Westcott House
Now I must return to Hatfield, where I spent the summer in preparation for my time at Westcott House. I spent a good deal of time in reading. There was just one devotional book that Gerry Harmer had recommended to me - "The Vision of God" by Kenneth Kirk, then Bishop of Oxford. This certainly enlarged my understanding of the possible depths of religious belief. I also thought that it would be a good thing to imitate my great-grandfather (whom I had not yet met in his Memoirs, but had heard of from my father) in reading the whole Bible right through. I did not imitate him in continuing to read the Bible from end to end, and thereby wearing out more than one Bible. I found that even one through reading, with frequent re-reading of passages that seemed to me to be difficult or important, was quite heavy going; but I am sure that it was the right thing to do!
The main event that I remember was the visit of Brother Douglas, the founder of the Anglican Franciscans. Douglas Downes was first called to share in the life of the homeless men who travelled from casual ward to casual ward. These were the departments of Workhouses where men were allowed to stay for one night only. Many had left their homes in the Depression of the Thirties, largely on account of the "Means Test". These included teenage lads who had left their homes for the same reason. His experience 'on the road' led him and his colleagues to provide Hostel accommodation for such of the lads as were willing to attempt a new start in life.
Brother Douglas came for a day to Hatfield, and I was asked to look after him and be his driver. He was, plainly, a Saint, and I wish that I could remember more of his conversation. He did radically change my life in one respect. Like many in those days (and some still today) I had assumed that it was necessary for a Christian to be a Pacifist. He persuaded me that it was more important to love all kinds of people 'just as they were' than to set them a spotless example that they could not follow. The great thing was to love people, and to keep in touch. I have, in my own less adequate way, always tried to follow Brother Douglas in this. I remember picking him up from the concourse below Piccadilly Circus, and hearing how many people he had met and enjoyed in the half hour that he had been waiting for me.
Another, less important, thing that I learned at Hatfield was the difficulty in a large Parish Church, of having the Organ at the back of the Church, and the Choir at the front, in the Chancel. The Organist had his console near the Choir. So everything sounded lovely to him, and he instinctively adjusted his timing to allow for the time-lag as the sound travelled down the Church. But the Congregation in the Nave not only had the Organ accompaniment too loud for them, but found that the organ accompaniment was 'out of phase' with the singing that they heard from the Choir. No wonder that their own singing was poor! I remembered this, later, when it was proposed to move the Organ at Sutton Courtenay from the East end of the aisle to the West. I said that the move would be all right, as long as the Choir also was moved to the West end. This was soon abandoned, and so we were landed with the 'Hatfield situation', though the relative smallness of the Church made the situation less acute.
On my arrival at Westcott, I promptly went down with the flu; so I missed the first introductions but had the compensation of B.K. coming into my room to say a bed-time prayer with me. I soon got to know my fellow students, (there were about 40 of us) and liked most of them more and more, though some, like George Reindorp, later Bishop of Guildford, were awesomely efficient. Several others were evidently "Bishop material", of whom I already knew Robin Woods, who, as a son of Bishop Edward Woods and President of the Cambridge SCM could hob-nob with Archbishops. Robin's father was an old friend of Uncle Francis and used to go shooting with him, and Robin used to stay at Matson Ground. I remember one winter when there was snow on Kirkstone Pass and we took a toboggan there. After our first term, Robin and I had the rooms at the top of "F" staircase. I could see that most of my fellows were far more suitable candidates for the Priesthood than I could hope to be.
I did enjoy Chapel and the Daily Services. I had learned to enjoy the recital of the Psalms when I lived at Bury with Ben Dakin, and I liked the unfamiliar manly singing and the simplicity of the white-walled Chapel. The House Lectures, and the 'home work' after them, made plain to me how much I had to learn. In Hall I often sat near to the Chaplain, Wilfred Wright, whose quiet Anglo-Catholic piety reminded me of Father Maycock who had been Chaplain of Sidney in my last year. John Collins, our elegant Vice-principal, and I were, at first, rather wary of each other, as he had, I think, never spoken to me when he was my Chaplain at Sidney, and I went only once or twice to Communion at Sidney Chapel, as I had found the Service so different to that I had been accustomed to at Wray and Hoylake and Blundells. But when I later did some Essays for him I got to know and like him very much.
