If you want to be inspired and feel good about life and the Army, just sit down for a moment with John Bate and listen to him as he tells of the amazing adventures he has had in the Lord’s service. He makes the events come alive, his sense of fun and zest for life lift the spirit, and his sensitive insights warm the heart. I know, for I have often been there myself. And now all of that potential for enjoyment and uplift is right here in the pages of Destination Unknown for every reader to share. Marvelous!

— General (Ret.)

This remarkable book is an example of history alive! Written by the indomitable Colonel John Bate, who wrote in the preface that he gratefully accepted what God had provided and was excited about it, those who know this author will acknowledge that he still lives by that spiritual rule of life. This is not a book about Salvation Army leaders with whom John and Val Bate were associated, but a book about the unfolding of the life and ministry of leaders in the Army whom the Bates knew well and served well, all in the spirit of the servant leadership of which our Lord was the supreme example. This is also a book about the many faces of our shared human experiences lived out for the sake of the kingdom of God. The author skilfully takes the reader through the range of human emotion from pathos to hilarity, depending on the situations in which God had place him and his wife as their own leadership abilities were recognized by the Army. The Bates traveled the world for the kingdom of God, not as tourists, but as participants in kingdom life. The skill of the writing matches the grand vision of Salvation Army service, and that is what makes this book such a marvelous example of history alive, and so worth reading.

­—ROGER J. GREEN, Ph.D., D.D. Professor and Chair of Biblical Studies and Christian Ministries Terrelle B. Crum Chair of Humanities Gordon College Wenham, Massachusetts “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord” (Ps. 37:23). John Bate is the personification of that truth. It is apparent that from his childhood, God’s plan for his life was carried out in minute detail. Even though not always apparent to him, he was always in the right place at the right time and for the right reason. Many of us have wondered about the “backstage” life of a General—what happens between Congress meetings, what are they like in the normal routines of office and travel? John has taken us to those inner-sanctums with humor, insight, sensitivity and, yes, reverence for the person and the work. This book is a fascinating read for anyone, but particularly for those who know this man, whose life has been so carefully ordered by the Lord.

—RAYMOND COOPER Commissioner

Destination Unknown provides a wonderful glimpse of God’s provisions for John Bate throughout a lifetime of service as a Salvation Army officer. God started a work in John’s life as a youth in New Zealand, which was expressed in serving people around the world. Readers will especially enjoy the detailed glimpses into John’s life as he traveled as the private secretary to General Arnold Brown, a beloved worldwide leader of . The moving stories, the humor of Brown and Bates serving together, the joy and surprises God shared with John and his family as they traveled to unknown destinations through their obedience to God’s directions. What a partnership! And now, I would invite you to sit down and enjoy the journey!

­—PHILIP SWYERS Commissioner Destination Unknown k Memoirs of a private secretary to the General of The Salvation Army

Colonel John M. Bate DESTINATION UNKNOWN Memoirs of a private secretary to the General of The Salvation Army Colonel John M. Bate

© 2012 Frontier Press

All rights reserved. Except for fair dealing permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced by any means without permission in writing from author/publisher.

Bate, John 1934–.

ISBN 978-0-9768465-4-3

The Salvation Army USA Western Territory Dedication and Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to my wife Valda who has faithfully and so willingly accompanied me towards the unknown destination; to our children, Beverley and Alastair, who thrilled in every journey and new home; to a host of family and good friends who have encour- aged me to set out so many of the tales which I have shared with them over the years; and to those eight wonderful grandchildren for whom the project was originally commenced. I also want to gratefully acknowledge Commissioner Robert Thomson’s careful editing of the original manuscript and Val for her graphic artwork on the cover.

Table of Contents

Foreword...... iii Introduction...... v Preface...... vii

PART I 1. Saturday’s Child...... 3 2. A Calling and a Wedding...... 6 3. The First Big Journey...... 9

PART II 4. Shaping: South America West...... 15 5. Lessons Along the Way: Panama and Jamaica...... 22 6. Learning by Example: New Zealand...... 25 7. Civil War and Curfews: Rhodesia...... 31

8. Grace Abounds: ...... 39 9. Banners and Bonnets: IHQ...... 43 10. Filming Catherine Bramwell-Booth: IHQ...... 55

PART III 11. It Began with General Arnold Brown...... 67 12. On the Road: South Asia Zone...... 75 13. Behind the “Bamboo Curtain”: South Pacific and East Asia Zone...... 83 14. A Vision and a Burning Heart: South Pacific and East Asia Zone...... 94 15. Expecting the Unexpected: Americas and Caribbean Zone...... 104 16. “I’ll Change it all in the Translation!”: Zone...... 113 17. Fervor and Enthusiasm: Africa Zone...... 117 18. It was Only a Matter of Time!: Americas and Caribbean Zone...... 123 i PART IV 19. . The Land of Copihue Rojo: South America West...... 131 20. . It Takes Two to Tango: South America East...... 140 21. From Fern Leaf to Maple Leaf: ...... 147 22. . The Stars and Stripes: USA West...... 149 23. . One Last Appointment and a General’s Final Sermon: USA National Headquarters...... 154 24. . A Tribute to General Arnold Brown...... 162

ii Foreword

By General , Retired

WHEN I RECEIVED THE MANUSCRIPT to read before writing this foreword, I was quite elated, and looking forward to reading it for sev- eral reasons. First because I had esteemed General Arnold, who is THE General mainly referred to in the book. Apart from being a powerful preacher and spiritual leader, he was a great raconteur, and John Bate comes a close second as a skilled storyteller himself. I had been in their company on many an occasion, and had greatly enjoyed their accounts of their experiences as the General undertook his travels around the Army world. They both had an eye and ear for a good narrative, spoken and written. John and Val Bate have also had an extraordinary officership experience. With almost every change of appointment they moved to another country—either in Africa, the Americas or Europe—and always with a strong commitment to the calling that they first re- ceived in their homeland, New Zealand. I have admired them for that willingness and dedication, and also for their adaptability to new cultures, new environments and new people. This book will help you understand how the Lord upheld them in their acceptance of this amazing lifestyle. A resilient, resourceful and enterprising missionary officer, John showed the same qualities later when faced with the unexpected— such as massive radio and television assignments in Britain about which he had previously had no experience, or managing delicate situations in Burma in the face of political turmoil, or extricating the General from possible disasters regarding grilled monkey on the menu, or indescribable accommodation blunders, or translation fias- cos. Fortunately John’s innovative skills came to the fore, and usually with no little amusement for him and the General. They both had a phenomenal sense of humor, so that often as you read, you will find yourself laughing aloud. John brings to life many unforgettable characters in these pages, not just the two Generals but other famous names in present-day Army history, such as Commissioner Catherine Bramwell-Booth, some eminent and high-profile in national government, politics and iii businesses, some whose names we don’t even learn, but who inspired John to recall their spiritual impact on his life. A great communicator, not only from the platform, stage and pul- pit, John sees every encounter with another person as an opportunity to share his faith as a servant of Jesus Christ—whether it is with a director in a BBC canteen, or a fellow passenger on a plane, or a gov- ernment official quibbling about visa documentation. His faith is a natural part of himself and his life. To John’s many gifts is added a tender heart, a compassion for people, and an ability to identify with them, entering into their lives in the most natural way. This is revealed in so many of his accounts, whether in the war-torn areas of Cambodia and Thailand when with General Brown he visited the pathetic, desperate refugees in camps run by the intrepid Major Eva den Hartog, or with General Wahlstrom riding horseback over the rugged mountains of Sulawesi, Indonesia, to spend a joyous, exhilarating time with isolated Salvationists in the area where our missionary officers were the first to win the headhunt- ing tribes to Christ. The reader is transported there as John describes these scenes, often with deep pathos and always with the warmth of human understanding. Many could be called present-day miracles. I can assure you that you will not only enjoy this book, as I have, but be inspired, stirred and challenged.

iv Introduction

I COULD NEVER HAVE PLANNED IT THIS WAY … not in a thousand years! My birthplace, Napier, New Zealand, is now known as the “Art Deco capital of the world,” but in 1934 it was still recovering from the devastating Hawke’s Bay earthquake of 1931. It was a small, pro- vincial capital, and I guess my life could have followed a “normal” pattern in what eventually became, and is today, a showpiece provin- cial capital. But God called me to another life—and that made all the difference! I never imagined the service that lay ahead of me: living in ten countries and visiting another seventy! It all came about because of a divine impulse that God confirmed one Sunday morning many years ago. Missionary service, even in administration, expanded my hori- zons. Serving two Generals—Arnold Brown and Jarl Wahlström—and three territorial commanders as private secretary and aide de camp brought life-changing opportunities. These resulted not only from the chance to travel the world but also from daily communication with these men and observing both their administrative skills and, above all, their devotion to God and to his world. If I inherited anything from my parents, I believe it was the ability to gratefully accept what God has provided-—and to be excited about it! I also had the privilege to learn from others whose example will always be with me—from Army leaders, to the unfortunates in refu- gee camps forgotten by the world, to people left destitute through devastating earthquakes in South America. My father’s counsel when I left home to go to university was sim- ply, “Remember, you’re a Bate!” I have learned that the Bates’ (and the Mowatts’, my mother’s family) efforts in life were scarcely dra- matic or life changing, but the hard work of each generation made life better for those who followed. My prayer has always been that the family “vocation” might work out in each appointment we have received. I say “we” as our appointments have always needed family in- volvement. My wife, Valda, and children, Beverley and Alastair, have equally entered into the excitement of this global life. I will forever v remain grateful to them and to our extended family who have sup- ported us through all these years. God has given us an army of friends without whom life would have lacked a certain color! Their endless patience in listening to my endless regaling of stories of travel have in some ways brought about this written record. What would I have changed in this story if I could? Nothing, other than wishing I had done everything better and with even more enthusiasm. Not every day has brought excitement, but upon reflec- tion I can say without hesitancy that every day has been exciting! And that is the reason for writing: life is exciting when we fol- low—not knowing all the answers, but with faith in the One who leads.

vi Preface

IT WAS A WARM SUMMER’S DAY, one of London’s best, when I packed up my final belongings from the information services office of the public relations department at international headquarters and headed for the second floor to find my way down the quiet, “hal- lowed” corridor leading to the General’s office. I thought I should at least tell the Chief Secretary to the Chief of the Staff that I had ar- rived, and he suggested I head on in to see the General. While I had been no stranger to the General’s office during my previous appointment, this morning was different! I knocked on the door and the unmistakable, resonant, mid-Atlantic voice of General Arnold Brown beckoned me in. Here I was, a lad from small, provin- cial Napier, New Zealand, from a humble Salvationist home, now ap- pointed private secretary and aide de camp to the General. “Come in, John,” the General welcomed me, and with that he instantly made me feel comfortable in my new setting. Just as well, as the next day we were flying to Finland and then on to for the Scandinavian congresses! Five years as a private secretary to three territorial commanders— and varied appointments in New Zealand, South America, Africa and Spain along the way—prepared me to a degree for this new position … but not entirely. I now had the responsibility, as aide and private secretary, for arranging tickets, passports, visas (when necessary), money, briefs and a myriad of other details for overseas travel, as well as ordinary, but never mundane, office responsibilities. Without a doubt, it was to be the most exciting—and challeng- ing—time of my life. However, as I left the General’s office that morn- ing and headed back to my new office nearby, my thoughts pulled me back to my early years in New Zealand and to my first overseas appointment, where my journey began.

vii

Part I

CHAPTERk 1

Saturday’s Child

IT WAS SATURDAY AFTERNOON, December 22, 1934. Somewhere around 4 a.m., the old McHardy Maternity Home on one of Napier’s loveliest hills was cognizant of the fact that a boy with healthy lungs had arrived. While no one could ever have imagined on that Saturday after- noon what God had in store for this little lad, I believe it was my par- ent’s lifelong modeling of faith, strong character and perseverance— their Godly example—that would one day set me on the course for my life’s work with The Salvation Army. My father’s family was English and my mother came from Scot- tish stock. The tale of their meeting and courtship is quite a love story! By the early 1920s, good economic times turned to bad in Eng- land, and in 1922 my father, David McLeod Bate, decided to immi- grate to New Zealand. Prior to leaving, he visited his half-sister, Eliza- beth Allan, in Glasgow. There he was introduced to Marion Mowatt, who was visiting her. On meeting Marion he records, in typical Geor- die style, that he “fell in” with her as soon as he saw her! Six weeks later, he left for New Zealand and a job with the New Zealand Railways, extending the rail lines in Northland and Hawkes Bay. It was Marion McLaren Mowatt’s ministry as a Salvationist that led to her friendship with Elizabeth. When she was thirteen, a young friend, Annie McLean, took her to The Salvation Army Sunday school at the Anderston Corps, the number one corps in . In time Marion was enrolled as a soldier and soon became a beloved company guard (Sunday school teacher) and later the corps’ Bible class leader. Company guards were expected to visit the children in their classes, which Marion did consistently. She was very interested in one young girl in her class, Jenny Allan, and visited her regularly—so much so that Jenny’s mother, Elizabeth, and Marion became good friends. It was on one of these visits that she met Elizabeth’s brother, David Bate. Two years of correspondence, with twelve thousand miles sepa- 3 rating the couple, preceded David’s proposal, and Marion sailed for New Zealand early in October 1924. She arrived in Auckland on No- vember 26, and from the shipside they proceeded to the registry of- fice, where they married that very same day.

An Army heritage Within the week, David and Marion set off for Hawkes Bay to live in the “back-blocks,” where for the next ten years David was em- ployed by the railways. It was there Marion found her first New Zea- land home: a tent with a wooden floor. Within a short time they pro- gressed to a small wooden house. Moving from the heart of Glasgow to the isolation of Kotemaori would have been a traumatic shock for anyone. But for someone with the nature and personality of Marion, it was just one of those things to be coped with. She was intrepid. Perhaps my ability to pick up at a moment’s notice and move halfway around the world came from her example. In their first five years of marriage, God gave to them two beauti- ful daughters: Marion McLaren Mowatt Bate, born in 1925, and Mary Ann McLeod Bate, born in 1929—both bearing great family names and both in their time becoming great Salvationists. One thing Mother missed by living in the country was The Salva- tion Army. She had become a soldier, songster and young people’s guardian in Glasgow, and during World War I was a member of the Anderston Corps’ famous “women’s band.” Moving to Napier just prior to my birth meant Mother could par- ticipate in The Salvation Army again. It was during this time, in the term of Adjutant Henry C. Goffin, that my father was converted. He wore his Salvation Army uniform for the first time on the Sunday I was dedicated. I have often heard Henry Goffin mention the night of my dad’s conversion and his later enrollment as a soldier. It must have meant something, for he remained true to his vows until he was in May 1969. I was converted in a Sunday school meeting at the age of ten. Mother, a veteran Sunday school teacher, taught me in her class for a couple of years. What I liked so much about being in her class was that she was not so strict on the memory text. Near enough was good enough and we all felt the same, being ten years of age!

Musical impressions Music has played an important role in my life. By age fifteen I had

4 learned to play both the piano and organ. I had also discovered the challenges of being a Sunday school teacher for about eight seven- year-old boys who needed some special attention. Besides being their teacher, I also became the organist for the youngest classes. The organ was a small Bilhorn portable, which took a lot of pedal- ing to keep the sound constant. I sat playing each Sunday afternoon as the children filed into their places. One small four-year-old, Trevor, would always stop and stare at me as he entered the room. Through- out the afternoon, sitting in his class, he would never take his eyes off me. One Monday morning while my mother was shopping, she met Trevor’s mother and they stopped to chat. Mrs. Rowe told my mother of an incident which had occurred just the day before. When Trevor had returned home she asked him what had happened at Sun- day school. He replied that they said that God was everywhere “but I don’t believe it!” “Oh yes, Trevor,” his mother had assured him. “God is every- where. He’s at Kindergarten with you. He’s outside when you’re play- ing. He’s here at home with us. He’s at Sunday school with you ….” “Oh, no!” interrupted Trevor. “He’s not at Sunday school. Jesus is there though. He plays the organ!” Just a case of childish misunderstanding! And yet—and yet—yet! Through the years the incident has often challenged me. We are al- ways being observed. What impressions are we giving?

5 CHAPTERk 2

A Calling and a Wedding

AFTER LEAVING SCHOOL, I worked for four years at the Union Steam Ship Company in Napier before entering University, in Wel- lington, to study for my Bachelor of Commerce degree and also for professional accountancy. I spent two fulfilling and very enjoyable years there. My first weekend in Wellington found me at Wellington Citadel Corps, where I was invited into the trombone section of the band and the bass section of the songsters. My life became so full of ac- tivity and friends that I could scarcely wait for each day to begin or each weekend to come around. We My group of friends were always twenty or twenty-five in number, and besides all the Army activities there were promenade concerts, shows, movies, picnics and outings of every kind. From the first Sunday at this corps I always felt a part of it, and through all the years this corps, in a very special way, has been my spiritual home.

Called to officership Salvation Army officership had been on my mind for a number of years and, in my heart of hearts, I felt I wanted to be an officer. To my young memory and imagination, however, I had never heard anyone say they wanted to be an officer but rather that they did not want to be an officer! This puzzled me and rather convinced me that this was not for me—certainly not if I wanted to be one. Yet this spiritual awareness and sense of calling became more intense; I wanted to be certain that this was to be my vocation. I had a fear: I would reach thirty-five or forty years of age, be married with a family, home, car and successful business career, and then discover that I had missed my calling. That could embitter me, I knew, for I had seen it in others and didn’t want that for myself. I had been reading St. John’s gospel in my devotions and had been impressed with the last chapter. The words of Jesus recorded there had repeatedly been going over in my mind. One day, while sitting in my office at Gordon and Gotch Ltd. (where I worked as the assis- tant company secretary while attending university), enjoying solving 6 some complex accounting problem, I recalled those words of Jesus to Peter when he said, “Lovest thou me more than these?” Now it would seem that Jesus was referring to the other disciples when he asked this question, although I have sometimes wondered if he was not referring to the fish lying on the ground. The question certainly came clearly to me that afternoon: “Do you love me more than these books and accounts?” The truth was that I was fascinated with accounting, always had been, and now that I was studying it, it was becoming the “all-important.” Was this God prompting me, I questioned? Was I becoming so involved in my secular work that my interest in doing God’s will was not as strong as it had been? No, I still just wanted that assurance that it was the right thing to do. The following Sunday I was seated in my place in the band. The holiness meeting that morning was to have special significance for me. I cannot remember much about the service nor the sermon, but as we prayed at its conclusion and before singing the last song, I re- ceived that for which I longed—the quiet assurance that God was calling me to be an officer. I felt all I wanted to do at that moment was to kneel at the mercy seat, which I did, to thank God for the clarity of the call and say I was happy to respond. But as I knelt and prayed, I was conscious of something else—God told me, as if it were an audible voice within, that my service would not be in my home- land. That stunned me! I belonged to a very close family. Not only did I experience the intense love and devotion of my parents but of my sisters and their families as well. I was an only son and an only brother. What was this all about? I had asked for the assurance and I believed it came. I prayed for grace to accept the rest. On the following Wednesday evening I asked to see the corps offi- cer, Major Noel Pauling, who knew me better than most having been my corps officer at Napier for four years and now for two more at Wellington City. I told him my story and he so kindly put his hand on my shoulder and said, “John, I’ve been waiting a year or two for you to come and give me this news!” He prepared me for training and in April the following year the name of Bate was included in the list of cadets to be welcomed. However, not one Bate—but two!

A fine romance While attending an Easter camp at Camp Akatarawa in March

7 1957, I came face to face with the young lady who was registering the campers, Valda Hart from Foxton. Although I said little to her during the weekend, she impressed me instantly. After learning she was stay- ing in the Wellington area following the Easter holiday, I asked her out for our first date. And that is how our romance began! Valda (or more often, just Val) came from a prominent family in the Foxton and Horowhenua district. Her father, Roland Hart, came from a pioneer English family that had settled in the Manchester Block area around Ashhurst in the 1880s. While the family had a very strong Brethren background, as a young man Roland found his spiri- tual home at the local in Foxton. After moving to Dunedin for health reasons, he met a young lady, Ivy Green, at the Dunedin South Corps. Ivy was from a Salvation Army family in Southland; her grandparents were early-day soldiers in Queenstown. Roland and Ivy married and raised a family of three children: Wil- liam Henry (Bill), Beverley and Val. When Roland died prematurely in 1945, Ivy sold the family business and moved with her young fam- ily down to Foxton Beach. Val was now working as a law clerk at the local law office of Ber- gin and Cleary. Very soon, weekly or twice-weekly visits to Foxton became my routine. These visits obviously were successful, for on August 10, 1957, we were engaged. Within a few weeks, our applica- tions for officers’ training were processed and we were accepted for the Courageous session commencing on April 9 the following year. However, there was a wedding to be organized before then, so the family went into action! On a gorgeous, sunny Saturday, March 8, 1958, we shared our vows in a ceremony at The Salvation Army Citadel, Broadway, Palm- erston North. We spent the next two weeks at Honeymoon Cottage in Rotorua. It was made for honeymoons, and the memories of those days have never faded.

8 CHAPTERk 3

The First Big Journey

THE LARGE AND IMPRESSIVE IRON GATES opened with a creak and allowed us to enter our new home for the next ten months. It was April 9, 1958, and we were about to commence our training at The Salvation Army Training College, 33 Aro Street, Wellington. As Val and I mounted the steps of this impressive building, many memories raced through my mind. I smiled, thinking of an interview with Brigadier Harry Goffin, the territorial youth and candidates sec- retary, when I told him of our decision to marry just six weeks before entering training. Looking over his glasses he said to me, “I don’t know. I don’t think we want to have cadets in training still in the bliss of their honeymoon.” I answered, “Come, come, Brigadier. Don’t tell me you are not still in the bliss of your honeymoon even after twenty-five years.” He smiled graciously and said, “I suppose we are.” As we climbed each step, I knew we were stepping out into a life of faith, not really knowing what the future would hold for us. I thought of the people who had influenced me through the years— those who had had a hand in bringing me to this moment in time. Foremost in my mind were my parents, who had made every provi- sion within their means that I should have everything I needed since the day I was born. They had provided me with a good education, Christian training and exposure to whatever good possible. Then there were the corps officers who had made significant impressions on my life, in particular Major Noel Pauling. I thought of my friends, some of whom were thrilled and supportive in our taking this step into Christian service, and others who could not understand what on earth I was doing, giving up the career that I enjoyed so much in the accounting business. For Val, coming to Wellington to live was a big step, having spent most of her life in Foxton. Trams rattling up and down Aro Street and Willis Street’s narrow lanes caused her to have sweaty palms every time she had to cross the road—and now she was to live here. But at least we had each other and we were starting a new life, with new experiences, new hopes and dreams, yet without the slightest notion 9 of all that would happen over the next forty-one years.

“On your knees!” The Courageous session of cadets numbered twenty-three, with four married couples and fifteen single men and women. After a few days in session we were prepared for our welcome meeting, which was always held in the Wellington Citadel on Vivian Street, an im- pressive auditorium that had been my home corps for the past two years. It was thrilling, although marching behind the Wellington Cit- adel Band was a new experience for me, for I was usually in the front row with the trombone section. It would never be the same again! Training was always intensely interesting and I enjoyed studying the varied topics that equipped us to carry out the work of a Salvation Army officer. Having lived in Wellington, I was familiar with the city and the areas in which we were to go “pub booming” (selling in bars). For the first three months, Ray Allott and I were assigned a large pub on the corner of Lambton Quay and Waring Taylor Street, oppo- site where I had worked during my years in Wellington. Many of my former co-workers frequented this pub and they always bought all of our War Crys within minutes. They then “shouted” (treated) us to lemonades to fill in our time until the hour came for us to go to the open-air meeting that the cadets held before returning to the college. One night, a man who had already had too much to drink ac- costed us before we entered the pub and followed us as we did our round. He was quite a nuisance, but there was little we could do, es- pecially when he followed us back out into the street with a bottle in each hand and asked us to pray for him. “Yes,” I replied immediately, “I will pray for you tonight.” “No!” came the instant retort. “I want you to pray now.” “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll pray for you right now,” and bowed my head to pray. “No, no!” shouted the inebriated voice. “On your knees, on your knees!” Lines of pedestrians were now forming on all sides outside the large department store where we were standing, together with lines of people waiting to catch their buses to the suburbs. My instant answer was a little defensive, I admit, but I was correct in assuring my newly found friend that one did not have to kneel to pray. “You’re scared,” he snarled thickly, with disgust. “No, I’m not!” I declared just as firmly. And with that, Ray Allott

10 and I got down on our knees in the middle of the busy sidewalk to pray—and he then decided to join us, dropping his bottles of beer in the process. The noise only drew more attention to the unusual scene on a Friday evening rush hour in Lambton Quay! We prayed a short prayer, the man left and we went on our way. It would be good to be able to record this as a success story, but we never saw the man again. I guess it was a success story though, in that it introduced us into the life of a Salvation Army officer, a life in which you are never quite sure what is going to happen next!

New beginnings On January 17, 1959, Lt. Commissioner Robert S. (Stan) Hare- wood—who was the territorial commander at the time—commis- sioned us as second lieutenants and appointed us to command the Naenae Corps in the Hutt Valley. Before the end of the week we were residents at 40 Treadwell Street, Naenae, and in charge of the small corps, which had a very large youth work. The first Sunday we had 180 children at Sunday school. While the senior soldiers (members) of the corps numbered less than thirty, they worked hard, and any- thing that was planned was always successful—campaigns, sales of work and youth events. Our time in Naenae was a great learning experience, and God was faithful in providing resources that would equip us for future ministry. It was a time of joy as well, as Beverley Ann Bate was born on October 17, 1959. By July of 1960, we felt it was time to advise territorial headquar- ters (THQ) of our desire and calling for overseas service. Six weeks later, Commissioner Alfred Gilliard, the territorial commander, called us in to see him—and expressed surprise at the speed with which our application had been answered from international headquarters (IHQ). We were being given an appointment in the South America West Territory and we would be leaving shortly after the field change early in 1961. Little did we dream of what lay ahead!

11

Part II

CHAPTERk 4

Shaping: South America West

I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AMAZED at how God weaves together the events in our lives. People and places may appear to be random and unrelated, but often we can look back and see how they were the foundation for things to come. Every so often, however, things are just what they appear: unique moments that in and of themselves are touchstones to the greater Christian life. That seems to be the story of my life. Such was the time in early 1961 when we sailed from Wellington toward our first overseas appointment in Santiago, Chile. En route, we spent a week in Lima while waiting for another ship to take us to Valparaiso, Chile. Our lodgings in Lima were at the Wycliffe Bible Translators’ resi- dence. There we met and had fellowship with some of the widows of the five missionaries—Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, Ed McCully, Peter Flem- ing and Roger Youderian—who had been martyred in Ecuador while attempting to evangelize the Waodani people. The unshakable faith of these women—their compassion and spiritual strength—encour- aged us as we started out on our own missionary journey.

Exciting days Our appointment in Santiago was to THQ, where I was appointed cashier and Val became the territorial commander’s English secretary. The political scene was relatively quiet in Chile at this time, although inflation was rampant, amounting to about three hundred percent in our first three years. President Jorge Allessandri led a conservative government, although a communist candidate, Salvador Allende, was already preparing for the next election, which he won. Occa- sional political demonstrations brought police to the downtown area with tear gas—but they were quiet years compared to those that fol- lowed when Allende did gain power. Lt. Commissioner and Mrs. Ray Gearing were our territorial lead- ers. The commissioner was a man of great faith and vision. Under his leadership, new social service projects flourished and expansion, ne- cessitated by a recent devastating earthquake in the south, brought 15 growth throughout the whole territory. The Gearings had a vision to take the Army to areas where it had not been seen before—to the “barrio alto” (more affluent suburbs) where foreigners who knew the Army in Europe and other countries were more able to give support and help us. A few weeks before we landed in Chile, Lieutenant Lise Lydholm had arrived from Denmark and was appointed to be the assistant at the Santiago Central Corps. Her English was impeccable, and in the short time she had been in South America it was obvious that Span- ish was not going to create a problem for her either. We became good friends and attended language classes together. That perhaps needs qualification! We only attended five classes as they were too expen- sive. Five classes in the present tense was the total of our Spanish instruction; I have often said that I was not able to preach from the book of Revelation for two years, as I did not know the future tense! Val and I persevered, however, and never once did we have to be translated into Spanish in public ministry. In August of 1961, Captain Siegfried Clausen arrived to serve in the territory. Chile was not unknown to him; he was born in Iquique where his parents, German officers, had been stationed before World War II. Siegfried traveled to England as a teenager to work and then to enter training at the Memorial Training College in London. Following training, he had appointments in England and . After all, reasoned Salvation Army leadership, he was the son of German officers. He had a problem, however, in that he did not speak German flu- ently—well, not as fluently as he spoke Spanish, his first language, or English. After two and a half years in Germany he returned to Chile to become the territorial youth secretary and, at the same time, the Santiago Central corps officer. Within ten minutes of meeting we formed a friendship that still exists today. The campaigns we shared, the programs we arranged, the escapades we were involved in do not need to be chronicled here! Although I do remember returning to Chile more than twenty years later to take an appointment of leadership and being reminded in our welcome meeting of a list of things that Captain Clausen and Captain Bate “had gotten up to!” Siegfried and Lise became engaged and were married the follow- ing year. I was honored to be asked to be the best man, or, in Spanish, to be a “testigo.” I can relate very few stories of our first years in Chile

16 without Siegfried’s name entering into the incident! When the finance officer left for homeland furlough, I inherited the appointment of finance officer as well as cashier, and the little trade department, which was housed in the headquarters. Further, in the absence of two divisional commanders, the accounting for their divisions landed in my office also. But they were exciting days, and the challenge of coping with inflation alone meant extremely careful budgeting. Our accounting had to cope with Chilean pesos, Peruvian soles, Bolivian pesos, U.S. dollars and English pounds sterling. Of course, there were no mechanical accounting devices available, ex- cept for a unique hand calculator which needed “thirty turns forward and forty back” and a couple of flips of a switch to make a calcula- tion. But it worked!

God is faithful When we were home we attended the Santiago Central Corps where I played in the band and was songster leader. One of my fellow trombone players, Fernando, became a good friend of ours. He was married with a little daughter, Martita, the same age as our Beverley. His wages were extremely low and from time to time we tried to help them out a little, but half of our allowance (which was equivalent at that time to seventeen U.S. dollars a month) went for milk powder for Beverley. One day, an envelope came from New Zealand and in it I found a bank draft and a letter from a bandsman friend at Wel- lington City. He told me how he had been in the bank one day recently and was irritated at having to stand so long in line. As he stood, his eyes wandered and he noticed the overseas exchange counter. He said how an inner voice spoke to him saying, “Send John Bate whatever you have in your pocket.” So, he recalled, he left the line, went over to the overseas exchange counter and asked for a bank draft in favor of John Bate. “How much will that be for, sir?” the young lady asked. “I don’t know,” he replied, and he dug into his pocket to see how much he had. The sum total was a few pounds (this was 1963!) and some change. The attendant calculated that he had sufficient funds for a five pound bank draft and so it was drawn up—and was now attached to the letter. “Use it for whatever you feel is needed,” he wrote. Wow! Five pounds was the equivalent of fifteen thousand pesos

17 at that time. I conferred with Siegfried and we decided we would buy a large supply of tinned milk powder and, in the little headquarters’ truck, we would drive to Fernando’s house. Once there, we would stack the tins at the front door, knock on the door and then hop in the truck and make our getaway—and he would never know where the milk powder had come from. I felt my friend in New Zealand would have liked that. The night before our planned escapade I saw Fernando coming down the path at the side of the corps hall and just felt in that mo- ment that I should talk to him about what we were going to do. Af- ter all, fifteen thousand pesos was a lot of money. He came into our house and, over coffee, I explained what had happened and what our plans were. He was so appreciative and grateful for what he called “such a thoughtful act.” As we talked, I did suggest, however, that if he would prefer to have the money I could give it to him. “No, no,” he answered. “The milk powder will be wonderful!” I insisted again that, if he wished, he could have the money. He hung his head a little and quietly, and with some hesitation, said that if it were all right with me then he would take the money. As I put my hand into my pocket to pull out the three five thou- sand pesos bills, he put his hand into his pocket and retrieved two pieces of paper—prescriptions for medicine for Martita, which he had carried around for three days. He had not been able to buy the medi- cine. He just did not have the money. How much did he need? Fifteen thousand pesos! As I gave him the money, he said, “Capitan—you may think this money came from New Zealand, but I know it came from above!” We prayed together and went on our way to the meeting. Over the years, I have told this story many, many times, but I can honestly say that I have never related it as an appeal for money. The message for me is that my friend in the bank line in Wellington, even feeling a little irritated at having to wait so long, was open to the Spirit and God’s leading. We just never know when his moment might arrive.

