was leader, not director—saying
“Come” instead of “Go”—was one of the causes of his influence with his
curates. It is related that at some wedding in the parish church, when
the bridegroom, a stranger to the place, was paying the fees in the
vestry, he made the remark, “I think the man who does the work ought to
get the pay.” This greatly tickled the two curates present, who could
not help laughing at the idea of their Vicar seated in his arm-chair
while they laboured in the parish, and simultaneously both exclaimed,
“The Vicar does more than both of us put together!”
* * * * *
The simplicity of the services at Holy Trinity have been already noticed.
The preacher wore the black gown, not that he had any objection to the
surplice in the pulpit, as he used that dress without hesitation in other
churches, but because he felt that he was too old to make changes. “I
knew many of the old Evangelical Fathers,” he used to say; “I preached
Charles Simeon’s funeral sermon in his own church at Cambridge; so that I
feel as if I were connected with them, and I will keep up the old gown
which I have been used to all my life.”
But although this seemed but a trifle to him, he never ceased to express
his disapproval of what are commonly called “musical services.” On one
occasion, at some conference or meeting of clergy, he followed the reader
of a paper who had advocated the introduction of an intoned service, and
commenced his reply with these words: “For the discussion of this subject
I possess the important qualification of being an _unmusical_ man!” He
then continued in the same strain, and impressed this point upon the
clergy, that they had to deal with as many unmusical people as musical in
their congregations. All could speak, but only a limited number could
sing; therefore, by arranging a service for the musical, they really
closed the lips of those who were not so. At another time, also in
public, he said: “The proper use of music is in praise and thanksgiving.
People are so eager in these days to introduce as much music as possible
that they have applied it to prayer, the reading of Scripture, and even
to the Creed. All this I believe to be a mistake. We delight in
thorough congregational singing, but the essence of prayer is to be
perfectly natural, to realise that we are speaking to God, and forget all
beside. Who can imagine the poor publican waiting to hear the note of
the organ, or the trumpet, before he smote upon his breast and said, ‘God
be merciful to me a sinner!’”
* * * * *
As a chairman Canon Hoare was unequalled. His kindness to opponents and
his fairness in stating their case disarmed prejudice and won their
approbation. A barrister who had been contending vigorously against some
project which Canon Hoare was anxious to advance said at the close of a
meeting in which he was taking part: “I have no more to say. Mr. Hoare
has handled his brief ably, and I retire from my former opposition.”
Some now in Tunbridge Wells will remember a meeting of publicans who had
been invited by the Vicar to come to the Parish Room and discuss in a
friendly way the Bill for the Sunday closing of public-houses. They
proved an unpleasant audience, and often indulged in bitter and insolent
observations, all of which he took in the most gentle Christian spirit.
At last one fellow shouted out: “You clergy are the biggest
Sabbath-breakers going; you are working hard all Sunday, and why
shouldn’t we?” “No, no,” answered the chairman with a beautiful smile,
“what we do on Sunday is not work; it’s _happy rest_ from first to last.”
A Nonconformist who was present remarked afterwards to the writer that he
would never forget that look nor those words as long as he lived.
* * * * *
In questions relating to the interests of the town or of the country at
large he was always to the front, gauging public opinion and leading it
in the right direction. In actual politics he took no part until the
Home Rule question was brought to the front by Mr. Gladstone; then he
lectured in the Great Hall against it, and more than once spoke in public
on the same topic. Again, when in 1885 the Liberation Society announced
a lecture by Mr. Guinness Rogers, and the Great Hall was filled with a
noisy, excited audience, at the close of the lecture Canon Hoare ascended
the platform; and though at first his words could scarcely be heard in
the tumult of cheers and hootings, yet his manliness and skill in debate
soon gained way for him, and though the lecturer and chairman both made
insulting remarks, he so entirely turned the tables upon them that, when
the Liberationist motion was put to the meeting, it was rejected by a
majority, and the whole thing collapsed ignominiously.
* * * * *
Many years previous to the event just narrated, when the Volunteer
movement was making itself felt throughout the country, a large meeting
was held in Tunbridge Wells to consider the question of establishing a
Volunteer Corps. The chairman, a local magistrate, threw cold water on
the proposal by reminding them that all their strength was needed for
foreign service.
Mr. Hoare then got up and said that he entirely disagreed with the
chairman; proceeding in a very vigorous speech to show the horrors of a
foreign invasion, and the duty of every true Englishman to defend his
country, he concluded by declaring that he hoped the first invader who
landed on the shores of Kent might be shot by a Tunbridge Wells
Volunteer! The speaker was well supported by the Rev. B. F. Smith, then
Vicar of Rusthall (now Archdeacon of Maidstone).
A well-known medical man in the town then got up and said: “I came to the
meeting in a doubtful state of mind, and though my courage failed under
the depressing remarks of the chairman, it has now completely revived
under the bold leadership of Captain Hoare and Lieutenant Smith!” The
motion was carried by acclamation.
* * * * *
The following anecdote has reference to the extraordinary influence which
he wielded over the town of Tunbridge Wells at large. His strong
religious character may be said to have moulded the place. Two gentlemen
were conversing at Sevenoaks Station, just before the train left the
platform. One was heard to say to the other, “How is it that you have no
theatre at Tunbridge Wells? A large town like that should have a
theatre.” “Oh,” responded his companion, “it would never pay. Tunbridge
Wells is too religious a place for a theatre.”
* * * * *
Yet this man, when he came first as Vicar of Holy Trinity, met with much
discouragement. The District Visitors came in a body and tendered their
resignations, and the first remarks which he overheard about his sermons
as he passed a group of parishioners at night on his way home from church
were, “Oh, what a dreary sermon!” “Yes, and _I_ thought it would never
end!” It is hard for us now to believe this possible, and still harder
perhaps to remember that even in late years, after all his services, two
of the Evangelical newspapers used to write suspiciously of him,—one
sneering at “the three Canons” Ryle, Garbett, and Hoare as
“Neo-Evangelicals”; the other in a flaring leader actually calling him
and the writer of these lines (who was proud to be in such company)
“traitors to the Church of England”! Both these journals are now in
different hands, but it is a humiliating thought that one who had done so
much for Evangelical truth should have been thus treated by those who
professed to aid its progress. It has often been noticed that a lofty
mountain seems nothing very remarkable when you stand at its base, but as
the traveller departs and it recedes from sight, it towers above the
lesser peaks and almost seems to stand alone. So the character of a
truly great man, although valued, cannot be measured during his life; it
is as the years pass by that we see how much higher he was than all his
fellows.