The University Lectures were fine, and much more interesting than those I had enjoyed as an Engineer. The best were those by Dr C H Dodd on St John's Gospel. They were far above my head; but were redeemed by his modest enthusiasm, and the evident authority of his wide learning. They did however spoil for me the Lectures by Charles Raven, then Regius Professor of Divinity, whom I had met at my Aunt Florrie's at Rydal, where he went bird-watching, and one of his theological books was the only such book that I had read. He had pleaded, in his dramatic way, for research to be done on Philo, and other Greek philosophers contemporary with Jesus, and had evidently been unaware that Dr Dodd was already lecturing on the kind of work for which he had been asking.
The Lectures on Genesis, by Dr Elmslie at Westminster College, were a revelation to me, and to others, and I made good use of them afterwards. My version of his lecture on the first Creation story, was often used when I was taking 'Padre's Hours' for the troops in Germany. I learned afterwards that my attendance on Dr Elmslie had prevented me from going to hear Dr Hoskyns, whose lectures were at the same time, and reputed to be the best of our time.
I did enjoy some benefits from having beforehand been an undergraduate at Cambridge. My life-membership of the Union Society (which had soon been regretted as an extravagance) enabled me now to have free enjoyment of its Club facilities, with its spacious and splendid lavatories, and the occasional quiet pleasure of solitary tea and buttered toast in the Magazine rooms. And, though I still regret that I never learned short-hand or touch typing, I had gained from experience in note-taking on the right kind of stationery.
On beginning these notes again, after an interval of several days, I cannot help remarking how pleased I had been with these trivia when the world scene had become so desperate. It was becoming evident that war was likely to come soon. Hitler's rise to power, his broken promises, his growing persecution of the Jews, the wars in Abyssinia and later in Spain were inescapable on our News. Television was still a rare novelty, and had not yet brought its own immediacy, and the public impact of personal tragedies that we now have in our homes. However, News Reels and what we then called 'The Wireless' sometimes shocked us in the realisation of the tragedies that had not yet come our way. I remember, in particular, the shock of seeing each new enormity of Hitler on our News Reels, and hearing, on the Wireless in the Common Room at Westcott, the actual marching of the German troops into Vienna.
But, for me at Westcott, the main memory of that time is of a happy discovery of new friendships, and of new knowledge through the books we were reading, and the talk we had about them in each others' rooms and at meetings and conferences.Westcott did not teach us much about the sadness and sickness of human life. We learned more about its undiscovered joys and possibilities. We were so glad to be Amateurs that we did not learn as many of the useful skills of professional practice as we might have done at other Colleges. Pastorally, I learned a lot through the regular visiting of patients, mainly chronic and acute arthritics, in a local hospital. I learned much through their courage and patience, and I learned also through the experience of my friends. I remember particularly the frustration of dear, saintly, Bill Hardy! He had been taking an Infants' Service with some success until he happened to utter the word 'Sausage'. That so took the fancy of a lively little boy that his shouted repetition of that lovely word made further teaching impossible!
We did not have the opportunity (usual in other Colleges) of having our first Sermons analysed and criticised by our Tutors and peers. This was just as well, in view of my stammer. But I did have the privilege of preaching to a polite little congegation at Fen Stanton. My companion, Robert Martineau, later a Bishop, did not discuss my sermon with me. We did share the sumptuous supper given to us afterwards by a Churchwarden, who happened to be a Butcher: and neither of us realised that the delicious sausage rolls were to be followed by more substantial meats. I did also have the challenge of preaching to a pathetic little congegation at the Cambridge Church Army Hostel. I discovered that, though I had lots to say, I could think of nothing at all that would 'speak to their condition'.
And, although teaching is a skill particularly needed by junior Clergy, I, who had never even been to a Sunday School Class (let alone taking one!) had to rely on a fortnight's course at St Christopher's College, Blackheath, as my sole experience of being 'taught to teach'!
To the credit of Miss Phyllis Dent and the other Lecturers of St Christopher's, this brief course, in spite of my stammer, did enable me to take over the 'Anson Bye-Law Class' at Holyrood very soon after my arrival as the new Curate at Swinton. My predecessor, Mr Catterick, had been a trained teacher: but I gather that I did cope at least as well as he did with our class of 50 Mixed-ability conscripts, who had been sent to this weekly Class in Church because their parents had opted for "some Church Teaching". (Mr Catterick's professional training had not made him able to cope with that kind of Class!) But at Westcott, whatever else we lacked, we had the inspiration of dear deaf B.K., with his sonorous 'deaf man's voice' and his round glasses. He was at the head of our table whenever we ate in Hall, and we each sat next to him as opportunity offered. We knew that he knew, and believed in, each one of us, seeing in us possibilities that neither we, nor anyone else, could have imagined.
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