God’s love and provision During 1962 we decided it was time to add to our family. By April of that year Val was pregnant and physically everything was nor- mal. Our family physician, an American named Dr. Ruth Moore, had

18 counseled that we register with Dr. Onofre Avendano, a renowned Chilean gynecologist. This was perhaps the best advice we have ever received! One night in September, Val began to hemorrhage and it was obvious that her condition was serious. From that time on, hem- orrhaging was frequent and we were grateful for the expert care that Dr. Avendano gave her. The baby was due around the time of my birthday, December 22, but the day passed uneventfully. The end of the year came, but still no baby. Eventually the doctor decided that if the baby did not arrive by January 8, he would arrange for a c-section on January 9. We had booked Val into the Clinica Santa Maria where she could not have had better attention. She entered the clinic early in the afternoon and the doctor commenced operating a short time later. We waited (Siegfried Clausen, Major Gwen Norman—a New Zealand officer also serving in Chile—and I) for what seemed like hours. By 8 p.m., Dr. Avendano entered the room and advised me that we had a son but that both he and Val were seriously ill. I should call the pediatrician immediately to care for the baby. The doctor’s concern was my wife. His final instruction was to “call the family to give blood immedi- ately.” She needed five pints of blood. I guess that was the loneliest moment of my life. Our family was seven thousand miles away—and yet, our family was also all around us! Gwen Norman started to make phone calls and Siegfried ran off in the little truck from THQ, which was our only transport, to fetch, first of all, the cook from the training college. Everyone knew she had good blood and was a regular donor. At least half a dozen officers vol- unteered their blood, and although not all were suitable candidates, the required five pints were eventually donated. By this time Commissioner Gearing had arrived at the clinic and he also volunteered his blood. The rather crusty head nurse looked at him and retorted, “We don’t take blood from old men!” With a good-natured smile on his face, he turned and simply re- marked, “Well, what do you think of that, John?” An hour or two later, Val was wheeled into the room and we were able to see the baby for the first time. He was long and thin—and “blanquito” (very, very pale)! He was named Alastair John in that moment. We are grateful to God that over the next few months both Val and Alastair gained strength and recuperated. Val and I were thrilled with this bonny boy, and his big sister was equally delighted. Within

19 a relatively short time, Alastair’s weight and size were normal. He doubled his birth weight in three months. But we were not out of the woods yet! Before the end of the year, Beverley and Alastair had contracted an infection, and although she was over it in a day or two, Alastair was not so fortunate. In a mat- ter of hours he had pneumonia and became dehydrated. The doctor suggested that if we could care for him at home, it would be better than admitting him to the nearby hospital, St. Juan de Dios, where he could possibly pick up other infections. As well as medication, he needed a half a teaspoonful of liquid every ten minutes. Val and I took turns of “two hours on and two hours off” administering the liquid. During the second night I sat with him. The panting of his little body gave the only sign of life, for his eyes were closed and there was no recognition. As I sat in the anxious quietness, I prayed so earnestly for his life. There are not many males in our Bate family. I am an only son of an only son and my father in New Zealand was so excited about this Bate grandson. If this baby were to die it would break my heart, but I felt it would be the end for my dear old dad. It was at that time that I experienced one of the most vivid spiritual moments of my life. God came to me and said so clearly, “I love you more than you love your son!” What? How could it be? My love for this baby was absolute! Yes, but His love is even greater. I was quiet. And at that moment it seemed as though Alastair, too, became quieter. The pant- ing ceased, he commenced to breathe normally and he stirred in his bed as any small child would. He was going to be all right! The worst was over, the doctor assured us the next morning. It has been more than forty-nine years since that experience but the reality of it and the truth that I learned is as vivid as it was that night in our little wooden house in Santiago.

God’s world is so big Chile suffers from earthquakes and those of 1960 in the south, from Concepción to Valdivia, were devastating. Large areas of land disappeared into the sea and The Salvation Army lost several proper- ties. A speedy and generous response from the U.S. territories enabled rebuilding to commence quickly, and exactly one year following the earthquake, a new Salvation Army Citadel was opened. It was the first church in the city of Concepción to be rebuilt. The Santiago Central Corps Band visited the south for this outstanding celebration.

20 The new chapel, including the gallery, seated several hundred and it was crowded for that opening night, a festival of praise and music. One of the visiting groups was a church choir from Coronel, a min- ing village just a few miles from Concepción. The very large choir crowded the platform ready to sing and we awaited the entry of their conductor. He came and took his central place—a lad of no more than ten years of age. The program said they were to sing “El Coro Aleluya” which for me, having only been in South America a short time, did not mean too much. The lad raised his arms and, with his professional and pre- cise downbeat, the pianist enthusiastically sounded out the introduc- tory measures of the “Hallelujah Chorus.” With a flourish of inspired conducting, the boy brought in the choir and they sang full-throatily, “Aleluya, aleluya.” Singing from memory, the choir, led by their unique conductor, transported us to the very gates of heaven! As I sat thrilled to my very core, I recalled how often I have tried to imagine that great celestial choir on that great celestial day, envi- sioned by St. John the Divine, singing these words to the glory of the King of Kings. However, as I have imagined it, that heavenly chorus has always been sung in English—as if the whole world is going to have to learn English to be able to join the heavenly choir. But what I was listening to now was that wonderful chorus being sung in Spanish! Something happened to me in that festival which was life changing. I suddenly realized how big God’s world is and that his message is for the “whosoever.” It was a great lesson to learn so early in our life as missionary offi- cers, a life that was to eventually see thirty-five of our forty-one years as active officers spent overseas.

21 CHAPTERk 5

Lessons Along the Way: Panama and Jamaica

I BELIEVE AND HAVE ALWAYS FELT God’s timing is impeccable. Not always convenient, mind you, but always just right. And in looking back, I am convinced that every event I have encountered—whether dangerous or mundane—prepared me for the unique circumstances in my service that lay ahead. Take our brief transfer to the Central America Territory and arrival in the Panama Canal Zone, for instance—in the midst of rioting. We sailed from Valparaiso in January 1964 not knowing where we were to be appointed or even to which of the eighteen countries compris- ing that territory we would be going. We traveled on a Norwegian cargo ship with an itinerary of four- teen ports of call as we sailed north. This gave us the opportunity to visit several Chilean and Peruvian corps on the journey. As we arrived near the Panama Canal, the captain had some alarming news to con- vey to us: riots had broken out in Panama. At Balboa High School, the students had hoisted the American flag up the flagpole, without the Panamanian flag alongside it. When a group of Panamanian students from a nearby high school found out, they marched to Balboa High School and attempted to raise the flag of Pananma as well. A conflict ensued with the Balboa students and the Canal Zone police and the Panamanian flag was somehow ripped. Before long, riots were triggered and American buildings were torched and razed. Looting was rife. The captain advised us that, be- cause of the situation, no ships could berth in Panama. We would have to disembark while the ship made its way through the canal. What a sight we must have portrayed that day! The ship’s officers aided our disembarkment by carrying the children down the steep metal and rope ladder into a tender boat waiting to take us ashore. Val and I followed, not daring to look below as we grasped the metal railing! All our earthly possessions (three or four trunks) swung pre- cariously from the ships’ derricks to land in the same tender. Our instruction was not to speak English in the area, only Spanish. This

22 was not a good time for Americans in the Canal Zone. What did God have in mind?

What a year! On arriving at the divisional commander’s home in Panama we received a letter advising that we had been appointed corps officers of the Kingston Central Corps in Jamaica. With only one weekly flight from Panama to Kingston, we had to stay a few days in the Canal Zone; to this day, our experiences in living through the riots remain an unforgettable memory. As it happened, our service in Jamaica was brief—just under a year—but what a year! Our housing was situated directly behind the Memorial Hall right on Victoria Square, possibly one of the noisiest places on earth. Our entrance was on Chancery Lane, a small thoroughfare that housed rum bars and brothels, which were emptied most nights about 3 a.m. We soon learned that the patrons thought that was a fine time to seek the aid of The Salvation Army by banging merci- lessly on our garage doors, which were situated immediately below our bedroom, and shouting, “We want to see the captain!” I don’t think I ever got used to the nighttime calls. I do know I never got used to the tragic lives of so many who crossed our path—especially the mothers and babies. Because it was mandatory for every child to be christened (or dedicated) in Jamaica, the corps’ dedication register was actually a government document and could be inspected at any time by the authorities. The eldest person I have ever dedicated was fifty-four years of age. He needed to be dedicated (not having been christened as a child) so that he could acquire a passport. I finished the ceremony by shaking his hand rather than kissing him on his forehead! However, because it was mandatory, I always had a list of chil- dren waiting to be dedicated. In view of this, I used to hold a special ceremony every two weeks following the holiness meeting. Seldom would the father or any other members of the family be in atten- dance, only the mother and the baby. In fact, of the 117 babies I dedicated, only one had parents who were married. Often by Tuesday or Wednesday I would receive a call from the sexton at the Kingston Cemetery telling me there was a baby to be buried and I had been requested to officiate, having just dedicated

23 the baby the previous Sunday. I would go to the cemetery and usually find only the mother waiting for me in the sexton’s office, together with the small casket. The babies’ caskets were made of Styrofoam and cost only seven shillings and sixpence (less than a dollar). I would pick up the casket, place it on my shoulder, walk together with the mother to the small grave and conduct a simple ceremony—just the two of us. To this day, I still cannot touch Styrofoam without remembering the sadness of those experiences. And yet, I remember as well the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the comfort he gave those broken-hearted mothers in the midst of such unspeakable grief. Panama taught me of God’s protection; Jamaica became the class- room for compassion and hope. I would have great need of both in the years ahead.

24 CHAPTERk 6

Learning by Example: New Zealand

OF COURSE, NOT ALL LESSONS ARE LEARNED in school. That is a fact of life. And while some of the most profound lessons I have learned have taken place in the field—such as those in Panama and Jamaica—I wasn’t always aware of their importance at the time. Such was the case in my next appointment, back home in New Zealand. For a few months I was the general fund accountant in the finance department at THQ. However before long, the territorial commander, Commissioner Charles Davidson, called me to his office to tell me that he was appointing me to be his private secretary. “From when will this be effective?” I asked. “Tomorrow,” came his abrupt answer. It was very unusual for the territorial commander in New Zealand to have a male secretary and it was not easy at first to establish myself in that role. The commissioner wanted me to be his aide de camp as well, and it took time for this appointment to be accepted by heads of departments and divisional commanders. It also paved the way for my future appointment as private secre- tary to the General. Charles Davidson is one of the Army’s unsung heroes. His service in Japan as a young married officer was followed by internment by the Japanese during World War II. He was eventually released from prison, only to find that his wife had died in England just one day before his return. Understandably, all of this affected him and caused him to live the rest of his life very close to himself. I appreciated whatever in- timate conversations we had and I learned something of the depth of this extraordinary man. I have retained copies of some of his cor- respondence, particularly to retired officers who were bereaved or ill. His own sad experiences brought out unique expressions of compas- sion.

“I feel like a publisher!” Within a few months of my appointment, Commissioner David- 25 son received farewell orders and moved to IHQ. His successor was Commissioner Francis Evans, an Englishman, and his delightful Ital- ian wife, Bianca. They had trained in London in the mid-1920s and had been sent directly from the training college to an appointment in France. They served in France until they were forced to return to Britain early in World War II. Commissioner Evans’ demands on a private secretary were a little heavier than those of his predecessor in that he specialized in giving long, thoroughly researched and somewhat ponderous lectures, and even his sermons could be classified as “lecture-type.” Many times they were revised and necessarily renumbered. (And all this before computers or electronic typewriters!) I recall one such study on the “names of God” filling eighty-eight closely typed pages. When it was finally completed, it was so thick that I had to bind it with a hard back, something like a book. When I handed it to him, he was obvi- ously very pleased and said, “Hmm. I feel like an author.” My retort was, “And I feel like a publisher!” Traveling with Commissioner and Mrs. Evans was especially inter- esting. He would always sit in the back seat of the car while she would sit in the front with me. Conversation with her never lacked interest. When Commissioner Catherine Bramwell-Booth’s biography on her grandmother, , was published, Mrs. Evans read me chapter after chapter as we drove around New Zealand. One day she was reading one of Catherine’s love letters to Wil- liam and assured me that as a New Zealander I may not understand it. Catherine, at around eighteen years of age, was telling William how he should study and how many children she wanted when they were married. “Mrs. Evans,” I replied, “if an eighteen-year-old girl was telling me how much I was to study and how many children she wanted us to have when we married, as a New Zealander I would be running so fast in the opposite direction she would never find me again!” Her delightful Italian accent made everything she said much more meaningful—and at other times more delightful. As we descended down the Ngauranga Gorge on our approach into Wellington after a long tour around the North Island, I used to say, “Thank you, Lord, for safe journeying mercies.” Mrs. Evans would invariably say, “But John, we’re not home yet.” I would answer, “No, but I know the road from here!” And we always laughed!

26 “Hurricane Harry” After Commissioner and Mrs. Evans were appointed to Switzer- land, their successors to command the New Zealand Territory were Commissioner and Mrs. Harry Williams. With their arrival, a new era was ushered in. The commissioner, a highly qualified plastic surgeon who had served as a medical missionary for many years in India, had earned the nickname of “Hurricane Harry.” It was in no way deroga- tory, but rather a simple explanation of how he worked, walked and, in fact, did everything! Because of the commissioner’s renown as a plastic surgeon and his being a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, I arranged for him to meet as many medical authorities around Wellington as I could, including Dr. Kennedy, the Director-General of Health. We drove up to The Terrace and found our way to the Depart- ment of Health. Upon opening the director’s door, the secretary sim- ply said, “Dr. Kennedy, Mr. Bate and Mr. Williams.” When I saw Dr. Kennedy I was taken aback for the moment, for his face was more heavily scarred than any I had ever seen. However, before I could reflect too much or even present “Mr. Williams” to him, the commissioner bounded past me and instantly had both hands on the doctor’s face exclaiming, “Oh! That’s wonder- ful! Wonderful!” Dr. Kennedy replied with a great beam on his face, “Do you like it?” I was lost in embarrassment. It turned out that Dr. Kennedy had received facial injuries dur- ing World War II and was one of the famous “guinea pigs” at the East Grinstead Hospital in the south of England. This was where the renowned Sir Archibald McIndoe pioneered many aspects of plastic surgery. As it turns out, Commissioner Williams had studied under Sir Archibald at East Grinstead. The next half-hour was taken up in conversation way beyond me—but it did teach me to be prepared for anything with this com- missioner! Being a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, in many coun- tries, including New Zealand, Commissioner Williams was referred to as “Mr.,” a sign of respect for his being a Fellow. The Salvation Army in New Zealand at that time still had six ma- ternity hospitals and had an affiliation with the Private Hospitals’ Association. Commissioner Williams, as Mr. Williams, was invited to address their annual meeting when it was held in Gisborne.

27 We arrived at the annual banquet at which he was also to speak. He was seated next to the mayor and I was next to the mayoress. As soon as we were seated, the mayoress turned to me and said, “Mr. Bate, I have to confess to you I do not know the first thing about medicine or surgery, so please can I ask that you do not talk to me about these subjects tonight? I would be totally lost.” “Lady Mayoress,” I said in a consoling tone, “I promise I will not speak to you one word about medicine or surgery tonight! What would you like to talk about?” “I’m interested in horses,” she indicated. “Great,” I said. “Horses it shall be!” She talked the whole meal about her horses and I did not have to say a word. Finally, as the evening was closing and we were about to leave, she confided her opinion to me: “Mr. Bate. You must be a wonderful physician because you listen so well.” I graciously thanked her for the compliment and we went on our way. I must admit I had a hidden smile on my face. I had not lied but I had cheated, just a little—but then it did help out the mayoress! Some important decisions regarding the Army’s medical work in New Zealand had to be made in these years, so perhaps it was fortu- itous that Commissioner Williams was the territorial commander at that time. He was certainly well qualified to understand all the medi- cal implications of the decisions. The Army’s Bethany Hospitals were renowned throughout the country, having flourished first around the time of the Great Depres- sion. However, with the progress of the welfare state, general hospi- tals had improved immensely and the Army’s small private hospitals could not compete with the technology and modern equipment now in vogue. Our hospitals were, in one sense, our greatest public rela- tions outreach—and we liked this ministry. It was hard, then, to close them. The commissioner, however, had authority in this field and carried through some tough decisions.

Awaiting orders We, ourselves, were in some personal turmoil during these years. When Commissioner Evans arrived, he read in his predecessors’ brief that “the Bates have been promised the opportunity of returning to overseas service at the end of two years.” The two-year period was up before the completion of the Evans’ second year. We spoke about the matter several times over the next

28 year but the commissioner was reticent to let us go—as he was, to be truthful, about sending any officers overseas. He felt there were great needs in New Zealand. Like the importunate widow, I kept the matter before him and eventually he agreed that we should go. However, his farewell orders arrived the same day! The matter had to be put on hold again. When Commissioner Williams arrived, the situation was discussed and I agreed that we would wait a year with him before going overseas. After a year, he informed IHQ that we were desirous of returning to an overseas appointment. I was sitting in his office taking dictation one day (incidentally, dictation could mean up to twelve letters being dictated at the same time, not one of them completed in order) when he opened some mail from London. I could read from behind the page that the heading was “Captain and Mrs. John Bate.” The commissioner became very irritated and pushed the letter over to me. “What do you think of that?” he said, slightly ruffled. The letter asked if Captain Bate would be prepared to go to Japan to be the ter- ritorial commander’s private secretary. “Why should he have my private secretary?” was his immediate reaction. My reply was, “Commissioner, there are two questions here and I would appreciate it if you conveyed two answers to IHQ. One is: will we go to Japan? And the answer to that is yes.” “We promised thirteen years ago that we would go anywhere— and that promise has not changed. As for going to Japan to be a private secretary, I don’t think I would be of great help. I don’t know the language and I know nothing about the country. My usefulness to you is that I know both here. But I insist that the two answers be given.” “Well, you had better write the letter,” was his retort—and I did. Within a couple of weeks another letter came saying that a secre- tary had been found for Japan, but now we were requested to be the corps officers at Salisbury Citadel in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). He shared the request with me and I quickly replied that we would go. He was surprised and thought I should consult with Val and the children first. I assured him that, of course, I would talk it over with Val, but repeated what I had said earlier; we had made a commitment to go anywhere and had no intention of retracting it. As for the children, they would be happy to go wherever we would be together as a family.

29 Farewell orders were announced and once again we were on the move, to not only a new country but also a different continent. We couldn’t begin to imagine what awaited us there.

30 CHAPTERk 7

Civil War and Curfews: Rhodesia

SERVING IN AFRICA WAS NOT WITHOUT family concerns. Since his early sixties, my father had experienced times of great pain with angina, which caused him to retire earlier than he had planned. Yet he was strong and energetic, and following an attack he would be in hospital for three days and then home again. Within a couple of days he would be off on his bicycle doing errands, painting, wallpapering or gardening! In April 1969 he suffered a mild stroke and we drove up from Wel- lington to Napier to see him. He was at home resting in bed all the time we were there; ten days later he suffered another stroke, more severe than the earlier one, and he was placed in the Napier Public Hospital. In May he passed away. He was in his eighty-second year and had lived a good and full life. The afternoon after his death, Mother she to me, “You had better get out the box.” I knew about the box. My father had wanted me to know what was in it, “just in case.” Well, the “just in case” had arrived. Although I had never looked in it, I knew it contained the title for the property, their insurance policies, their wills and other important documents. It was kept in my father’s closet. I opened the door and reached down into the corner to retrieve the box. Strangely, it seemed much larger than I remembered. Yes, it was larger, for it was another box—although inside was the old cash box I had always been shown. But the larger box contained more than just the cash box. It contained every letter I had ever writ- ten to my father from when I left home in 1955, and I always wrote every two weeks. Letters from Wellington, from Naenae, from Chile, from Jamaica, and even my more recent letters from our time back in Wellington. David McLeod Bate was a rugged man in many ways but the depth of feeling in his heart for his family was overwhelming. Mother knew the letters were there and knew the emotion in my own heart at that very moment. She had lost her life’s partner and I had lost the most caring father anyone could ever have had.

31 Our farewell to Rhodesia in 1971 meant that we were leaving my mother who, although in good health, was seventy-eight years of age—and a widow. We talked with her about our going to Africa and she would not have it any other way. We did not have to explain to such a convinced and old Salvationist the significance of a “call- ing.” My sisters were not far away; Mary lived nearby, in Napier, and Marion was only about one hundred miles to the south, so Mother had good care.

By sea and by rail Sailing from Wellington Harbor on the MS Achille Lauro—the very ship that would, in 1985, be hijacked in the Mediterranean by mem- bers of the Palestine Liberation Front, killing an American citizen— we docked in Sydney after four days of severely rough sailing in the Tasman Sea. From Sydney we sailed to Durban, South Africa, where, after dis- embarkation, Major Ken Bridge transported us to a missionary hostel. We stayed there for a couple of days before traveling by rail up to Johannesburg. Ken, a New Zealander, was the territorial youth secretary for the South Africa Territory and had arranged a visit to Durban following our arrival. Among other sightseeing trips, we were taken up to the Valley of a Thousand Hills where it was easy to grasp something of the vastness of this immense continent. The more distant the hills, the more blue they became. The train ride up to Johannesburg on the Saturday night allowed us to arrive early Sunday morning, in time to attend the Johannesburg Central Corps. It was their songster weekend, conducted by Commis- sioner and Mrs. Carl Richards from Rhodesia who, we learned, were soldiers of ours at Salisbury Citadel. The time then arrived for us to commence our two-day journey by steam train north to Rhodesia to our new home and new land. Our arrival at Salisbury station was to the sound of a brass band! We later learned that the corps band always turned out to wel- come their corps officer and the territorial commander—and no one else. It was our turn! The crowd at the station made us feel welcome and soon we were whisked off to our new spacious home in Rowland Square. Salisbury Citadel Corps had been without officers for some months. Our predecessor, Brigadier Walter Sercombe, had been

32 knocked over by a car following an open-air meeting on his first Sun- day at the corps eighteen months earlier. His injuries eventually ne- cessitated early retirement for the Sercombes. The corps was then overseen by the chief secretary, Lt. Colonel Richard Atwell. Our welcome meeting was an exciting affair and we were very impressed with the corps and the caliber of the soldiery. Many were children of missionary officers who had lived in Rhode- sia and who had remained there when their parents had returned to their homelands. The local officers were obviously used to filling their respective roles and doing so admirably. It was clear from the start that my main tasks were to be preaching and visiting, and that did not change during our three years in the appointment. The caliber of the local officers was also demonstrated by the fact that they believed that the life of the corps officer should be insured by the corps against any similar accident as had happened to their previous officer. The downside of this was that on Sunday evenings, as we marched down First Street from the open-air meeting to the Citadel, it was always suggested that I should take the outside flank, facing the oncoming traffic, as I was the one who was insured! Many of the corps folk became family friends immediately, as did officers both at THQ and at the Mazoe and Howard institutes. The officers and soldiers became “aunts” and “uncles” to Beverley and Alastair, and some remained so for the next thirty-five years. Dave and Marion Pallant, along with Dean and Stuart, became particularly close to us and we depended on their counsel and guidance so much.

Lady Robinson Within a few weeks of arriving I received a call from an attorney who advised me that Lady Robinson had died and that there had been a request for The Salvation Army to conduct her funeral. He told me that Lady Robinson was the wife of “Sir Albert” and suggested that there was no need to tell me who he was. I agreed—but really had not the slightest idea! I telephoned Dave Pallant to ask him about the matter. He was sure I was mistaken. Sir Albert Robinson, he informed me, was one of the most prominent political figures in the former Southern Rhodesia and the Central African Federation. The next day I was to go to Rumbavu Park to meet Sir Albert to talk about the funeral arrangements. Rumbavu Park, the Robinson’s home, was on a prominent hill on the outskirts of the city. I arrived on the hour and was greeted first by a daughter who

33 was keen to tell me why I was to conduct the funeral. Then Sir Albert graciously received me and told me himself why I had been asked to conduct the service. Before leaving I met with another daughter who outlined the same story to me. I was certainly no longer ignorant of the reason for the Army’s involvement. Many years before, Mary—the daughter of a prominent Jewish family in South Africa—had eloped with her boyfriend who was not of the Jewish faith. Her family disowned her immediately. After some time, Mary and her husband, together with their little baby daughter, were all very ill and living in one room on the outskirts of the city. A Salvation Army lassie officer, upon hearing of their case, found where they were living and visited them. She immediately began to care for them but the young husband’s condition was grave and within days he died. The officer cared for the young widow and baby until they could be placed in a more suitable situation. Sometime later Mary, the young wife and mother, met and married an up and coming young South African, Albert Robinson, whose business in mining and involvement in politics had already made him well known throughout the country. After some years they moved their home to Rumbavu Park, Salis- bury, and although they maintained business interests in South Af- rica, Albert joined the political movement in Southern Rhodesia. He eventually became the last High Commissioner to Great Britain of the Federation of Central Africa. Rhodesia and the Federation at that time were under the leadership of Sir Roy Welensky. After the Robinson’s return to Southern Rhodesia there was the political upheaval of the Unilateral Declaration of Independence. Be- cause of this and the failing health of Lady Robinson, their public life was greatly reduced. Lady Robinson never forgot the kindness and care of that un- known South African Salvation Army officer. For more than thirty years, the headquarters in Johannesburg received a substantial anon- ymous donation annually which we now know came from Lady Rob- inson. The funeral was quite a remarkable affair for me, this recently ar- rived “immigrant.” When I suggested to the territorial commander, Commissioner Jack Adlam, that maybe he should conduct the ser- vice, he declined, suggesting that it was the role of a corps officer to conduct such ceremonies. I had arranged for the corps band to attend and they provided ex-

34 cellent and apt music. It was a clear, brisk morning and the grounds of Rumbavu Park were magnificent. On one side of the congregation sat about thirty of the Robinson family’s staff and servants. On the other side sat two rows of the former cabinet of the Federation led by Sir Roy Welensky. Behind them was seated a large congregation of friends and colleagues. The family wanted everyone to know of the Army’s assistance to them so long ago. Sir Albert had asked that, in lieu of flowers, donations be sent to The Salvation Army.

“If you touch the baby, you’ll be arrested!” The Salvation Army was involved in the pioneering of Rhodesia and held a respected role. Within the city of Salisbury, the Army par- ticipated in many civic affairs, especially at Christmas time. The civic Christmas service had been conducted by the Army since its begin- ning and was traditionally held in the Salisbury Gardens. On the Sunday before our first Christmas service we decided to visit the gardens following our evening service—to both admire all the decorations and also to have some idea of the logistics for our event the following Sunday. There were many displays of lights and decorations, including some beautiful scenes depicting the Christmas story. In the center of it all was a wooden stable housing Joseph, Mary and the baby as well as sheep and shepherds, wise men and camels. A doorway into the stable had a small cord across it and a sign to indicate that no one was to enter. We stood looking through a window into the stable, admiring the whole display, when another family came and stood alongside us. They had a small four-year-old for whom signs or cords were no barriers to exploration! He entered the stable like a shot, tugging at Joseph and Mary’s robes, patting the sheep and poking around in the manger. “Come out of there,” encouraged the father but to no avail. Then the boy spied the baby! Both hands shot out to grab it! This was it so far as the father was concerned. “If you touch the baby, you’ll be arrested!” he threatened. That became the sermon title for my first annual civic Christmas service.

Difficult days ahead It was on Christmas Eve of our first year in Rhodesia that terror-

35 ists killed five white farmers. This tragic event was a precursor to the civil war that soon broke out. Difficult days were ahead for everyone and The Salvation Army was to be vitally affected, losing hundreds of soldiers, both senior and junior, throughout the years of conflict. Terrorists and terrorism became words we learned to live with. As the corps officers we had frequent contact with Howard Hospi- tal and School as well as Mazoe Secondary School. During the years of curfew, we always had to schedule our traveling time well. Driving from Howard, one could really experience “darkest Afri- ca.” Darkness in Africa always seemed so much darker than anywhere else in the world unless, of course, it was a night of one of those re- markable African full moons. We used to peer longingly for the lights of Glendale, the first little sign of life between Howard and Salisbury in those days, and also the commencement of paved roads. We were never sure about land mines on the dirt road, but once at Glendale we felt a little safer. I enjoyed being a corps officer. True, this corps of Salisbury was different, but the program never seemed dull and the participation of local officers brought such high standards. Songster and band festi- vals were always a highlight and Christmas pageants brought special ingenuity to the fore. Life in Rhodesia was good for our family during these years with excellent schooling and opportunities that still reflected something of the former colonial life enjoyed throughout the country.

A small world While greeting the soldiers following a holiness meeting one Sun- day morning, one of our league of mercy visitors told me that, while visiting the Salisbury Public Hospital recently, she had met a lady from New Zealand who had been a patient there for ten days. Our visitor said that this woman, Mary, knew no one in Rhodesia. The next morning I visited the hospital and the nurse directed me to Mary’s bed. I simply introduced myself as the Army captain and said that I was from New Zealand. Mary hung on to my hand and broke into tears as she told her story. She had been widowed twice and decided to have a long holiday in South Africa. While there, a gentleman had proposed to her and she had contemplated marrying him. They were both comfortably placed. However, Mary finally decided not to marry and, before re-

36 turning to New Zealand, she wanted to visit Rhodesia. She flew to Victoria Falls but while there she had a mild heart at- tack and stayed at the hotel after a short stay in hospital. Feeling much better, she decided to carry on her tour to Salisbury, but between the airport and the hotel in Salisbury she had more heart problems and was taken directly to hospital. After ten days she was discharged but had nowhere to go but to the Meikles Hotel, where she had planned to stay initially. Within a few days she had yet another heart attack, and it was on this second stay in the hospital in Salisbury that our league of mercy visitor had found her. I assured Mary that once she could be discharged from hospital, she could come to stay in our home until she was well enough to return to South Africa and then on to New Zealand. I visited Mary each morning and before the end of the week the hospital called to say that she could be released. I picked her up im- mediately and within a few minutes she was entering our home in Rowland Square. As we entered our living room through the French doors, Mary looked at the mantle and, referring to one of the photographs there asked, “Why do you have a photo of Mrs. Bate and Mrs. Lawrence?” I realized then that I had not given her my name and had sim- ply introduced myself as the “the Army captain.” I said, “Well, that’s my mother and that’s my aunt.” This brought some more tears from Mary as she knew my mother and aunt very well and in fact had lived three streets from where I had grown up in Napier. When she told me her first married name, I realized that I had been at school with her son. Mary was quite weak and needed rest and care, which Val gave her very tenderly. After some weeks of resting, she said she would now like to join us for breakfast, following which we always had our family devotions. Mary became more and more interested and one morning, after the children and I had left for school and the office, Mary asked Val to explain more of this faith that obviously meant so much to us as a family. Half an hour later, Val was praying with Mary and leading her into a true Christian experience. Mary eventually arrived back home to Napier and immediately contacted Mother who was still the home league secretary. Mary joined a local church but maintained regular attendance at the home league at the Napier Corps.

37 On to Spain I was called into the territorial commander’s office one day early in 1973 to be advised that I had been chosen to attend the Interna- tional College for Officers (ICO) in the session beginning early in October of that year. While I was attending the ICO, Commissioner Sture Larsson, In- ternational Secretary for Europe, spoke to me about the possibility of our moving to Spain to commence the work in Madrid. The fol- lowing year, official word came for us to farewell from Salisbury and proceed to London en route to Spain. Our farewell at the Salisbury railway station was a tearful affair as we had thoroughly enjoyed our years there and had made wonderful friendships. The train pulled out on Christmas Eve and we awoke on Christmas morning as we pulled into Francistown, Botswana. Scores of Africans were waiting to trade with passengers. Out came our case of old clothes we had kept for this occasion and we commenced to trade through the carriage window. Pants and a shirt for that wooden bowl, a dress for a set of carved birds, and so it went on. The steam train was just commencing to move when I saw an elderly African with a beautifully carved cane—and I wanted it! “How much?” I called out, waving some dollar bills in my hand. “No, sir,” he replied. “I want children’s clothing!” The train was now chugging very slowly and he was running alongside our car- riage. “Children’s clothing, please!” I answered, “I don’t have any children’s clothing,” then turned to see Alastair sitting and looking out the window. In one second I pulled off his shirt, then his pants, his vest, his socks and threw them out the window, and the man happily tossed me the cane! It took some time rummaging through suitcases to find sufficient clothes for the next three days for Alastair, but at least I had my beautifully carved cane—and still have it! I guess one day it will belong to Alastair. After all, he paid for it!

38 CHAPTERk 8

Grace Abounds: Spain

OUR VOYAGE OF TWO WEEKS FROM CAPETOWN to Southampton on the Windsor Castle was a restful experience after the rush of pack- ing and traveling by rail through the African continent. For the first time, we experienced the doldrums at sea. For one whole day the calm and stillness was eerie and I could easily imagine what this kind of experience must have been like for sailors on ships a hundred years earlier. Once in Southampton, we were rushed up to London for inter- views at IHQ. As it happened, preparations for our appointment to Spain had been challenging—the need for proper documentation was unclear—and after only a day in London, we were transported back to Southampton to board another ship, this time to Vitoria in north- ern Spain. Just before setting out we were told that, in view of possible dif- ficulties in our entry to Spain, we should only take four suitcases; the rest of our belongings would be sent at a later date when everything was properly cleared and in order. Added to this, we were not told that the passages for the four of us on this ship did not include meals, so we had to pay for these out of our pocket for the two days! We arrived in Vitoria, where Captain and Mrs. Enrique Rey greet- ed us and then transported us by car to Madrid. We understood that an apartment had been approved for us earlier that week. However, unbeknown to IHQ, Captain Rey had decided to buy another apart- ment on the ground floor of a ten-story building whose sole source of natural light was from the center light well. The furnishings were meager. We had been told that General Wiseman was coming to Spain six weeks after our arrival to open the new hall and corps. When I asked about the hall, I was told there was no hall. There was an empty shell of a building but there was no money to finish it and anyway, it would take months. Once he had delivered us and shared this information, the cap- tain left and indicated he would return later that day to see us. He did not, but instead returned to La Coruña, and we did not see him for another ten days. My immediate concern was for schooling for Bev- 39 erley and Alastair. King’s College, a somewhat British-styled school, was the only one available, but the cost of tuition and uniforms was, to us, well out of our range. In view of the building situation and now the schooling hurdle, my first reaction was to suggest to IHQ that I send the family back to England where Val could put the children into school. I would stay in Spain to do whatever was needed to at least complete the building. London did not agree with this suggestion, even though we were now in the country illegally and the authorities had confiscated our passports. From then on, each Saturday we had to present ourselves at the police headquarters! Further details of our appointment kept being revealed. We were not actually going to be able to open the work in Madrid as we were in the country without documentation, and therefore could not become residents. However, even more importantly, The Salvation Army still had no legal status in Spain. (We are thankful that today the work is established and growing in the Iberian Peninsula.) Beverley and Alastair remembered very little Spanish, if any, due to their young age when we left South America. Their bus journey to school took over forty-five minutes each morning as the school was situated on the other side of the city. The buses were double buses, like two buses joined and yet flexible in the middle, and they were always crowded. Alastair had taken to standing just behind the driver each day, and this slight, blonde, curly-haired foreign boy became a favorite of the drivers. We would often be walking around the city during the weekends or in the evenings and suddenly we would hear a bus horn sounding as it passed by and a driver would be waving—to Alastair! He practiced his Spanish each morning and would ask how to say this or that before leaving home so he could converse with the driver. One morning he asked, “Papa? How do I say ‘And how are you and your wife and your children today?’” No wonder he was so popular! We had very few belongings with us, as already mentioned—only four suitcases. And so we lived for ten months. The cases mostly con- tained clothes that we had used in the last days in Rhodesia, includ- ing safari suits and summer clothing; it was now mid-winter in Ma- drid and we had experienced more than one fall of snow. While we had a Bible with us in our reduced luggage, we had no songbooks. For our little Sunday afternoon family sing-alongs, Bev-

40 erley wrote out from memory more than thirty songs and learned to accompany them on the new Spanish guitar we had bought her.

