Tommy Medhurst, Bermondsey Boy

Thomas Medhurst (front right) C H Spurgeon (front, 2nd left) 1888

When C H Spurgeon moved from rural Cambridgeshire to the sour streets of Southwark, no one could have forseen the furore he was going to cause or the instant impact his preaching was going have. Even at the tender age of twenty-two, thousands of Londoners were flocking to hear this ‘Prince of Preachers’. For decades his sermons were published on a weekly basis. By the time of his death in 1892, 50 million copies had been sold. His sermons were published in forty languages. He had a global impact long before the internet age.

Famously, as minister of the Metropolitan Tabernacle at the Elephant and Castle, he presided over what was then the largest church congregation in the world. But it was at the New Park Street Chapel close to Southwark Bridge, south of the river, where his London ministry began. Although a new building, the chapel, was surrounded by a mix of slum housing, enormous breweries, vinegar factories and boiler works. Spurgeon described the area as ‘dim, dirty and destitute.’

It was here that the young Spurgeon first gained renown and it was here that Tommy Medhurst first heard the great man preach.

Thomas William Medhurst grew up on the mean streets of Bermondsey, he didn’t get much in the way of formal education but schooling wasn’t really relevant to his work as a rope maker’s apprentice. As a rope maker Medhurst’s neighbours would have known his trade without having to ask him; rope makers always carried with them the aroma of the tar that they used to water proof the hemp ropes the made in those victorian rope factories. As an apprentice he would be ‘bound to his master’ for a fixed term, usually seven years. All for a few shillings a week and a pair of shoes each year if he was lucky.

Tommy Medhurst’s lack of schooling didn’t stop him writing to C H Spurgeon at New Park Street Chapel after hearing him preach, anxiously asking:

‘How am I to find Jesus? How am I to know that He died for me?’ Spurgeon took time out from his busy schedule to respond to his request. At the close of his letter Spurgeon said: ‘There is the cross, and a bleeding God-man upon it; look to Him and be saved! There is the Holy Spirit able to give you every grace. Look, in prayer, to … God, and then you will be delivered.’

Medhurst did indeed ‘look to Christ’ and receive salvation, to Spurgeon’s great delight. The two men met, and Spurgeon had the joy of baptising the new convert, who joined New Park Street. The year was 1854.

Immediately Medhurst began preaching on those grim, polluted streets surrounding the chapel. He was full of passion but some New Park Street members who heard him didn’t approve, they were shocked at what they called his ‘want of education’ and his standard of spoken English left something to be desired. They felt strongly enough to complain to the pastor Mr. Spurgeon. Medhurst should be stopped! they raged. when Spurgeon met to discuss their compaints against him, Medhurst’s response was to say: ‘I must preach… and I shall preach unless you cut off my ‘ead!’ Spurgeon was suitably impressed and it was agreed that decapitation wasn’t neccessary!

Soon, people were converted through the young man’s street preaching and joining the New Park Street congregation. Spurgeon took notice and told Medhurst he believed God was calling him to be a preacher and a pastor. The logical next step would be for Medhurst to go to college. However for many in the Victorian age (and today for that matter!), Medhurst would have been seen as unsuitable ministry material. Spurgeon, however, thought differently. He would train him and eventually the college he established would take many more like him. To this day, they equip them to serve churches and reach countless communities with the gospel.

Spurgeon, himself did not have any formal training before he became a minister. But he understood that he was an unusual character, and that others would benefit from some theological education. He certainly believed this was important for Medhurst. But what was the best way forward for his friend?

The outspoken Spurgeon was unimpressed by the various bible colleges of his day. In his view they downplayed the robust biblical theology which he adhered to. They were often too focused on the academic and not enough on the practical issues of mission and ministry.

For Tommy Medhurst, there would be additional problems. Colleges were expensive, and they assumed that their students would have already acheived a good standard of formal education. On both counts the rough young street preacher would struggle. Spurgeon decided he would train Medhurst himself. So, in July 1855, Thomas Medhurst began to study under Spurgeon’s supervision, with the pastor paying for Medhurst’s board and lodging out of his own pocket.

So, T W Medhurst became C H Spurgeon’s first-ever student. Medhurst didn’t remain on the grim streets of Southwark, his ministry expanded, he went on to pastor churches in Kingston, west London, Coleraine in Ireland, Glasgow in Scotland and Portsmouth on the south coast. During his ministry, the apprentice rope maker from Bermondsey, who’s standard of spoken English had so shocked the members of  his first church, had personally baptised almost 1,000 converts.

This acount of an almost anonymous character like Tommy Medhurst should challenge us today.

It would be gratifying to see more men and women emulating the young C H Spurgeon and be willing to exchange the comparative comfort of Cambridgeshire and similar places, for some of this nations neglected communities. Communities up and down the country from which Christians seem to have fled and then forgotten. Communites that are suffering because the traditional industries which the communities grew around have all but vanished. The jobs in which a man could take pride are hardly there any more. In some places we see generational unemployment. Little or no money; little or no hope. These communities are today’s equivelant of those vile victorian slums whose conditions shocked so many into action. Who will be motivated to go to them today with the same message of hope and good news that Spurgeon and Medhurst preached so passionately?

When it comes to potential preachers and pastors, let’s emulate the vision of C H Spurgeon and not discount people because of their lack of formal education, their limited vocabulary or their accent.  Preacher and blogger Lex Loizides put it like this:

We mustn’t overlook those who have been transformed into leaders by ‘grace and grit’, and who like Peter and the other apostles, might be considered ‘unlearned men’, or ‘unschooled, ordinary men’, as the Bible puts it (see Acts 4:13). We might be missing some ‘mighty men’.

We would have to put aside John Bunyan, Howell Harris, William Carey, DL Moody, Elijah Cadman, CH Spurgeon (perhaps the most remarkable example of self-education in a Christian leader), Smith Wigglesworth and a host of others – in fact, we might question God as to why He made His Son an apprentice labourer rather than a college lecturer!

Bermondsey Boy, Tommy Medhurst must have been an attentive student as he’d obviously taken on some of the traits of his mentor: Spurgeon once went to take a service at a place where Medhurst was well known, but where he himself had rarely preached. At the close of the service he overheard the following conversation:

‘Well, how did you like Mr Spurgeon?’

‘Oh, very well; but I would have enjoyed the service more if he hadn’t imitated our dear Mr Medhurst so much!’

