The New Parish, 1846.
About this time the news reached us that the Vicar was dead; and thus
ended my connection with Perranzabuloe. As the Dean and Chapter would
not appoint me to succeed, I had no alternative but to make arrangements
for my departure.
In one sense I was not sorry to go; but for various other reasons I much
regretted having to leave a place where my health had been so
wonderfully restored and sustained, and in which I had received so many
tokens of God's favour. It is true that my labours were of an external
character; but these I thought most important, and did them with all my
might as unto the Lord. I took the work as from Him, and did it all to
Him, and for Him, thanking Him for any token of success or commendation
which I received.
I also regretted leaving the place before I had done any good to the
people; for, with all my endeavours, I had not succeeded in persuading
them to receive my idea of salvation by churchmanship.
However, the door was shut behind me; and this crisis happened at the
exact time of another important event in my life. I was just engaged to
be married, and therefore had an additional interest in looking for a
sphere of labour which would suit me, and also the partner of my choice,
who was in every respect likely to be an effectual helpmeet This was
soon found and we agreed together to give ourselves to the Lord's work
(as we thought) in it.
One of the "Peel" districts in the neighbourhood of Truro, which I had
designed, called Baldhu, was on the Earl of Falmouth's estate: it came
to his Lordship's mind to take an interest in this desolate spot; so he
bought the patronage from the commissioners, and then offered it to me,
to Be made into a new parish. This I accepted, with many thanks, and
began immediately to dream about my plans for the future.
It was a time of great distress in that place amongst the tenants, on
account of the failure of the potato crop; so his lordship employed some
hundreds of the men in breaking up the barren croft for planting trees;
there he gave me a good central site for a church.
Now I made up my mind to have everything perfect, and with my own rules
and regulations, my surpliced choir, churchwardens, and frequent
services, all after my own heart, it could scarcely fall to be
otherwise. I thought that having free scope, mine should be a model
place. The district was in a barren part of a large palish; three
thousand souls had been assigned to me; and I was to go and civilize
them, build my church, school-house, and, indeed, establish everything
that was necessary.
To begin with, I took a room which was used for a village school in the
week, and for a service on Sunday. This succeeded so well, that in a few
months I determined to enlarge the building in which we assembled, as
speedily as possible. Having made all necessary plans, and procured
stones, timber, and slate, we commenced operations at five o'clock one
Monday morning, and by Saturday night had a chancel (which I thought
most necessary) ready for Sunday use!
All the world came to see this sudden erection. This temporary church
now held three hundred people; and with the addition of a new choir and
hearty service, it was a great success, or, at least, so I imagined, for
in those days I did not look for more.
I entered upon my work here with renewed energy and sanguine hope. I
had, of course, gained more experience in the various duties of my
ministry, and had, moreover, a clearer perception, as I thought, how
sacramental teaching, under the authority of the Church, ought to work.
I preached on holy living, not conversion, for as yet I knew nothing
about the latter.
In 1847, I went on a visit to a very remarkable man, who had a great
effect upon me in many ways. He was the Rev. Robert Hawker, of
Morwenstow, in the extreme north of Cornwall.*
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* See his "LIFE," by Rev. Baring Gould.
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This friend was a poet, and a High Churchman, from whom I learned many
practical lessons. He was a man who prayed, and expected an answer; he
had a wonderful perception for realizing unseen things, and took
Scripture literally, with startling effect. He certainly was most
eccentric in many of his ways; but there was a reality and
straightforwardness about him which charmed me very much; and I was the
more drawn to him, from the interest he took in me and my work.
He knew many legends of holy men of old, and said that the patron saints
of West Cornwall were in the calendar of the Eastern Church, and those
in the north of Cornwall belonged to the Western. His own patron saint,
Morwenna, was a Saxon, and his church a Saxon fane. He talked of these
saints as if he knew all about them, and wrote of them in a volume of
poems thus:--
"They had their lodges in the wilderness,
And built them cells along the shadowy sea;
And there they dwelt with angels like a dream,
And filled the field of the evangelists
With thoughts as sweet as flowers."
He used to give most thrilling and grand descriptions of the storms of
the Atlantic, which broke upon the rocky coast with gigantic force, and
tell thrilling stories of shipwrecks; how he saved the lives of some of
the sailors, and how he recovered the bodies of others he could not
save. Then in the churchyard he would show you--there, a broken boat
turned over the resting-place of some; here, two oars set up crosswise
over several others; and in another part the figure-head of a ship, to
mark the spot where the body of a captain was buried.
The Vicarage house was as original as himself. Over the door was
inscribed--
"A house, a glebe, a pound a day;
A pleasant place to watch and pray.
Be true to Church, be kind to poor,
O minister, for evermore!"
The interior was furnished with old-fashioned heavy furniture and the
outside was conspicuous for its remarkable chimneys, which were finished
off as models of the towers of churches where he had served. The kitchen
chimney, which was oblong, perplexed him very much, till (as he said) "I
bethought me of my mother's tomb; and there it is, in its exact shape
and dimensions!"