Madrid in the last days of General Franco Madrid proved to be a fascinating city. Within a very short time we were receiving overseas guests who wanted to tour the city and ex- pected us to be guides, as if we were experienced residents. The Prado and the Royal Palace became two favorite places for us. Beverley and Alastair, who came to know these two remarkable sites very well, were certainly being exposed to an unusual share of Iberian culture. These were the last days of General Francisco Franco, who was in failing health and was being kept alive by all medical means pos- sible to ensure a peaceful hand over to Prince Juan Carlos when the time was considered right. Franco never sat on the throne of Spain, however, and always received plenipotentiaries two steps down from the throne. Because he did not reside at the Palace, it was open to tourists. After a few frustrating months, we thought it would be wise to invest in a small secondhand car. Our personal resources allowed us to buy a small Seat (a Spanish Fiat), which was minute to say the least. But the four of us could at least get out of the city from time to time.

Confidential news from IHQ After nine months, we decided we would drive in our little car through Europe to England for our three weeks of vacation. We spent the final days of our furlough near London, where I was to have an interview at IHQ. I met with the Chief of the Staff, Commissioner Arthur Carr, who indicated that we would be receiving farewell orders from our brief stint in Spain and would be transferring to London to an appointment at IHQ. It was underlined that this was all very confidential. The very next morning we were sitting at breakfast when I was called to the phone to speak with Lt. Colonel Will Pratt of IHQ. He asked if it would be possible for me to come into London to see him later that morning. I agreed, and when Val asked me who he was, I had to confess that I did not really know—although I thought he was the editor of something as I had seen his name in print. I was ushered into Lt. Colonel Pratt’s office promptly at 10:30 a.m. and welcomed warmly. I was taken aback, however, when he started the interview with the comment, “I believe you are being ap-

41 pointed to IHQ.” I blinked and swallowed, remembering that less than twenty-four hours earlier I had been told that this information was “strictly confidential.” I hesitated a little in answering, but the colonel kindly interjected for my comfort that the Chief of the Staff had given him this information. My appointment was to the public relations department (of which Lt. Colonel Pratt was the head) as the director of information services, heading up a small sub-department within public relations. I was to follow Major Harry Read who was heading off to Notting- ham to become the divisional commander. For the second time I was told this was confidential and that nothing could be said until the following Tuesday. I was, however, to come back on Monday, when I could talk with Harry to learn something of what the appointment entailed. It seemed incredible to me that I was to be the director of information services for the Army for both IHQ and the British Ter- ritory. By the time I reached IHQ on Monday, when Harry’s change of appointment had been announced, good friends like Major Arthur Thompson and Major Joy Webb assured me that the appointment that Harry was leaving was “tailor made for me.” This was certainly encouraging, as I still knew nothing about the appointment. Harry was gracious in receiving me and set out to explain everything in the two or three hours available. I had to head back to Spain to pack up our belongings, but would be in the office in London for three days before the major left for Nottingham. His parting shot at that first interview as I headed out the door for Madrid was, “By the way—we will be starting a Sunday morning radio series on BBC Radio 2 entitled ‘Banners and Bonnets’ just as you come back. I’ll prepare the first program and after that it will be over to you!”

42 CHAPTERk 9

Banners and Bonnets: IHQ

IT WASN’T LONG BEFORE I WAS BACK in London, and within a couple of days I reported to IHQ for work. There was some urgency to my commencing at the information services as Harry was leaving within the week. Harry was a kind and patient teacher and he did all he could to pass on to me as much information and detail as possible. The main immediate concern was the new Sunday radio program on BBC2 which had only begun the previous Sunday and for which I was now responsible. A number of recordings of bands, songsters, young people’s bands and singing companies had been made. I had to sort them out and choose which were acceptable for broadcasting and would fit into the kind of program we had been asked to cre- ate. Lt. Colonel Will Pratt was willing to provide the short, spoken piece that came halfway through the half hour program for the first fourteen-week series. My immediate task was to listen to, time and select the music. The bands and songsters were fine as were the singing companies. It soon became apparent, however, that we could not use the young people’s bands on the radio; all that the listeners would hear was a band playing, and they would not necessarily know that it was chil- dren who were participating. And while the young people’s bands chosen were very good, they were not up to the standard of a good brass band suitable for broadcasting. I had a task on my hands to convey this situation to all the young people’s bandleaders, those already recorded and those wishing to record. The fact was not accepted readily. I was able to redeem myself a little later when I managed to include young people’s bands in tele- vision appearances. Television was different, as it was visually evident that children formed the band. Indeed, their standard of playing was all the more commendable because of the excellence they had at- tained—even as young people. I then had to be introduced to the producer, the Reverend Frank Topping, a talented broadcaster who had been seconded from the Methodist church to produce religious radio programs. We formed a great friendship and partnership on that initial meeting. 43 Meredith Wilson’s song had been chosen as the introductory theme, so the series was therefore called “Banners and Bonnets.” It was a particular pleasure to meet the presenter, Ray Moore. He was already something of a household name at the BBC. We were fortu- nate indeed to have such a popular radio and television personality identified with the series. From the beginning, I spent at least two days a week at the BBC arranging the programs. Friday mornings were reserved for recording. Ray was such an easy person to work with. Although he was so expe- rienced and competent, he would constantly ask if I thought he was presenting the program in a way that was acceptable to us.

Busy days The first series concluded successfully and we were signed up im- mediately for another fourteen weeks. On Will Pratt’s advice, Major was brought in to record the two-minute spoken inter- lude. John was the divisional commander in Manchester. He came down every two or three weeks to record a number of pieces sufficient to see the series through. After the second series there was a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh, in which I had to assume the role of not only writer but also presenter of the spoken interlude. The BBC paid very reasonable fees to The Salvation Army for my writing of the program, the arranging of the music to be included (as well as paying all the musical groups who participated), my writing of the spoken interlude and also my presentation of it. On two or three occasions, Ray Moore was unable to be present for the recording sessions, so I had to step in and actually present the programs myself. Conveniently for The Salvation Army, one of these occasions was on the Sunday of the international congress in London in July 1978. These were very busy days for me. I traveled all over England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland for recording sessions and was back in the office as soon as possible to carry on with the demands of the information services, of which broadcasting was only a part. However, the influence of these programs grew and our program be- tween 8:30 a.m. and 9 a.m. each Sunday reached more than two million people. More people in the U.K. had heard the gospel through music and word on this program than would hear the message through all the Salvation Army ministries during the rest of the day.

44 “Banners and Bonnets” appears on television Interest in the program grew within the media itself. The first se- ries had just concluded when Ken Griffin, a BBC television producer, approached me about preparing a television version of “Banners and Bonnets” to air as a Christmas special. The show was so successful that it became an annual event. The BBC paid the full expenses for these productions so we were able to include facilities and props that would not normally have been within our means. One year we hired a West London museum as the site for the presentation. The building contained multiple lev- els of circular galleries that enabled us to have a “round choir.” Under the direction of Lt. Colonel Ray Steadman-Allen, we had a six-hun- dred-voice choir as the basis for the program. The , under the direction of Lt. Colonel Ray Bowes, was also featured at these annual events. Another year we had a look at “Christmas Past” and filmed a major part of the program at Sunbury Court. It was necessary to do the recording in early November. We had the Upper Norwood Sing- ing Company decked out in Dickensian outfits, singing carols on the steps of the main entrance to Sunbury Court. It was a beautiful scene, however the snow machines were delivering a snowfall a little heavier than London would normally experience! After a while, the front door was opened by the “master of the house,” Lt. Colonel Jorn Lauridson, and the young people were invited in to meet with an older group of friends and Salvationists who had gathered with “the family” for a Christmas sing-along.

A thriving personal ministry Ray Moore’s involvement with “Banners and Bonnets” contrib- uted immensely to its success. This was due to the warmth of Ray’s personality and his easy rapport as a radio presenter, together with his national recognition as a radio and TV personality. Salvationists came to feel that he was ours, if not one of us! Ray had been a heavy smoker over many years, and perhaps the smoky timbre of his voice added to his appeal. Frank Topping and I often warned him regarding smoking, in as friendly a manner as we could, and about the possibility of cancer. Our warnings, after a num- ber of years, must have had some effect, for in the early 1980s Ray did seek some medical advice regarding his throat and voice. The doctor, however, showed much more interest than Ray had

45 expected and said he wanted to see the results of a biopsy. The result revealed a malignant cancer of the mouth. Within time, Ray was no longer able to work. On a visit to England in 1988, I was able to call on him and our talk together will remain with me as long as I live. It would seem that the indebtedness we felt to him for the success of “Banners and Bonnets” was minimal in comparison to what the series meant to him, not in regard to his career as a broadcaster, but the spiritual impact which contact with Salvationists, with Harry and Win Read and with ourselves, had had on him. He recorded his story in a book called Tomorrow - Who Knows? by Alma and Ray Moore. It is a story worth reading. Ray died in January 1989. Harry Read was invited to conduct Ray’s funeral, which was held in a large church in Blackheath and attended by hundreds of people from all walks of life, including many from the broadcasting world, where he was held in such high regard. Because my position gave me so many opportunities to interact with people outside of The Salvation Army, I never lacked a sense of personal ministry in this demanding appointment. I remember I was sitting in the BBC dining room one Friday eating fish and chips with one of the producers when he suddenly dropped the conversation in which we were involved and said, “John, how does one get saved?” In that crowded and noisy atmosphere I had as intense a conversa- tion as I have ever had with a seeker at a Salvation Army mercy seat. I loved my work. I was with people, and intensely interesting people at that.

Growing witness in broadcasting Doors in broadcasting seemed to keep opening during these four years. A prominent local radio station, London Broadcasting (LBC), phoned some weeks before my first Christmas in the office and asked if we could conduct a live carol hymn program in their studio with a live brass band. They suggested that I could take the request calls and inform the callers of the history or story behind the carols requested. This seemed an easy enough project and Chalk Farm Band offered to let me have twelve players for this Christmas Eve afternoon pro- gram. Callers phoned in; I received their calls and asked them their choice of carol. Val, sitting alongside me, indicated to the band what the carol was while I talked about the choice or asked the callers why it was their favorite. The program was so successful that the producer thought we

46 should present a similar program on Sunday mornings, with a band playing listeners’ favorite hymn tunes, and again having me talk to the callers about their choices. While politely agreeing with him, I saw two immediate problems: where would I get a band to go on the radio every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 11 a.m., and how could I possi- bly give information about the thousands of hymn tunes that callers could choose? “Well, anyway,” I thought, “I will never hear another thing about it.” I assumed the producer would forget about his suggestion by the New Year. But he didn’t! By mid-February, he was on the phone sug- gesting we get together to talk about a hymn tune request series for, say, fourteen weeks for a start. Never being one to say no without giv- ing a matter some deeper thought, I sat down and tried to consider the possibilities. How could we do this? If I could arrange for seven good corps bands to let me have twelve players for just two Sundays, I could cover the fourteen weeks. But the other important question was how to man the telephones. I would need people who not only knew our songbook and the words of church hymns, but who were also very knowledgeable about hymn tunes and the lyrics they could be married to. I felt officers who played in bands might be the most conversant with both words and tunes. With these two possibilities in mind, I felt I should make some en- quiries before going to see the producer. I called seven corps officers and bandmasters of corps including Hendon, Upper Norwood and Ilford, and was surprised to find the suggestion acceptable. I think it helped when I explained that the outreach of the small group of musicians would be vastly more extensive than that of the open-air meetings they would be missing. And so the show came together. Two officers manned the phones and Val had her position at my side close to the band. She would indicate to the band what the tune number was once the call was put through to me. While I talked with the caller, the band prepared to play its next number. It worked well and became a favorite program both with listeners and also our Army musicians.

Small world, indeed! On the first broadcast something remarkable happened: a lady called asking for a hymn to be played for her son and added, “but he won’t be able to hear it.” Thinking she was inferring that he was hard

47 of hearing, I asked how long he had not been able to hear. “Oh, no,” she said. “He can hear all right. It’s just that he lives in Rhodesia and can’t hear the BBC there.” This lady’s voice was strangely familiar, particularly when she added that she had only recently come back from Rhodesia herself. When she told me that she had attended The Salvation Army’s lunch club in Salisbury, I was sure I knew this lady. I asked, “Do you know who you are speaking to?” “No,” she replied. “It’s Captain John Bate, from Salisbury.” “Oh, Captain, now I recognize your voice!” From Central Africa to London! The answers I received when I asked callers, as I often did, why they wanted such a tune or hymn were amazing. Stories of conver- sions, backsliding and lost souls came over the airwaves time and time again. These programs continued on LBC radio for three years and were certainly exciting examples of the opportunities presenting themselves to The Salvation Army during this time.

Additional Christmas ministries Christmas was a particularly busy time in the information servic- es. Well-known shows and personalities were anxious for us to share our music on a number of programs. Gloria Hunniford had a particu- larly popular afternoon program on which the Chalk Farm Band was able to make Christmas presentations for a number of years. While serving as director, I spent each Christmas Eve on LBC from about 8 p.m. until 4 a.m. on Christmas morning. I spoke of the Army’s ministry and Major Joy Webb brought her guitar and sang in the interludes between my segments. We called various Army centers to receive live updates of their Christmas Eve programs and sometimes spoke with the recipients of these ministries as well. We even talked with those who lived under London’s bridges and with the dedicated Salvation Army officers who gave themselves tirelessly to this unique social outreach. Once, after an officer had served a meal under a bridge, it seemed as though he had formed a choir—and they sang for us and for all our listeners!

Significant television presence One day, a call came from a producer at Southern Television ask-

48 ing if I could let him have any fictional stories about The Salvation Army. I had to be honest and say that while there were some, none were really authentic or endorsed by The Salvation Army. He asked if he could come and see me, which he did. He expressed his desire to produce a fictional series on the Army. Because we were being fea- tured regularly on radio and television, he felt that it was an oppor- tune moment for a project like this. He suggested I create some characters that could appear in such a series. I was to write biographical notes on these people and he would hand these notes out to eight or nine professional writers. We would then have a meeting where the writers would present situations to me and ask me how the characters I had created would react. The first meeting was rather frightening. Here I was, introduc- ing fictional people—along with their differing opinions and differ- ent emotions—to people I had never met, some of whose knowledge of the Army was negligible. At what stage I was to get headquarters’ approval for all this, I was not sure! It was agreed, eventually, that as long as Southern Television was responsible for the production, headquarters would trust me to su- pervise on behalf of the Army. My primary role was to see that the characters and the plots were authentic. The producer wanted to have some contention among the char- acters. Major and Mrs. Gibbs, corps officers, and their eighteen-year- old daughter and fifteen-year-old son were characters I created in my mind. The major was quite phlegmatic, although Mrs. Gibbs at times could be a little uptight. The daughter was pleasant enough, while her brother did tend to be like many younger brothers! The producer wanted to have a single male officer and a single female officer stationed at the social services center, which was to be situated near the corps. “Well, no,” I advised. “Such an arrangement would hardly be possible.” “Well,” suggested the producer kindly, but firmly, “make it hap- pen!” which eventually I did. I put an older male single officer in charge of the social services center; he had not been young when he was converted and became a Salvationist. He had later still become an officer and eventually had served in the men’s social services his entire career. His assistant was indeed a young female officer, but with quite a story: she had been a flight attendant but gave up flying to take

49 on studies for a degree in social work. While at university, she met a young man. They married and eventually had a daughter. Both the husband and the daughter had been killed in a road accident. Through this tragedy she had met up with the Army, was con- verted, became a soldier and eventually entered training to become a Salvation Army officer. She was in an appointment in the north of England when she received word that both of her elderly parents, living in Southampton, needed care. The Army agreed to give her an appointment in Southampton to enable her to live at home and care for her parents. What appointment? At the men’s social center! Here then was the contention the writers were looking for—the ex- perienced older officer with a young, specialized and qualified lady. I had to think constantly about these people and imagine their reactions to the situations that were presented by the writers. I must say, the writers were a “mixed bag,” but within a short time I did come to have a greater appreciation for the art of television script writing. They were miles ahead of me in their creativity and develop- ment of ideas. At one point in the series, Major Cartwright, the officer in charge of the men’s home, was confronted with a young man who, the story eventually reveals, was the son of one of the major’s earlier drinking buddies, long before his conversion. The young man was intrigued with the work the major was doing with alcoholics and down-and- outs and challenged him in conversation about how he was able to portray God to these people. The major’s answer was one that would come from the heart of any Salvation Army officer: “Well, that’s our greatest challenge—working for God without getting in his way!” I re- member sitting in the control room when, with the cameras rolling, the major had that line to say. How could the writer perceive such a truth? I have sat through hours of preaching and not been challenged with such a succinct and accurate statement. This was only another illustration that we do not have exclusive rights on truth! I attended the weekly rehearsals in London and Val and I traveled to Southampton every two weeks for the filming sessions. We had lunch in the Southern Television dining room, which was always crowded on a filming day. There were actors in Army uni- forms, some men in pajamas and dressing gowns from the men’s home scenes, and others involved in the shooting. On one such occa- sion, the only space at any table available was at the end next to me. One of the executives brought his tray over and asked, “Is anyone

50 sitting here?” “No,” I replied and moved a little to allow him to be seated. Looking at our uniforms he asked, “Are you actors, or are you for real?” The challenge of his words was still sinking in when he added, “How silly of me to even ask you. I would have known in thirty sec- onds of conversation.” Both challenges have never left me. Am I for real or just an actor? Would he have known within thirty seconds of our conversation that I was a real Christian? The series lasted for sixteen episodes and shortly afterwards Southern Television disappeared in a company take-over. However, the experience of the “Sally Ann” series is one I will always remember.

More than television and broadcasting But the information services was much more than broadcasting and television. At times, between fifty and sixty letters a day came into the office and all needed to be answered, whether I was in the office, or traveling back from Scotland following a night of recording, or during my two days a week at the BBC. Enquiries often came from students completing university courses, particularly those majoring in social work and history, seeking references for further study about the Army and its ministry. At the same time, the secondary school curriculum in Britain in- cluded in the area of social studies an opportunity to study The Salva- tion Army in both its spiritual and social ministries. At any one time during these years, there were approximately ten thousand secondary students working on such projects. We were inundated with requests from schools throughout Britain asking for someone to come and speak about the Army to a school or a particular class. We had a small department within the information services working on supplying material for these projects, and they would arrange for speakers, usu- ally local corps officers or social officers. From these contacts came fascinating stories of young people and families becoming involved with the Army and its ministry. As director of information services, I was also the Salvation Army press officer for IHQ as well as the U.K. Territory. For someone new to Britain, this was quite a challenge! From the beginning I had to read five newspapers each morning to learn what the main papers covered, who were the writers and, more importantly, who were the editors.

51 Will Pratt had made great contacts over the years and I was the re- cipient of benefits of both his work and that of Harry Read, who had worked arduously with the papers on Fleet Street. Baden Hickman of the Manchester Guardian was a particularly good friend, and when we wanted to know how Fleet Street might react to an incident, his counsel was always worth noting. I regularly visited the main offices of the national papers on Fleet Street, always in full uniform. I was always particularly pleased when the editor would accom- pany me through the office. Reporters soon knew of our good rela- tionships and we received fair coverage from them. At this time, there were one thousand local newspapers throughout Britain and Fleet Street read them to look for stories that were newsworthy. Some of the local stories caused the most problems for us, and I was so grateful for our contacts with the editors of the national papers. They would invariably call me in regard to local incidents, which, in some circumstances, we certainly would not have want- ed to be escalated into a main story. Because of this, I was able to dissuade coverage of some events, which really were minor and not worth reporting anyway. The “silly season,” about the third week in July and between Christmas and New Year’s Day, was particularly interesting. “Real” news was not always readily available during these periods, so we were able to provide information to the papers that we felt was wor- thy of publication. I remember particularly the centenary of the start of William Booth’s famous match factory. The project was a financial disaster in its day, but it brought to light the possibility of making safety matches and also the hideousness of “phossy jaw,” an illness suffered by many match factory workers at that time. I gave out basic informa- tion to all the main papers, and within a short time we were inun- dated with enquiries for more details and more photographs. Actually, we received less understanding from some of our own officers around the country when it came to the dissemination of news and publicity. I will never forget an observation from one officer who wrote me asking, “When, for goodness sake, are you going to let us have some up-to-date photos of the Founder? Do we have to keep using these old, outdated ones?” Simply, “Yes!” I was also now thrust into writing articles, columns and so on for anyone who requested them. I remember a representative from

52 Encyclopedia Britannica asking me to write an updated article on The Salvation Army for their next edition, which I did. Mind you, I had good and early instruction from the knowledgeable and somewhat impeccable Will Pratt. Only a few weeks into the job, I was asked to write an article for a newspaper, which I did and then passed on to Will for his obser- vation. (I guess, to be honest, it was his approbation I sought!) He read it through with pencil in hand, the way he always read through anything, making congratulatory comments with every two or three lines. He said, “Good ... good ... good ... great,” and finally, “This is really good—and do you know what?” as he tore the manuscript up into small pieces and placed it into his waste paper basket. “I think you can do even better!” Well, it was one way of presenting a challenge, and I think maybe I did do better. However, after that experience I learned never to show Will Pratt anything without retaining a copy of it in my desk. You have to remember that these were the days before electronic type- writers and a generation before computers.

Out and about with the Army Late in October 1975, just three weeks after I had entered the appointment, I received a very pleasant call from the office at West- minster Abbey reminding me that November was “our month.” I ac- knowledged politely with, “Why, of course,” although I had not the slightest notion why it should be so. I immediately called Harry Read in Nottingham, yet again, asking “Why is November ‘our month’ at Westminster Abbey?” Harry apolo- gized. He had forgotten to tell me. While the Abbey was manned by professional guides during the daytime, it was open only one night of the week, Wednesday, for tourists. It was on this night that various churches or other groups took a month at a time to be responsible for guiding visitors around this famous landmark, and November was indeed The Salvation Army’s month. The arrangement was usually handled, I was told, by having a group of officers from IHQ the first week, from the training college the second week and from the men’s and women’s social headquar- ters on the third and fourth weeks. Simple! I managed to secure fifteen willing officer colleagues from IHQ on the first Wednesday, and before 6:30 p.m. we were on duty at the Ab- bey entrance. A verger emerged to give me my instructions. He then

53 grouped twenty tourists together and told them I was their leader! I had toured the Abbey for the first time two years before when I was at the ICO and was in it only on one other occasion for a service. Now I was guide number one! I asked the tourists if any had been in the Abbey before and, to my relief, no one had. I mentioned that this tour might be different from any others they may take on future occasions. I recalled well the information we had been told while I was at the ICO regarding the Warriors’ Chapel just inside the main entrance to the Abbey. A bust of William Booth is displayed there. I also remembered that one other occasion on which we visited the Abbey for a Sunday morning service. Alastair, about eleven years of age at the time, would have preferred to have been at the corps and was not particularly interested in all that was going on with the pro- cessions and ceremony. During the sermon, he whispered something to me and I quickly indicated that I did not want to hear anything at that time. He persisted until I just had to pay attention. He ever so quietly whispered in my ear, “Look who is behind us.” Trying not to draw too much attention, I endeavored to glance at the pew behind but could not recognize anyone. I whispered back, “I can’t see anyone we know.” “No,” he replied with irritation. “Not in the pew! On the floor!” I was all the more intrigued to see who was on the floor. I discreetly glanced behind again, and down, and there he was—Johann Sebas- tian Bach! We just happened to be seated in an area where many musicians are buried or honored and it was obviously important to Alastair that I should know this fact! So, leading my group of tourists, I was able to take them to an in- teresting part of the Abbey and point out the epitaphs and memorials to some of the greatest musicians—as if I were a professional.

54 CHAPTERk 10

Filming Catherine Bramwell-Booth: IHQ

MAKING FILMS FOR IHQ WAS YET ANOTHER function of the in- formation services and Harry Read had made a number during his period in this office. I was fortunate to be able to follow his lead. Traditionally, a film was made of the High Council when it was in session. Filming of the Council was always very restricted due to the confidentiality of the process. The film usually showed clips of mem- bers entering the High Council and again exiting—and that was all of the information that any High Council film ever contained. Harry had tried to extend the coverage of the 1974 High Council at which General Clarence Wiseman had been elected. He had actu- ally been able to film some shots of committees (although they were staged) and also one or two shots within the Council chamber under similar conditions. All of the film was “in the can” and waiting to be edited together, but his pending farewell took precedence. One of my first tasks, then, was to do something with this unfinished project. Harry had spent time thinking out possibilities for an interesting and more informative presentation and had arranged for Commis- sioner Catherine Bramwell-Booth, the eldest daughter of Bramwell and , to be interviewed by Ronald Allison, the Queen’s press officer. The interview took place in the Booth residence, North Court, a historic house with impressive grounds in Finchampstead, Berk- shire. I understood from Harry that while the conversation was very interesting, the commissioner would say not a word about the High Council of 1929, and that at times it seemed as though she was inter- viewing Ronald Allison! Obviously if, as Harry had indicated, there was nothing here for the High Council film, we had to proceed along some other line. I remembered that in 1973 Hodder & Stoughton had published the sixth volume of the Army’s history. For the first time, details and facts about the first High Council were published. Here, then, we found some substance for the film, which would be a historic account of the first High Council and subsequent developments, which were now evident in the latest Council of 1974. 55 Hugh Baddeley of Gateway Film Productions had made films for the Army for many years and had been responsible for the recent filming at Sunbury Court. We talked together, viewed what had been shot, added historical data and facts, and eventually produced the filmHigh Calling, the first filmed account of the proceedings of a High Council.

Catherine Bramwell-Booth Once the High Council film was finished, we turned to the several cans of film containing the interview with Commissioner Catherine. It was fascinating, and we felt that it could not be just left without attention. At that time, “interview presentations” were gaining popu- larity on television, so we decided to produce such a film of Commis- sioner Catherine and Ronald Allison. It was entitled simply Catherine Bramwell-Booth, and from its first presentation we knew we had made a hit! I thought we should show it to the commissioner as soon as pos- sible, so I made arrangements to drive down to Berkshire with projec- tor, screen and film. This was my first visit to North Court and I was somewhat apprehensive about meeting this ninety-two-year-old lady and her sisters, Lt. Colonel Olive and Senior-Major Dora. Little did I know that this would be the first of many visits to this house. The sisters thought the film an excellent presentation and we even arranged for another showing when other members of the fam- ily could be present. In the next few weeks, I screened the film for senior citizens, youth groups, men’s clubs, home league meetings, officers’ councils and any other kind of gathering that requested a showing. Not once did I show the film without a standing ovation given at the conclusion. Encouraged by this warm reception, I took the film to the BBC and to several independent television companies in Lon- don and around the provinces hoping that they might take it up and screen it on their channels. They all enjoyed it immensely but felt they would like to do their own interviews—and so the show began! From then on, there were frequent visits to North Court with many film crews from Britain and Europe as well. Once the first interview appeared on television, radio stations and newspapers lined up for their turn also. By now Commissioner Catherine had celebrated her ninety-third birthday and was as agile in mind as I guess she ever had been. Her

56 answers in the interviews were always honest and frank, and at times very amusing. She loved questioning the questioners—and the pub- lic loved that, too. Each time she appeared, Salvationists would be stopped in the street to be told by passersby that they had seen “your lady” on television. One man told me following one of her appear- ances, “I saw your General on the TV last night!”

A Toastmasters’ Award for Catherine The president of the Guild of Professional Toastmasters, an an- cient English guild, visited me one day and told me that it gave an annual award to the person the members considered to be the best after-dinner speaker of the year. “Frankly,” he told me, “there hasn’t been one worth considering for these past two years. But your lady on TV was so good, we want to change our rules so that she can be given the award. Would she accept it?” I let him know that I would have to speak with her and get back to the Guild within a few days. I called Olive, the one from whom I always sought counsel and advice in anything to do with the com- missioner. She suggested that I come on down to talk about it. In the meantime, she would mention it to Catherine to prepare the way for me. The commissioner was a little hesitant as I explained the request, and an early comment of hers, as she descriptively lifted her hand to her mouth, was, “Don’t these people—er—er—take a little …?” “Yes, I think they probably do, Commissioner, but that has little to do with this award,” I replied. Her next question was basic and I heard it many times when I asked for her cooperation in a television or radio interview: “Will it be good for the Army?” I assured her I thought it would be—so it was on! The arrangements were made for the presentation of the Toast- masters’ Award to be held at the headquarters of Moët & Chandon in Mayfair. Olive had told me that I need not worry about their trans- port up to London as a soldier at a nearby corps had a Rolls Royce and he was always willing to use it for them on any special occasion. She felt sure this would be the most suitable arrangement. The afternoon arrived and I was in Mayfair in good time to check on everything. I did not expect to see the size of the reception await- ing the arrival of the commissioner. There were literally dozens of

57 cameras, television coverage teams, radio teams, as well as reporters of many papers, magazines and agencies. I was beginning to realize the importance of the Toastmasters’ Award! It seemed to me that all arrangements were in hand and everything that I had asked for was in place. I then stood on the steps outside Moët & Chandon with the crowd of press awaiting the arrival of the Rolls. And it came! Not a current model of a Rolls Royce, nor last year’s, nor of ten years ago. It was a Rolls from the 1930s. The car drew up to the curb, I opened the doors and out stepped the commissioner. She was in full uniform, of course, in her fluted bonnet with tied ribbons, flowing cape and thick lisle stockings—fol- lowed by Olive and Dora, dressed the same, although their bonnets lacked the flowing ribbons and fluting! The commissioner took my arm and we ascended into the build- ing. The four of us were seated around a table and the press and cam- eramen took their places around the large room waiting for the event to commence. The president of the Guild presented the award, with most complimentary remarks regarding the commissioner’s oratory and presentations on television. Champagne was served to all the guests, with orange juice for the special guests—the Booth sisters and me. Photos were taken by the score and I had to continually remove the glasses of orange juice from their hands, for it has been a long- standing unwritten rule for Salvationists not to have photographs taken with glasses in their hands. It was now time for the commis- sioner to reply. I had instructed her that she was to speak for no more than five minutes. She stood at the microphone, adjusted her bonnet ribbons and commenced to speak. For five minutes, she had her audience in roars of laughter. Here was an erudite ninety-three-year-old lady who well knew how to communicate and hold attention—and the crowd loved her. Well, the five minutes were soon over, but she did not sit down. No! You could almost see her mind ticking over. Here she was in the headquarters of Moët & Chandon, the cham- pagne capital of London, if not the world. What better place could she ever find to give them two minutes on the “demon drink”! And she did—no holds barred, chapter and verse. It was pointed, direct and she felt pleased with the opportunity. But that was not the end. “I have one more thing I want to say to you people from the press and the radio and the television. It is this: surely some of you,” and

58 with this she pointed around the room with a sweeping gesture of her arm, “surely some of you are Christians. Now I want to challenge you. If you are Christians, why don’t you let your come out in what you write and what you say?” She stopped for a breath and saw the young lady who was the assistant producer of “Banners and Bonnets” and who had earlier in- terviewed the commissioner for a couple of Christian papers she rep- resented. “Look at Miss Pascoe here. She’s a Christian and you know it by what she writes. Now, why don’t some of you men do the same thing?” So she went on for twenty more minutes—and received re- sounding applause. The event concluded, I returned the guests to the Rolls and eventually found my way home to south London. When I entered our home, Val indicated that Commissioner Catherine had been on television. I asked, “The two minutes or the five?” Val replied, “Actually, it went on for twenty-seven minutes!” The television station had covered and aired the whole presentation, one that those attending would never forget.