Forty Years at the Fisher

Kate Hoey MP presents Steve Hiser with his well deserved award

I’m a trustee of Fisher Amateur Boxing Club and over the years I’ve developed a real affection for the club and those connected to it. The Fisher is a club with a rich and illustrious history; it has stirred emotions and occupied a special place in the history of Bermondsey for over one hundred years.

Ex-Fisher boxer, Tony Whatley, in his book ‘Ghosts of the Fisher’, reflected on his time at the gym in the early 60s:

“The Fisher Club in those days was considered to be a very good club with a reputation for producing some really first-rate boxers… To belong to the Fisher Club gave one a very special feeling…”

The current head coach Steve Hiser, boxed for the Fisher at the same time as Whatley. Hiser has been connected with the club for more than fifty-six years, first as a teenage boxer and then as a coach. He has a fierce love and loyalty for the Fisher. His staying power, servant heart and commitment to the club are a provocation to anyone involved in amateur sport or community work of any description.

Steve Hiser’s selflessness and hard work was publically and deservedly acknowledged recently at a charity boxing show in London’s east end when he was presented with the London Federation of Sports and Recreation Platinum Award for forty years of service to amateur sport by Kate Hoey MP.

In the world of football, Sir Alex Ferguson has few peers; he has been manager of Manchester United for 26 years winning trophies and plaudits at the highest level. But his longevity at the top of his chosen sport pales into insignificance when compared to Steve Hiser.

Steve is approaching his 40th year coaching at the highest level with the Fisher. His tenure has seen the club go through an extended era of success. Hiser has had national champions and England internationals throughout his incumbency giving him a reputation as one of the most respected coaches in the history of the sport.

Steve Hiser is as enthusiastic about the club now as he was way back in 1973 when he first started coaching: “I love it here,” Hiser said “The camaraderie, the atmosphere – it’s fantastic. It’s just one big family here.”

Hiser remembers his own career well. You only have to look at him to know he’s an ex-boxer. The nose took some punishment during his pro career as a promising welterweight – which was cut short by a gash above his left eye which refused to heal properly. “I thought I was pretty good”, said Hiser. “I won my first eight fights and in my ninth I was cut in the first round and my corner pulled me out. In my next fight the same cut opened. I gave it a rest, but I just never went back.”

Originally from Deptford, Hiser fell in love with boxing at the age of five, when he would crawl underneath the tarpaulin sides of a boxing booth on Evelyn Street enthralled by the spectacle. “I loved the smells of the resin, and the colours of the shorts and the atmosphere” said Hiser, “It was brilliant – I was hooked.”

He started boxing at 11, and in 1956, aged 15, he joined Fisher. He spent nine happy years there as a boxer. Then in 1973 after a spell coaching at Eltham, he was persuaded to return to his old club. Hiser accepted, and one of the first young fighters to come under his wing was a twelve year old from Walworth by the name of Lloyd Honeyghan.

“I liked the look of him,” said Hiser. “He looked very strong, and was very, very keen. He was always here when I told him to be and he was dedicated. We took him to a show inEssex, and he was brilliant. When Honeyghan was 16, I took him to face a guy called McGarry in Coventry in the Feds final. Their fighter was a red-hot local favourite, and we were really going into the lions’ den. Lloyd matched him and then beat him. It was a great performance.”

Honeyghan is in no doubt how important Hiser was to him: “I wanted him to be my trainer when I turned pro, but he is so dedicated to the amateurs he stayed at the club. He should have been made the national coach, and it’s a shame that never happened. He is so knowledgeable. He is without a doubt the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Four times world title contender Mickey Cantwell, is another big fan of the trainer: “he is a real character” said Cantwell who was with Hiser for four years from the age of 22. “I respect him so much because he’s been there and done it himself. He knows how hard it is. He is one of the best trainers inBritain, without a doubt, but he is one of the few trainers in the game who is in it for the boys.” “I boxed for England and fought for two ABA titles under Steve. He is a tremendous man,” Cantwell added.

Middleweight Jake Brown, 23, one of the current crop of Fisher fighters said of Steve,

 When I was sixteen, I wasn’t doing much with my life, I used to hang around outside the boxing club most evenings causing mischief. One evening Steve came out and told me I didn’t have any ‘bottle’. The next night I decided to go in the gym and prove him wrong. It was one of the best things I ever did. I loved the atmosphere of the gym and the boxing gave me focus and direction for my life and really helped to straighten me out.” Brown continued, “I’ve had some success with the Fisher: London novice finalist twice and represented London against the Army but I’ve come a long way since I first went in the gym. I’m happily married now with two children and working as a firefighter. Steve Hiser has had a massive impact on my life.

Hiser strongly believes that success as a coach is not just measured in winning titles but in young people’s lives positively changed by their time in the gym. Steve understands that the young boxers need to take the work ethic, respect for others and the discipline of the gym and use it to be successful in life. He will give equal time and respect to a raw novice straight off the street as to a national champion.

One incident sticks in my mind: When a visitor to the gym praised Steve for his successes, especially with Lloyd Honeyghan; Hiser pointed at one of youngest and newest boxers in the gym gruffly stating, “He’s just as important as Honeyghan”.

It is hard to think of Manchester United Football Club without Sir Alex Ferguson at the helm. It would be equally difficult to imagine Fisher Amateur Boxing Club without Steve Hiser; even though Steve is quick to say that no one person is bigger than the club.

Anthony Whatley described a nostalgic visit he made to the Fisher a few years ago:

I was so glad I made the sentimental journey to the Fisher Club as I feel that it has played an important part in my life. It has certainly played an important part in Stevie Hiser’s life. His love for the sport was indeed clear to see. He has truly earned the respect from the lads at the club which, in fact, was the first thing I noticed on entering the gym. 

The journey from Steve Hiser’s home in Welling up to the Bermondsey gym doesn’t get any easier. “It’s hard sometimes,” he says. “But working with these kids is a pleasure. And they are good kids… I love it here don’t I?”

What’s a Saveloy?

Saveloy and Chips

The other day, I was queuing in my local chip shop. While I was waiting for my cod and chips I overheard a conversation behind me that would have caused me to choke on my chips if they weren’t still in the fryer.

It went like this: One posh student type to another posh student type who needed a good haircut: “I think I’ll have a savaloy.” The response from Posh Boy Haircut: “What’s a saveloy?” WHAT’S A SAVELOY?! Posh Boy honestly didn’t know what a savaloy was! He had gone through twenty odd years of life not knowing about that particular culinary delight. I suppose that’s what happens when a community like Bermondsey experiences gentrification.

Jamie Keddie gave a helpful definition of gentrification in his paper “Spatiality in Gentrifying London: The Case of Bermondsey.” He desribed it as:

“where an influx of middle class residents to a working class neighbourhood brings shifts to the social composition, built form and consumption patterns.”

