New Zealand Baptist Magazine - April 1951 - By Ralph E. Barley, Hastings.
As I gaze down the fast-lied years I feel that the Victorian era was truly an age of greatness. Maybe I imagine those early days were really wonderful because I look down the avenues of youth.
Those years were indeed noted for greatness; great poets, statesmen, and above all, great preachers. No one church could claim the monopoly. There was a remarkable distribution throughout, all the denominations. The fuller freedom of the Victorian era seemed to produce a galaxy of greatness in Church and State.
Of course, one is not unmindful of a Wesley and a Whitfield and a John Knox or a John Bunyan, products of an earlier decade. It may be because I was rocked in a Victorian cradle that I still dream of the giants that stalked across the stage of those early years. The prophets and preachers who proclaimed the glorious gospel from city pulpits and village green.
I always feel that the name of Charles Haddon Spurgeon looms on the horizon like a beacon. I think too, of Dr. Parker of the Temple, Dr. McLarren of Manchester, Drs. Glover of Bristol, Jowet of Birmingham, Williams of Reedington, John Thomas of Liverpool, Campbell Morgan of Westminster, and F. B. Meyer, of London, not forgetting others like William Cuff of Shoreditch and that fearless giant Dr. John Clifford, the Cromwell of the century, fearless and fervent. As a youth it was my privilege to hear all these preachers except Charles Spurgeon of the Tabernacle. Yet the news of his death at Mentone in France left a great impression on my boyhood. At that time my eldest brother. Rev. Alfred Barley, was ministering at Troubille. one of C. H. Spurgeon's first mission stations in France. To my brother was given the honour of carrying the floral token of the French Baptists to the funeral in London and placing it on the mound at Norwood Cemetery. It was with awe and wonder that I listened to the account of the funeral, for when he died a nation wept.
Many of the names I mentioned were those of stalwart Baptists who laid the foundations of our faith in far-flung fields. Gallant men who blazed the trail into every corner of Britain. The sermons of these preachers were the background of our Church life. Born into a Baptist home and the youngest of 14 children, our Sunday reading consisted of "The Baptist Times and Freeman" and the "Christian World." My father would often tramp 10 miles on a Sunday and preach three sermons. To us the Lord's Day was a sacred day. The people of that period were loyal to the faith and the village chapels played a great part in the education and spiritual uplift of the people.
I well remember one Sunday going with my father to a local church some four miles out. On the way he told me I was now old enough to stand with him in the pulpit and read the 23rd Psalm. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, dry as a biscuit, and my knees knocked together in this new venture. As a callow youth just after I had joined the church and had been baptized a special privilege came my way. The annual Baptist Assembly was to be held at Derby, some hundreds of miles away north. One of our aged devout deacons was anxious that I should go as delegate with the pastor. He also agreed to pay all my expenses. My father consented. I was duly appointed and was duly dispatched with my pastor to the great industrial city of Derby. To-day I still feel I owe a debt of gratitude to that aged elder, who evidently hoped that the impact of the meeting would prove a spiritual uplift.
It was indeed a thrill for me to mix and mingle with men who shine like stars on the pages of our denomination story.
The late Rev. J. H. Rushbrooke was the host pastor at Derby, and gave evidence even then of his organising ability. I remember he looked at me as I walked into his office with my venerable pastor: "Is this lad a delegate from your church at stormy Stratford. Well, I must congratulate your church in the choice of a youth. The usual badge of service seemed to be a white beard and a bald head." I have since those days fully qualified. It was at these meetings I met and heard many of the men whose names I have listed. Rev. John Clifford was in the prime of his manhood. I heard him in the flame and passion of his message. I remember the mass meeting in the Drill Hall. John Clifford and Hon. Lloyd George roused the audience with their fiery fluency and fervour. That meeting lives forever in my memory. It was interesting to me, too, that I was delegated to the suburb of Lawley for hospitality. Here Clifford was born into a humble home. It was here that he wrought long hours in a lace factory. Here he studied the classics and English in his dinner hour, and long into the night he burned the candle to lay the foundation of a useful life.
At the meetings daily I listened to Drs. McLarren and Glover and the Rev. Hugh Black and Alex. Whyte, and J. Thomas of Liverpool as they proclaimed the great truths so dear to our denomination. Yes, these were giants in those days, and I met and heard many of them at Derby.
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