Will it be good for the Army? One day, the producer of the Michael Parkinson show called me. At that time it was the number one Saturday night show on BBC1 television in Britain. It was an interview show, with a packed audi- ence, and Michael usually spoke with three people in one program. Would Commissioner Catherine appear? Well, the usual question came up when I asked her: “Will it be good for the Army?” She agreed to be interviewed and the afternoon of the filming arrived. The BBC provided transport for me to go down to Berkshire and ride up with the commissioner. Before the show we were to meet the other guests. Why had I not thought to ask who they would be? The first one was Spike Milligan, an eccentric English comedian, unusual by any- one’s standards! The commissioner spoke to him and he answered with some inanities, speaking more to others than to her. With her right forefinger she prodded him in his shoulder and said, “I’m talk- ing to you.” She did not receive much of an answer and her question to me was, “Who is this man?” The second guest was Richard Stilgoe, a very clever and popular entertainer who appeared regularly on BBC TV magazine news pro- grams. Then came Catherine! Michael Parkinson, while experienced and

59 competent as an interviewer, was at the core quite shy. After some in- troductory comments he said to the commissioner, “I read this week that you have said that you would like to live to be older than Moses.” Before he could say another word she shot back with, “I said no such thing—no such thing!” “Well,” stuttered Michael, trying to keep control of the interview, “I just read something here ….” She interjected once more, “No, no, no! I was speaking to a group this week and said that I would like to come to the end of my days ‘like Moses,’ but I can’t, for it says in Scripture that Moses came to the end of his days with his sight unabated. Well, I can’t do that. I have cataracts for example.” Michael then interjected lightly, to the delight of the audience, “Oh, Commissioner, if it was between you and Moses, I’d put my money on you any day!” “What do you mean?” asked the commissioner sternly, yet mis- chievously, and to roars of laughter from the crowd. “Well,” explained the interviewer, “if there was a book running ….” The commissioner just as quickly interjected again, “A book! A book! What do you mean ‘a book’? I hope you’re not a betting man, Mr. Parkinson!” The crowd loved her. They shrieked with laughter and applauded as Michael Parkinson’s blush showed up even on black and white television! Incidentally, at the end of each thirteen- week series he had a special program in which he included snippets of shows from the last series. The clips were sometimes just thirty sec- onds of a variety of interviews the audiences had enjoyed. At the end of that series, however, he showed again the whole of his interview with Commissioner Catherine.

A great leader and teacher In the succeeding years, the line-up of people wanting to meet and interview the commissioner was constant. My journeys down to Finchampstead became a regular feature of my life, but each visit was an education. I remember going down there on one occasion and finding the three ladies in the garden. Dora was in a hole digging out the soil, Olive was holding a small tree in the hole and Catherine was giving the orders! The three of them were now in their nineties. I looked at the label on the tree and read, “This tree will not bear fruit for ten years.”

60 When I pointed this fact out to the commissioner, she instantly retorted, “In this house we plant for life, not for the moment!” As Catherine’s one-hundredth birthday neared, Olive confided in me that she did not know quite how to celebrate it. There was to be a special meeting at the Regent Hall Corps in London to mark the event, but she really wanted something at North Court for the fam- ily. I suggested that if she liked, Val and I would do the catering and run the afternoon for them. She was delighted with the suggestion and so the plans were made. It was a great day at North Court and we learned many things. For instance, we had to serve both teas, India and China. Val’s cookies and cakes were added to the English wafer- thin cucumber sandwiches that had already been prepared for the event. It was fascinating to meet members of the Booth family, partic- ularly as they came from at least three generations. “Young Madge,” the cook, who was eighty-nine, wanted to help us, but we thought it better that she have the day off and enjoy the party. On another occasion, I had to take a reporter from Chicago, Mr. Robert Merry, for an interview for his well-known newspaper. Seeing as our son, Alastair, was already on school summer vacation, I sug- gested that he should come down to Finchampstead with me for the drive, which he did. We arrived at North Court a little early and Olive came out to greet us and chat. She asked about our plans to journey to New Zealand that Saturday and about my family there and my mother’s ill health. After she met with Mr. Merry, I introduced her to Alastair and explained that on the previous Sunday I had enrolled him as a senior soldier at our corps at Upper Norwood. She thought Catherine would love to meet him, but we decided to leave that until after the interview. The interview went fine and the commissioner went to conclude it with her standard comment, “I have given you two hours of my time, and now I ask for just two minutes of yours. Let us have a prayer together.” Olive interrupted quickly and said, “Just a moment, darling” (that is how they spoke to each other). “The captain has his son outside and I think you ought to meet him.” “Well, bring him in!” commanded the commissioner. I brought in Alastair, who at this stage was fourteen years of age but quite small with blond curly hair. “Oh,” she said, and looking down at him over her glasses asked, “and what’s your name?” Somewhat overawed by the voice and presence of this lady, Alastair answered ever so quietly, “Alastair.”

61 “What?” she demanded, “Alister?” “Well, no,” I interjected. “It is actually Alastair.” “Oh,” she asked, “how do you spell it?” “A-L-A-S-T-A-I-R,” I answered. “Never heard of it,” she retorted. “Never heard of it!” and then started to pray. She prayed for Mr. Merry, she prayed for Captain Bate and then she said, “And, O Lord, bless … Alas … Alasteer … Alastire … Bate! If that’s not his name, Lord, you know who I mean!” That is a prayer on his behalf that he will never forget. Two hours later I was back in the office when my secretary advised me that Commissioner Catherine was on the phone. “Oh, dear,” I said, “if I’ve forgotten something, I haven’t time to go all the way back to Berkshire before we leave for vacation.” I picked up the phone to be greeted by that distinctive voice say- ing, “Captain, you didn’t tell me that your mother is ill.” “Well, no,” I answered. “There was so much going on with the interview, Commissioner.” “Well,” she said, “Olive has just told me and you should have told me about her.” There and then she gave me a little sermon about how sometimes in the Lord’s service even our parents have to be placed on the altar. Having said that, she then prayed with me on the telephone, assuring me that the Lord knew all about our circum- stances—and my mother. We left for New Zealand that weekend and returned two months later. Within a couple of weeks, I had to journey down to Finchamp- stead once again, this time with a Dutch television team who wanted to have an interview with this amazing lady. Once the lights were all set up in the lounge at North Court, microphones in place, cameras at the ready, it was my job to go to the foot of the stairs and call for the commissioner. She descended, as always, decked out in full uni- form, still with fluted bonnet and full ribbons. She had not seen me for ten weeks and was about to have a two- hour interview, but as she took my arm, she held me back from open- ing the door into the lounge. She had a question. “Captain,” she asked, “how’s your mother?” Commissioner Catherine Bramwell-Booth was the epitome of what made people of her ilk and generation the great leaders they were. There may have been a distance, which we do not perhaps fully appreciate today, but there was a real caring for the people who were around about them. Because of that caring, people followed, obeyed

62 and respected them and their leadership. I cannot leave my account of this particular interview without including the final comment of the day. She asked the Dutch inter- viewer, who spoke English impeccably, “Tell me about your wife and children.” He replied quietly, “I’m not married, Commissioner, and never have been.” She was surprised and asked, “How old are you?” The gentleman replied with some surprise at the question, “I’m forty-eight.” “What?” she questioned. “Forty-eight and you’re not married? You ought to be married!” she declared. Rather tenderly, but still with Dutch frankness, the interviewer ventured, “With respect, Commissioner, you’re much older than I am and you’re not married.” Like bullets the commissioner’s words fired back to him, “That’s got nothing to do with it!” End of conversation! “Let us pray!”

An unexpected change of appointment A few weeks before the great international congress in 1978, Colo- nel Victor Keanie, Chief Secretary to the Chief of the Staff, called me to his office to advise me I would be having a change of appointment. I guess we should never be shocked to be told of changes, but the tim- ing did seem a little inappropriate, as so much had been planned for publicity on radio and television for the congress. “It will be in about a month’s time. You are to be appointed pri- vate secretary and aide de camp to the General.” I withdrew from his office somewhat stunned. Once again this was strictly confidential! That night I did share it with Val, of course, and I must admit that with some thought on the matter, it seemed very exciting. A month passed and I was called in again to the colonel’s office. “It will be another month as we have to find someone competent to fill your current appointment.” One month later it was the same story and we were now in the midst of the congress. Two months went by, another month and another two or three months. I said to Val that I was sure this whole idea must have been scrapped, for ten months had now passed since my initial interview. We planned for vacation; it was now springtime of 1979 and we de- cided two weeks in the Balearic Isles sounded ideal. I was crossing the courtyard of St. Paul’s Cathedral after lunch one

63 day when I came across the Chief of the Staff, Commissioner Stanley Cottrill, who greeted me in a very friendly manner, as he always did. He and his wife had served in Rhodesia some years before and there was a special kindred spirit among all those who belonged to the IBTR club (I’ve Been To Rhodesia). I mentioned that I was just going up to finalize our vacation bookings when he asked me when we in- tended to travel. I answered, “In late June.” “Oh, no,” he answered quietly though firmly. “You can’t go on furlough then. You’ll be with the General!” Knowing him well I was able to say, “Come on, Chief. You’ve been telling me that for twelve months now and I haven’t heard anything more.” “Well, it’s going to happen,” he assured me. “In fact, I’ll go back to the office now and have your farewell orders and appointment is- sued this afternoon!” And so he did.

64 Part III

CHAPTERk 11

It Began with General Arnold Brown

GENERAL ARNOLD BROWN, although born in Tottenham, London, had lived in Canada from the age of ten when his family emigrated there following the First World War. His experience as an officer was unique and his ministry was well-known throughout North America. Appointed to IHQ as the secretary for public relations with the rank of colonel, he totally revamped the Army’s image. From this post he was elevated to lieutenant commissioner, and then commis- sioner, and appointed Chief of the Staff on the election of General Erik Wickberg. Four years later he became the territorial commander in Canada, prior to being elected General in 1977. I met him first when he was Chief of the Staff. I was a delegate from Rhodesia to the ICO and I was impressed with his knowledge of everyone attending. His extreme interest in people was one of his outstanding qualities and it added a greater effectiveness to his min- istry. It was not until the High Council at which he was elected, how- ever, that I had the opportunity of speaking and working with him. Following his presentation to the press at Sunbury as “General- Elect Arnold Brown,” I, as IHQ press officer, had to arrange many in- terviews for the press, radio and television. I was impressed with the calm and professional, yet intimate way in which he received every reporter, many of whom he knew personally from earlier contacts. He then returned to Canada and a month later arrived in England no longer the General-Elect but the General! I had to arrange for his new General’s cap to be delivered to him on the ship in Southamp- ton when it berthed so that he could be fully uniformed when he disembarked. The Generals’ caps had for years been made by a cap manufactur- er who, in recognition for work received in years past, always made the caps free of charge. I often heard General Brown relate, with a smile, how he received the box and upon opening it found the new cap and two envelopes. The first was from the manufacturers express- ing their delight at once again having the privilege of making (and donating) yet another General’s cap and sending with it their best wishes for a long and blessed term of service. “The second envelope,” 67 the General would continue, “was from the trade department in Lon- don. It contained an account for twenty-four pounds sterling for the trimmings!”

Life at IHQ—no two days the same For the next five years, my days in London began at IHQ at 6:50 a.m., and shortly after I arrived, in would come the General. Within ten minutes we would commence the day’s business. Once that was settled, the program was underway and no two days were ever the same. Visitors to the General’s office seemed to be without number. Canadians came by the score, even young hitchhiking Canadians, dropping their backpacks in my office so that they could spend a few minutes with “their” General. One day I noticed an elegantly dressed lady standing in the Gen- eral’s corridor viewing the photographs of previous Generals. I asked her if I could be of help and she volunteered, speaking with an Ameri- can accent, that she had just been made a dame by the Queen and thought she would like to see the General. I took her into my office and seated her while I went and said to the General, “I think we have an odd case here. There’s an American lady in my office who says she’s just been made a dame by the Queen—and she’d like to see you!” “Bring her in,” he suggested, “and have a tray of coffee sent in with three cups—and come and join us.” I did—and what an experience it was. The Queen had indeed just honored Jean Loach for her services to British citizens living in and passing through Florida over many years. It was a remarkable story. She was also a member of a Salvation Army advisory board. On a subsequent visit to Florida, the city com- mander, Major Warren Fulton, told us that Dame Jean had arranged our accommodations at the Omni, the most prestigious hotel in Mi- ami at that time. I recall well the suites we were given. We stayed up half the night just trying out all the switches and gadgets the suites contained. This “entertainment” was interrupted only by the constant appearance at the door of attendants with more food, fruit and sweets. What a night. Two officer friends of mine, stationed in the far north of Scotland, brought a motor coach of senior citizens down for a week at Sunbury Court each year. They would contact me to see if the General would be available to see them, and if he was in town I always answered that he would happily greet them. When they arrived in the foyer of IHQ, the officer would call me, and I would take the General down to see them. He treated them as if they were royalty. He had a great gift that made everyone he met feel special—and they were to him.

An encounter with a soldier Brigadier Syd Woodall had been the driver for the Generals for many years and he always took his furlough when they had theirs. One year, however, Ann—his officer daughter—was coming home from missionary service and the brigadier and his wife wanted to take furlough with her while the General was still in town. We agreed that I would drive the General during this time. On one of the weekends we were to drive to Nottingham, 110 miles north of London, for the Nottingham William Booth Memo- rial Hall’s centenary celebration, which the General was to lead. The General, Mrs. Brown and I stopped at a motorway service station for coffee on the way; after being seated in the tearoom, a waitress came up to us and, looking us over, said, “Are you Army?” The three of us were in high stand-up collar uniforms and Mrs. Brown was in her bonnet, so the question seemed superfluous! But, anyway, I answered, “Yes.” She replied with great delight, “I’m Army, too—from Coventry. Where ya going?” I informed her that we were going to Nottingham for their corps’ centenary celebrations. To save the embarrassment of her asking who was leading the meetings, I thought I should volunteer who her guests were. I said, “This is the General, and this is Mrs. Brown.” Her jaw dropped as she gazed from the General to Mrs. Brown and back to the General, and then with an almighty thump on the General’s arm she exclaimed, “You’re not! You’re not! My mother will never believe me!” The incident made us laugh all the way to Not- tingham—and back.

The Queen’s friend Later the same week, the General and Mrs. Brown attended a royal reception at the Canadian High Commission in Trafalgar Square. I de- livered them to the door at the appointed hour and arranged to come back at the time indicated. I lined up with all the other vehicles two

69 hours later and as soon as the General entered the car he said to me, with some excitement, “John! Do you know what happened? While everyone was standing around having their drinks and chatting, the High Commissioner’s aide came to me and said that the High Com- missioner wanted Mrs. Brown and me to head the line of guests to be presented to the Queen.” (I should add that Queen Elizabeth had opened one of our East London institutions just a few weeks before this event and the General had been the host on that occasion.) “So,” he said, “eventually the aide came and asked if we would take our places at the head of the line and everyone else formed be- hind us. Standing, then, between the High Commissioner and the Queen, the aide announced, ‘Your Majesty, may I present General and Mrs. ….’ But before he could say anything more, the Queen said to him, ‘Oh, you don’t need to tell me who they are. They are good friends of mine!’ What do you think of that?” “What do I think?” I replied jokingly. “The Queen of England knows you but your soldiers don’t!” It became one of his prize stories in officers’ councils, and he would always turn and ask me to say what I had replied to him. It was more embarrassing to me every time I had to repeat it.

A special gift Arnold Brown had the unique gift of remembering people, which made everyone feel special. I remember the welcome meeting of my ICO session. He referred to Rhodesia (where we were stationed at that time) in his comments at the end of the meal and with a gesture of his hand pointed to me and asked, “Isn’t that correct, Captain Bate?” He knew everyone in the room although we had never met. Many years after this incident we were sitting in a congress meet- ing in Northern India with literally thousands of Salvationists pres- ent. (“A sea of white uniforms,” he used to say of such an occasion.) Looking down at that immense crowd, he said to the territorial com- mander, “What appointment does Major Abdul have now?” “Major Abdul? Major Abdul?” questioned the fairly new territo- rial commander. “Which is Major Abdul?” “Third row on the aisle,” indicated the General. The territorial commander swung around to some other officers to seek their as- sistance, only to find that Major Abdul was a divisional commander. Often my life seemed to be almost at risk when giving out the General’s autograph, those little printed slips which I had had pre-

70 pared with his photograph and a quotation. The idea was that he should sign these beforehand so that he would not be so inundated by autograph hunters after a meeting. It was a good idea that didn’t work too well; still people wanted to talk with him—and he with people—and they wanted to see him sign.

Farewell to General Brown Many of the important events of General Brown’s tenure are cov- ered in his book The Gate and the Light. I highly recommend that this book be read by succeeding generations so they can understand this leader who brought about the administrative changes that were needed in a changing society. He understood these needs better than most having spent so many years in top leadership and administration. With his gift of perception with regard to events and people, he paved the way for future leaders to keep the pace of change needed at the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first. He talked to me often about where he would like to appoint me on his retirement. However, on the afternoon that he was called to Sunbury for the election of his successor he said to me, “John. I’m sorry. I really don’t think it would be fair for me to farewell you now. Jarl Wahlström is going to need you.” I accepted his judgment, as- sisted in preparing a great farewell and retirement for both he and Mrs. Brown and then planned for the new arrivals. The day of the public farewell, December 8, 1981, will remain unforgettable. London rarely sees snow—and certainly not before Christmas—but that day in 1981 was one of those rare occasions. I remember asking the Chief Secretary to the Chief of the Staff, who was responsible for that retirement event, if he wanted me to ring “rent-a-crowd.” But we need not have worried. In spite of unprecedented pre- Christmas snow, the Westminster Central Hall was full and it was a memorable event of thanksgiving to God for the lives of two great people—General and Mrs. Arnold Brown. On December 12, I was to take them from their house in Becken- ham to a hotel near Heathrow in readiness for their flight to Canada the next morning. December 13 was General Brown’s sixty-eighth birthday and his actual day of retirement. The snow from early December continued into mid-December. We could not even clearly find the driveway out of their house on De-

71 cember 12, and by December 13, Heathrow was closed to all flights. I called the General and he suggested that Val and I come out to spend the day with them at the hotel, which we did. The snow was still falling on December 14, although some flights were able to land, like the one from Finland that had General and Mrs. Jarl Wahlström aboard. These were two special days for me—one General sitting in a hotel waiting to return home and the other one arriving to take office. By December 15, the airport reopened and the retired leaders were on their way—and a new regime commenced at 101 Queen Victoria Street.

General Jarl Wahlström takes office General Wahlström came to this appointment with a very differ- ent background from General Brown, having been born in Finland, trained in London, served all his officership in Finland until becom- ing chief secretary in Canada, then territorial commander back in Finland and, for a short time prior to his election, territorial com- mander in Sweden. When a General first comes into office, there is usually a period when invitations have not yet started to flow into his office other than those special events that have already been entered into his di- ary. This was now the case as we were in the period of centenaries of some of the Army’s earliest openings around the world. These had commenced under General Brown and would now continue for the next hundred years. General Wahlström instigated the theme of “Review and Renew- al” and he encouraged an active participation in this process wher- ever he visited. It was a positive procedure and came at a time when it was needed in many corps, divisions and territories. By this time, the Army was operating under the new Salvation Army Act of 1980, which was the first step in separating the General from day to day responsibility for The Salvation Army in the U.K. In the years that followed the 1980 act, the division between IHQ and the British Territory grew quickly and General Wahlström was there for some of the first steps. He had the graciousness, temperament and skill to oversee this in an admirable style. Everything the General spoke in English he wrote out first, even the briefest of comments. I could never understand this fully as he had an understanding of, and facility with, English that many Eng- lish-speaking people could never acquire. He was humble and gra-

72 cious and had a sense of humor, which together with Mrs. Wahl- ström’s wry comments, made world travel with this couple a delight. He was easy to guide, although perhaps he was not always sure that I knew what I was doing! Near the closing of great congress meet- ings in , Australia, quite late on the Sunday evening when the mercy seat was lined, the General felt led to go down to talk with a young man kneeling there. I looked up and found he was not at his chair on the platform, so I went looking for him. Having prayed with the youth, the General filled out the seeker’s card and handed it to him. The card called for the counselor’s sig- nature, so the General signed—and immediately there was a line of seekers wanting their cards signed by the General! I came to his side, took his arm and said, “We need to go back to the platform, General.” I’m not sure he really ever understood my actions—but that is what private secretaries often experience.

A unique fellowship During these years there were a number of senior expatriate Sal- vation Army officers living in the area of our quarters. Among them were Lt. Colonels Ray and Joy Steadman-Allen, who had recently re- turned from an appointment in the Australia Eastern Territory and had been allotted a quarters near ours. They invited a group of us to visit their house for a special Christmas celebration on the evening of December 23. It was a wonderful time, with Christmas goodies from around the world. Major Leslie Condon was a little late in arriving as he had been participating in a Christmas program at a prison with the Croydon Citadel Band. When the feasting was over, Joy and Ray invited us into their lounge where we sat around the piano and sang carols—again from around the world. In between the singing, Joy read beautiful poetry, which Ray accompanied on the piano. It really was a special occasion and it felt like one of those nights of an earlier era. Just before we sang our last carol, Ray mentioned the fact that we were such a diverse group, geographically anyway, and with the moves we make in the Army world, we might never meet quite like this again. It was a unique fellowship. “Silent Night” became a benediction, as with gentle harmony we united in spirit, reflecting on the birth of the Savior. Ray’s words were significant. We would never meet again in that group, for the following morning Les Condon, carrying his tuba to a caroling engagement, collapsed and died as the band gathered to

73 commence playing. I never to this day hear his music without reflect- ing on the fellowship of that night spent together in the Steadman- Allen’s home. Les’ life and music continue to be inspirational.

74 CHAPTERk 12

On the Road: South Asia Zone

I HAVE NEVER BEEN A DIARY KEEPER—although I have always been a keen letter writer. When I was away from home on these longer journeys, I wrote to Val each day. Unbeknownst to me, for many years she kept all my letters. In writing this memoir, I am relating incidents from memory at times, but in other instances I quote from my actual letters; I’ve also included some articles I wrote over the same period, which were the result of particularly impressionable ex- periences on tour. These chapters are not intended to be a summary of the Generals’ world visits nor will every country or territory be covered. The stories are not arranged in chronological order; they are compiled according to the Salvation Army’s international zones. It has been a number of years since I left the General’s office and conditions and situations in many of the places visited have changed dramatically—as has the world in general. I traveled in the days of the Cold War, the Iron Curtain and the Vietnam conflict. These are now history—as are many of my comments! Yet they give a glimpse into many different aspects of the work of the Generals and provide a picture of the challenges—and benefits—of traveling throughout the Army world. Early in our years at IHQ, Val had commenced helping with sec- retarial work at the ICO (“The Cedars”) at Sydenham Hill where she worked for five years. She often remarked, “While John goes to the world, I meet the world at ‘The Cedars.’”

India Visits to India usually occurred in January and part of February each year, a time which, on the whole, was less stressful so far as the climate is concerned. Travel was not always easy and train rides, par- ticularly overnight journeys, should not be included in the General’s itinerary, ever. However, the reception given by Indian Salvationists equaled anything received anywhere in the world. It seemed thou- sands of white uniformed officers and soldiers attended every event— especially at the celebrations for India’s centenary. 75 The concept of one hundred years of service in India captured the imagination of the Indian people and the reenactment of the early pioneers arriving at the “Gateway of India” in Bombay was very mov- ing and meaningful. It was performed one hundred years to the day since Booth-Tucker landed and commenced his ministry. But this was only the beginning. Who could ever have imagined the spread and growth throughout the whole subcontinent? The centenary included something I will always remember: the girls from the Kalimpong Blind Home stood to bring songs in the ho- liness meeting. Most of the girls, I understood, were from Nepal. Their singing was absolutely beautiful—but the memorable moment came when they moved into their final song, General Albert Orsborn’s “I Know Thee Who Thou Art.” Their faces beamed smiles reflecting joy, their sightless eyes stared vaguely into undefined space—but it was their voices that expressed a certainty they could depend upon:

“…Bring me at last to SEE The courts of God, that city fair, And find my name is written there.”

A visit to Ahmednagar We flew from Bombay to Poona before commencing the ardu- ous two-hour journey to Ahmednagar. The road begs description: we bounced around, took in an enormous amount of dust and could not open the windows for ventilation. The luggage and some of the party were traveling in the ambulance, which became overheated. Then we lost the ambulance and had to backtrack several miles to find it. We eventually arrived at the hospital where the matron, an Eng- lish officer, greeted us warmly. Captain Ethne Flintoff, a New Zea- lander, took us to our rooms in the quarters. Ethne showed me the simple bathroom that was to be mine. A bucket of water sat in the middle of the floor and she informed me, “That’s your shower!” The heat was oppressive and the mosquitoes offensive; that night I slept entombed in netting. Writing home on January 25, 1980, I referred to the visit to Ahmednagar. “By 9:30 the next morning we had met a number of overseas officers and the wives of those who had come through to Poona to meet us. Immediately I sensed a good fellowship at this place. Mrs. Major Iris Willey (the hospital administrator’s wife) is the corps officer and a successor to Mrs. Captain Shirley Millar. … Fol-

76 lowing the councils we returned to the hospital to be greeted by the whole staff and once more there were plenty of garlands. … On then to the ceremony for the laying of the foundation stone for the new corps hall, which is also on the hospital complex. This was especially meaningful as it will be named ‘The Shirley Millar Memorial Hall.’ … I then went to have a look at the ‘Murray Stanton Memorial Ward’ which had a great deal of personal significance for me.” The following day, January 26, was Republic Day, so our first en- gagement was the flag raising ceremony at 8:30 a.m. at the boarding school; on this occasion, I was invited to “break the flag.” The head- master came marching towards me in a very slick and smart form and announced that the school was now ready for the flag break, “by your holy hand.” I then had to march with him, tug the flag rope and stand at the salute while the national anthem was played. We then gathered for a Re- public Day ceremony with a small dais arranged for General Brown and his party. As we sat down on the platform, the General turned to me and said, as he handed me his cap, “Can you hold this—in your holy hand?” Later that morning, I left the hospital with Major Willey for a drive through old Ahmednagar with its masses of bullocks, mules, donkeys, cows, bicycles, cars and thronging crowds of undisciplined pedestrians. Twenty minutes later we were entering the cemetery.

Sacred moments These were sacred moments, for I was to visit the grave of my very close friend, Captain (Dr.) Murray Stanton (see They Ran to Him by Lt. Colonel J.C. Waite) and alongside him, the grave of one of Val’s close friends, Mrs. Captain Shirley Millar (from Foxton, New Zealand) who was a nurse. The graveyard was barren, but a slim tree stood shadowing Mur- ray’s grave. Strangely, I was told when Murray and Janee (his wife) first came to Ahmednagar, Murray had said on visiting this cemetery, “If I died here, I would want to be buried under that tree.” His testimony stands for all to read, for inscribed on his tomb- stone are the words, “In His presence is fullness of joy.” I stood silent- ly for some minutes, then prayed. The captain assured me how much the people loved Murray. “The hospital was always full. The patients came from miles around to the hospital because they knew he would treat them—and heal them.”

77 Delhi During a visit to Delhi, time was made to take General Brown to the Raj Ghat (Red Fort), which figures importantly in the history of the British colonial period. It goes back to the days of the Moguls, and it was here that Lord Mountbatten signed over India’s independence in 1947. When we arrived at the Raj Ghat, we were taken to an elevated position where we looked down upon the sacred green. In the center stands the stone bier on which the bodies of the presidents are laid and prepared for cremation. The visit to Dhariwal and the MacRobert Hospital was very inter- esting indeed. I wondered why we had our medical center and other social work in such a small place, and so learned again how Great Britain’s influence affected the Army’s history and growth in India. Dhariwal was a large industrial plant and provision was made for the Army to have facilities there to tend to the workers and any others around the area. The British industry has long gone but The Salvation Army is still there. Since there were no hotels nearby, Gen- eral Brown and I were billeted in a small house used by the staff, I presume, in earlier days. Food was provided for us, and we were well looked after. In such an isolated area, power outages are frequent, however, and we had been supplied with flashlights “just in case.” One little chore we both needed to complete on our arrival was sewing on trimmings for the new “outer” shirts that had been made for us. So we sat in the little sitting room doing our best to sew the patches on these shirts in an acceptable manner. Almost inevitably the lights faltered and then failed, and our only illumination for the next two hours were the flashlights so thoughtfully provided by our hosts.

Visitors in the night Some hotels were great—and some less than great! We arrived at Vijayawada and were taken to the best hotel in town—and given what may well have been the penthouse. The building only had three floors, with this special apartment added on top. It consisted of a small lounge, bedroom and bathroom. I was to sleep in the lounge and the Wahlström’s were given the bed- room. There was a small bowl of fruit on the lounge’s occasional ta- ble. When I looked at it, I suggested to Mrs. Wahlström that it must be good, as part of the apple had already been eaten (by a rat I would

78 presume, from the size of the teeth marks). We had a great meeting that night and eventually were taken back to the hotel. An attendant came to remove the covers from our beds. Because the air-conditioner hanging out the window did not function, I decided to sleep with just a sheet on top of me. I was awakened by something running up my leg; at first I thought it might have been a gecko, as I was used to this from Africa. I jumped a little, as did my new friend, who then continued running all over me. It was that rat! I jumped out of bed like a flash and slept for the rest of that night (and the following three nights in Vijayawada) sitting in a chair with a sheet wrapped around me, my feet resting high on the table. The next morning, breakfast was brought into my room for the three of us. When the Wahlströms came in, Mrs. Wahlström asked me how I had slept. I said I had had a visitor during the night. She answered, “I did too. I went to sleep and with the heat I was so un- comfortable that eventually I let my foot fall to the floor. A few min- utes later I was bitten.” We felt that maybe the fruit was the attraction, so the next night we put the fruit outside the room door. But this didn’t work too well as we were kept awake by the sound of the rats fighting over it. The train ride to Madras for the congress was another memorable night. The General and Mrs. Wahlström had two bunks in the com- partment next to mine on the overnight train. I had to share with the photographer. Hundreds of Salvationists were traveling with us, and if the noise was any indication of their salvation, they were the most saved group on earth! We were scheduled to arrive around 6 a.m. From 4 a.m. on, an over-enthusiastic officer reminded me that we would be arriving at 6 a.m. and I would need to call the General. I kept assuring my “walking alarm clock” that I would call the General in plenty of time for him to be ready for the arrival. Every ten minutes it was the same. And the noise was unbelievable, with folk moving up and down the corridors. At 5:30 a.m. I thought perhaps it was time to advise the Wahlströms that we were nearing Madras. I knocked on the door and asked, “Are you awake, General?” It was Mrs. Wahlström who answered, “We haven’t been asleep!” It was a difficult night, however the railway station welcome and the meetings that followed made it all worthwhile.

79 Pakistan My initial impression of Pakistan was gained as we entered our first meeting, held in a large church in Karachi. It was packed with Salvationists in their white uniforms, officers and soldiers. The thought struck me that here we were, in a Muslim country, and yet there were so many Salvationists. In fact, many countries within the British Empire in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were exposed to The Salvation Army, and the commencement of the Army’s work was facilitated. Growth in new openings today tends to be much slower. It was interesting to fly from Karachi, over the Sindh desert, up to Lahore. There were differences in the north. In the Army, for exam- ple, all the women wore saris and the men all wore turbans, whereas in the south, the men wore caps. Each time we appeared there were more garlands, floral garlands to which I invariably had an allergic reaction. It seemed that the tallest translators available were secured for General Brown! In Pakistan, the translator was a very tall Punjabi, six- foot-six-inches tall without his turban. Whatever action or gesture the General would make, the translator did the same—only it was well over the head of the General. At one meeting, the General preached about the well mentioned in the gospel of John, chapter four. “Do you know how deep the well was?” asked the General. The translator asked the same question. “One hundred and fifty-six feet deep!” exclaimed the General. The translator replied enthusiastically, “Oh, thank you, General!” He obviously felt blessed learning that particular fact. Again, it is necessary to remember the times in which we were living. This first visit was in January 1980; the area had been deeply affected by the 1965 war between Pakistan and India and we were about to cross the border. Good arrangements had been made with the authorities at the Pakistan frontier and we had just a short wait to receive clearance to proceed through “no man’s land.” We expected to walk through this stretch, as this was customary. On this occasion, however, the two cars in which we were traveling were directed to drive up to the Indian border. As we approached the international barrier, Army flags and banners were waving and the short, unmistakable figure of Colonel Makanji, the territorial com- mander, was out in front. It was what was surrounding him and the Salvationists that in-

80 trigued me! Here were military authorities at the salute and in the front line to greet General Brown and escort him immediately to in- spect the guard. They were resplendent in their Punjabi uniforms. The guard presented arms in honor of the General and then the party was invited to take tea with the authorities and to greet some of the dignitaries from the area who had come to welcome the world leader of The Salvation Army. I must admit it was a little amusing to see a Catholic monk wear- ing a big badge on his brown cassock that announced in large letters, “WELCOME GENERAL BROWN.” A bagpiper then led the General from the reception! “Incongruous” was the word which came to my mind. It was very touching to see Pakistani Salvation Army officers greeting their colleague Indian officers, with whom they had had no contact since the war.

Sri Lanka Rambukkana was traditionally the congress site in Sri Lanka. The drive there was through a beautiful, lush countryside, with paddy fields being harvested in many areas. An unusual highlight was in- cluded on the journey. They said we were to visit an orphanage. What they did not tell us beforehand was that it was an orphanage for el- ephants. We were definitely not interested in adopting! Two vivid memories of Sri Lanka that linger with me are the con- gress march and the call to worship. The congress march was surely one of the most colorful I have seen, for so many people were invited to join in. First, three elephants led the march, each one bearing an Army flag. The local Army band, small by some standards, followed the elephants (brave fellows!). Then followed corps groups and young people—scores of them. This was thrilling! Interspersed throughout the march, however, were groups who appeared to me to have little or nothing to do with The Salvation Army. They wore colorful and interesting outfits; many of them didn’t march but did gymnastics throughout the whole procession. One fellow was doing cartwheels. I suggested to General Brown that maybe he was a corps officer who had just received farewell orders. The next group had another fellow doing endless and extensive som- ersaults. The General leaned back to whisper to me, “And that’s his divisional commander!”

81 The call to worship was a little different as well. Six beautifully dressed Singhalese women sat outside the congress venue around a large drum that was flat on the ground. Together they sounded out the message, like any Army drummer does, “Go fetch ‘em!” I am not quite sure how it happened, and it only ever happened once; the young folk at the youth rally prevailed upon the General and me to play a piano duet. I tried to defer to General Brown to play a solo but no, a duet it was to be. We played four variations of “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” (how this ever happened I will never know!). If the applause were any guide, I would say we were a roaring success as piano duettists. However, it was a success never to be repeated.