Advertising literature designed to promote Bermondsey to the thrusting, upward and mobile, speaks of “The vibrancy and creativity of the area” while at the same time reassuring the more prosperous prospective incomers that, actually Bermondsey is not like it used to be:

“Once the home of Dickensian villains, Bermondsey has reinvented itself and become the epicentre of an explosion of mouth watering culture.”

That promised explosion of mouth watering culture, in reality offers a luxury lifestyle that barely touches Bermondsey’s apparent edginess. This becomes obvious as the advertisers go on to mention the high end… “bars next to museums . . . a boutique hotel nestling next to a cinema”.  It’s all designed to appeal to the gentrifiers’ cultural collateral; not to the locals. Whereas the existing traditional shops that are unlikely to appeal to the tastes of the new residents are re-imagined as quaint novelties. Who of the middle class incomers would frequent Manze’s Pie ‘n’ Mash Shop?

The market stalls of Tower Bridge Road have all gone but the newly gentrified Bermondsey Square now boasts a farmer’s market, with stalls selling overpriced organic produce for the middle classes. Established communities are being displaced and diluted by the advance of gentrification. Displaced by people who generally don’t care for, or connect with the old working class ways. Diluted by people who work and socialise in a different way and in different places. Cultural apartheid?

Gentrification doesn’t stop with where people live or how they spend their money. We see gentrification in other areas of society.

In the UK we see it in an increasingly gentrified middle-class media who very effectively keep the working classes from choosing journalism as a career path by running extended intern programmes. These programmes weed out those who don’t have independent means to support them through those internships. Typically, the working class.

We’re also seeing the ‘gentrification’ of government. We have progressively posher politicians. Should we be surprised? After all, we have a government led by Old Etonians. The last time I looked there were twelve (including the Prime Minister) in cabinet posts who wear that exclusive old school tie. On top of that, according to one estimate, there are 22 millionaires in cabinet.  Recent research conducted by Policy Exchange seems to confirm that gentrification:

In 1979, almost 40% of Labour MPs had done manual or clerical work. In 2010, it was only 9%. Over the same period, the number of Labour MPs who were journalists and broadcasters more than doubled, and 11% of all MPs now have a background in PR and marketing (this was close to zero in 1979). Sixty per cent of government ministers, 54% of Conservative MPs and 40% of Liberal Democrat MPs attended fee-paying schools, compared with only 7% of the population.

Is it any wonder that our government and media often don’t seem to have a clue when it comes to the values and culture of ordinary working class communities.

Thirdly we see the impact of gentrification when we look at the church in this nation. Churches today are being gentrified in much the same way as the traditional working class communities: Wealthier people move in, resulting in the displacement of the poorer indigenous people. Church begins to cater for those wealthy, successful, influential types; this further increases the appeal to more affluent migrants while decreasing accessibility to the poorer. So often we gauge success by how many prosperous people attend our meetings and by our increasingly luxurious auditoriums, our high tech multi-media set up and professional musicianship. Church is getting posher, it’s being gentrified. Tim Chester in his blog put it like this:

Many of the divisions within evangelicalism are as much about social class as theological differences. Historically this was case in the split between ‘church’ and ‘chapel’. But it persists today: in one direction people are seen as vulgar; in the other direction people are seen as snobbish.

This class consciousness runs deep in British evangelicalism, Why does this matter? It matters because we are failing to reach the British working class with the gospel. Evangelicalism has become a largely middle class, professional phenomenon. When we invite people to our dinners and our guest services, we invite our friends, our relatives and our rich neighbours. We do not invite the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame. What is at stake is the grace of God.

I was talking with a prominent evangelical church leader and asked him why more people did not adopt a household model of church. The church leader was candid in his reply: ‘Because people like me come from professional backgrounds and we want churches that reflect our backgrounds. I don’t want to be opening my home to people. I don’t want to get involved in people’s lives. I don’t want needy people in my church. Before people like me went into Christian ministry we were lawyers, doctors, businessmen. And when we get involved in ministry we bring those values with us. We want to lead growing churches with professional people, church administrators, healthy budgets. We want church to be a well run organisation with polished presentations.’

A friend of mine described the gentrification of the church she is part of. A church that mutated from being a community of people, meeting in rented halls and being accessible to the poorer and marginalised in society, a bit rough round the edges; to a professional looking conference centre full of mobile middle class Christians.  They raised the money to buy a new building on the outskirts of town and spent lots more money to renovate it. They achieved the desired image. An image that appeals to the professional classes. The bespoke parquet flooring, the hardwood doors the cool lampshades. The poorer people in the centre of town can’t or won’t travel the extra distance to meetings. The result? A gentrified church.

There’s a wide spread idea (often churned out by a gentrified government and regurgitated by large sections of a gentrified media) that the old working class has collapsed into some morally debauched, feckless, workshy mob. This is a myth that needed exposing. It’s as if the real working class culture and values are being airbrushed out of existence.

As Christians, we must not relate to the working classes in the same way as the ‘gentrifiers’. They either completely ignore working class culture or are condescending and patronizing toward it. Most churches today find little problem in accepting the reality of different racial and ethnic groups. So why should we find it difficult to accept the reality of different social classes within our own British society?

Society in modern Britain is acutely divided by wealth and power.  Haves and have-nots. Country Estate and sink estate. Why does the church in modern Britain seem to focus it’s best efforts on the financially secure? Why do we consistently go to the nice areas and the ‘nice’ people? Why do we think we’ll change the culture of the nation by only attempting to influence business leaders, politicians and media moguls?

By the way, according to the ever reliable wikipedia, saveloy is a type of highly seasoned sausage, usually bright red in colour, which is typically available in English fish and chips shops… The word is assumed to originate from the Swiss-French cervelas or servelat, ultimately from the Latin cerebrus; originally a pig brain sausage … Mmm nice.

 

My Two Square Miles of London (Parts Two & Three)

Abbey Street 1925, the Star Cinema is on the right.

Can’t you people wait? Patience is a virtue you know!  Because of the unprecedented pressure from people clamouring to read the next instalments of ‘My Two Square Miles of London’, I’ve posted both the remaining sections on here. I’ve been really pleased with the fantastic feedback received for the first part. Like a lot of people, I would love to see this book out there in a printed format. In the mean time we’ll have to be content with the virtual version while we put the pressure on to get it published. Happy reading!