He had daily service in his church, generally by himself, when he prayed
for the people. "I did not want them there." he said. "God hears me; and
they know when I am praying for them, for I ring the bell."
He had much influence in his parish, chiefly amongst the poor, and
declared that his people did whatever he told them. They used to bring a
bunch of flowers or evergreens every Sunday morning, and set them up in
their pew ends, where a proper place was made to hold them. The whole
church was seated with carved oak benches, which he had bought from time
to time from other churches, when they were re-pewed with "deal boxes!"
On the Sunday, I was asked to help him in the service, and for this
purpose was arrayed in an alb, plain, which was just like a cassock in
white linen. As I walked about in this garb, I asked a friend, "How do
you like it?" In an instant I was pounced upon, and grasped sternly on
the arm by the Vicar. "'Like' has nothing to do with it; is it right?"
He himself wore over his alb a chasuble, which was amber on one side and
green on the other, and was turned to suit the Church seasons; also a
pair of crimson-colored gloves, which, he contended, were the proper
sacrificial colour for a priest.
I had very little to do in the service but to witness his proceedings,
which I observed with great attention, and even admiration. His
preaching struck me very much; he used to select the subject of his
sermon from the Gospel of the day all through the year. This happened to
be "Good Samaritan Sunday," so we had a discourse upon the "certain man
who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho," in which he told us that "the
poor wounded man was Adam's race; the priest who went by was the
Patriarchal dispensation; the Levite, the Mosaic; and the good Samaritan
represented Christ; the inn was the Church; and the twopence, the
Sacraments."
He held his manuscript before his face, and read it out boldly, because
he "hated," as he said, "those fellows who read their sermons, and all
the time pretend to preach them;" and he especially abhorred those who
secreted notes in their Bibles: "Either have a book, sir, or none!"
He had a great aversion to Low Church clergymen, and told me that his
stag Robin, who ranged on the lawn, had the same; and that once he
pinned one of them to the ground between his horns. The poor man cried
out in great fear; so he told Robin to let him go, which he did, but
stood and looked at the obnoxious individual as if he would like to have
him down again and frighten him, though he would not hurt him--"Robin
was kind-hearted."
"This Evangelical," he continued, "had a tail coat; he was dressed like
an undertaker, sir. Once upon a time there was one like him travelling
in Egypt, with a similar coat and a tall hat; and the Arabs pursued him,
calling him the 'father of saucepans, with a slit tail.'" This part of
his speech was evidently meant for me, for I wore a hat and coat of this
description, finding it more convenient for the saddle, and for dining
out when I alighted.
He persuaded me to wear a priestly garb like his, and gave me one of his
old cassocks for a pattern; this I succeeded in getting made to my
satisfaction, after considerable difficulty.
I came back to my work full of new thoughts and plans, determined to do
what was "right" and this in spite of all fears, whether my own, or
those of others.
I now began to think more of the reality of prayer, and of the meaning
of the services of the Church; I emphasized my words, and insisted upon
proper teaching. I also paid more attention to my sermons, having
hitherto disregarded them; for, as I said, "the Druids never preached;
they only worshipped."
I help up my manuscript and read my sermon, like Mr. Hawker; and I wore
a square cap and cassock, instead of the "saucepan" and the "tails."
This costume I continued to wear for several years, though I was
frequently laughed at, and often pursued by boys, which was not
agreeable to flesh and blood; but it helped to separate me from the
world, and to make me feel that I was set apart as a priest to offer
sacrifice for the people.
In course of time I began to make preparations for my permanent church.
I drew the designs for it, passed them, and obtained money enough to
begin to build. There was a grand ceremony at the stone-laying, and a
long procession. We had banners, chanting, and a number of surpliced
clergy, besides a large congregation.
The Earl of Falmouth, who laid the stone, contributed a thousand pounds
towards the edifice; his mother gave three hundred pounds for a peal of
bells; and others of the gentry who were present contributed; so that
upwards of eighteen hundred pounds was promised that day. Just twelve
months after, July 20, 1848, the same company, with many others, and the
Bishop of Exeter (Phillpotts) came to consecrate the "beautiful church."
In the meantime, between the stone-laying and the consecration, the
Parsonage house had been built, and, more than that, it was even
papered, furnished, and inhabited! Besides all this, there was a garden
made, and a doorway, after an ecclesiastical mode, leading into the
churchyard, with this inscription over it:--
"Be true to Church,
Be kind to poor,
O minister, for evermore."
In this church there were super-altars, candles, triptych, and also a
painted window; organ, choir, and six bells; so that for those days it
was considered a very complete thing. "The priest of Baldhu," with his
cassock and square cap, was quite a character in his small way. He
preached in a surplice, of course, and propounded Church tactics, firmly
contending for the Church teaching. The Wesleyans and others had their
distinctive tenets, the Church must have hers: they had their members
enrolled, the Church must have hers; therefore he would have a "guild,"
with the view of keeping his people together. Outwardly there was an
esprit de corps, and the parishioners came to church, and took an
interest in the proceedings; but it was easy to see that their hearts
were elsewhere. Still I went on, hoping against hope, "building from the
top" without any foundation, teaching people to live before they were
born!