82 CHAPTERk 13 Behind the “Bamboo Curtain”: South Pacific and East Asia Zone

IN ONE OF MY FIRST conversations with General Brown regard- ing travel plans, he indicated that he wanted to visit Burma. I com- menced immediately on all the documentation. Just as well, as the process took well over twelve months to complete. At the conclusion of a visit to North and Northeastern India, we flew by Indian Airways from Calcutta, India, into Rangoon, Burma, to begin a memorable three-day stay. The General was escorted off the plane and we were the first in line for customs. They wanted to see and note everything—every traveler’s check, article of clothing, the contents of the briefcases, even noting the numbers on our electric shavers. The passenger standing behind us was heard to say rather loudly, “Good God! If they do all this for The Salvation Army folk, what are they going to do to us?” We made it! The first secretary from the Brit- ish Embassy identified himself and assisted us through the rest of the documentation. The Burmese authorities were very polite—charming, in fact. And to greet the General was Major Saratha Periswami and her assistant, Clarey Wallace. We were transported in the embassy Land Rover to the Strand Hotel. What a name! It was like stepping back seventy or eighty years. The hotel was clean but run down, and there was an air of “yesteryear.” The main decoration around the hotel seemed to be potted aspidistras in oak plant stands. However, what a contrast this city was to Calcutta. The roads were clean and there was little traffic, no camels or buffalos. We had a meal and, before settling in for the night, the General suggested that maybe we should take a walk. It was now dark and as we came out of the main entrance of the hotel, a young man stood in front of me and said in perfect English, “Major Bate?” “Yes,” I answered with some surprise. “You have General Brown with you?” “Yes,” I answered again and turned to indicate to the General that there was a young man who wanted to speak with him. But when I

83 turned back, the young man had vanished—and we did not see him again during the three days of our stay. And yet we knew we were be- ing watched, every moment.

A stormy history Burma’s history since World War II has been stormy, and the country at that time was a totally non-consumer society. It was a single party socialist republic that followed the military dictatorship. They had cut themselves off from the rest of the world. While the curtain was not “iron” but rather “bamboo,” it really was difficult to penetrate. It was obvious at a glance that Rangoon was a very beauti- ful city because it has natural lush green vegetation and palm trees all around it. People walked on the footpaths and the traffic was orderly, with no signs of policemen or militia. But everyone was under sur- veillance by someone, somewhere. Only those born in the country were allowed to live in Burma, which affected the Army in a strange way. When expatriates were expelled in 1966, The Salvation Army’s operations were placed in the hands of a committee of friends—but this obviously could not function well. There was one officer who could take control, at least as a liaison officer. Although not Burmese, she was born in Burma of Tamil par- ents who were farm workers. To say that Saratha was a “character” is not very explicit—but indeed she was a character! The Rangoon Corps hall, recently painted for the General’s visit, stood out on a street where everything else looked so drab. The General asked, “Where did you get the paint, Major, in this non-consumer society?” She quietly admonished him, “That’s got nothing to do with you, General, and you’re not going to find out!” The two children’s homes were quite remarkable under the cir- cumstances. As we drove up to the boys’ home, they had their brass band outside playing, “I’ve Got Peace Like a River in my Soul.” No band ever sounded better to my ears. The instruments were leftovers from World War II. Few valves had caps. The instrumentation was not perhaps the best, but the mu- sic was heavenly. They needed no encouragement. Their next piece was “O Boundless Salvation.” Would the General conduct them? Of course, and he did so as proudly as if he were conducting the Inter- national Staff Band.

84 John Bate, Grandfather John Mowatt, Grandfather

David McLeod Bate, 21 years old David McLeod Bate, 80 years old The Bate family in 1942—David, Mary, John, Marion, Marion

The family home at 6 Swan Street, Napier, 1934 John, at age 22, with his father David McLeod Napier Central School, Year 3, 1940 (John—front row, third from left)

Napier Boys’ High School Sixth Form 1951 (John—back row, fifth from left)

John receiving the “Key of the Door” from his parents on his 21st birthday Right: Wedding day, March 8, 1958

Below: Commissioning, January 17, 1959

“Courageous” Session, New Zealand, 1958 Beverley, John, Alastair and Val in Chile, 1964

John, Val and Beverly in Naenae, 1960

Right top: Beverley with her grandpar- ents on her first birthday.

Right bottom: Beverley, Val, Alastair and John, in London, 1984 (photo by Robin Bryant) On the Indian/Pakistan border, 1980

The General with refugees Indonesia, 1980

Preparing to visit Palu, Sulawesi, Indonesia French Congo, 1981

General Brown with his Punjabi translator A duet with the General

General Wahlström on horseback General Wahlström with Massai junior soldiers, East visiting Palu, Sulawesi, Indonesia Africa With Dame Margaret Thatcher in London (photo by Robin Bryant)

Straddling the Equator, Quito, Ecuador, 1987

A Sunday request program on London Broadcasting (LBC) (photo by Robin Bryant)

Above: Saying farewell to Bobby Charlton, Heathrow Airport, London (photo by Robin Bryant)

Right: On LBC on Christmas Eve receiving a check for the Christmas appeal with Major Joy Webb Reporting on events at the 1978 International Congress, London

Harden White, Director of SAWSO presenting to the Bates recognition of their world wide service

General Brown present- ing retirement certificate to Colonel John and Valda Bate The Bate family in 2004

David Chrystie, Ian Chrystie, Rachel Chrystie on knee of Beverley Bate Chrystie, Hannah Chrystie, Valda Bate, Heather Bate, Stephanie Chrystie, John Bate, Natasha Bate on knee of Alastair Bate, Emma Bate in arms of Carole Voisey Bate, Lydia Bate

Photo by Robin Bryant No public speaking allowed I had to all but sign our lives away to secure our visas. The General was not to speak in public. He was not to proselytize in any way at all. And so the list went on. I suppose Saratha had learned to live with all this over the years. She said that we were to have a meeting in the afternoon. “No! No!” I protested, as I was the one who had had to sign all the papers to get those visas, so I was sure I would be the one to go to jail. “Don’t worry,” she counseled me. “We’re not calling it a meeting. We’re going to have a birthday party and the General is the guest of honor, so he’ll have to reply!” One hundred and twenty people turned up for the “party,” and again we sang the Founder’s song. I say “we” sang but I should say “they” sang. It was a moment too emotional for me to try to sing. “And now, hallelujah, the rest of my days ….” Some of these folk were life-long Salvationists and for so long had been denied the op- portunity of gathering like this. To have the General with them was an unbelievable experience. The next morning we had officers’ councils. The only ones at- tending were the General, Major Periswami, Clarey Wallace, an elder- ly major from the north and me. We had a cookie each and drank tea out of cracked cups, but a more sacred and holy communion could never be experienced. Our worlds were eons apart, our living conditions incomparable and yet we were “one in the Spirit.” The General gave of himself to this small group as much as if there had been a thousand offi- cers attending. I thought about how many of my friends would give anything to be able to participate in this moment. I thought of the luxury and comfort in which we live and felt sick comparing that with what I now saw. I thought of the ease of Christian witness and service in the places we had lived—and asked God’s forgiveness for my complacency. But these people were not sad. For them it was a tremendously happy occasion. Clarey had three children, Winston, Charles and Rosemary. Val always kept me supplied with goodies in my suitcase for occasions such as this, so I said to Clarey as I prepared a small bag for him, “I guess your children love chocolate?” “I don’t know, Major,” was his answer. “They’ve never tasted it.” I almost choked! Following a reception at the British Embassy, an event was held

85 at the YMCA for the General to take tea with Christian leaders and workers in Rangoon, including the Primate of the Church of Burma and the Methodist bishop. The bishop spoke after the welcome and, addressing the General, he made a very telling observation. “We feel, my dear General, that the in- ternational Army seems to have forgotten your people here in Burma.” So far as I was concerned, he was right. His comments regarding the work in the corps and children’s homes spoke volumes for the dedica- tion of Major Saratha and the small group of Salvationists in Rangoon. I knew it when we arrived in Rangoon—part of me would never leave this beautiful country in which man had created such a tyran- nical regime.

Thailand and Kampuchea I wrote the following article for The War Cry in 1981: “Que Dieu vous benisse! (May God bless you!)” re- sponded General Arnold Brown, not to a congregation somewhere in France, Belgium or , but to a bewildered Cambodian family two kilometers inside the Cambodian border. The General was on a fact-finding mission to Thailand and Kampuchea to see the extent of the need of the refu- gees and to assess the proportions to which The Salvation Army could stretch its resources to help meet an increasing and worsening world problem. Arriving from Burma at the conclusion of an extensive tour of South Asia, the General, accompanied by Major John Bate, was greeted at Bangkok Airport by Major Eva den Hartog together with officials of the Canadian Embassy and World Relief. A hectic four-day program had been drawn up to match the rare opportunity that our world leader had sought and grasped. A two-hour briefing session with Reg Rimer, director, World Relief, gave valuable background on an area that pres- ents one of the most complicated geo-political situations in the world today. The General’s questions brought out details of the complex relationships between the Vietnamese forces, the Khmer Rouge and the Khmer Seri, as well as other contest- ing groups. The briefing outlined the services rendered by the Christian Medical Team (comprising TEAR Fund, Christian

86 and Missionary Alliance, Z.O.A., W.R.C., and The Salvation Army) based in Sa Kaeo Camp, of which Major den Hartog is the medical director. Her leadership, both courageous and compassionate, has brought tremendous credit to The Salva- tion Army and to the team as a whole. The first stop, after traveling another eighty kilometers nearer the border, was at Khau I Dang, where at present 130,000 “displaced persons” (for political reasons not des- ignated “refugees”), members of the Khmer Seri, are locat- ed. The organization appeared admirable with the erection of a large bamboo and canvas school well underway, and water supplies and provisions distributed regularly. A sight to thrill any Christian was a vast open church crowded far beyond its capacity for Sunday morning worship. Here, with their own Cambodian pastor, there were now seven thousand Christians, a number larger than that of all Chris- tians in Cambodia before the invasion. There was consultation at the frequent checkpoints as to the advisability of proceeding to the border and cross- ing over into Cambodia, but the General wanted to see the situation and Major den Hartog wanted to show him. Per- mission was granted. The next few kilometers presented a sight of strange confusion, with some Thais risking their lives to trade with hungry Cambodians still on the “other” side of the border, and police keeping watchful eyes on the identity of everyone passing each barrier. With the nearing of opposing forces there was an eerie quietness and an uncertainty of what could, or was about to, happen. Our van pressed on through dust and rubbish. The frontier was crossed. Immediately a vast area, comprising hundreds of acres and housing scores of thousands of Cambodians, came into view. Here was Nong Mak Mun, a land of despair—a no- man’s-land—which the world seemed to be ignoring. Food was coming in but in this “high-risk” area distribution was difficult. The General soon found Cambodians with whom he could converse in French. “What are you doing? What are your prospects? Where will you go? Do you have any medical care?” and a dozen other questions were waiting to be answered.

87 “I will not move,” declared one patriotic leader. “I will not become a refugee! This is my country and I will stay and fight for it even if I have to die!” Soon the General was sur- rounded by an equally patriotic group making something of a dramatic yet pathetic scene as they stood under the one solitary Cambodian flag flying at the top of a bamboo pole. In the face of hopelessness it seemed to signify determina- tion. The patriotism was admirable, but with what future? “We just have to do something!” the General kept re- peating. It seemed a long way from “101 Queen Victoria Street” but his attitude symbolized something of the Ar- my’s growing desire to adapt William Booth’s nineteenth century slogan of “soup, soap and salvation” to a modern world. Back inside Thailand, the Sa Kaeo camp was also on the itinerary. Here, Major den Hartog directs her medical team in ministering to the sick in two large wards. … Canvas roof, bamboo walls and a shingle floor have been used by God to bring not only the dying back to life but also as a place of prayer. Over fourteen hundred conversions have been registered. Sa Kaeo presents a grim picture compared to other holding camps. It takes great devotion and com- mitment to work where people live under such fear and uncertainty. In such circumstances, Major den Hartog has displayed experienced leadership, giving direction and en- couragement to her interdenominational and multination- al Christian medical team. World Relief tendered an evening reception in honor of the General. Not only were Christian leaders and work- ers invited, but also present was Colonel Kamol, Deputy Director of the Operational Center of Displaced Persons, an influential executive in the Royal Thai Government. “What are you?” he questioned of the General. “What kind of work do you do?” The General needed no prompting to present convincingly the Army’s purpose and mission. The Thai official nodded his head as he pensively considered the needs of Thailand and its borders. “We could do with you!” he admitted. This was the conclusion General Brown had arrived at a good many hours before.” I prepared an additional article for The War Cry in 1980 as a result

88 of the visit recorded above under the title of “Take My Baby”: “Take my baby! Take my baby!” implored a weeping mother as she pleaded with Major Eva den Hartog at the Nong Mak Mun camp. We were two kilometers inside the Cambodian border, and I could think of many more conge- nial places to be on a Sunday morning. The dust was chok- ing, the heat sweltering and oppressive, and the stench of debris absolutely revolting—and the bombing was just two miles away. We could both hear it and see it. It was from the hospital base The Salvation Army had established in Thailand, run by Major Eva den Hartog, that we were endeavoring to enter no-man’s-land. We arrived at the checkpoint but the military man said we could not enter. “It is too dangerous,” he declared. “Even the Red Cross cannot enter.” “Red Cross!” shouted the major over the roaring noise around us. “I do not care about the Red Cross. I am Ma- jor Eva den Hartog of The Salvation Army—and I have the General with me—and we will go!” The barrier was raised—and we went! The General had left the van to do the strangest kind of door-to-door visiting I have ever seen. It seemed incon- gruous to see the gold trimmings moving from tent to tent and over to a small family group squatting by their fire. The conversation was all in French. I do not know what the General was saying, but he looked grim, as did those to whom he was talking. Mak Mun is no picnic! I could sense the silent panic confused with despair—and I spoke to no one. Food supplies were getting through spasmodically but medical attention had ceased. Too risky! These words have a foreign sound to a Salvationist—certainly to Major den Hartog. Where had she gone? I wandered over to a bullock cart upon which was packed an entire family’s belongings. Here was no tent. The family just slept under the wagon. It will assure a quick getaway when the mortar fire comes closer. The major’s unmistakable Dutch accent was heard. “What can we do? We must do something for these children!” Accent and theme were unmistakable. She had asked this question in

89 the Congo, in Vietnam, in Calcutta, and in Bangladesh. Hers is a driving, searching compassion. Her sensitive hand ran over the distended stomach of an emaciated child lying helplessly in her arms. No wonder the mother cried, “Take my child!” I rather wished I could have been sitting in the holiness meeting at Upper Norwood right then. It would have been safer. Not that I was preoccupied about the nearby battle line. Many could cope with that. No, I was facing a dimen- sion of life, or death, which I hadn’t had to face before, in spite of service in many lands. Is this what John Gowans was imagining when he wrote:

But what about the children? The guiltless little children? The children have to suffer Because of our mistakes?

Perhaps not, but it fits! I was brought back to reality quickly as I saw the major checking the eyes of another child. “Anemia,” she said. “I tell you this place is full of anemia and malnutrition, and goodness knows how much malaria!” I heard her say it a dozen times, “General, I’ve got to do something here!” The one thing stopping her at the moment is politics, and per- haps international law, but will they stop her much longer? My mind was chanting two themes at once: “But what about the children?” and “Except I am moved with com- passion, how dwelleth Thy spirit in me?” I felt completely helpless. I’m no medic and I can’t speak a word of French. All I could do was take pictures and, God knows, who wants to ever see this sight! My day was not yet over, nor were my memories. The night before, with the Christian medical team working with the major, we had sat under a starry Thai sky sing- ing, “O boundless salvation, deep ocean of love.” I’d sung it a thousand times, of course, in Spanish and English and in many countries. But I had been singing it with greater frequency in recent days—with officers and Salvationists in Pakistan, in the far northwest of India, in Gujarat, Bombay

90 and Maharashtra, on that never-to-be-forgotten day with the Burmese Salvationists in Rangoon—and now in Thai- land. “The WHOLE WORLD redeeming ….” Some of these countries William Booth never saw. He could hardly have even imagined some of those recent meetings I’d seen. Yet it was the WHOLE WORLD that the “boundless salvation” was planned to redeem. My world had to grow even more! We moved back to Sa Kaeo holding camp where the major’s team runs a comprehensive and varied medical program in two large wards. With great enthusiasm she showed us another extensive ward that she has taken over. It had been closed down by another group as the emer- gency medical care there had completed its work. But no building is going to remain empty under such conditions with Eva den Hartog in the vicinity. Men were working at an urgent pace to complete its transformation into a work- shop so that bewildered Cambodians could use their cre- ativity and ingenuity. A wood-turning lathe made of noth- ing but bamboo and rope proved unbelievably utilitarian as a length of coarse wood took on a rounded form to make the basis of a Cambodian musical instrument! But we had to see the compound. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. It is a place of problems. Groups of unoccupied people sat eyeing us. We were with Major den Hartog so we must be Christians. True, the Christian medical team had seen over 1,400 decisions for Christ during their ministry but 1,400 out of 35,000 is a small minority. It is not easy to be a Christian at Sa Kaeo! The only sports activity on this weird Sunday afternoon was a single game of netball. The rules seemed flexible but the players were happy. But those t-shirts! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Some of the team had suggested that Christians should wear t-shirts with a text on the front, but the prag- matic major foresaw all manner of difficulties in a camp strongly influenced by the Khmer Rouge. Her suggestion was accepted. What we saw, worn by dozens of camp folk, Christians and others, were bright yellow shirts, clearly an- nouncing in English, “EVERY CHILD MATTERS!” “Hey!” exclaimed the major. “Just look at those kids!” as three healthy, smiling, t-shirted eleven-year-olds came

91 bounding over to greet her. She explained the horrific con- ditions in which these children had seen their parents die, and told of their malnutrition when they came into the camp two months previously. “We got them in time,” she confided. “But they’re not fully recovered. They need some- thing more still.” They responded eagerly to our greeting, and the General conversed with them in their limited Eng- lish. There was laughter and smiles. Soon we were being hugged by them. They didn’t want to let us go. “That’s the ‘something’ these kids need more of,” sighed the major. “Just tender, loving care!” I was glad I had missed Upper Norwood that Sunday. I had met Christ again … in a refugee camp not far from no-man’s-land!

Singapore Sometimes, Generals do not arrive at the most convenient times. Singapore was one such occasion. The new officer commanding, Col- onel Earle Maxwell, had only arrived there on the Tuesday and Gen- eral Brown came for his visit on the Friday of the same week. A beautiful meal had been arranged by the general secretary, Ma- jor Lim Ah Ang, and was held in a renowned Chinese restaurant. The meal followed through eight courses and, at the conclusion, Colonel Maxwell asked of the general secretary in his typically strong Austra- lian accent, “Well, Major, do we get a cup of coffee now?” to which Lim Ah Ang replied in his quiet and respectful way, “Not in a Chinese tea house, Colonel!” I have had good mileage out of this story, having recounted it many times when introducing Colonel Maxwell, who eventually be- came a commissioner and Chief of the Staff. At that time, the Central Corps in Singapore was housed in an old and “protected” building with quite a history attached to it. It was very impressive to see all the Chinese designs and symbols on the walls and ceiling; pointing to the gargoyles looking down from each ceiling beam, the General good naturedly informed Colonel Maxwell that these were the images of all the past officers commanding—and that he would be the next gargoyle.

Hong Kong The size of the Army in Hong Kong—corps, social centers, schools

92 and high schools—is nothing short of phenomenal. On our arrival on the island, we were met by the command leaders and also a Ca- nadian Salvationist (although long since an American resident), Mrs. Jean McIlhiney. Jean, having been retired for some years in Clearwater, Florida, had contacted the General (whom she knew well) and offered her services to work anywhere she might be needed. There was a vacancy in Hong Kong. They needed someone to head up the public relations office at the command headquarters. She had happily responded and was now there among the group greeting us. She introduced me to her assistant Luis Ng, a tall young Asian, who was going to help me with our entry documentation and luggage. Luis was well dressed in a suit but I jokingly asked Jean why he wasn’t in uni- form, to which she answered, “Oh, he’s not a Salvationist.” As we walked off towards the passport counter, Luis offered even more information. He quietly informed me to my surprise that he was not a Christian. He seemed such a fine young man, and so much at home in the setting in which he was working that I found it hard to believe. Over the next five days of our stay in Hong Kong, each night Luis would come to my room for us to take tea together and to talk. I was even more surprised to learn from him that he had been to a Christian school, had graduated from a Baptist university and was as conversant with the Scriptures as I was. “Well, why are you not a Christian?” I quietly enquired. It was not a difficult conversation, for in a short time I felt we had become friends. Maybe that is why he felt he could explain to me the reason. For the Chinese, he confided, the family is all-important and the par- ents are worshipped. For him to become a Christian, he reasoned, he would have to displace his parents with Christ, something he felt he could not do. Night after night I quietly tried to reason that Chris- tianity meant honoring parents, particularly parents as good as his, and honoring them in a very special way. One of the Ten Command- ments covered that! But Jesus Christ had to be preeminent. He knew that but felt he could not take that step. I don’t think I have ever had conversations with someone so close to the kingdom but who remained outside. We would pray together each night after taking tea and having this time of fellowship—but my heart always had a slight ache. God understands, I know, and we have to leave it with him. But I still pray for Luis even though I have not heard of him for some years.

93 CHAPTERk 14 A Vision and a Burning Heart: South Pacific and East Asia Zone

ARRIVING IN JAKARTA, it is clear that you are in one of the world’s mega-cities, for there are wall-to-wall people (and wall-to-wall traffic as well). The General led officers’ councils here and visited homes and hospitals that the Army has maintained over many years. Some years ago, the Army moved its THQ over to Bandung, which has a much more comfortable climate. The drive between the capital and Bandung gave a wonderful view of country life in what we once knew only as Java. The distance between the two cities is only about 180 kilometers but it took four hours. It was interesting to see great stretches of countryside set out as tea plantations where the workers started their picking very early in the morning. Other areas held paddy fields, where the rice plants were dotted symmetrically in rows. I had the opportunity to see Bandung from a different perspec- tive. General Brown and I were looking for white “outer” uniform shirts for traveling in these warmer climates. Nico, the territorial youth secretary, called for me at 10 a.m. one day to take me around the city to see if I could locate a store with suitable shirts. Bandung traffic, as seen from the back of a motor scooter, is some- thing else. There are just thousands and thousands of motorbikes and scooters in Bandung—and no one wears a crash helmet! We dodged in and out of the thousands of cars and taxis and at one stage traveled along the sidewalk. So, I “did” Bandung in a novel way. In the great Sunday night rally in Bandung, Colonel Pattipeilohy was leading some chorus singing. I loved to join in singing in any language and wanted to try out Indonesian as well. “Number six at the back of the songbook,” whispered the translator to me. I found number six at the back of the book and tried to fit the words in. I didn’t do too well, but fortunately we sang it again and this time I thought I did much better—only to find I was still not quite on the mark. The translator had meant to indicate “chorus number six in the chorus section at the back of the book.” I had gone to “number six at the back of the book” alright but I had gone too far—and I was 94 singing the sixth doctrine.

A pilgrimage to Palu The visit to Sulawesi (previously named Celebes) was memorable. A flight took us to the north, to Palu, over paddy fields and moun- tains. As we landed, there was that magnificent sight, which we saw in so many different places, yet it never failed to move me—hundreds of officers and Salvationists lined up along the runway, resplendent in their white uniforms. The drive into Palu was equally memorable in that General Wahl- ström’s motorcade was preceded by dozens of Salvationists on mo- torcycles, and they were headed by dozens of police on motorbikes sounding their sirens. We soon understood that Palu seldom has spe- cial guests. We have a great and varied work there, and it is a pity that, due to its isolation, little is known of it around the world. Some wonderful missionary officers have served in this area: Major Winsome Ferguson from New Zealand and Major Cynthia White from the U.K., to men- tion just two. One of the meetings held for the General’s visit was at- tended by three thousand soldiers—all uniformed and from just one division, and in an area of less than half a million people. The next day was perhaps the most outstanding of the visit. I wrote the following article for the international War Cry, entitled “From Woodward to Wahlström”: It was a day of historic missionary pilgrimage, which commenced with a twenty-five minute flight from Palu, Central Sulawesi, to Pada- kama airstrip in a Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) plane. Mark, the pilot, asked the General to pray before racing the engine and facing the Palu runway. “Lord, you know our hearts are filled with thanks for your blessing on the work in these mountains,” he prayed, “and thank you for men like Leonard Woodward who had a vision and a burning heart and went out in faith.” Faith, indeed, for the area we were now flying over in a matter of minutes took Woodward four days on foot and horseback. The ter- ritorial commander, Colonel Pattipeilohy, jokingly pointed down to the wooded mountains and said, “This is all your country, General. That plantation down there is yours, too—10,000 coconut palms!” Indeed, it is Army country and every little clearing, it seemed, was dominated by the Army school and corps chapel. One could be forgiven the question—“But where in these moun-

95 tains are we going to land?” Miraculously, it seemed, the only flat area in a partial clearing was sufficient for a small grass runway. But before approaching it we could see several hundred Salvationists with flags and a bamboo band awaiting the General’s arrival. This, of course, was equatorial Central Sulawesi, and yet in spite of the intense heat, the comrades had been waiting since early morn- ing to greet their General, the first to visit this particular part of the Army world. The warrior-like dance and challenge gave way to broad smiles of welcome and General and Mrs. Wahlström were soon sur- rounded by happy Salvationists shouting “Hallelujah!” like a good Army crowd to be found anywhere—no! These were even more en- thusiastic. Some days before, the General had asked Colonel Pattipeilohy, “How many kilometers from the airstrip to Kantewu?” “Oh, General,” replied the Colonel, “we don’t count kilometers in these parts. It takes an hour on horseback or on foot—but you can be carried in a chair!” he quickly assured the international leaders. It was all very clear now. “I should never have asked that question,” the General passed it off as an aside. There were the horses; there were the cane chairs, each strapped with strips of rattan to two long bamboo poles; and there was the track. Mrs. Wahlström decided to walk for some of the distance before taking her place in her chair. However, the General and the rest of the party decided on horses. Horses? They were more like mountain goats, and needed to be to take some of the climbing which the next hour would present. But they were sure-footed, keeping a steady pace along a single track, which at times was both precarious and stony. The majority of the airstrip crowd were accompanying by foot, car- rying flags of varying sizes. It was a single-file march, one with a dif- ference. I couldn’t help thinking of Leonard Woodward. He walked this track—but I guess he had to find it first. He knew to whom he was going but he didn’t know what reception he would have. We did though, for the crowd with us was small compared to the great host awaiting the first view of the General. From time to time refreshing streams seemed to gush from the mountainside and crossed the track. The horses would stoop their heads for a lick—and I wished I could, too. It was so hot! Major Cynthia White, a British officer serving at the hospital and clinic at Palu, and the International Secretary, Com-

96 missioner Edwin Marion, were also accompanying the General’s par- ty. Somehow we had become interspersed, with the horses and the chairs, on this long trailed march. Eventually we came to a mountain stream, which we had to cross, and the horses knew the drill well. (I enjoyed letting my feet, still clad in shoes and socks, slowly submerge into the refreshing waters!) “It’s not long now,” shouted Major White in an encouraging tone although no one seemed to be remotely dispirited. Densely wooded and lush green forests were on either side, and at other times sheer cliffs, which, through erosion, left a track no more than a foot wide. But still the horses clobbered on. There was time to think, for in spite of the crowd on the trek there was a reverent silence. The serenity of the mountains and their beau- ty seemed to bring God very close. He had been close to Woodward, I remembered reading, for in his day this was headhunter country. I thought of my good friend Major Victor Tondi who had seen us off at the Palu airport and recalled how he had shared with me so many stories of this area during the years of our friendship. His own grandfather, a headhunter, was one of the first converts of Major Woodward. Just two generations later that early convert’s grandson is now the divisional commander of the biggest division in the ter- ritory, and a very competent and efficient divisional commander at that. [He eventually became the territorial commander] There were many young people walking with us. I wondered what God had in store for them in this mountain world of theirs. It was time to dismount and don tunics and exchange sun hats for caps, for we were now at the entrance to the village, the entrance through which Leonard Woodward first came to Kantewu. The villag- ers had thought he was a ghost—he was white—but they respected his beard. There is no confusion today, only intense excitement. As the General and Mrs. Wahlström made their way into the vil- lage we were soon confronted by three elderly “torajas” (headhunt- ers) who ceremoniously approached the “white men.” The feigned warrior-like look soon gave way to brilliant smiles and resounding, even deafening, “Hallelujahs!” But there was further ceremony to be respected and every visitor (and by now the General’s party included the territorial commander and Mrs. Pattipeilohy, two Wycliffe Bible translators and the pilot) was presented with a beaded garland by women dressed in the typical costume of Kantewu. Corps secretary H. Rigo, a highly respected Salvationist and re-

97 tired school teacher, was the spokesman for the great gathering and commenced by saying: “We say thanks to the Lord with happy hearts and faces because we have this opportunity to see you face to face. We are deeply moved to think that the leader of the entire Salva- tion Army would come to our village here in the mountains. When we consider our past, we remember how sixty-five years ago Major Leonard Woodward and his wife came to this spot to sow the seeds of the gospel. These two officers sowed; later other officers watered and gleaned; but it was always God that gave the increase.” And that increase was visible today. We moved slowly up the village path to what must be a sacred spot to the Salvationists. There, standing six feet tall, visible to all, was a stone that referred to an incident, almost legendary, concern- ing a feared witch doctor. It was by this stone that Woodward regu- larly preached and many had sought the Lord. Today, another stone was being placed, of equal height and equally imposing. The corps secretary had prepared another enlightening speech, which included, “This new stone commemorates the victory of the gospel of Christ brought by Woodward and his wife over the forces of darkness and idolatry. Woodward first brought the gospel here in 1917. And his very last service was conducted here by this rock in 1948, after his release from a prisoner-of-war camp that same year!” On the way to the meeting place we passed the large Army hall, which would seat many hundreds. As we walked, I talked with Mi- chael, the Wycliffe Bible translator who comes from Kansas City, Kansas. He described his assignment of preparing the gospel of St. John into the local language and dialects. “But really,” he assured me, “my greatest consultant is corps secretary Rigo. He is such a good Christian and a good educationalist, even though he is so old.” I thought of how Major Woodward would have loved to hear that as well as the fact that Michael and his wife, Martha, worship with the Salvationists in the village “because they have such a happy and positive expression of their Christian experience.” The crowd had gathered, mostly under multi-colored umbrellas, in the blazing sun for the memorable and joyful occasion. No Sal- vationist could have failed to be moved as the great open-air choir joined in singing together “O boundless salvation … the whole world redeeming.” Here was part of the world the Founder could only have dreamed about, but today, this is all a reality, in Kantewu. Mrs. General Wahlström spoke simply of her own experience of

98 being brought to the Army as a small girl and giving her life to Jesus. It was something so easily understood and an experience so many could relate to. The General clearly enunciated the highest Christian principles, which can only be kept when Jesus is Lord of all. The invi- tation to come and kneel was accepted by a very large number, many making a re-dedication to winning their world, small though it may be, for Jesus. But that was not the end. There was that one-hour return walk or horse ride. Schedules for the MAF pilot had to be kept so the journey was commenced on time. It was still awesome and impressive. The sun had traveled some of its span and now the lighting on the moun- tains was more vivid. That lovely, verdant green! And sometimes the greenery itself provided a welcome shelter, even for a few yards, from the equatorial sun. For Mrs. General Wahlström and Mrs. Colonel Pattipeilohy, it was considered better to sit in the chairs and be carried in reverse. The General decided again for a horse as did the experienced Com- missioner Marion who, of course, is a former territorial commander for this territory. However, this horse was not impressed by either velvet trimmings or experience and decided to let him walk—quite suddenly. But commissioners are not dumped easily and soon he was re- mounted and in his place in the group of 150 who had volunteered to escort the General back to the airstrip. This long journey for them, of course, had to be repeated to enable them to return home before darkness fell. We seemed to be one horse short so I decided to walk. I wouldn’t have missed this, for here was not only intense tropical heat but also a panorama of God’s creation, which was unique—and we were ab- sorbed in it. I chatted with Major White who was mounted on a horse and as we journeyed along learned of her work. She visits one village, for example, out of Kalawara that takes a walk or horse ride of six hours. “The next day,” continued the Major, “I set off at 7 a.m. and we walk until 6 p.m. I usually try to make it for a Friday so I can do clin- ics on the Saturday, meetings on the Sunday—and then we have the two days walk back to Kalawara.” Leonard Woodward has many suc- cessors but none more worthy than Cynthia White. We came to the river and this time I quickly shed my shoes and socks just to cool my burning feet for a few minutes until the main

99 group caught up. Soon—well, a good hour after leaving Kantewu—we arrived at the clearing with the lone single engine airplane making a very pleasant sight. It would be a little cooler once we became airborne. Saying farewell to such an isolated group of Salvationists, our comrades, was a moving experience. They waved to the General and he waved back and shouted “Hallelujah!” He must have reflected on the words of the corps secretary at the conclusion of his welcome speech when he said, “We hope later when you leave us, that you will not forget us, but, as the proverb goes, we will be close to your heart even though far from your eyes.” General Wahlström had spent a day with some very special peo- ple!