My Two Square Miles of London (Part Two, chapters 11-16)

Open publication – Free publishingMore bermondsey

 

My Two Square Miles of London (Part Three, chapters 17-20)

 

 

 

My Two Square Miles of London

'The Blue' Bermondsey looking toward St James' Road 1931

“My Two Square Miles of London, Reminiscences of a Bermondsey Boy” is a little known gem of a book. It’s never been published, other than as a photocopied document. It’s hardly been read, other than by immediate family and friends. I believe it deserves a wider audience, so with the permission of the author’s family I’ve put it on here.

Bermondsey born filmmaker and playwright, Michael Holland is also planning to use the content of this curious and compelling record of life in Bermondsey at the begining of the 20th Century as the basis of a new documentary film contrasting the old days with the new.

Editor’s Foreword

Percy Bustin’s manuscript of My Two Square Miles of London came to my attention about forty years after he finished writing it in the early 1960s. It immediately captivated me. His homely style and mischievous humour are a reflection of the subject matter of his story and a deep echo of the Bermondsey language he absorbed as he grew up. But more important, here are stories told in detail that I heard repeated by my grandmother, Percy’s sister Florrie Smith and by my mother Doreen Voke. There are artefacts mentioned by him that are still in the family, such as the white leather-bound prize, Cameos of Literature presented to Florrie by Princess Mary. It may be that there are similar repeated tales and family heirlooms existing in other branches of the Bustin family which will now find a context in Percy’s account.

Members of the family who actually remember these Bermondsey streets as they were, and can visualise the family described here, are now very few. So to refresh our memories and for the benefit of the newer generation, I have put this book into a printable form and make it available to anyone.

The script remains almost as Percy wrote it. Some changes of wording for clarity and some historical corrections have been made. The page numbering is new. The pen and ink drawings have been scanned and inserted where they relate to Percy’s text. Discolouration of the original paper can be seen round the edges of the drawings, not all of which it was possible to remove. These drawings present something of a mystery, which someone may like to research. Many of them would seem to be done by Percy himself. However, some are initialled “SS” in the corner. My grandfather was Sidney Smith and he was an accomplished amateur artist. I suspect that Percy persuaded Sidney, his brother-in-law, to do some of these drawings, although I never heard this mentioned.

I hope that this interesting and engaging account of the days of the Bustin family in Bermondsey 100 years ago will keep alive some important aspects of our family story. There are things here that still influence us and make us what we are today.

(Chris Voke, South Norwood, December 2006)

Author’s Preface

To anyone who comes from the great city of London the name Bermondsey will sound familiar. It is that area located on the south bank of the river Thames directly opposite the Tower of London, easily recognised by the huge wharves which line the riverside. It was in Bermondsey in the early years of the 20th century that I, Percy Bustin, one of a family of eleven, spent the first sixteen years of my life.

In those days the people of Bermondsey were typical Cockneys; brash and ribald, yet warm and loveable. They had never known what it was like to live where trees grow and the grass is green. Neither had I until I left there and came to my new and glorious country, Canada. Nevertheless I still have fond memories of my boyhood days in Bermondsey.

In parts the reader may find my story depressing — in others I trust the story of my rather unusual family will, in some measure, compensate for this. (Percy Bustin)

The following is the first of three parts. The others will follow over the next couple of weeks. It would be great to generate some comments on this previously unpublished work.

Click on the image below to see in full screen mode. Then use the button on the toolbar at the top of the screen to enlarge as needed. Click the arrow to turn the page.

My Two Square Miles of London (Part One)

 

We Was All One

Like most people I could give you a long list of movies I’ve enjoyed over the years. And although I’m not good at remembering song titles, if you pressed me, I could tell you a few good songs that I like (just don’t ask me to sing them!). I could recommend bundles of books and the same would be true of TV programmes.

Without doubt my all time favourite 70s TV documentary is Ken Ashton’s ‘We Was All One’ - I know it’s a bit ‘niche’ even having a favourite 1970s TV documentary but honestly it’s so good that I’ve put it on here in full. It’s an amazing portrait of the old communities that lived around the Bermondsey docks. It gives some insight into the personality of the place in much the same way as meeting someone’s mum and dad helps you understand that person a little bit better.

In the opening scenes there’s an emphasis on community and togetherness. A working class solidarity. But there’s  a wind of change blowing. The beginning of a new Bermondsey landscape as shiny new estates are built to replace the old streets of Victorian terraces and tenement blocks. The irony is that those new blocks, built to replace dilapidated, sub-standard housing, have quickly lost their sheen and are now themselves being demolished to make way for posh flats for posh people. Further destroying that sense of community that was already being lamented in the documentary.

In the second part,  we encounter a great gaggle of old girls in the Marigold Pub just off Tower Bridge Road. There are scenes of the world famous boxing gym upstairs at the Thomas A’Becket on the Old Kent Road.  Here the point is made that the poverty of the place makes ‘fighters of men’. As one of the fighters says: “Bermondsey has won more Lonsdale belts than any other district” whether that is true or not, it highlights the battling qualities of a tough community - poor maybe but proud. Like it said in the opening credits, the boundaries of Bermondsey are drawn in feelings rather than lines on a map.

The theme of poverty is explored some more, with people talking about their need to turn to the pawn-broker just to pay for the most basic things of life. The so called “good old days” weren’t always good. But even in the 1970s, ordinary working people were still living in rat infested slums with three households having to share one toilet. The homes that replaced them may have had all ‘mod-cons’ but the people sitting up in their bright new flats missed the community aspect of their previous life.

“They broke the community when they closed the docks”. People continue to feel the effect of a community fragmented by the loss of such an important industry.

‘Hopping’ (not jumping with one foot!) the labour intensive activity of picking the hops used for making beer is another lost community activity reminisced about in the next section. It seemed like almost the whole area went away for a working holiday on the hop farms of Kent. “In Bermondsey everybody was hop picking”.

Life is changing fast but is it better? They were hard times but they were mostly good times – why were they good times? Surely it’s better now? People are better dressed now, they live in better homes, they are in better health, no one need go without medical care because we have the NHS. People are supported by the welfare state if they need it. It’s certainly changing fast but is it better? Is it progress if it’s at the cost of community?

“I will not cease … till we have built Jerusalem, In England’s green and pleasant land” is sung over images of new flats being built. Flats that are today themselves being demolished. Did they build ‘Jerusalem’ back then – Its safe to say they did not. What they did achieve was to cripple a community. Politicians, architects and local authorities would all do well to learn from the mistakes made back then. We can’t turn back the clock but we can learn from the positives demonstrated by the people of Bermondsey. People who share resources and lives. People who have learnt how to fight for the things they need, people who look out for one another, stand together and laugh together. A people to whom a ‘sense of place’ is still important.

Bermondsey girl, Bessie Brierley

Bessie Brierley

Long before Borough Market was a destination of choice for tourists and wannabe Jamie Olivers looking for overpriced Ostrich burgers and organic aubergines; it was, for generations a regular fruit and veg market serving the people of Bermondsey and the surrounding area.

Back in the early years of the 20thcentury, just after World War One, a little fair haired girl by the name of Bessie Brierley could often be found in the market; sometimes with no shoes on her feet and petticoats made from discarded sugar sacks, washed, bleached and sewn by hand by mum. Bessie would be scavenging round for discarded vegetables as the traders were packing up after a long days graft; looking to get a bit more food for the family.

Bermondsey was a tough place to live back then. Bessie and her family lived in a drab tenement block near to London Bridge and the Borough Market. They had just two basic rooms up on the seventh floor. Bessie and her two sisters shared a bed in one room, while her two brothers, mum and her hard drinking father shared the other; which also served as washroom, kitchen and dining room. Bessie Brierley’s dad was often away at sea but his returns just brought more tensions and fresh misery. Drinking, gambling and domestic violence were all too common.

Education was an ill-afforded luxury for working class girls in those days and as soon as she turned fourteen Bessie found employment as a waitress in modest restaurant on Borough High Street. But before work took Bessie away from home, something happened which was to be the beginning of a totally new way of life for her.

Often on a Sunday afternoon Bessie would take herself off to Sunday school. It was something to do and she loved to sing. One Sunday, walking through the park on her way to Sunday school a friend called out to her, “Bess, why don’t you come to our place? We get better treats!” That invitation caused her to turn in the direction of Arthur’s Mission, Bermondsey, one of a number of Shaftesbury Mission Halls established with a special concern for children like Bessie, children suffering from the poverty and deprivation found in inner city London. Arthur’s Mission was attended by a collection of rough, ragged looking youngsters but at ‘Arthur’s’ appearance wasn’t that important. Loving and caring was what mattered. And the treats were nice! Food, clothes, outings, parties and regular stories from the Bible.

Bessie was no different from the other kids, she could swear and steal and fight with the best of them. But something was changing, she found herself beginning to wish she could stop. Her conscience was being stirred.

It wasn’t until four years later that Bermondsey girl Bessie Brierley prayed a simple prayer surrendering her life to Jesus, asking Him to forgive her. Virtually unnoticed on the tough streets of Bermondsey but extravagantly celebrated in heaven.

Who could have thought that from that simple act of committal, this poorly educated girl from the ‘wrong’ part of town would have an impact on the nations, touching hearts on distant continents?

Inspired by visiting missionaries speaking at Arthur’s Mission and strengthened by her growing ability to proclaim the good news in her corner of London’s dockland. Bessie knew that God was calling her to go overseas. But how could she leave her now widowed mother who needed every penny her girls brought home? When she finally spilled out her plans to mum, she got the surprising reply: “When your sister chose to get married I didn’t stand in her way. Why should I stand in yours if you choose another life?”

The members of Arthur’s Mission responded with overwhelming generosity. A fund was opened for ‘Our Own Missionary’ and before she went off to Wales to do her three years missionary training, some friends got enough money together to buy her a dress, a coat and a watch. Some other girls worked overtime to give a little extra money towards Bessie’s fees. As she left the smoke and smells of Bermondsey for the journey through the country lanes of Berkshire and Wiltshire and on to South Wales she constantly fought back the tears; tears of gratitude and of joy and of sadness at leaving behind friends and family.

Studying English Grammar, Psychology and New Testament Greek didn’t come easy to a girl who left school at fourteen but she studied hard, often into the night, determined to succeed.

At the start of the second world war, Bessie was already in the west African nation of Bissau. While the bombs rained down on her beloved Bermondsey, she was seeing people converted to Christ in her modest living room. When she returned home for a short break after her first two years abroad she left behind a group of twenty converts. During her time back in England at the height of the war, Bessie was living out of a suitcase speaking all over the country from Bristol to Colchester, London to Glasgow taking in the Midlands, Yorkshire and the North West. At one meeting in Manchester Bessie wrote that “Several hundred stood up as I made the appeal.”

The years flew by as Bessie continued to serve the peoples of West Africa. Towards the end of 1959 personal and family matters drew her attentions back to London, her mum now eighty-four years old had been moved to Bermondsey Medical Mission Hospital, where she received the kindest care, but was still unconverted. It was evident that she wouldn’t recover and Bessie ached for her mum’s salvation. Bessie had prayed and wept for her old mum through all her years away from home. She’d pleaded with her in person and by letter to come to Jesus. Finally, at the end of her life, with a London City Missionary beside her, Bessie’s mum made her peace with God!

On the morning of 4 February 1969, Bessie left her flat early in the morning to speak at a conference in Glasgow, she was a passenger in a full car as it headed up the dual carriageway. With unexpected suddenness a lorry was in collision with them, spinning the car round onto the other carriageway, pieces of the car were strewn across the road. All but one of the occupants were thrown out onto the road. Bessie who was in the front passenger seat was killed instantly.

Bessie’s friend Betty Macindoe penned a heartfelt tribute the day after her death.

What do I remember?/The happy laugh/that echoed till a thousand hearts replied/the tears that chased each other/down warm cheeks/to feel another’s hurt/the radiancy of spirit glowing from the face/of one who loved her Lord with uncommon greatness/the intensity of compassion that moved/ her audience/when the stars shone down on mango trees/on dark faces held in silence/or in the assembly halls of great continents/these things I remember/and give thanks.

All this for a streetwise working class girl born into poverty and hardship, who had to ‘duck and dive’ to put a bit of extra food on the table, who left school at fourteen to earn a few pennies to help her mum out. But a girl chosen by God. A God who had big plans for her. Plans to impact thousands of lives from Bermondsey, to the nation and to the nations. If He can use Bessie Brierley, can’t He also use you? Don’t discount yourself because of your background, or your lack of formal education, or the job you do - and don’t discount others because of theirs.

Behind Bars With An Angel

The Prison Angel

Not so long ago I drove my brother over to the East End, he was looking to buy a second hand car from someone in Bethnal Green. While he was giving the car the once over. I got chatting to the lady selling the motor. We talked about cars (obviously) we talked about foreign travel (her dad was a pilot) and we talked about books, it was apparent that she liked a good read. Then she informed me that she’d just finished the best book she’d ever read! She ran inside to get the book; came out and handed it to me. “You must read it.” she said. I did and I loved it.