Japan It was a large auditorium filled to capacity, with many of those at- tending in Salvation Army uniform. The band played excellently and when we stood to sing “O Boundless Salvation,” we could have been in a Salvation Army crowd anywhere in the world. But we were not. We were in Japan, a country of long non-Christian history but one in which the Christian church is active. Even the songs had been “Romanized” for us so that we could sing remarkably well in Japa- nese. A Christian college choir sang so beautifully, “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” followed by “Ave Verum.” I remember writing home that night and saying, “I had a peep into heaven tonight!” General Brown spoke and when he concluded, forty or fifty seek- ers immediately came forward to kneel and pray. And we were in a country where only one percent of the population was Christian. My good friend, Captain Nasomi Harita, introduced me to two bands- men from his brother-in-law’s band who initially came to the Army to hear the Wellington City Band on its first visit to Japan. They were converted, enrolled as soldiers and today are uniformed bandsmen. It is hard to think of Japan without noting something of the pre- cision of travel. General Brown and his party were to travel to Kyoto on the “bullet train.” We were greeted at the railway station by some- one in authority (apparently) and without a word we followed this gentleman along corridors and through doors until we were in what appeared to be the stationmaster’s office. It was plush and impressive. We were shown the green tea and invited to take some—all without a word being spoken.

100 A signal was given and the stationmaster started walking in a de- termined manner with all of us following—out of one room, through a corridor, down a stairway and eventually onto the station platform. We kept following until he stopped at a given spot. We all stopped. The train entered the station and came alongside the platform and the door for our carriage opened exactly to the inch of where the stationmaster was standing. Japanese precision! The train traveled at more than 130 miles an hour without the slightest movement within the carriage. The green tea served in small china cups did not even move at that speed. The countryside was beautiful and the crowning moment of the morning was when Mount Fuji came into view. There must have been nine hundred in a holiness meeting in To- kyo that I attended with General Brown and as we came on to the platform, the Japan Staff Band was playing that beautiful arrange- ment of “Whiter Than the Snow.” The swearing-in of soldiers was impressive, with the new soldiers lined up right across the platform. While the whole meeting was deeply moving, with heavenly music and meaningful testimonies, it was the quartet from Shibuya Corps that “transported” me that morning. They sang, “I trust in God, I know He cares for me.” It really was a little bit of heaven on earth. I thought of us singing that song in Chile, of Janice Beale sing- ing it in Rhodesia, of Eric Tebbett singing it in England, and here this morning I was hearing it in Tokyo. The General just picked up the theme “my heavenly Father watches over me” in his message and the mercy seat was lined. Even- tually, every chair on the platform was utilized as a makeshift mercy seat and even the drum had four or five seekers kneeling around it. The spirit of the Army in Japan, and the courtesy and organiza- tion of the Japanese people, is not only impressive but also rather overwhelming. There were many visits to this part of the world and every time these impressions were reemphasized in my mind.

Australia Since the Army “opened fire” in Adelaide, Australia, in 1880, that city was chosen as the location for the centenary celebrations in 1980. The two Australian territories combined for this unique event and the preparation was excellent. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to meet with many friends from my homeland as New Zea- landers had come to visit and also to participate. The New Zealand Youth Band was tops and I recognized many of the young people

101 from knowing their parents. When their bandmaster explained to the young musicians who I was, I became popular as it meant that through me they could have their photographs taken with General Brown. One typically brash young Kiwi called out to me when he was taking his photograph of the General with a group, “Major, could you hold him up a little?” We flew to Sydney immediately following the Adelaide congress. As Australian Airways had been the official carrier for the congress, they upgraded General and Mrs. Brown and me to first class. We sat in the front row; the Browns were on one side of the aisle and I was in the window seat on the other side. In the aisle seat next to me was a charming lady who had flown in from Alice Springs that morn- ing on her way now to Sydney. I noticed immediately that she had some pronounced physical deformities. Her legs were very short and rested on her hand luggage in front of her. Her arms, too, were very deformed and I noticed when coffee was served that she could only hold a cup by placing the top of her hands on either side of the cup to lift it to her mouth. She explained to me the reason for her journey. The following year had been designated universally as “The Year of the Disabled” and she was on the national committee for Australia, which was meeting in Canberra. She always traveled with a nurse companion who was seated towards the rear of the plane. The conversation with her was very interesting throughout the whole flight. As we were approaching Sydney, she explained that the one dif- ficulty she had in flying was on landing. As her legs did not reach the floor and her arms were not strong enough to secure her, she needed to be held into her seat. She asked me if I would mind helping her when the time came. I said of course I would. I would have to put my right arm around her and hold the left armrest of her seat. Just as we were about to land she quietly said, “Now.” I leaned over her and held the armrest for about thirty seconds. Once we were on the runway I was able to sit back again. The look on General Brown’s face during all this was one of startled amazement! When we were ready for deplaning, an attendant came to escort us so that we were first off, but the moment we were in the walkway the General stopped and anxiously asked, “John, what were you doing with that woman?” The General rested for a few days in Sydney before his visit to New Guinea. I flew to New Zealand to spend a couple of days with Mother,

102 who was by now in her eighty-ninth year and showing evidence of developing Parkinson’s disease. The family had gathered in Feilding for a great reunion, with only Val, Beverley and Alastair missing. There was Mother in the middle of this group, slightly bent and looking just a little lonely without my dad at her side, with three generations surrounding her. These were memorable hours for me, but eventually the time came for me to return to Wellington to fly back to Sydney. We em- braced and then she stood at the front door of Marion’s home on Awahuri Road and waved as the car drove down the driveway. I knew this would be the last time I would see her—and I am sure she knew it as well. My heart ached but she knew my calling and would never have held me back. As I looked at her and waved I felt proud that I bore her name—Mowatt!

103 CHAPTERk 15 Expecting the Unexpected: Americas and Caribbean Zone

AN IMPORTANT HISTORICAL EVENT in Halifax was the arrival in North America of on his way to start the Army’s work in the U.S.; now a great divisional congress had been organized to commemorate this event, with no less than the General to lead the meetings. General and Mrs. Brown and I were delivered to Heathrow Airport on time by Brigadier Syd Woodall and, still living in the days when it was possible to arrange VIP treatment, we were whisked past the usual documentation and checking-in procedure and escorted into a lounge to await our boarding call. It was a particularly brilliant sunny morning, London at its best. Unfortunately, the weather was not so nice at our destination, for heavy fog had descended upon North America and a delay of up to seven hours was expected. However, we were not to leave the airport. I called the Chief of the Staff, who came out to Heathrow after having informed Canada of our delay. The General and the Chief did some business, we did some mail and eventually the Chief re- turned to IHQ. We were then informed that a special lunch had been prepared for “the General’s party” in a small airport dining room. Projected departure was now set at 4 p.m. and the Canadian territory was updated. We had our lunch and were escorted back to the small lounge a little before 1 p.m. Just as we were about to make ourselves comfortable again, an attendant arrived to invite us to follow her and bring our things with us. We assumed we were being shown into another lounge to await the departure time. We were wrong! We were escorted straight onto the plane and within minutes we were off—without even having the opportunity to advise the Chief that we had left. The reason for the quick departure was the recent forecast that the fog was lifting. We landed in Gander (so we were told, although nothing was visible!), refueled and shortly afterwards we were airborne again on our way to Halifax. We landed and found our way through customs and documenta- 104 tion and even secured the luggage without sight of one Canadian officer or representative. The General thought this was strange and I was beginning to wonder if we were in the right place at the right time. Not a soul to meet the General? How could this be? Suddenly, a very tall Army captain appeared, who took me to one side to explain what had happened. Apparently the territorial commander, chief secretary, divisional commander and the entire staff had all been at the airport to meet the General at the advertised hour—only to be told there was to be a delay of at least seven hours. So, everyone went back to the office except the captain who decided to visit a relative in a nearby hospital. After the visit, he came back to the airport to eat some lunch and “fill in” another four hours. While eating his late lunch, he happened to notice the arrival board announcing the landing of our flight. He ran to the nearest telephone bank to call headquarters in Halifax but that was a long distance from the airport. “They are on their way,” advised the captain rather apologetically. The General understood the situation immediately but thought it would be a good opportunity to “get something back” in a good- natured way on his Canadian friends and colleagues. So we filed out to the front of the airport and, as the cars rolled up bringing the terri- torial commander and all the staff, the General was able to give them the salute and a “warm welcome.” Reference to this event was made on all succeeding visits to the “land of the maple leaf.”

United States My first visit to the U.S. was with General and Mrs. Brown when they visited Tampa, Florida, to conduct a family congress. I met some wonderful people there, many of whom are still among our closest friends. It was on this visit that I had the initial thought, “What a wonderful place to retire!” but this was only 1980. Many splendid events were organized for the weekend, but I shall never forget the sight on the Sunday evening when the General was invited to enroll one hundred new soldiers. They lined up right across the platform. There were tall ones, short ones, disabled ones, heavy ones—really quite a mixture—but the strong impression that the cer- emony left with me was that all of these people had come through “the program”! I learned early in my visits that the strength of the Army in the U.S. is that their programs work; people are won for the kingdom and many become Salvationists.

105 Of course, the greatest evidence of this is in the work of the Adult Rehabilitation Centers (ARCs) where those addicted to substances are cared for and rehabilitated. In succeeding years and during our ap- pointments in the U.S., I have always endeavored to attend ARC ser- vices whenever possible, especially to hear the testimonies. These are real! There is something very significant about a man (or a woman) who stands and thanks God for “seven days of sobriety” and everyone applauds for encouragement. Mr. William Moss, the Army’s national counsel for more than fifty years, often declared that the Army’s real mission was worked out in the ARC. Well, at the Florida family con- gress, there were men from the ARC enrolled that night as well.

Good friends Visits to Florida became quite frequent, although we sometimes passed through just to make connections for other flights. Once, fol- lowing an event in the U.S., General Brown was to visit Cuba and this necessitated us having a stopover of a couple of days in Tampa. At that time there were no direct flights from the States to Cuba, so we had to travel via Jamaica. The divisional commander arranged to have officers’ councils in Tampa, and because the General was in attendance, the National Commander, Commissioner Ernest Holz, was also present. The Hol- zes and the Browns were good friends of many years and the General loved to prod his friend, Ernie, whenever possible. As he introduced the General at the councils, the commissioner reflected on another occasion when a General passed through Florida on his way to Cuba. Many years earlier—in 1961—when the commis- sioner was divisional commander in Florida, he received word from THQ advising him that he had to prepare for the unexpected visit of General Wilfred Kitching, who was scheduled to visit Cuba. However, the Bay of Pigs invasion occurred that week and the General had to remain in Tampa awaiting news as to whether the visit could proceed or not. The commissioner told how at a moment’s notice they arranged accommodation, interviews and transport. Not seeing the humor in the comment, the commissioner mentioned how “a good friend of the Army who was a funeral director supplied transport.” (The mind boggles!) As he went on outlining the improvised program, General Brown, who was considerably shorter than the commissioner, quietly left his seat and sidled up to the commissioner. The officers in the

106 congregation were all smiling in anticipation of what might happen next. The General looked up at the commissioner and said, “It seems to me you look after a General better when you’re not expecting him!” to the great amusement of everyone, including Commissioner Holz. On the General’s visit to Chicago in 1981, Commissioner Holz felt it timely to outline the new project to relocate national head- quarters—moving from West 14th Street in Manhattan (New York City) to Bloomfield, New Jersey. The commissioner recited strings of figures, all from memory—an ability for which he was renowned. He spoke of land and buildings, redecoration and refurbishing, and all the intricate details as to how the project would be repaid and a profit made in so many years. When the General rose to speak, he congratu- lated Commissioner Holz on this project and added, “Whenever the commissioner speaks, his talk of so many millions for this or so many millions for that does not really concern me. But I get really worried about his ‘and-so-on’s’!”

Expecting the unexpected: a Kansas congress The U.S. centenary celebration in Kansas City was a spectacular event, the result of years of planning and programming. It was the first time such a national event had been held and it excited Ameri- can Salvationists to be able to meet up in this way; its story has been covered in many publications. I came to expect the unexpected at any American congress. At a special luncheon during the centenary, a barrier resembling a paling fence was erected from the side door by the kitchen into the banquet room. The door opened and a real, live, hefty steer was led in by none other than Miss Kansas and half a dozen cowboys all ready for a quick jump should the steer decide to leave. The Restaurant Association of Kansas then presented the steer to General Brown, who in turn presented it to Major Clarence Harvey, the divisional commander, to feed the poor and those in Army institutions in Kansas City. The place was almost in an uproar even though this kind of thing, the donating of steers, is done in Kansas. To see the General standing alongside this animal, a prize one especially bred for this occasion, was certainly something unusual. I think, however, one of the most exciting events of the congress came in the final moments in between the verses of the last song. The General, leading the song, stopped for a moment to make a comment

107 about the exceptional service of a particular American Salvation- ist and outlined some elements of service given without revealing enough to identify the person about whom he was speaking. He said, “Such service as has been given by this comrade would have indeed received the commendation of the Founder himself; so tonight, it is my pleasure to admit to the … Corps Sergeant- Major Edward Gooding, of Roxbury, Massachusetts!” Gooding, an African American local officer, was obviously loved and admired by many in that great arena. The divisional commander and corps officer of this honored Sal- vationist had been placed ready to lift him from his seat the moment his name was announced; amid cheers and applause, he was virtually carried to the platform to receive the award. It seemed to me a fitting recognition of one hundred years of service in the U.S. that the award was not given to a National Commander or a territorial commander but a local officer, and a hard-working and effective one at that.

Only in the West At another congress, this one in the Western Territory, a real lion was brought on stage during the first evening’s meeting. I was told he was old and toothless and that they had borrowed him from a nearby circus; of his age I had no doubt, for once on the stage he lay down and it took a large number of assistants to get him to move off. General Brown was to participate in several “topping off” cer- emonies in the West on the occasion of that visit. “A topping off ceremony?” I enquired. Maybe I shouldn’t have. However, I learned that a topping off ceremony is one you have when there is no other ceremony to have. It is not a stone laying, nor an opening, not even the putting on of a roof—but a handy ceremony when the General comes and you want him to do something special. I cannot recall the place, although I remember the occasion very well. General Brown was visiting the Western Territory and he had been asked to answer young people’s questions at a youth rally. The chief secretary, Colonel Will Pratt, insisted that the questions be sub- mitted to his office and he would direct them to the General at the rally. The auditorium was large and filled to capacity with young peo- ple. Only three people were on the platform: the chief secretary, the General, and me, sitting behind them but more or less in between. The questions were asked with decorum and respect, although the General did play a little with Colonel Pratt once or twice. He asked

108 him at one stage, to the great amusement of all the young people, “Colonel, when are you going to lose that la-di-dah English accent?” It seemed an appropriate moment for a young person to call out an impromptu question: “General, if you had not been an Army of- ficer, what career would you have liked to have had?” Without missing a beat the General answered, “Oh, if I had not been a Salvation Army officer I think I would have wanted to join the diplomatic corps. I think I could have served God and my country well as a diplomat.” Having received one spontaneous answer, the same young person shouted, “What about Major Bate?” The General turned to me and said, “What about you?” My answer was immediate. “I would rather not answer that, Gen- eral.” A half dozen young folk now shouted out in chorus, “What about Major Bate?” “Come on,” encouraged the General. “Come and tell them.” I stood to my feet and said to him quietly, “I’d rather not do this, General,” but by this time he had me standing at the microphone. My reply was simple and straightforward: “If I had not been an Army officer, I would like to have been an actor and a dancer!” There was hearty applause from the young congregation and a good-natured yet impish grin on the General’s face as he said to me, “I’ll never ask you that again!” And that caused another roar of laughter. Many years later, when I was chief secretary in the Western Ter- ritory, I always had the fear that someone would come up to me one day saying, “I remember what you said at that youth rally when you were with General Brown.” No one ever did, so maybe it was not as memorable an occasion as I feared it might have been.

Caribbean Territory The route into Cuba from the U.S. had to be through Montego Bay, Jamaica, where we were met by the territorial leaders, Colonel and Mrs. Orval Taylor, who then accompanied the General on his visit to the “pearl of the Caribbean.” We had been assured that a pastor would be coming to translate for the General at the two sessions of officers’ councils, and upon arrival in Cuba were driven immediately from the airport to the Ha-

109 vana Central Corps, where we went straight into the councils. I went down to the piano to accompany the singing since there was no other music. However, before we started, Colonel Orval Taylor called me to the platform and directed some comments to the con- gregation in English. This seemed strange to me, as I doubted many, if any, of the officers would understand English. He said to me, “Tell them.” “Tell them what?” I asked. “Tell them what I just said,” he replied. It quickly dawned on me that he wanted me to translate for him. I took a quick glance around the officers and cadets in the congrega- tion, and then on the platform, and saw no one not in a white Army uniform. There was no pastor in this congregation! I turned to the divisional commander, who spoke no English, and asked “Donde esta el traductor?” (Where is the translator?). With a shrug of his shoulders the major answered, “No pudo ve- nir!” (He could not come!). At this stage General Brown asked me what was going on, so I told him there was no one to translate for him, to which he answered, “Well, you’ll have do it!” I had not spoken Spanish for twenty years and now I was sup- posed to translate for the General, the territorial commander, and anyone else who wanted to say something! Fortunately, the General spoke that morning on a subject I had heard him speak on at other councils so I did have a head start—and I had no time to worry, ei- ther! It was the afternoon session that really concerned me as I had two hours after lunch to think about it—and that was terrifying. To be truthful I was amazed how we got through. During the lunch hour, the General also suggested that we sing a duet, if I could find some music he would know. I looked in the Span- ish songbook used in Cuba and found a favorite of mine, “No Tengo Temor.” Loosely translated, it says, “God will never leave me, will remain with me, and his presence will quiet all my fears. Whenever I ask him he will send me his help.” The chorus goes on to affirm, “I have no fear, he has promised never to leave me, he is my protector.” All this is sung to the tune of “No, Never Alone.” During the councils I had to explain that sometimes the General and I would sing a chorus but today he had chosen a song. I sat at the piano with the General standing by me and we commenced to sing. He had good Spanish pronunciation as we sang our way through the

110 first verse. At the chorus, however, the twenty-nine officers and -ca dets joined with us—and soon the General could sing no more. He was so deeply moved. He looked over these officers who served in hard places, with constant challenges and disappointments and great personal deprivation. He could not sing. In later weeks he spoke of this experience so often, how he admired the tenacity, strength and devotion of these officers who faced hardships every day serving and witnessing in Cuba—and yet they sang “I have no fear, he has promised never to leave me, he is my protector!” “Twentieth century heroes” he called them, recognizing them for what they really were.

South America If ever I felt I was “coming home,” it was flying into Santiago, Chile, for a zonal conference followed by a congress. I knew all about South American congresses. Corps and social service centers are very isolated throughout the territory, so the opportunity of meeting to- gether to celebrate, particularly a visit by the General, is a very special event. The growth in South America West during the twenty years since we left was incredible and attendances at meetings and rallies showed evidence of this. The South America West Territory at this time had as its chief secretary Lt. Colonel John Larsson who had produced “Blood of the Lamb” to be portrayed at the congress. Mary Salvany, a daughter of early day pioneer officers, translated the songs and it is true to say that some of the songs are better in Spanish than the original Eng- lish versions. The entire cast, robed in rich red ponchos, made the presentation dramatic right from the commencement; every move- ment had the added grace of the flowing ponchos. However, when Lieutenant Abasto appeared as Jesus, he was in a white poncho and this just seemed to electrify the whole portrayal. Some of those tak- ing part were babies when we left twenty years before and now they were adults, some with their own children, and bearing such strong Christian witness. My opening comment in a letter to Val on a Saturday in April 1984 was, “Boy! We are in and out of countries these days like travel was going out of business.” Chile, Peru, Bolivia and then to South America East—Paraguay, Uruguay and Argentina. No two territories contain such different colors and cultures or such variety. Open-air meetings in South America were thrilling in every in-

111 stance. For one thing, they were held in parks or plazas where there were people. Secondly, there was plenty of music, and attractive music at that. There were always plenty of testimonies and a good Scriptural message followed by an appeal at the drumhead. And there were always seekers. Who would ever want to miss a South American march go past? Bands are always scarce but these Salvationists have been brought up to sing on the march—and sing they do!

112 CHAPTERk 16 “I’ll Change it all in the Translation”: Europe Zone

SCANDINAVIAN CONGRESSES WERE DIFFERENT. They were held annually and I was amazed at the number of Salvationists who trav- eled from one congress to another—Finland, Sweden, Norway and over to Denmark. In most public meetings in Finland, everything had to be trans- lated from Finnish into Swedish or from Swedish into Finnish. Then Commissioner Jarl Wahlström was Finnish speaking while Mrs. Wahlström was Swedish speaking, so they complemented each other admirably. Every time he stood up to speak, she would have to be at his side translating into Swedish. Not being used to such a system, I did find it rather distracting after a while—song numbers and verses read, prayers, Scripture reading, announcements, and so on. Now, with the visit of General Brown, English was added to the mix! If he said anything that was amusing in English, it was less amus- ing when translated into Finnish, and by the time it was presented in Swedish, any semblance of humor had vanished. What amazed me was the fact that the Finnish people took it all as a matter of course— and at the end of the congress I was given twenty cassette tapes of all the meetings for me to listen to again at my leisure—in English, Finnish and Swedish! While the absence of men in The Salvation Army was very no- ticeable, one family does stand out—the Wahlström family. Commis- sioner Jarl Wahlström, territorial commander (and later General), was the third son in the family to become a commissioner and his only sister also became an officer. In fact, her husband was the Swedish translator for the General.

“I’ll change it all in the translation!” Major Bob Street also attended the Helsinki congress as a reporter for The War Cry. Bob was a good friend, and I learned to particularly enjoy his company in the succeeding years when he often accompa- nied the General to European congresses. We were intrigued with the Finnish language, which neither of us knew. The Swedish translation 113 did not help much, owing to our ignorance of that language also. It seemed to us that in the Finnish preaching there were many references to “corsets.” We learned later that a word similar sound- ing to our interpretation actually is “the cross” in Finnish. Another phrase also caught our imagination. It seemed like every sentence or two brought a “to hell with” into what was being said! We asked, but no one could help us in our understanding of what we thought we heard. It was not until years later, when I was accompanying the Wahlströms and referred to this incident again, that suddenly Mrs. Wahlström recognized what I was saying and interpreted it as simply a “resting word” in Finnish, equivalent to “um-er” in English. In the second meeting of this Finnish congress, General Brown noticed a large group from Switzerland in the gallery and recognized their translator—Major Hans Peter Vogel. The General dispatched me during the singing to go ask Peter (who was the tour leader) if he was bringing this group to Stockholm the following weekend for the Swedish congress also. If so, the General would have to use en- tirely different sermons. I approached Peter and gave him the mes- sage. “John,” answered Hans Peter, “tell the General not to worry. I’ll change it all in the translation!” Having been brought up in an English-speaking country, I was not accustomed to people translating in meetings, not only from the platform, but also individual translation in the congregation, one person to another. I found it very disturbing at first. I had thought before that all Scandinavians understood all Scandinavians—how- ever, that is not universally true. At these Scandinavian congresses there are people translating all over the place for those who are not bi-, tri- or quad-lingual. Fortunately, the officer doing the “whispering” translating for the General, Mrs. Brown and me (translating everything that was not in English) was very diligent in helping us understand prayers, testimo- nies and any other comments. I learned, however, that not all lan- guages are equal. In the final meeting, the congregation was invited to testify to the blessings of the congress in their own language. A Swede stood up and spoke, and our translator gave us word for word. The same happened when a Finn spoke and a Norwegian. Another officer stood to testify and the translator gave us the first dozen words then said, “I’m not going to translate that. She’s speaking Danish!” And she didn’t translate it.

114 From Chile to Helsinki At the first meeting, I met with Finnish officers who had served with us in Chile fifteen years earlier. I remembered them well as they arrived in Valparaiso on a cargo ship with no medical assistance avail- able; the wife was already seven months pregnant when they left Hel- sinki—and they were on a six-week journey to South America! When they arrived, the major was sent up to his appointment far away in the north of Chile but his wife stayed in Santiago to await the deliv- ery of the baby. One night Colonel Elizabeth Clausen, the chief sec- retary’s wife and our neighbor, came banging on our gate calling for me to get the “camionetta” (little truck, our only means of transport at THQ) “bien rapido” (very quickly). We set off for the clinic—Mrs. Clausen, the officer’s wife and me. The wife took more space than Mrs. Clausen and me together. Every time we stopped at a traffic light she had pains—and we all knew it— and it seemed the lights were all against us. Eventually we arrived at the Presbyterian Clinic and Mrs. Clausen and the officer’s wife were escorted in. I was home in ten minutes to be told that the baby had already arrived. Now in Helsinki at the congress I was to meet the fifteen-year-old son whom I had almost met on an earlier occasion.

Unique cultures Stockholm is a beautiful city, a city of islands, and I was excited to think that over the next few years I would be a frequent visitor—and I was. The congress is always mid-summer when so many Swedes head for the beaches. Salvationists, however, always come back for the congress. The string bands were a special feature and I fell in love with so many of their songs; their lilt and rhythm were magical. The Norwegian congress brought differences again. The great congress gatherings seemed to always highlight the admirable, high- ly appreciated and sophisticated ministry that the Army has among the deaf. There are officers whose appointments require them to work almost solely with those whose hearing is impaired. Iceland, while traditionally allied to Denmark, is part of the Nor- wegian Territory of The Salvation Army. From Oslo, then, we flew directly into Reykjavik. Brigadier Oscar Johnsson, an Icelandic officer returning to his homeland to retire, accompanied me in the coach section. He told me his son was the regional officer in Iceland, which puzzled me a little. I had prepared the brief for the General’s meeting and I knew the regional officer was Captain Daniel Oscarsson, not

115 Johnsson. When we arrived and I met the regional officer I was even more confused, for he introduced me to his children whose surnames were Danielsson. I had my first lesson in Icelandic; Iceland is the only Scandinavian country to still follow the practice where each son takes for his surname his father’s Christian name to which is added “sson”—and the girls add “dotier” (daughter). So, when I went visiting with the captain he said to those to whom he spoke, “I am Captain Daniel Oscarsson.” “Oh,” they would reply, “so you are Oscar’s son! Come on in Cap- tain Daniel!” Interesting! The gentleman who drove the General around the capital was a good friend of the Army, an architect by profession. He invited the General to his beautifully appointed home for a wonderful meal. Af- terwards, he showed me his study where there were several rows of books, leather bound, all in the Icelandic language. (Incredible when you think of how relatively few copies must have been published of each book.) He then showed me his family tree that was displayed on the wall. “Oh, come on,” I joked, “how can you have a family tree when you don’t even keep the same surname for two generations.” “Ah,” he replied. “It is important to know which family you be- long to—but it is much more important to know whose son you are!” I have to admit that that has been one of my best sermon illustrations for more than twenty-five years.

116 CHAPTERk 17 Fervor and Enthusiasm: Africa Zone

I KNEW THAT WAS the fastest growing territory, but to see evidence of its size was inspiring. Six thousand uniformed Salvation- ists on a Sunday morning march in Nairobi was a tremendous sight, and for General Brown to take the salute was both a tiring and yet an invigorating experience. Another two thousand joined the marchers for the holiness meet- ing, which was thrilling. Commissioner Ngugi was a tall, impressive figure, and gave great leadership. Seated between the General and Mrs. Brown, and alongside me, was the translator—who kept us well informed of all that was said in Swahili. The territorial commander was leading a song and I was doing my best to sing along with my Kenyan comrades. After two verses, the commissioner stopped the singing and said something and then we continued singing. I was just preparing myself to sing the fourth verse when everyone else sat down! Rather apologetically I whispered to the major doing our translation, “It seems as though the commissioner told everyone to sing the fourth verse and I was singing the third!” “Don’t worry, Major,” she consoled me. “The way you sing Swa- hili it doesn’t really matter!”

Ghana I know it seems as though every place the General visits is excit- ing, and they are—but Ghana is something very special. There is an often-quoted expression that states “mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun,” and on arriving in Accra it is not hard to understand how and why it is said. The heat is extreme, and it seems to add to the exuberance of the Salvationists when they come to meet their General. I have danced in many African countries but it all pales in com- parison to dancing in Ghana! No matter how large the congregation was at any congress gathering, when it came to taking up the offering the only way the Ghanaians would give is if they could come forward dancing. Very large canastas were placed at the front of each aisle and the singing began—and they started coming—and as long as the

117 singing continued, they came, time and time again. It seemed to be a wonderful idea for fundraising. The offering had been going for some time when General Brown turned to me and said, “What do we do, John?” “We dance, General!” was my immediate reply, so he indicated that I should lead the way. I know how to dance African-style and the General followed me, trying to imitate my movements. The crowd loved it and they all started coming back again. Before long, the Gen- eral seemed to be leading something that resembled a “hallelujah cha-cha.”

A royal meeting General Brown was invited to meet the Asantehene, king of the Ashantis who, apparently, is not a political figure but royalty. His pal- ace is in Kumasi, north of Accra, and a military plane was provided to take us there. We were escorted into the palace and into the presence of the king. At his side was his “voice,” or in this case his transla- tor. We understood that the Asantehene does not speak, officially, directly to anyone but must always speak through this servant whose position is apparently one of great importance. The king wore very large rings of gold peacocks—sacred fowls birds to the Ashantis—on each finger and each toe. The General had to speak to the servant who then related the conversation to the chief and vice versa. After about ten or twelve minutes of this back and forth conversation, the king dismissed his servant and, addressing the General directly, spoke in polished Oxford English! He had been a lawyer in the Inns of Court in the Strand, London, but on the death of his uncle he had to return to Ghana to take his place on the throne. Not long after we returned to London, a newspaper carried the story of a young Ghanaian who was working in England and had lost a finger in a work-related accident. He took his employer to court and was awarded a large amount of money due to the fact that he was a nephew of the current Asantehene in Kumasi. The basis of the claim, which was upheld, was that if he was called to take the throne in Kumasi, he would not be able to wear all the rings that that office would demand.

An intriguing history The history of the Army in Ghana is quite intriguing. We are told that many years ago a Ghanaian, King Hudson, was walking down

118 Queen Victoria Street in London, saw IHQ, and went inside. When he learned what the Army was, King Hudson said he would like to take it back to his country, so he was given a flag and a drum and he returned home to start the work. Perhaps more questions could have been asked about King Hudson, for example “How many wives do you have?” Anyway, the work grew and today the Army in Ghana is very significant. After his death, King Hudson was buried and his tombstone bore the inscription “Here lie the remains of Captain King Hudson, founder of The Salvation Army.” It was like that for many years until an English territorial com- mander was appointed who preferred things to be “correct.” He thought the tombstone gave a wrong impression so he had two words added: “Founder of The Salvation Army in Ghana.” This story had been told to us at lunch and early in the afternoon we entered another session of officers’ councils. Just after the meeting commenced, a very elderly retired officer entered and the officer next to me said, “That is Mrs. Captain King Hudson. She is his last wife.” I leaned over to General Wahlström and said, “General, the Army mother has just arrived!” He promptly replied, “No. She’s the Army’s stepmother!”

Trouble brewing Ghana was going through some difficult days at the time of one visit of General Brown. Food was in short supply. Through the graces of a government minister, the General and his party were housed in the State House. The condition of this invitation when it was given to Colonel Donald Seiler, the territorial commander, was that the state did not have food for us and he would have to supply the State House with whatever we needed. Then we found that not only was food in short supply, so was water. Each time we needed water for anything, we had to call for a servant to bring up a bucket. The three inches of water that I had amassed in my bath had to stay there and I used it for four days—it almost jellified! One night we heard gunshots and mortar fire. The minister by whose graces we were in the State House had led a coup d’état. Ev- erything closed, including the airports. We were told to stay indoors. One day passed, then two. Commissioner Holland, who was the in- ternational secretary traveling with us, was trying to make all kinds of contacts, but nothing availed. In view of the fact that the General’s next engagement was in

119 Nigeria, I suggested that perhaps we should try to arrange to leave the country by road. Over the next four hours I learned a great deal of African geography. Toga and Benin were not going to be the easi- est countries to travel through, even if we were able to arrive at their borders. Anyway, we would need visas. A photographer arrived with an old bellowed camera from the era before cameras had mechanized action. To take photographs for our visas he had to remove the lens cap, and then we sat for two minutes while the image was recorded on the primitive negative. (I still have my photo—I look as if I had been dead for several days!) The supply of food was greatly reduced—except for yams. We had boiled yams, mashed yams, fried yams, roasted yams—everything but raw yams. While we were never in danger ourselves, it was an uncomfortable situation to be in for so long. We learned that land travel was not pos- sible—and if it had been, it would not have been safe. Two days later the airport opened and we left on the first plane—headed for Lagos.

Nigeria Arriving some days late for the congress did not seem to upset anyone. Thousands still arrived at the airport to greet the General— and the program continued as if nothing untoward had happened. Our hotel in Lagos was a building not yet two years old, although it did give the appearance of a greater age. I saw that my bathroom had part of the ceiling missing, and when I awoke on that first morning I had great difficulty in opening the bathroom door. When I success- fully forced it open, I saw that the entire ceiling was now on the floor and lay in a couple of inches of water. I called for the management to come and see the situation. A very dapper gentleman arrived and I showed him into the bathroom. He looked up, then down, and up again and then asked me, “When did you first notice it?” I counted to ten before answering. They gave me another room. On an earlier visit with General Brown, I recall arriving in Lagos at 2 a.m. after a much-delayed flight from London. As we touched down I looked out along the runway and as far as the eye could see there were Salvationists. Even above the roar of the engines we could hear them singing “Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah” to the African tune of Calabar. What a night and what an experience! There were upwards of five thousand people there to greet the General. Another memorable moment on that visit was being taken to the memorial and gravesite of Mary Mitchell Slessor. What a testimony

120 she continues to give to the world. This timid little Scotswoman born in 1848, determined to be a missionary in Calabar, left Liverpool on August 5, 1876. She succumbed to fever on January 13, 1915. Her African name meant “everybody’s mother.” There on the memorial, written for all to read, is a testimony to her faithful service and her love of Africa: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” Mary Slessor is one of Africa’s great heroes.

Congo I learned on my first tour to make sure I knew the difference be- tween Zaire and Congo. Once they were both known as “Congos” but now they have been separately identified. However, for my purposes, I will refer to them both under this one heading. The Salvation Army schools in Zaire have traditionally been held in high regard and the alumni have a very strong and influential as- sociation. As soon as General Brown’s visit was scheduled, we were told that the alumni association would expect the General to be their guest at a banquet. It was a spread that looked fit for a king—until I looked a little closer at the feast. The centerpiece was a monkey, roasted whole and seated in a way that could be referred to as the “fetal position.” A chef stood nearby and sliced the meat as required. Thank you! We are off meat at the moment! The next day we were served a luncheon treat resembling some- thing best described as a kebab. There was a small tomato, some black meat, an onion, some black meat, a tomato, some black meat, and so on. “What do you think the black meat is?” asked the General. “I don’t know,” was my answer, “but I have a feeling it might be the monkey you didn’t eat last night!” When the congress was finished in Kinshasa, it was time to move across the river, the Zaire (once upon a time the famous Congo River), to the Congo Republic. It seemed as many Salvationists came to see the General off as had been there to welcome him. It was like a scene from a hundred years ago. They stood along the riverside and sang and sang and sang. But it was what they were singing that intrigued me. I did not understand the words, as they were singing in French, but the tune was unmistakable! “Majesty!” Not the newer praise cho- rus, but the magnificent Wesleyan tune, which has had a place in the Army tune book for years. For some reason we seldom use it in English-speaking countries but someone a long time ago married it to

121 French words and today it is sung all over the Army’s French-speak- ing world. The melody was still echoing across the river as we cut through the water in a large launch. Soon we were hearing singing again, but this time coming towards us from the Brazzaville side. It was the same tune, sung with the same fervor and enthusiasm. I never hear that tune but my memory is refreshed with the expe- rience of that day crossing the Zaire River.

122 CHAPTERk 18 It Was Only a Matter of Time!: Americas and Caribbean Zone

IT WAS A NORMAL MORNING WITH REGARD to the business I had to transact with General Wahlström, and we finished in good time. He pushed back in his chair and looking at me asked, “John, is there any reason why you should not go back to South America?” It was a cold January morning and the thought of a summer’s day in South America at that moment seemed appealing. I thought for a moment and said, “Well, yes, General, there are two reasons why we shouldn’t go back to South America—but I guess they will not seem quite the same to you as they do to us. Bever- ley and Alastair are already thirteen thousand miles away from our homeland and now you are suggesting we leave them here and go seven thousand miles away from them.” I simply wanted to point out the strangeness of our situation although, of course, Beverley was now twenty-four, had graduated from London University with an honors degree in physics and was teaching in a West London second- ary school. Alastair was twnety-one and working at Burroughs Well- come Pharmaceutical Laboratory near the secondary school he had attended. He was still living at home. It was hardly feasible for them to return to New Zealand having lived the majority of their lives in other lands. Although we still had relatives there, it would not have been easy for them to make the transition on their own. All this buzzed around in my head for a few moments and then I continued my answer by saying, “Other than that, General, there is no reason why we should not return to South America.” He said, “I would like you to go back to Chile,” and there was the magic word—Chile! “Oh, General,” I replied, “if we are to go back to South America, there is no place where we would rather go.” He continued, “I’d like you to be the chief secretary.” I thought for a moment and answered, “Well, General, if you think I could fill that appointment, I would be happy to accept it.” He quickly added, “And, of course, you will be promoted.” “General,” I asked, “is that totally necessary? Could I not be the 123 chief secretary as a major?” I recalled my serious discussion with General Brown who had mentioned that he would like to appoint us to the U.S. before he re- tired, but that had not happened for reasons already indicated. I felt that after four years in Chile I could more easily be appointed to the U.S. and many more appointments would be open for me with the rank of major. However as a lieutenant colonel, it would be difficult to fit into a U.S. appointment without previous experience in that country. It certainly seemed more practical to me for us to remain majors. But no. The General felt he would want to promote us, both for the service given in the General’s office over the previous five years and also for the appointment he wanted to make. I accepted his deci- sion and realized that any future appointment to the U.S. would now be out of our reach. It seems quite incidental now, but we were in the throes of having our house in London re-carpeted and only that morning I had had to remove all our furniture from the house and place much of it on the patio for the new carpet to be fitted. The thought did come to me when the General asked if there were any reasons why we should not go back to South America. I wanted to say, “Yes General, there is a reason! All our furniture is out on the patio.” But, of course, I did not. That evening in our quarters in Shirley, Croydon, Val and I sat watching TV when at what I thought was an appropriate moment I asked, “How would you like to go back to Chile?” Val’s thoughts and comments over the next few minutes were identical to mine earlier in the day: Beverley and Alastair, their future, our future as a family— but yes, of course, we would go. After indicating our positive feelings to the General the follow- ing day, we continued on with months of appointments and travels as the change was not to take place until May of that year. I was to replace Lt. Colonel John Larsson, who was to become the training principal at Denmark Hill in London. All these changes were to be an- nounced in March, but not until after we had visited South America West for a South American zonal conference to be held in Chile. How convenient!

Chile The conference was held outside of Santiago and John Larsson and I shared a chalet for our accommodation. It gave us the opportu-

124 nity to discuss Chile and London and the kind of lives we would both be facing in our new appointments. The territorial commander for South America West was also under farewell orders to South America East, and Colonel Carl Eliasen, territorial commander in Brazil, was coming to take Commissioner Ruben Nuesch’s place in Santiago. But the changes in South America West were not to be announced until the General’s party had arrived in South America East—Paraguay, to be precise. Following the zonal conference, General Wahlström led a great congress in Santiago. I was thrilled over and over again at the won- derful progress that had taken place in Chile and, in particular, San- tiago. General Augusto Pinochet was president of the ruling junta, a sit- uation that received very adverse and, I believe at times, inappropri- ate coverage from the world press. However, the improvements I was now seeing after an absence of twenty years were incredible. Santiago was beautiful, clean and well organized. And the growth of the Army was nothing short of spectacular. I constantly thought how much Commissioner and Mrs. Ray Gearing would have loved that Sunday afternoon march through the streets of Santiago with hundreds of Salvationists following the band, saluting their General and literally singing “Songs of Zion.” This followed an exciting open-air meeting in the Quinta Normal (a large park) with hundreds of people attend- ing and listening. I was able to visit what would be our quarters in a building that had been given to the Army during our years of absence. It was in a fine edifice in a very desirable suburb close to the significant hill, San Cristóbal, in Providencia. This was certainly an improvement on the quaint wooden house we had lived in twenty years before. It became the quarters as part of a remarkable event that had brought untold benefit to the territory. The Salvation Army band in Maidenhead, England, was holding an open-air meeting one Sunday when the corps officer, doing door-to-door visiting, met a man who asked if The Salvation Army had any work in South America. On re- ceiving an affirmative answer, he said he had some stocks and shares in Chile which he had had for many years. Under the regime of that time, he was unable to sell them and bring his assets out of the coun- try. In view of this, he decided to give them to the Army. It was soon determined that this was no minor donation, but rather in the realm of half a million U.S. dollars. Included were land

125 and industrial buildings and a beautiful apartment block where the territorial commander and chief secretary now lived. The new train- ing college stood on another piece of land included in this dona- tion, and nearby was a large storage facility (“bodega”) that became a source of considerable and regular income for the territory. The remarkable story of this donation is told in detail in Saying YES to LIFE, an autobiography of General John Larsson (Ret.), my immediate predecessor in South America West. I took photographs of the quarters and made notes to send home to Val as the General’s tour was to continue for some weeks. With the photos in hand, she was more at ease about our new home-to-be.

Another delay From Santiago we flew to La Paz with Commissioner Nuesch and Lt. Colonel Larsson for a Bolivian congress and, in spite of the alti- tude, the General coped well. This visit was as exciting as our time in Chile. There was only one inconvenience. As I already explained, our return to replace the Larssons was to be announced when we were in Asuncion, Paraguay, at the beginning of the General’s tour of South America East. The inconvenience? Our plane was grounded in Santa Cruz due to fog (a common occurrence) which meant we were going to be a day late leaving Bolivia. By the time we reached the airport in La Paz the following morning, IHQ had released the announce- ment at the scheduled time and everyone knew of our appointment. It was obvious from their reaction that we were going to be warmly welcomed on our return to South America West. Also, John Larsson and Commissioner Nuesch had airplane reser- vations to return to Santiago within an hour of our originally sched- uled flight to Paraguay. They felt that one of them ought to stay to see the General out of the territory. John asked Commissioner Nuesch which of them should stay. The commissioner answered with a wry smile, “You stay. I’m going to retire soon. They can’t do anything to me!”

Looking ahead Paraguay, Uruguay and Argentina were all new to me and were very exciting visits. Differences to the western side of the continent were obvious although four years later, when we were appointed to South America East, I wished I had paid more attention!

126 We returned to London via New York where I spoke with a good friend, Colonel Wally Conrath, who was, at this time, chief secretary of the USA Eastern Territory. He said to me, “John, if there is any- thing I can do for you when you return to South America, just let me know.” What an offer! In talking with Colonel Carl Eliasen in Santiago at the zonal conference, he had indicated to me that the advisory board in Santiago, which had been so virile in the days of Commissioner Gearing, was now almost defunct. He wanted me to make revival of the board a priority once I returned. I mentioned this to Wally and asked if he might have business contacts in New York who had branches in Santiago with managers who could become effective ad- visory board members. He thought this was feasible and suggested that, once I was in Santiago, I buy a copy of the American Chamber of Commerce register for Chile and send it on to him. That contact led to one of the most remarkable stories of my en- tire officership… .

127

Part IV

CHAPTERk 19 The Land of Copihue Rojo: South America West

TO BE BACK IN SOUTH AMERICA, and Chile in particular, was an experience we had hoped for; our return brought so many people back into our lives who had been very significant to us twenty years earlier. And we were now meeting the next generation as well. Just as we arrived, a very dear friend, Mrs. Brigadier Carmen Ma- gallanes, was promoted to Glory and, in good Chilean style, we had remembrance services for her each night of the week in preparation for her funeral on the Friday. I had to preach a sermon every night— in Spanish—and after an absence of twenty years I had some “brush- ing up” to do. The Magallanes had had a very effective ministry through the years, particularly in administering some of the Army’s children’s homes. I remember Martha Magallanes, the only child and officer daughter of Brigadier and Mrs. Fidel Magallanes, asking all those at the funeral for whom her mother was also their “mother” to stand. More than half of the congregation stood, and Martha referred to them all as “my brothers and sisters, whom my mother loved dearly.”

Our ministry grows and changes The growth of The Salvation Army in South America West had been phenomenal. Shortly after our return, our operations extended into Ecuador, thanks to Erik Theinhardt. Erik was a Salvationist who, working in South America on behalf of a German bank, had contacts with the government in Ecuador and was able to open all kinds of doors for this new extension. The territory’s social work had also developed, but not without headaches. Some years earlier, the government of Chile had made generous grants to the Army for its social work but, as always, gov- ernment money brought conditions for operation. Educational and social specialists now had to be employed, and that was fine while the government grants existed, but with time these funds began to dwindle while the demands continued. Homes that had operated earlier with two officers and a couple of employees now had one 131 officer and a team of relatively costly specialists whose employment was a 9-to-5 “job.” There were also evident changes in the Roman Catholic Church during the twenty years since we had lived in Chile. Not long after our return, the divisional commander came to my office with a re- quest from the prior of the oldest Catholic church in Santiago, San Francisco on Avenida Alemeda, that I preach the sermon on Pente- cost Sunday at their afternoon service. I asked, “You mean they want a Protestant to preach in their church?” “Yes,” replied the major, “and they have specifically asked for you.” I accepted and was greeted most warmly. What surprised me was the enthusiastic clapping by the hierarchy and priests to the modern choruses they were singing.

God works in mysterious ways We journeyed to London for the retirement of General and Mrs. Wahlström, and on passing through New York, I asked Colonel Wally Conrath how he was progressing with the “project” of assisting in the formation of an advisory board in Santiago. He told me it was mov- ing along and he would have something for me very soon. Within a couple of weeks, Wally phoned me to say that he thought he had a likely chairman lined up but would give me more details within a day or two. In the meantime, he was sending me a newspa- per cutting. Two days later the newspaper cutting, a page from the Glasgow Times, arrived without any explanation. It was dated August 23, 1918. I glanced through it but saw nothing that seemed to par- ticularly catch my eye, so I sent it up to our public relations officer and told him to file it. A week later Wally phoned again and said, “John—I have your chairman for you. His name is Mr. Miller Templeton. He is the se- nior partner in Chile of KPMG, a very prestigious auditing firm. He is waiting for you to give him a call.” I telephoned Mr. Templeton, introduced myself and told him I understood he had agreed to be our board chairman. “I don’t know what I’m going to be,” he answered, “but Wally Conrath says I have to be something—so I have no choice!” Arrangements were made for Colonel Eliasen and me to meet him the following day in his office to talk about all that we hoped he

132 would be able to do. His final comment in our telephone conver- sation was, “You know my contact with The Salvation Army, don’t you?” I hesitated in replying. He continued, “Wally said he was going to send you a newspaper cutting.” “Oh, that,” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up a little in horror. “That! Yes, yes! Very interesting!” I hung up the phone and called for the newspaper cutting imme- diately and, in my own defense, have to say now I had some idea of what I was looking for. And there it was! How could I have missed it? The Glasgow Times recorded that the engine and some carriages of the London to Glasgow express had been derailed near Carlisle. All of the passengers in the front carriage were killed except a small baby who had been flung out of the carriage. The account went on to say that there were two Salvation Army officers traveling on the train. One of them, a woman, had located the baby whose mother and small brother had perished in the accident. The police arranged for the officer to be escorted to Glasgow with the baby in an endeavor to locate the father, who was now a widower. After some days, an aunt was found who apparently took responsibility for the little girl. What a story! But what had this to do with Mr. Miller Templeton? The next day we visited his office to talk about advisory boards and finally the conversation came around to the train accident. “That baby girl,” said Miller, “grew up to become my mother!” I sat quietly for a moment, taking in this remarkable incident and then said thoughtfully, “You know, Miller, I was in London two weeks ago and I had tea with the lady who found your mother and who took her to Glasgow!” He looked at me with a glance of incredulity, and said, “That was in 1918—and this is 1985.” “Yes,” I answered, “and the officer is ninety-three years of age.” It was Lt. Colonel Olive Booth who, as a young captain, had been traveling with her brother Bernard accompanying their mother, Commissioner Florence Booth, to Scotland to conduct meetings. We sat silent for a moment considering the significance of this unique incident and its outcome sixty-seven years later. I wrote to Olive to tell her what her actions in 1918 now meant for the Army in Chile in 1985. Within ten days I received a handwritten letter from her giving her memories of the accident and thanking God for the way it had worked out. I gave the letter to Mr. Templeton (but kept

133 a copy for myself!). I understood as never before the words William Cowper wrote two centuries before: “God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform.” Miller Templeton served many years as the Santiago advisory board chairman.

Earthquake Sunday, March 3, 1985—a day we will never forget. We had had young visitors from the north of Chile with us and I had just returned home from taking them to the bus station. I was sitting in my study when, at precisely 7:50 p.m., we thought the end of the world had come. This solid, three-story concrete building began to shake in an unbelievable way. The brick wall just outside the French doors wob- bled like a corrugated carton. Val came running into the study as objects and ornaments began flying around the rooms. We had been in earthquakes before but nothing of this magnitude. The movement and rumbling continued for over two minutes as we clung to each other. It stopped and the silence was ominous. Dare we move? We made our way towards the front door as Colonels Carl and Mary Eliasen came down the stairs to see if we were all right. There was still strange movement underfoot—and rumbling. The phone rang; it seemed to bellow in that strange silence. It was the officer from our elderly residents’ home. The building was in ruins, but they had managed to get all the people out safely. I said we would be there instantly. The territorial commander and I hopped in our car and set off as best we could down those Santiago streets which were now lined with rubble. Adobe and concrete from the front walls and facing of houses was lying along the roadside and many people still sat stunned in their dining rooms, which now lacked front walls. We arrived at the home and the officers had truly done a remark- able job in getting all the residents to a safe place. The earthquake struck on a beautiful Sunday evening in March when many Chileans were sitting out on their patios enjoying the weather. Very few of our elderly people were in their beds, only those who were infirm. The earthquake recorded 8.1 on the Richter scale and it was es- timated that over one million people (one tenth of the entire popu- lation of Chile) lost their homes. Strangely enough, however, there were only 177 deaths, again because of the hour of the “terremoto.”

134 Many of those who were killed actually died in churches. The Chil- ean government was remarkable in the clean-up operations; within six weeks all the rubble had been removed. Repairs took much longer, of course. The Salvation Army lost five buildings and nineteen were badly damaged. We had contacted a contractor, or rather he had contacted us some time earlier, regarding repairs to the old training college on Avenida Brazil, which was now a day nursery. Immediately following the earthquake, Don Absolon Espinosa contacted me to see what he could do to help. There is no doubt about it in my mind—the Lord sent him at just the right time. We could not have recovered in regard to our properties had it not been for his vision, drive, enthusiasm, skill and constant encouragement. It took many months to get things back to normal. Our headquar- ters had been damaged beyond repair; it was replaced, eventually, with a fine building through the generosity of the U.S. territories.

Trials sometimes come in threes Within a month of our arriving back in Santiago, Val had a fall one night outside a supermarket that necessitated having to wear a half-body and arm cast for six weeks to repair torn ligaments. A few weeks after the earthquake, we were driving into Santiago from the Argentine border in our new Mazda station wagon when a tire blew out, throwing our vehicle onto the gravel. I tried to correct the turn but the car rolled over and skidded right across the road, at 4 p.m. on a Friday on the main and busy highway between Chile and Argentina. We landed upside down in a ditch on the wrong side of the road and I waited for the explosion—which never came. Two faces quickly appeared at the side window and, hearing me trying to comfort Val, one said to the other, “Son Americanos” (They’re Americans). “No,” said his friend, “Son Britanicos” (They’re British). To this day I still cannot understand my answer, considering we were in an overturned vehicle that could have exploded at any min- ute. “No,” I replied calmly, “Somos Neo Zelandeses” (We are New Zealanders). At that moment, a third man appeared at the window smiling from ear to ear. “New Zealanders? We’re going to New Zealand next week!” I shouted, “Well, can you help turn us over before you go!” but he had run off to tell his wife about this remarkable coincidence in find-

135 ing New Zealanders upside down on the Chile/Argentina highway. We came out of that without a scratch, saved by the use of seat belts. In North America the car would have been scrapped, but in South America it was taken into the panel-beating shop and six weeks later it emerged looking almost like new. To complete the trio of accidents, there was that other occasion. We were spending a few days of vacation in La Serena in the northern desert of Chile. On our second morning, I left the hotel to bring the car from the parking lot across the road. As I crossed the road at the pedestrian crossing, a truck sped towards me and the large wing mir- ror on the driver’s side struck me in the forehead. I was thrown backwards toward the sidewalk; my shoulder bore the brunt of the impact as I hit the curb. I lay in a pool of blood from my head and had excruciating pain in my shoulder. Val was standing outside the hotel and rushed towards me. The driver and other on- lookers lifted me into the truck and took me to the nearest (and only) public hospital in the town. It was hardly the most desirable place; while they were stitching my head, Val was concerned about all the infections I could be exposed to. I explained that it was not my head that hurt as much as my arm, so the doctor and the nurses decided that they would tape my arm against my body with sticking plaster. The x-ray indicated a totally smashed shoulder and they said I would not be able to move my right arm ever again. Val pleaded for more information about private hospitals in the area and was told that there was only one very small private clinic. Again I was transported by truck, but this time the medical atten- tion was different. The surroundings of the clinic were beautiful. It was spotless and, although there were only fourteen beds, it was obvi- ous the attention was going to be good. The French-trained surgeon took more x-rays and indicated he thought he might be able to find a piece of bone large enough to take a screw. He believed, however, that I would be permanently limited in the use of my right arm, even following a long surgery. My total upper body was set in a cast with one special adjustment, due to circumstances at THQ. There were only three people who could sign checks at the headquarters—the territorial commander, the chief secretary and the financial secretary. The territorial commander was about to leave on an assignment for some weeks, which meant I had to be in a position where I was able to at least sign checks.

136 The cast was applied with my right arm down to my side and then in front of my stomach. My right hand was kept out of the cast so that I could write, but everything else was encased. I often remarked that I looked like the only man on earth who had a hand coming out of his navel! Tickets were obtained to fly me back to Santiago on the doctor’s advice, as he felt driving all that distance would be harmful. How- ever, it was only a small plane and it meant I would have to be on a stretcher in the aisle. The doctor reconsidered this plan and finally decided that a car journey would be preferable to the conditions of the flight. After ten days, Captain Luiz Castillo came north to see me and to drive Val and me back to Santiago. Sadly, we learned that night that a small aircraft had crashed be- tween La Serena and Santiago, with all lives lost but one. This was the flight that we had been booked on. Every incident in life has lessons for us. I remember lying in the clinic in La Serena the day following the accident when the driver of the truck came to see me. I had had surgery and, to a certain degree, I could say that I was comfortable. He had come to ask my forgiveness. “Sure,” I answered, almost without thinking. However, over the next three or four months when I was in the pain of therapy, hanging at times from bars by my arms so that my right arm would be strength- ened, I had to forgive the driver over and over again—daily, in fact. It was not until I felt the pain that I realized the real cost of forgiveness.

Did you say “goat”? Major Don McMillan, the Canadian Territory’s representative for overseas projects, was always a welcome visitor, as he found sources of donations for all kinds of projects. Shortly after our return to the territory, Colonel Carl Eliasen was going to accompany Don to Cal- ama to see the large school project in that city. Just the day before- hand, Mary Eliasen became quite ill so Carl asked me if I would travel with Don in his place, which I did. There was little time to study the schedule the territorial commander had planned, so it was not until we were seated in the plane that I asked Don what the program for the visit contained. He explained that the main public event was a united meeting in Calama that night and then the following day there were to be visits to the project. “Who was going to translate tonight?” I asked. “The territorial commander, I think,” replied Don. Wow! I didn’t

137 even have a dictionary with me. In view of the situation, I suggested to Don that he relate to me there and then, as we flew north, what he was going to say so I could think about the translation. He told me that he wanted to explain, among other things, about one of the Canadian Territory’s projects in India where a poor family is given a buffalo. They live off its milk and then join with another member family in the project to breed more buffaloes. “Just a minute, Don,” I interrupted. “Don’t you do the same thing with goats as well in India?” “Yes, we do,” he replied. I explained that without a dictionary to check on, I had no idea what the word for buffalo was in Spanish, but I did know that a goat is a “cabro” or “cabrito” and I could talk about that. “OK,” said Don, and he was happy to adapt accordingly. The trouble was that my good friend Don McMillan does not have the best memory in the world. When he was called upon to speak, we stood up and I did fine with the translation until he arrived at the reference to the projects in India. To my surprise he said, “And in India we give each of the families in the village a buffalo ….” A buffalo? It was supposed to be a goat! So I translated the phrase, interposing a “goat” in place of a “buf- falo.” The congregation roared with laughter. I did not know that buffalo in Spanish is “bufalo” and they were all wondering why I was talking about a goat when they knew he was talking about a buffalo.

Marching orders In December 1987 we were enjoying some days of furlough at home in our apartment. We spent an enjoyable time one afternoon up at the beautiful swimming pool nearby on Cerro San Cristóbal. On returning home, I had a message to contact the territorial command- er who told me that the Chief of the Staff had been trying to contact me and I was to return the call. The Chief was Commissioner Ron Cox, with whom we had served both in Rhodesia and also at IHQ. As it turned out, General Eva Burrows wanted us to farewell and proceed to South America East as the territorial leaders—and she needed us to be there in one month. The appointment was to be announced at IHQ the next morning. The next week was Christmas, hardly the time to pack up for a move. But we did. I phoned Beverley in London that night to let her know an an- nouncement was to be made the next morning regarding our farewell

138 from South America West. “Where are we going?” was Beverley’s instant response. “To South America East—Argentina.” “Great,” replied Beverley. “We haven’t been there yet! Are you go- ing to be the chief secretary?” “No, dear,” I answered. “I’m going to be the territorial command- er.” “Wonderful!” was her excited reply. I then called Alastair, who was in the training college in Suffern, New York. After telling him the strictly confidential news, his re- ply was almost identical to Beverley’s. “Where are we going? … We haven’t been there yet!” and so on. He then asked, “What is to be your appointment? Chief secre- tary?” “No,” I replied. “Property secretary?” he asked. “No,” I answered. “What then?” “Territorial commander,” I informed him. There was silence while this sunk in. “You?” came the incredulous response. I shall remember that reaction one day in the future when he tells me of his new appointment.

139 CHAPTERk 20 It Takes Two to Tango: South America East

PERHAPS THE GREATEST CULTURE SHOCK we have had in all our travels was following an hour and a half flight from Santiago, Chile, to Buenos Aires, Argentina. The countries are vastly different and the people are too. Santiago is a Latin city, whereas Buenos Aires is defi- nitely European. However, the warmth of the Salvationists was evi- dent from the moment we arrived at Ezeiza Airport.

Growing pains South America East had passed through some “dry” years. One year there was only one cadet and another year none at all. However, during the term of my immediate predecessor, Commissioner Ruben Nuesch, a new surge of life became apparent and we were now to be the beneficiaries of the hard work, and at times frustration, of those who had gone before us. General Eva Burrows visited the territory within a month of our arrival and in those congress meetings, which she led, we saw more than thirty young people offering for officer- ship, something that had not been seen for years. The old headquarters and Central Corps on Avenida Rivadavia had seen better days, but because of years of financial restraint and difficulties, little could be done to improve the situation. I did discover, however, that the Army was half-owner of two large buildings in the city, an ownership we shared with a Catholic agency. The properties had come to us in a remarkable way. Many years ago, a lady from Buenos Aires was visiting Paris and, during her stay there, was robbed of her money, documents, passport and all her person- al papers. She went to the police, who said they could do nothing to help her but directed her to the “Armée du Salut” (The Salvation Army) at the Palais de la Femme on rue de Charonne. Here, for the first time, she met The Salvation Army who took her in, cared for her, helped her secure some documentation for her return to South America and indeed arranged her passage. On arriv- ing back in Buenos Aires, she altered her will so that what she was to bequeath to the Catholic agency should now be shared with The 140 Salvation Army. Early in our time in the territory I visited the build- ings, which were rented out, although there were a number of suites and offices unoccupied. I determined that we could well utilize two floors of the building on the Avenida Cordoba for our headquarters and within a couple of years we arranged to move. This in itself lifted morale and made us more visible in the downtown area. Opportunities for growth presented themselves all over the ter- ritory and it was always a matter of having to sort out priorities. We had to consider not only the cost of opening a center or corps but also the cost of future maintenance for the property or program. The country was passing through dire economic times. A presidential election was held, but the government administration had so col- lapsed that power had to be handed over to the new president weeks earlier than would have been done normally. We experienced unbe- lievable inflation. The car that was purchased for me just after we ar- rived cost 66,000 australes. Three years later I was filling the gas tank one day and it cost me 388,000 australes—six times the cost of the car just to fill the tank. Yet in spite of all this, life went on! There were periods of time when no one would give an estimate for work to be done as quotes could be meaningless within hours. At that time Robert Barth, my private secretary, would come to me on payday asking how much money I needed. I would suggest that a million australes would do as we would do our shopping for the month that night. He would pick up my allowance and his own wages and then he would take off around the city to see where he could get the best price to buy U.S. dollars. He would come back an hour or two later and hand me thirty or forty dollars, the balance of my allowance for the month. We would then cash five or ten dollars at a time during the rest of the month as and when we needed to do more shopping. At one stage, banks closed and did not reopen for ten days. At the end of that month we sent all employees home with four dollars each—that was all we had. And yet, through all of this, there was a peculiar calm in Argentina. If you visited Buenos Aires at this time, you would see everyone going about his or her business as if noth- ing untoward was happening economically. The government peri- odically would announce the removal of three more zeros from the paper money, as devaluation was so rapid that new notes could not be issued as frequently as needed.

141 Grass roots growth The Army continued to see growth and new openings in spite of the economic conditions. Miguel was the handyman at THQ and he came to see me one day to tell me that he and his wife had been out in a “población” (village) visiting family who, together with friends, had asked Miguel if they could have an evangelical meeting some- time. So he had a service with them right away. A couple of weeks later, Miguel came to see me again to say he was not sure if he had done it correctly or not but he thought he had commenced a corps or at least an outpost out there. He had had meetings and Sunday school, and Graciela (his wife) had started a home league. He was concerned for the folk out there; they had asked if there were not more meetings they could attend during the week, rather than just on Sunday. He said, “I told them that we did have a holiness meeting in Bue- nos Aires every Thursday evening, so they said they would come. I thought I ought to tell you, Colonel, that a bus load will be coming in on Thursday night for your meeting.” I assured Miguel that he had done well. There were no regulations made for situations like this one. Thursday night came and the holiness meeting commenced as usual at 8:30 p.m. There was no busload from the “población.” By 9 p.m. they still had not arrived and Miguel was looking somewhat disappointed. But at about 9:15 p.m., the door in the gallery opened and in came not one, not two, but three busloads of folk, and all found places on the already crowded benches. What a night! These people had worked all week to raise money to be able to pay for their transport into the capital. It is not surprising that, after a number of years, we now have a thriving corps in that area, not started by the territorial commander, nor even the divisional commander, but by the handyman at THQ— “God’s handyman.” Miguel and his wife are now officers.

An extension for our leader In 1991 General Eva Burrows concluded her five years as General and, according to the Salvation Army Act of 1980, a High Council should have been called. However, also in accordance with the provi- sions of the Act, the Chief of the Staff sent out notices stating that he had received from the required number of commissioners a petition that would permit General Burrows’ term of service to be extended by three years, should she so agree. The General agreed to extend her

142 term for two years. Had a High Council been called at that time, I would have been a member (having been a territorial commander for more than two years and holding the rank of full colonel). I was called upon to vote regarding the General’s extension, which was approved, so no High Council needed to be called until 1993.

Safety first Traveling around the territory was made much easier and safer when I employed Robert Barth as my private secretary. He helped me immeasurably in my Spanish correspondence and in the general THQ routine, and he was known and respected by everyone, which helped my office immensely. However, it was on those long journeys when we traveled by car that we really depended on Robert. Traveling by road in South Amer- ica can have a certain amount of risk, particularly from unscrupulous and dishonest authorities. I remember traveling on our own one day when a policeman stopped us out in the country, near our camp, and demanded sixty dollars for no reason at all. He declared that it was a new “impuesto” (tax) although other cars continued to speed by us without paying. He was not going to let me move until we paid—so I had to pay up. As I did, I remarked that paying him this money meant our social work (for I was in uniform) would suffer by that amount. He simply laughed and pocketed his “extra” for the day. Now, with Robert driving, we noticed how things changed! On one occasion, we entered Paraguay from the eastern border but some days later left by the southwestern route. A very authoritative guard stopped us and demanded seventy-five dollars because we did not have a small pink piece of paper which, he declared, we should have received on entering Paraguay. Incidentally, the eastern border at that time didn’t even have a guard on duty and entry to the country was paperless. Robert protested, but the guard insisted on our paying sev- enty-five dollars or we would have to return to Asunción, which we did not want to do. Robert then opened the car door, stood up to his full six-foot-three-inches and towered over the little guard. The guard stretched his neck to take in Robert’s size and said, “Four dollars will do!” In one minute we were back on the road leading into Argentina. On another occasion, we arrived in Rosario at the beginning of a tour of the north and, while having lunch, Robert called Buenos Aires to check on some details. He called me to the telephone say-

143 ing the chief secretary, Lt. Colonel Alex Hughes, needed to talk with me urgently. THQ had been robbed! We were still housed in the old building on Avenida Rivadavia, and while most of the offices were on floors three and four, the finance department was located on the ground floor towards the back of the building. Its entrance was a solid wooden door and anyone wishing to enter the finance department had to knock on the door and wait for it to be opened. That morn- ing, an employee opened the door to find two gunmen who rushed in, closing the door behind them. The officers and the staff were all told to lie down on the floor while the robbers went through the large safe to relieve us of all the available cash. They found very little so left quickly, and even before the police arrived at THQ the robbers were already “visiting” the Presbyterian church office two blocks down the road. For once, it would seem, we should have been grateful that our finance department was not so well organized, as the intruders were unable to find much. I understand the Presbyterians were up-to-date in all their accounting and were robbed of a great deal of money. There is no moral in this story—just the facts.

Celebrating a century While we were stationed in South America East, the territory cel- ebrated the centenary of the Army’s arrival on the continent. The pioneers arrived in Buenos Aires on December 22, 1890. We needed to celebrate in the best way possible within our means so we formed a committee of officers and soldiers who worked admirably and dis- played initiative that would have pleased any territorial commander. (The fact that December 22 was also my birthday and that of Major Sammy Eliasen, the divisional commander for Buenos Aires, was not lost sight of!) During that year the Chief of the Staff, Commissioner Ron Cox, conducted a centenary congress that incorporated special civic events, including a visit to the president, a fairly rare event in Ar- gentina. However on the actual centenary date, other events were planned, including the unveiling of a plaque on the site where the pioneers held their first meeting. Unfortunately, one of the busiest roads and fly-overs in Buenos Aires now passes by that spot. The open-air meeting and the unveiling took place surrounded by unbe- lievable traffic noise. We had a sound system that was totally ineffec- tive and resulted in us having to shout everything that was said. Then

144 it started to rain! When I went forward to the plaque to proceed with the unveiling, a thoughtful officer felt he should come over and shel- ter me under his umbrella. Personally, I thought nothing could look more ridiculous than standing in the rain unveiling a plaque with an umbrella over me. I can remember I kept whispering to him, “Take it away, take it away!” but with the traffic noise he could not hear. The photos of the event will always bring smiles and laughter to all of us involved on that day. In order to produce an adequate printed souvenir for the centena- ry, I wrote to various public and church leaders for a message of greet- ing to be included in the publication. They all came in time except for the one from the Roman Catholic cardinal. I called his office a few days before it was due and the bishop I spoke to apologized and said that he had offered to write a message for the cardinal but that he had insisted on writing something himself. He did and within a few days I received a very warm Christian greeting indicating the great respect and appreciation he had for The Salvation Army. Just before Christmas, I received a cable from the cardinal invit- ing me to attend a Mass on New Year’s Eve. I assumed that all church leaders would be attending, so was surprised on arriving at the cathe- dral to find that I was the only one. A monsignor greeted me and es- corted me to a prominent pew in the front and to the side of the large congregation. The processional commenced and the cardinal took his official place. The Mass proceeded and when it came to the time for greeting each other with “Peace be with you,” the cardinal left his place at the altar to come over to greet me. At the conclusion of the Mass, which could well have been an evangelical service, the music played majestically as the cardinal took his place in the recessional. As he passed my pew, he stopped and beckoned me to join him as he made his way through the crowded cathedral.