Written by Pulitzer Prize winners Mary Jordan and Kevin Sullivan, ‘The Prison Angel’ is a deeply moving account of one selfless woman’s life of compassion and conscience. It is the inspiring story of Mother Antonia’s journey from her affluent Beverly Hills lifestyle to living with and caring for, some of the poorest prisoners in Mexico’s notorious La Mesa Prison.

Mother Antonia, was born Mary Clarke in 1926. Fifty years later, she would radically change the direction of her life; swapping a life of luxury in a Beverly Hills mansion for a small cell in one of Mexico’s most dangerous and squalid jails. Here she could not only care for but also share her life with the inmates of La Mesa. Mary Clarke had walked out of her comfortable life among Hollywood A-listers and moved into a cell living next door to, drug barons, murderers, and rapists. Today, more than 30 years on and in her 80s, she still lives in that same Tijuana prison.

Mary Clarke came into the world during the hardship of the Great Depression but because of her father’s success in business, Mary grew up with Hollywood celebrities and the very wealthy as her neighbours. A beautiful blonde, she was offered a job by the renowned movie maker and choreographer Busby Berkeley. Then, in a dramatic twist that no Hollywood scriptwriter could have imagined, she responded to a Christian calling, serving the poorest of the poor in that Mexican prison.

Her metamorphosis began after a friend, hearing of Mary’s early work with the poor and disadvantaged, invited her to come down to Tijuana, Mexico. It was there that she saw more people in desperate need than she had ever seen in her life. This led her to find her true life’s work.

After taking supplies and medicines to a couple of hospitals, they went to La Mesa Jail. Mary was overwhelmed by the poverty of the prison, especially in the infirmary; here patients were compelled to lay on the floor because there weren’t enough beds. Even though it was a three-hour drive from her Los Angeles home, Mary began making regular visits to La Mesa.

In 1969, Mary had a disturbing dream. In the dream she was a prisoner about to be executed, then Jesus stepped in to be executed in her place. She saw this dream as confirmation that she should serve as a volunteer at La Mesa prison. A year later she closed the business that she had inherited from her father. Sadly also around this time, her second marriage failed.

This was a real turning point in Mary’s life. She began taking long walks on the beach, pondering her future. What would she do with the rest of her life? A decision was made. She applied to an order of nuns; she wanted to dedicate her life to working with the poor. But they refused to accept her. She was beyond the age limit of 35, and she was divorced - twice.

Finally, in the midst of her disappointment and rejection the idea grew that if she couldn’t become a nun, she would be an independent unofficial ‘sister’ - one who would live in La Mesa Prison. She had often worked at the prison late into the night and the Governor had allowed her to stay  in the prison overnight.  But now she decided that she would stay in La Mesa permanently.

As authors Jordan and Sullivan put it,

On March 19, 1977, Mary… woke up in her house in Ventura and slipped on a simple long-sleeve black dress and a black veil that she sewed her herself, which she thought looked ‘nunny.’ Then she stood before the mirror and disappeared. The woman looking back at her was Mother Antonia.

She then went to Our Lady of the Assumption Catholic Church in Ventura, California and took private vows of obedience, chastity, fidelity, and service. Jordan and Sullivan quote Mother Antonia:

I knew that I had been an outsider to suffering all my life. All of a sudden it occurred to me, when I step over that line and walk through that door, I became an insider with them…. Somehow the prison was the place where I finally experienced the freedom to be myself.

The authors reported:

In March 1978, Mother Antonia sold her home and moved into the prison permanently. She spent a few months in a bunk bed in the women’s cell-block, and then the warden furnished her with her own cell (carraca).

Mother Antonia had only been living in the prison a few days when a convicted rapist was viciously beaten by some fellow prisoners. Mother Antonia knelt down beside him and tried to wash the man’s wounds with a rag while saying the “Hail Mary” in Spanish. A guard told her not to waste her time, the man was a rapist, he deserved the beating. Mother Antonia couldn’t remember all the words of the “Hail Mary” in Spanish, but the beaten inmate finished the prayer for her. The guard, moved by her unconditional love, helped carry the man to a hospital bed and to clean his wounds. This was an early victory in her long crusade to persuade the guards to be more humane.

Mother Antonia didn’t remain alone for too long in her mission to help the residents of La Mesa. She made the good people of San Diego aware of the needs of the prisoners, and persuaded them to donate food and toiletries to her growing ministry.

Driving back to La Mesa one day, she had an idea how to expand her ministry – by getting free dental visits for the prisoners. She realized that many of the prisoners had lived in such poverty that they’d never had the luxury of a visit to the dentist, this hindered their chances of getting  jobs because of their appearance.

She persuaded a dentist well-known in Tijuana to set up a small office in the prison. She raised the cost of his and other dental services, seeing around four thousand “new smiles.” She also persuaded a plastic surgeon, to serve ‘her boys’ by removing disfiguring marks such as knife scars and tattoos from many prisoners.

Because of her work amongst the prisoners, Mother Antonia began to meet some of the big-time drug traffickers. La Mesa was a crossroads in the Mexican-American drug trade. Her ‘clients’ included some of the major drug barons. She said,

We shouldn’t condemn them; we should condemn what they’ve done.

Those drug traffickers were far too wealthy to benefit from her offers of free toothpaste and second-hand shoes but she could influence them to see the damage and pain that their trade had inflicted on ordinary people. Amazingly, Mother Antonia was able to see a number of drug barons, get out of the drug trade and turn their lives around permanently.

She even helped some of their victims by persuading them to forgive the murders of family members. On one occasion she got down on her knees before the uncle of a murder victim, begging him to forgive his nephew’s murderer.

Two of the bravest and most inspiring incidents of her ministry were when she brought to an end, two prison riots. The first in 1989. The police raided the cells of drug dealers, still active while they were behind bars. Prisoners began throwing bottles at the police and the police responded by firing their guns. Mother Antonia walked in, right in the path of the bottles and bullets, with her hands raised high over her head. Both police and prisoners shouted at her to stay away, but she kept on walking, saying, “Mis hijos, mis hijos (my sons, my sons). Stop this. You must stop this now.” Astonishingly, the dozens of police and guards and hundreds of rioting inmates quietly put down their weapons.

Another riot erupted one October night in 1994. Prisoners in the punishment cells on the third floor had devised a plan for gaining control of the Jail. One called a guard over ostensibly to ask a question, and when the guard got close, the prisoner pinned him to the bars, took his gun and keys. Then unlocked the doors to the cells.

Mother Antonia, returning from an errand, was stopped by the assistant governor. He told her that she could not enter; it was too dangerous. She persuaded him to phone the prison governor and he initially gave the same advice. Mother Antonia persisted; she argued that it was her mission to be inside with the inmates. The governor knew that the volatile situation could easily escalate into a massacre. He also knew that the prisoners listened to her. He finally gave the order that she be allowed in.

Inside, it was dark; the guards had turned off the electricity. She made her way to the punishment cells. She heard the prisoner’s voices and called to them. She came upon an inmate she knew as “Blackie.” She fell to her knees, pleading with him. “It’s not right that you’re locked up here, hungry and thirsty. We can take care of those things, but this isn’t the way to do it. I will help you make it better. But first you have to give me the guns. I beg you to put down your weapons.”

“Mother,” Blackie said softly, looking down at her. “As soon as we heard your voice, we dropped the guns out the window.”

With boundless energy while ministering to the inmates of La Mesa Jail, Mother Antonia also founded a women’s religious order, the Servants of the Eleventh Hour, designed to give older women the opportunity to dedicate their lives to working with the poor.

The Prison Angel is a moving and challenging real-life drama about good overcoming evil, love overcoming hatred. In a selfish age it demonstrates the power of selflessness. In our youth dominated culture it shows that people in middle and old age can have a massive impact for good.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners. (Isaiah 61v.1)

Mother Antonia’s influence is set to go wider – after the success of the book, American film maker Jody Hammond has made a documentary about Mother Antonia’s work with Hollywood star, Susan Sarandon narrating this inspiring true story.

He cared for the likes of us

 

Crowds lined the streets at Booth's funeral

One hundred years ago this year General William Booth, the founder of the Salvation Army ‘went to glory’ at the age of eighty-three.

For three days his body lay in state at the Congress Hall in Clapton, east London. It was estimated that 150,000 people packed the streets on the day of his funeral at Olympia in west London. Men women and children from all walks of life came to pay their last respects. Kings, Emperors and Presidents sent personal messages of condolence. King George himself wrote: ‘Only in the future shall we realize the good wrought by him for his fellow creatures. Today there is universal mourning for him. I join in it.’ Queen Alexandra, the Queen Mother wrote: ‘Thank God, his work will live forever’.

Unknown to most, one of Booth’s most ardent admirers, Queen Mary attended the ceremony coming unannounced at the last minute with her Lord Chamberlain, Lord Shaftsbury. It is said The Queen sat next to a woman with a very different history from her own. A woman who had once been a prostitute, rescued through the ministry of the Salvation Army. That ex-prostitute pronounced a stirring epitaph for the General: “He cared for the likes of us.”

Although their methods offended some of the more genteel church goers of the day, The Salvation Army were effective in reaching out to the poorest and toughest in society. Some lambasted Booth for reducing religion to that of the music hall but their style connected with the working classes up and down the country. A motely crew of converts became effective evangelists, people like Billy Herdsman an escapologist whose Houdini style act caught the attention of the crowds. There was another show-business recruit, George Fox, the Converted Clown. In Leicester, Sarah McMinnies billed herself as the Saved Barmaid. There was Happy Hannah, the Reformed Smoker. These, along with Hallelujah Fishmongers, Blood-washed Colliers, Saved Dog-Fanciers and the Converted Pigeon-Flier all had one thing in mind, to see people experience the forgiveness of Christ. Their billing reinforced the message that this was a religion for the masses.

At this point it’s worth highlighting one of Booth’s most militant and effective officers, Elijah Cadman. From the age of six, Cadman was a boy chimney sweep. At 4.00am every morning he would be forced up chimneys, scraper in hand to loosen the build up of soot. From infancy he was hardly ever sober. In his teens he moved from his native Coventry  to nearby Rugby where he established a street gang known as the ‘Rugby Roughs’. He gained a fearsome reputation as a boxer. His conversion came about when he and a friend attended a public hanging outside Warwick prison. As the trap doors swung open, the ropes snapped tight and the condemned men breathed their last, Cadman’s friend turned to him and said “Elijah, that’s what you’ll come to one day.” Those words proved to be the catalyst; appalled by the realisation of his life of sin he turned his back on his old ways. He would now fight for God as hard as he ever fought any one in the boxing ring. His favoured method to draw the crowds was to ring a big hand bell. He billed himself as “The Saved Sweep from Rugby”. Even though Cadman was illiterate it didn’t stop him being an effective preacher, he would memorise whole passages of scripture by heart. Cadman and others had a common touch which the people loved.

With his growing army of fearless evangelists, Booth had come a long way from his modest beginnings in Nottingham where, from the age of thirteen he worked as a pawnbroker’s apprentice. It was probably this work  that cultivated in him a deep loathing of the poverty, injustice and suffering that he saw every day.

William Booth was initially reviled by the established church, the Earl of Shaftsbury branding him as ‘anti-Christ’.  Salvationists were persecuted by violent mobs to which the police turned a blind eye.  Yet at the time of his death the Salvation Army had influence in fifty-eight nations. From Europe to India, the United States to Japan. The pawnbroker’s assistant died as a man honoured by the world.

Just three short months before he was remembered and celebrated at a funeral which resembled that of a head of state; a frail William Booth addressed the Albert Hall packed with 10,000 faithful followers. At that time, he gave what turned out to be his farewell address. The crowd was hushed as he spoke. He spoke of the far reaching effects of the practical gospel proclaimed by the Salvation Army all over the world. He concluded:

The object I chose all those years ago embraced every effort, contained in its heart the remedy for every form of misery and sin and wrong to be found upon the earth, and every method of reclamation needed by human nature. It is of course the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

It is this Gospel which houses the poor, benefits the working class, promotes temperance and good health, reforms criminals and transcends politics. It is Jesus Christ who changes lives and makes all these things possible. It is Christ only who is the answer to the problems and struggles.

Is the Salvation War coming to a close? This war is just beginning. My part is coming to an end. But while I still have breath, I commit myself to strive for the Lord and those that need him.

While women weep as they do now, I’ll fight; while little children go hungry as they do now, I’ll fight; while men go to prison, in and out, in and out, I’ll fight; while there yet remains one dark soul without the light of God, I’ll fight. I’ll fight to the very end! Fellow Salvationists, the war is not over. Win it for Jesus Christ!

One hundred years on, who is fighting for those in poverty? Who is moving out of the hip and trendy churches in the ‘safe’ areas? Who is moving to the rough, tough neglected areas of the UK to live out the gospel? Who is going to fight for the dark souls without the light of God today? Who is ready to fight to the very end? In 2012 the salvation war is far from over, let’s win it for Jesus Christ!