Another move Throughout our term in Argentina, Val suffered from long periods of ill health; asthma-related bouts caused her to be hospitalized sev- eral times. On medical advice it was arranged for her to be flown to London for treatment. Here it was advised that she should not return to the humidity of Buenos Aires. Shortly after, I arrived in London and we were told that we would be farewelling from South America East. After a planned long furlough in London and the U.S., General Burrows called to tell me we were being appointed to Canada, where

145 I was to be the program secretary. Because of the Army’s medical pro- gram in Canada, it was felt that Val would be able to receive good medical attention, which would enable her to recuperate fully. I returned to Argentina for two months to finish up our appoint- ment and to farewell. It was a sad farewell, for we had enjoyed our almost five years in South America East. We felt that South America was very special to us, having been our first overseas appointment, and now certainly our last missionary one. And this had deep signifi- cance for us both.

146 CHAPTERk 21 From Fern Leaf to Maple Leaf: Canada

WE WILL BE FOREVER GRATEFUL FOR the opportunity to bring Val to a place where she could receive adequate medical treatment to enable her to recover. It was now several months since she had left Buenos Aires and, with rest and a more appropriate climate for her medical condition, her health had vastly improved. Within a couple of months she was given an appointment in the women’s ministries department. Those first two months were challenging for me as the current program secretary had not yet retired and I was asked to look after the multicultural ministries office within the program department. How- ever, once I was into the program appointment, life took on a more determined pace. Travel was extensive. Each cabinet member was a member of the board of three or four of the Salvation Army’s hospi- tals in the country. My three were in Vancouver, and Nova Scotia. This travel alone was taxing. It was obvious even in those days that the Army could not hold on to its hospitals indefinitely, nor maintain the influence they once held. They were at that point virtu- ally government hospitals.

Road warriors Opportunities to conduct meetings and officers’ councils were al- ways appreciated, but again these entailed traveling great distances. We had an efficient and capable staff in the program department and new initiatives were introduced and old ones developed. I arrived in Vancouver one Friday to inspect the adult rehabilita- tion department’s facilities and program in that city, which was a very large operation. I was surprised, however, to find a line-up of twelve stretch limousines, ten black and two white. I commented to the envoy in charge, saying that it was an unusual sight outside a Sal- vation Army social services facility, and he informed me that a rental car firm had donated them just that morning. One of the purposes of my visit was to accompany Lt. Colonel Bill Speck, business administrator at THQ, to a dinner aboard a luxury yacht in Vancouver harbor. The owner wished to make a sizeable do-

147 nation to the Army but wanted to talk about our work in general, hence the visit of the secretary for business administration and the program secretary. The dining room on the yacht could have seated a dozen people, so the vessel could not be considered small in any way. During our conversation I learned that the owner’s business was in funeral directorship and that, over a number of years, he had be- come the largest independent owner of funeral parlors throughout Canada and even perhaps the northwest U.S. In general discussions about the public’s generosity to the Army in fulfilling its ministry, I happened to mention the donation of the twelve stretch limos. He asked me, “What are you going to do with them?” “Well,” I considered, “we’ll have to try to sell them, although sell- ing twelve stretch limos may not be the easiest task.” He quickly replied, “I’ll take them. I have a dozen funeral busi- nesses that would love to have a stretch limo among their vehicles.” The vehicles were sold within thirty-six hours of arriving on our lot. It is hard not to believe that God is interested in every aspect of our ministry.

A change of scenery Snow was something new for us. We lived in Toronto in an apart- ment on the thirty-first floor of a high rise and, frankly, that is as close as I ever want to be to snow. Our second year in Toronto we had snow on the ground for five months. I often told them in the office that I knew the national anthem well. Each morning when I looked out on the park below, which was covered in snow, I would say, “O Canada”! After we had been in Toronto for about twenty months, I received a phone call from the Chief of the Staff, Commissioner Bramwell Tillsley, who, after checking on Val’s health and our general well- being, advised me that the General wanted to give us farewell orders. We were to proceed to the USA Western Territory as chief secretary and territorial secretary for women’s organizations.

148 CHAPTERk 22 The Stars and Stripes: USA West

OUR ARRIVAL IN LOS ANGELES WAS EXCITING! Commissioners Paul and Kay Rader, the territorial leaders, were at the airport along with the cabinet and a number of other officers. Our luggage was whisked off, we were taken to lunch, and then to our quarters in San Pedro, in an area called The Gardens. It was scarcely a twelve-minute drive around the coast to THQ— but what a drive, particularly on those mornings when the island Catalina was visible. Our offices had remarkable views. On one oc- casion, Val was talking on the phone when she saw a pod of whales swimming south not far off shore. The Western Territory was in a time of tremendous growth and we were to be part of the dramatic leadership that the Raders were giving. Within a relatively short time, new corps had been opened throughout the territory—particularly in Spanish ministries. This was creating some problems in that many of the Spanish-speaking work- ers and soldiers had little or no experience with The Salvation Army, our doctrines or our methods. We endeavored to deal with these is- sues by instituting a series of doctrinal seminars in Spanish for our Hispanic officers and workers. The territory was quite unique in that it was made up of the thir- teen western states and included the Republic of Micronesia, the Mar- shall Islands and also Guam and many of the surrounding islands. The geographic area was phenomenal: from Alaska down to the tip of Texas—El Paso was in the Western Territory at the time—right out to Guam. Eight time zones were encompassed and even more racial backgrounds and traditions. But it was a wonderful territory that had a color that was incomparable. The history of the Army commencing in these states is exciting— from William McIntyre riding “shot-gun” into Phoenix more than a hundred years ago and taking over “The Road to Ruin” bar and turn- ing it into a chapel called “The Road to Heaven”—to the then latest extension to Guam where Captains Ted and Debbie Horwood gave exceptional service.

149 Exciting times We loved California, and who wouldn’t? There were so many op- portunities. The Western attitude was “if it sounds reasonable let’s try it. And if it doesn’t work we’ll try something else.” It has been my experience in a number of places that if we start something and it does not work, we just keep doing it anyway to save face. That was certainly not the attitude of the West. I enjoyed each day’s challenge—and working with Paul Rader was a unique experience. We had our daily appointment together and then he left me to do my work and he did his. There were some excit- ing and important appointments to make in our early days, and I had the opportunity to get to know officers both personally as well as in their work. The personal development of officers was an aspect of my appointment that I found very exciting and rewarding. Shortly after we arrived, the territorial commander suggested that Val and I travel with the territory’s team to the Holy Land for a twelve-day tour. This was something of a life-changing experience, and we just wished we had had the opportunity thirty-five years be- fore. We felt our ministry and teaching through the years would have been greatly enriched. A little over a year into our stay in the West, Commissioner Rader was called to a High Council together with his colleagues to elect a successor to General Eva Burrows. On that occasion, Commissioner Bramwell Tillsley was elected and life continued for us in the West as it had done beforehand—with a few additions. Not long after, we were holding our annual cabinet conference at a hotel in Oxnard, California, when early one morning we were awakened by noise and movement. It was the Northridge earthquake, and we could hardly have been closer to it. The Army set up relief work immediately. On our journey home, we passed through some of the rubble of north Los Angeles. A shock of another sort occurred during the commissioners’ con- ference that was held three times a year at national headquarters (NHQ) in Alexandria, Virginia. The conference always began with the chief secretaries meeting for two days to conduct a certain amount of business; items they were not empowered to deal with were handled by the commissioners when they arrived for the Wednesday, Thurs- day and Friday sessions. In May of each year the women’s commission also met. This was comprised of the territorial commanders’ and chief secretaries’ wives

150 as well as the national leaders. We had been in one such conference for a week when, on the Friday morning at 6:30 a.m., Paul called me to say we were to meet the National Commander, Commissioner Ken Hodder, at 7 a.m. downstairs. It was a rushed half hour, but when we were all gathered in a small room off the dining room at the Shera- ton Hotel, the National Commander announced that he had received word from the Chief of the Staff that General Tillsley had retired ear- ly. It was a shock with which to start the day—and a strange conclu- sion to that conference.

Working with the General Within a couple of months the territorial commanders were off to London again for yet another High Council. Paul kept in contact with me and on the Friday evening told me the Council was going into recess for the weekend. Our daughter, Beverley, and her husband were vacationing with us at the time so, in view of what the territorial commander told me, we took the day off on the Saturday and drove to one of my favorite spots in California—Palm Springs. We had a wonderful day and re- turned home around 9 p.m. I noticed I had at least twelve messages on my answering machine, so I started checking them. The first was from Commissioner Rader but it was not totally clear. He was already speaking when the machine started to record, so it seemed I missed some of what he said. What I heard, or rather what I thought I heard, was, “in the event that I am elected I’ll have to stay here until the end of the week.” This certainly did not sound like Paul Rader. Although the entire world talked about him becoming General, he would never in a thousand years have been so presumptuous as to make such a comment. So I decided to come back to it after I had listened to the other messages. Message number two was from General Eva Burrows excitedly asking me, “John! What do you think about Paul’s election? Isn’t that great?” “What?” I said. The next message and succeeding ones were all about the new General. I thought to myself, “I had better get back to that first message again.” Now I understood it! What the commissioner had been telling me before the answering machine started recording the message was that the president had called the High Council back into session on the Saturday morning. What he was relating to me was, “… in the event I was elected. I’ll have to stay here until the end of the week.”

151 This was entirely different, and we were very excited about the result. Because General Tillsley had already retired, Paul had not be- come General-Elect. He was, in fact, the General the moment his elec- tion was announced. He was now General Rader, world leader of The Salvation Army, and for the next month he was also territorial com- mander of the USA Western Territory. A unique event in Salvation Army history! The preparations for the Raders’ return commenced immediately. I arranged for a young captain from the training college to be the General’s aide for the time he was to remain in the West and we changed the parking signs to read “The General” and “Mrs. General.” Arrangements for a spectacular farewell weekend in Los Angeles were underway immediately. The weekend consisted of many events, including a special com- missioners’ conference session; all the territorial commanders and chief secretaries were invited to Los Angeles for the occasion. The final rally highlighted many of the achievements of the Raders’ years in the West, a term which had been unique in many ways. The fol- lowing morning, a breakfast reception was held at the airport and, within minutes of that meal, we escorted General and Mrs. Rader to their plane for London. Now we had to arrange a welcome! Commissioners Peter and Grace Chang had been appointed to leadership in the West and their arrival was imminent. We had known Peter and Grace in London when we were stationed there and we were delighted to renew their acquaintance. There was a change of emphasis under the new leader- ship, although Mission 2000 was still the overall theme.

Difficult times National advisory board (NAB) meetings are held three times a year and they are located around the four territories in the “normal” rotation—Central, East, South and West. Val and I had been island- hopping out to Guam to see all the new developments throughout the Hawaiian Islands and Micronesia; we flew back from Guam to Los Angeles and the next day on to Atlanta for the NAB meeting there. We had crossed eleven time zones in thirty-six hours—and it felt like it! Friday afternoon and Saturday morning sessions were completed and many of the NAB members returned to their homes. However, it had been the practice over some years to hold a special Sunday morn- ing service at the main corps in the city where the NAB meeting had

152 been held. A resident NAB member in the city of the meeting would usually arrange for a private gathering on the Saturday evening. Such was the case when Frank and Ruth Ann Skinner invited us to their beautiful home for a barbeque. Without elaborating on the inci- dent, the deck on this lovely, gracious home collapsed with fifty-nine of us on it, and although no one was killed in the eighteen foot fall, most were badly injured. Some will bear the effects for the rest of their lives. Ambulances arrived and soon the injured were being transported to various Atlanta hospitals and clinics. While I was released from the hospital the following day, Val had to stay a week owing to her broken nose and sternum and chest injuries. I was taken back to the hotel and daily visited Val, and the others who were still at Grady Hospital, until she was released on Friday. We had arranged for our flight home to Los Angeles for the Sunday. We looked a pair! Val had two black eyes and I had one. We scheduled appointments with our own doctor back in Califor- nia and at my appointment it was discovered that I had two broken ribs and my lung was partially collapsed. “You’re not going home,” he declared. “You’re going straight into hospital!” And I did, into the Little Company of Mary Hospital just by the Torrance Corps. Five days later I was released and went home to tend to Val, who had been doing the best she could on her own. The headquarters staff was absolutely marvelous and officers brought us meals each day. A large box of work for me also came from headquarters each day, so after ten days I felt it was better to go to the office and do the work there. Further, Commissioners Peter and Grace Chang were both still in hospital in Atlanta with serious injuries, with little likelihood that they would be back for some time. It was a struggle for me at first, and I remember that for two weeks I found it difficult to cope. On one afternoon, however, I suddenly felt better. It was like a cloud had been lifted and I was so grateful. The Changs eventually returned to Los Angeles but were not able to return to headquarters for some time. Of course, in spite of all this, life had to go on. All of the territorial commanders or their wives had serious injuries and in the Changs’ case, both were injured. The chief secretaries and their wives were in the same situation, although some were not so badly affected. Furthermore, the National Commander and his wife were due to retire and new leaders had to be appointed. It was a challenge for the General in view of the health situation of so many of his leading officers in the U.S.

153 CHAPTERk 23 One Last Appointment and a General’s Final Sermon: USA National Headquarters

I WAS IN THE SHOWER EARLY ONE MORNING when the Chief of the Staff telephoned to let us know the General wanted us to fare- well; I was to be appointed national chief secretary and Val was to be the national secretary for women’s organizations. It was certainly unusual to have foreigners in these appointments (although we had never been made to feel like foreigners in the U.S.). The West gave us a wonderful farewell. We had made life-long friendships in our time there and knew we would miss the fellowship and excitement of such a varied and interesting territory. I said to Lt. Colonel Joe Noland at the time that, in the thirty-eight years we had been officers, this was the first time we had changed appointments and stayed in the same country—to which Joe mumbled, after a preg- nant silence, “Washington is not the same country!” We loved Washington. Our apartment was on U.S. Route 1, just south of the beltway in Alexandria, in northern Virginia. From the large glassed-in porch we could see Maryland, the Potomac, Washing- ton, D.C., and Virginia. NHQ was just eight minutes away. I could write pages about Alexandria, particularly Old Town. As I drove to the office I would often pinch myself just to remind myself that this was real. This was Civil War country, steeped in history, which I read and re-read constantly as we traveled around the state. My appointment was fascinating and brought me into an area of work in which I delighted—preparing the commissioners’ conference agenda and aiding the conference to complete it.

Residual accident concerns As a result of the deck accident, Val and I continued to have prob- lems with our feet. I found the name of a doctor in the yellow pages, phoned and made an appointment. The doctor took x-rays of both feet and found that the big toe on my right foot had been broken and had re-set itself and now resembled an oversized bunion. The left foot also would require surgery. He could only operate on one foot at a time and I would need six 154 weeks without travel for a complete recovery. Since six weeks in town is unusual for the national chief secretary’s calendar, early December was chosen as a quieter time. Surgery commenced the morning of December 5, and by early afternoon I was home with my right foot in a cast. I soon learned to support myself on crutches. The pain was unbelievable; I kept noting how I was feeling as I knew I had to go through it all again with the other foot at a later date. On December 13, Val woke me to say something was wrong with her mouth. I assured her there was not. I looked again and soon changed my opinion! I thought she had had a stroke; it was Bell’s palsy. We sought medical attention immediately. Besides taking med- ication, she had to wear an eye patch. What a Christmas this turned out to be. We looked a pair—like Long John Silver and Quasimodo! However in six weeks she had fully recovered—thankfully. Six months later I went through the second surgery and later that year Val had to have the same surgeries on her feet.

T.L. Williams Trust The national chief secretary is, together with the national treasur- er, a representative of The Salvation Army on the T.L. Williams Trust, which has operated for many years. Thomas Lyle Williams, founder of Maybelline Cosmetics, left a trust in favor of CARE and The Salva- tion Army because, in his judgment, these two organizations “cared for the poor within their means better than any other groups.” The Trust was drawn up in 1958 and the terms gave CARE two million dollars a year and the Army one million. If the interest did not cover the three million to be paid out, then the balance had to come from the capital. And for a year or two this was the case. How- ever, management brought in an investment team and, still follow- ing the specific intentions of the trust, wise investments have over the years brought commendable dividends and increased value, so much so that now CARE and the Army have the income from this trust “in perpetuity.” A few months after taking up my appointment, I attended my first trustees’ meeting, which on this occasion was held in the Wil- liams’ hometown of Thomasville, Georgia. Colonel J.B. Matthews, national treasurer, accompanied me. We met with the family and trustees at supper in a downtown hotel before being taken to our ac- commodation. The bankers and investment team had to stay at the

155 Holiday Inn, but the CARE and Salvation Army representatives were accommodated at the plantation. I did not know that places such as this still existed. We were truly in the “deep south.” The grounds were spacious and magnificent, and the large and rambling house was un- believable. I was shown to my room and felt that I was on a movie set; there was so much to see, I didn’t want to go to sleep. The next morning the trustees joined us for breakfast at the plan- tation. The dining room would have seated at least twenty people and was attended by three servants. Following breakfast we drove into Thomasville for the board meeting. Mrs. Marguerite Williams, the family matriarch and widow of Thomas Lyle Williams II, was al- ways present at these meetings, though she herself was not a trustee. Her son, Thomas Lyle III, and daughter, Diane, were trustees and, like Marguerite, resided in Thomasville. Marguerite asked me to sit by her at the meeting (and in all succeeding meetings). This was my pleasure. I was amazed at the knowledge this elderly lady had of stock markets, share returns, expected dividends and share options. Following the meeting I asked Diane if her mother had been a stockbroker in her earlier years. “No,” she assured me. “Mother left Duke University to marry my father and they lived in Chicago where Tom and I were born. There was no need for her to work, so she commenced one or two investment clubs with friends around the neighborhood—and in this way she became very knowledgeable of the investment market.” When her husband died, she inherited more investments to add to her own and now, at almost eighty years of age, she spent a good deal of her time traveling around the country attending shareholders meetings. I would love to have heard some of her active participation in these meetings. She was kindness itself to me at each trustees’ meeting. The meet- ings were held bi-annually and moved between Chicago (where the bankers resided), New York City (home office of the investment com- pany), and Atlanta, which was where the main office of CARE was located, and was also a convenient place for the family to travel to from Thomasville. On my second visit to the plantation, Marguerite told me some- thing of her own history of being born in Thomasville and also of the area. She drove me around in a ten-seat van and showed me some of the beautiful spots in this unique southern town. Apparently Thomasville was a winter resort for wealthy northerners in the nine- teenth and early twentieth century (before Florida was “discovered”).

156 Street after street revealed mansions of great beauty and Marguerite was on the local preservation society to make sure everything was maintained in good style. One interesting spot that is well known in Thomasville is a tree that is so large that it reaches from one corner over to the diagonal corner with enormous branches. I remember one tale she related about an occasion when Presi- dent Eisenhower was visiting their plantation to shoot quail. At the conclusion of the shoot, her husband was accompanying the presi- dent around Thomasville, showing him the sights before he returned to Washington. They came to this particular tree and the president wanted to photograph it. He stood at the gate of the house from which the tree grew but felt that before taking the photograph he should ask permission of the residents. He rang the doorbell and a serving girl answered. The president asked if the lady of the house was home—and before he could say anything more, the girl answered that maybe the gentleman did not know that the president of the United States was in town and her employer had gone to the airport with the hope of seeing him! CARE often arranged for the Williams family to tour some of their projects in Costa Rica and other countries. We had done nothing quite like that. Once a year we asked the four territories to make a pictorial presentation of projects in their territories, but that was all. At one trustees’ meeting, I asked if NHQ could be considered for a subsequent meeting place and the date was set. I really wanted to be able to arrange it at the same time as a commissioners’ conference, but that was not possible. What was possible was to have the business administrators’ conference in session, and this I felt would be helpful. The night before the trustees’ meeting, NHQ and the business administrators joined the Williams family for supper at the Mount Vernon Inn. This gave some of our leading administration officers an opportunity to meet these generous benefactors. The next morning we held the trustees’ meeting at NHQ. The meeting was concluded by 10:30 a.m. and a reception was held for the board, followed by a special gathering in the foyer. A short program was introduced and Colonel Gary Herndon had been nominated to bring some words of appreciation to the Williams family for what had been generations of generosity. We then moved over to one of the main pillars in the entrance where a small flag covered a photograph and plaque. Some weeks beforehand I had quietly asked Diane if she could let me have a pho-

157 tograph of her father and grandfather, which she did. I had it copied and appropriately framed—and this is what was now to be unveiled, together with a plaque honoring the T.L. Williams Trust and its years of generosity. The plaque was unveiled and, to Marguerite’s surprise, she was looking upon this fine portrait of her husband and father- in-law and the inscription honoring the trust and family. With tears in her eyes, she held on to my arm and said, “John, this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for us.” I felt pleased for the family and also for the fact that we now have on display at NHQ a permanent recognition of this trust and the benefit it has been to Salvation Army programs throughout the U.S. Shortly after, I received a call from Diane to say her mother was in the hospital. Within days she had passed away. I was asked to par- ticipate in the funeral, which was held in Thomasville and attended by civic and political leaders both national and local. The family was proud to have The Salvation Army among its beneficiaries and they always expressed appreciation of our work. We, in turn, will always be grateful to the T.L. Williams Trust.

Additional oversight Two other responsibilities allocated to the national chief are the oversight of The Salvation Army World Service Organization (SAW- SO) and the Student Fellowship Center at Asbury College in Wilmore, Kentucky. The latter gave me the opportunity of visiting Asbury once or twice a year to have contact with our students, who came from all over the country. I appointed James and Margaret (Marge) Curnow joint sergeant-majors of the center, which is unusual in that we do not usually have joint sergeant-majors. Nor, in fact, is there a corps at the student center. However, this is a place of great Army life and wit- ness and the center serves an important function for our own young folk as well as many who meet up with the Army at the college and become Salvationists. At this time, Jim was a professor on the faculty of Asbury. My relationship to SAWSO was important to me as I had been on the receiving end of SAWSO grants and aid in South America. Harden White, the executive director, and I had both had experiences that previous national chiefs and executive directors had not had in the field. This enabled us to make a number of pragmatic and important changes, particularly in the light of reduced funding from govern- ment sources. In 1998 I made a tour of all our projects in South Amer-

158 ica West and East and made relevant reports on the United States Agency for International Development grants that we had received.

Planning for a final appointment Retiring in the U.S. was appealing to us. We had been away from New Zealand since 1961 (other than a few short years back in the territory towards the end of the ’60s) and most of our life had been spent overseas. North America seemed an ideal place to live as Bev- erley, with her family, was still living in London and could visit us regularly, and Alastair was himself an Eastern Territory officer having trained in New York, though at the time he and his wife, with their family, were serving in Eastern Europe. I had talked this over with the Chief of the Staff privately in Lon- don. After a lengthy procedure, permission was given to transfer our home territory from New Zealand to the USA West. With this now approved, our retirement in the U.S. was possible. However, it would still be necessary for me to work for two and a half years after retire- ment to complete the basic ten years required for social security. But where would we live? I recalled the first time I visited Florida with General Brown in 1980 when the thought struck me as we drove over the causeway between Tampa and Clearwater, “Wouldn’t this be a wonderful place to retire!” Val agreed that Florida would be a good place to live, and we eventually found an ideal condominium in Clearwater. Although our retirement date could have been calculated when we entered training in 1958, I must admit it never dawned on me until two years before the actual day that I would be retiring on the last day of the century—the end of the millennium. NHQ staff spared no effort for this retirement event. Lt. Colo- nels Richard and Sheri Ulyat made spectacular arrangements in our honor. We felt that December 22 was not the best time to celebrate a retirement event in view of the heavy Christmas program The Salva- tion Army has in the U.S., so arrangements were made for the cer- emony to take place in mid-November. Friends came from all over the country, including territorial leaders and friends with whom we had served during these recent years. The celebration of service was held in the NHQ chapel. Partici- pants included Colonel Myrt Ryder, who represented the officers and friends, and Alastair, who represented the family. It was not difficult to decide who was to conduct our retirement ceremony. Commis-

159 sioner Alex Hughes was coming over from London to lead the service, but we wanted General Brown to come and present us with our cer- tificate, which he did. As always, what he said was deeply meaning- ful. He reflected upon our years together and spoke with that quiet authority for which he was renowned. The General had not been so well in recent years and had had to curtail his traveling and active leadership of meetings. I declared that I believed more people came to see and hear him than had come to see us. He was such a popular figure in the U.S. His blessing on our retirement was memorable, “May the Lord grant you grace upon grace.” A splendid luncheon followed in the NHQ dining room. The flo- ral centerpieces included flowers native to the countries in which we had served. Photo displays reminded our guests of our earlier days. Commissioners Ray and Merlyn Cooper provided entertaining mu- sic, John Griffin brought an amusing tribute and Beverley represent- ed the family. She remarked on her mother’s ability to make the same kind of organized home anywhere in the world, be it South America, Central Africa or Croydon (London)! General Brown then made a few closing comments, both enter- taining and meaningful, and I thought again of the great privilege that I had been given to have been able to serve with him.

A General’s final sermon The General, Val and I had been together just three months be- fore. Earlier in that year, Major Steve Banfield had called me from Asbury Park, New Jersey, asking if I thought General Brown and I could conduct a weekend at his corps that September. I contacted the General knowing he had been quite unwell. He agreed, however, so the date was fixed. In the meantime, Steve was moved to New York and Major David Kelly had been appointed in his place. But the arrangement stood. We drove up from Washington and General Brown flew in from To- ronto with his elder grandson, Christopher, who the General called his “aide” for the weekend. The Sunday morning, we had learned, was not to be the usual meeting at the corps but instead the final service for the season at the Ocean Grove Tabernacle. What a morning this turned out to be! This place had been a bastion of when Methodism was in its prime. The auditorium seated six thousand and was filled that morn-

160 ing for this great occasion. Val and I participated in the service, the choir sang magnificently, the corps band accompanied the singing and the pipe organ took us to some “rare celestial heights” (to recall General Brown’s expression). The General’s inspirational message that morning was one of hope. His voice was clear and warm. With some difficulty, he held his head as high as possible and he preached a memorable sermon, which really was to be his last. He spoke on “And Peter … went in … to see the end” (Matt. 26:58). After the service, hundreds of people lined up to shake his hand and he had time for each one of them. What a wonderful memory we have of that day. The afternoon service was held at the corps and, although he was in his eighty-seventh year, the General lacked neither sparkle nor wit. He said to me at one stage, “Come along, Colonel Bate. I think we should sing a duet.” Standing next to him on the platform, I tactfully protested, “But General, we haven’t practiced.” He replied, “Listen. We’ve sung duets all around the world and we never practiced then. Why should we practice now?” We sang! We did not know it then, but Ocean Grove was to be his last preaching engagement and our retirement was his last public event.

161 CHAPTERk 24 A Tribute to General Arnold Brown

In conclusion, I want to record one of the greatest privileges giv- en to me in all my service. General Burrows was staying with us in Clearwater for a couple of weeks in 2002 and mentioned that she would like to speak with General Brown sometime. I usually called him every couple of weeks and planned to do so anyway while she was with us. I phoned and we chatted together. After giving the phone to Gen- eral Burrows, I said to Val that I had an uncanny feeling that I should go to Toronto to see him. She answered that if I felt like that, I should go. I spoke with Heather Hetherington (General and Mrs. Brown’s elder daughter) and she thought it was a good idea. I flew up the next week and arranged to visit the Browns on the Friday evening around 6:30 p.m. The General shuffled to the door, assisted by his walker, and was obviously suffering greatly. He sat in an armchair and I sat by him, and for the next two and a half hours we talked and laughed, and laughed again. What stories he could recall—and retell! Sometimes his embellishments were bet- ter than the story itself! They wanted me to stay longer but by 9 p.m. I thought he would have had enough and I prepared to leave. We had a prayer together, an embrace—and I left. Scarcely two months had passed when Mrs. Brown called me from the hospital to tell me, “Arnold has gone to be with the Lord. You know what he wanted, John. Can you come and speak?” I assured Mrs. Brown that I would be there anyway but, yes, it would be my privilege to speak and represent the officers of the world. To write the tribute was easy; to present it was much more diffi- cult. I had had a unique privilege as a Salvation Army officer to be his aide, and his influence will be forever evident in my life. Among my papers is a copy of the funeral service, which was perhaps the most triumphant I have ever attended. Forever ringing in my ears will be that vast congregation singing to the accompaniment of the band and organ, “When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!”

162 TRIBUTE TO GENERAL ARNOLD BROWN O.C. [Order of Canada]

Presented at his funeral by Colonel John Bate

On behalf of Salvationists worldwide I bring today to you, Mrs. General Brown, Heather, Beverley and all the family our deepest sym- pathy, our sincerest condolences and the assurance of our prayers in the loss of your dear and wonderful husband, adored father and greatly admired grandfather—and I regard it as a great honor to repre- sent both soldiers and officers today. I also represent many Floridians from Clearwater where a great number of lifelong friends of General and Mrs. Brown reside. I include of course my own wife, Val, and our family in London and in the Republic of Georgia, for whom he will ever be “THE GENERAL.” June 17, 1979, was a day that changed my life because it was on that day I became the ADC [aide de camp] and private secretary to General Arnold Brown. I had already learned to esteem him as an impressive leader with great charisma but now I was to know him at a much closer range and greater depth. My initial comment must be one that I have so often made: every day with the General brought me to have greater respect, admiration and affection for him, for he was a man who, in my eyes, did not have clay feet. I freely admit I have shed a tear or two in these past days, for I feel deeply that we have lost an esteemed and renowned leader whose impact on The Salvation Army has continued to grow even in his retirement. And yet with every vivid memory of him which has come flashing back to my mind, I have wanted to smile, for it seemed ev- ery day’s experiences during those years brought some amusing in- cidents—and if the incident in itself was not amusing, he had the grace, intelligence and wisdom to see light when others might only have seen darkness. He was a man of great perception for, being a person of deep feel- ings himself, he knew the depth of feelings in others. He knew what pace to take in any situation—when others would run, he would walk; when others would speak, he would remain silent. Of course when the situation called for it, he also knew how to run when oth- ers wouldn’t move, or readily say the appropriate words when others fumbled to say anything at all.

163 He was never too busy for people. I have said to him often, speak- ing of his office, “General, this place is like a railway station!” People came! From Canada. (I often wondered if there was ever a Canadian Salvationist who came to London but didn’t come to see him—and he received them whether he knew them or not.) Young folk never hesitated to ask to see “their” General and I have seen up to half a dozen backpacks stacked in my office while the General listened to young Salvationists, to their thoughts and aspirations as well as their hair-raising travels. And how many dozens of photographs are there of the General standing alongside a young boy who is wearing the General’s cap? Territorial commanders around the world unhesi- tatingly referred officers, local officers and advisory board members visiting London to the General’s office knowing that if he were at international headquarters, he would receive them—and he did, in graciousness, as if it were the most important engagement of the day. He never dodged the difficult. The Salvation Army Act of 1980, one of the most important documents of legislation regarding The Salvation Army in the last ninety years, was made possible through his knowledge, understanding, wisdom and not a little tenacity, even in the making of the presentation to the House of Lords. He dealt with criticism and respected views, which were not always kindly to the Army, with the same decorum and pleasantness as he accepted adulation and praise. I will never forget the day when this man of five-foot-four became a giant in my eyes. We were in no-man’s-land on the outer border of Thailand near Kampuchea visiting enormous refugee camps. But the camps were not enough for the General—he wanted to go further to see how The Salvation Army could answer the needs of the suffering in what still seems to so many to have been a war without answers. Major Eva den Hartog agreed to escort us from the camp in Thailand where she was stationed but the authorities would not let us cross the border. The Red Cross was not allowed through, they said—but these authorities did not reckon on dealing with Eva den Hartog! “I have the General of The Salvation Army with me,” she insisted again and again—and eventually we were allowed to cross! We were just a few miles from the bombing, which we could hear, walking through a stretch of stark desert, which could have resem- bled hell. People sat destitute in little groups by bullock carts, totally numbed by all the bombing which was going on around them, not knowing which way to run or turn. Under one cart, a little mother

164 sat with a newborn baby. The General sat on the ground and spoke to her so kindly in French and she responded with words which I believe rang in his ears to the very end (for we spoke about that day just a few weeks ago when I visited him). “Take my baby!” she cried. “Take my baby!” Going from small group to group he held babies, he knelt to speak to little children, he prayed with desperate and desti- tute families—and he wept. Yes, this was the General who could move great congregations with his erudition—who was received and decorated by kings and presidents—now weeping over the poverty and hopelessness of the poor of the world. I knew him as the General, he became my mentor, and with the passing of time he became my friend. And today I salute him!

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