City hope for the future

 

Michael Holland

Towards the end of last year I was contacted by local journalist, Michael Holland who said that he’d like to write a piece about me, City Hope Church and community engagement. Michael Holland is someone I’ve got to know over the last couple of years and we get on really well, I didn’t expect him to do a hatchet job on me so I was happy to agree!

Michael is a fascinating character, as a role model for prisoners, he would certainly be hard to beat. While serving 20 years for armed robbery, he grabbed at the chance to study. He won the Koestler Award, an award which encourages prisoners in the arts; went on to study at Greenwich University and today he’s a teacher, filmmaker, playwright and arts reviewer.

I’d like to recommend one of his documentaries: The rough and ready but poignant “Them Days are Gone”. This short film is the story of the docks as told by former dockworkers and their families. They talk of the hardships, the camaradarie, the good times and the sadness at the dock closures  You can purchase that and some of his other films by visiting bermondsey.biz.

The piece about me and the church was published in this month’s ‘Southwark Weekender’ a supplement to our local newspaper ,the Southwark News.  I’ve reproduced the article here in full (minus the photo of me, which was taken too early on a Saturday morning!)

 

“City hope for the future” by Michael Holland

I FIRST met Paul Brown, a Minister at City Hope Church, when he was researching religion amongst Bermondsey’s White Working Class and immediately warmed to his ordinariness and his open smile. Here was a man who dresses like me, has a not dissimilar background to me and sounds like me. Paul Brown has no time for aitches at beginnings of words; for him the ‘th’ sound is far too much bovver if he finks an ‘eff’ will suffice. He is a man after my own heart.

Paul has been at the Drummond Road church for 17 years and is obviously someone respected and loved by the congregation going by what I have seen on my few visits. It is a respect he has built up through his work in the local Bermondsey community and by utterly believing in what he does.

The Brown family originally hailed from Deptford before moving out to the London-Kent borders and into the building trade: ‘I was a bricklayer,’ he hits me with early on in the interview. Of course, after this bombshell, I had to find out how a builder, whose family were as far away from the church as they possibly could be, becomes a man of God, and found that it was a roundabout conversion that seems to fit in absolutely perfectly with the man I have come to know: ‘In 1984 Denise came home and told me she was going to church the next day, and I honestly thought she had gone mad,’ he tells me with a face that still shows signs of the initial shock. ‘She came back a changed person,’ says Paul, continuing the story of his wife’s conversion, and ‘then she started on me!’ He laughs as he recalls this story. ‘She was more calmer, peaceful, more confident… I was intrigued.’ After some time Paul eventually succumbed to his wife’s offers to go to church. ‘I’d like to say it was a wonderful conversion experience but it weren’t, it was the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in me life and I didn’t really like it.’ For all that, though, it was the people there that hooked Paul Brown into the church. They were so different from his workmates, his drinking buddies and those he went football with, ‘and it was that difference that was enough to make me say: “I don’t know anything about Jesus so I’m gonna find out.”’

From reading The Bible, looking and questioning, Paul came to the conclusion that ‘this stuff makes sense’ and made the decision to give his life to Jesus. I actually prayed for the first time,’ he tells me. ‘I went red with embarrassment even though I was on my own, but asked Jesus for forgiveness for all the things I’ve done wrong – I even named some of the things – Not all of ‘em,’ he adds, ‘otherwise I would’ve been there all night!’ He laughs long and loud at this memory and I laugh with him, thinking of my own misdemeanours. On regaining his composure Paul says that he told Jesus he would follow him for the rest of his life: ‘And I’ve never looked back.’ Paul Brown laughs easily and often and it is no wonder that he has become so popular in his church and in the community. As he makes coffee I look around his living room. I’m not sure if it is minimalist modern, or churchman spartan, though with several deft touches of style and a few bits of classic furniture, I will opt for the former.

On his return I was told how he and others had started churches from scratch out in the Dartford area, and how he doesn’t do ‘High Church’ but has always been involved with the nonconformist wing of religion. I asked how he became a minister and he explains that he did a part-time, two days a month for two years course ‘to get a bit of Theology and some understanding of it, but, to be honest with ya,’ he says, ‘all my training has been on the job, really – Reading the Bible and putting that into practice!’

That practice put him in good stead because he was invited to City Hope Church for his ability in connecting with non-church goers in the community, which he has been doing ever since his arrival in 1994. And whatever it is he does has worked because attendance has risen just about every year of his tenure.

We debated ‘community’ and if it still exists; the pros and cons of gentrification and he became political about social housing, calling the demolition of 3000 flats on the Heygate Estate to give over to private ownership and part-buy, ‘social cleansing’. ‘That changes the community,’ he reasons. He compared the recent street parties down The Blue, which saw people coming together, to the Bermondsey Street Festival: ‘The only thing festival had to do with Bermondsey and Bermondsey people was that it had Bermondsey in the title!’ exclaims this man who was now about to get his teeth into something like a Staff on a poodle in the park. He tells me of plans for celebrating local culture, heritage and tradition before it is totally lost with a Bermondsey History Weekend.

Getting him off his soapbox and back to the job in hand I got him talking about what his church provides: ‘Everything we do is aimed at the community rather than just our congregation, and everything we do is done for nothing, so we don’t charge people at all,’ Paul begins. He listed various clubs and groups that go on at the church, from Baby and Toddler groups, a Primary school kids’ club for about 100 kids from the community, a youth group, a gospel choir a Seniors’ group and everyone on the books gets a weekly home visit. ‘There’s no knocking on doors and singing songs to Jesus, it’s the total opposite of that.’ And with only half a dozen paid staff, this is all made possible by church volunteers, so at a time of Government cuts City Hope Church is doing more than the state. He spoke about family and how his commitment to Jesus has helped in his home life. Like anyone else family life has its ups and downs and he says that some of his children have made ‘massive mistakes’ that they have recovered from because of their grounding. Now he has in his brood a fire-fighter, a musician, a kindergarten teacher, a bookmaker and one at college, so all making their parents proud.

We discussed how the demographic of the area has changed in his time and he says that the congregation is made up of people from over 20 countries and each nation is celebrated with specific days set aside for events. Paul Brown has always felt that the church is too white and too middle-class and has done much to break down the cultural barriers that he sees, hence heroes that include William Booth and Keir Hardie. He now writes a blog where the main part will be about church and the working-class, ‘as I think it is a big issue for the church’. Log in and find out more about this fascinating man. www.paulbrown.info