# Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII
Sunday School
Charlie and Elsie Linden had not forgotten the little black kitten, and had called at the Owens' flat more than once to renew their acquaintance with it. On one of these occasions Charlie described the delights of his Sunday School, which was connected with the Shining Light Chapel, with so much enthusiasm that Frankie Owen obtained his mother's permission to accompany his friend the following Sunday. Dressed in his best—a suit made out of one of his mother's dresses—with his long curls carefully brushed, a most unnecessary process from Frankie's point of view, he waited impatiently for Charlie to call for him, and both boys started off in high feather.
The school was not conducted in the chapel itself but in a large lecture hall under it. At one end was a small platform raised about six inches from the floor; on this were a chair and a small table. A number of groups of chairs and benches were arranged at intervals round the sides and in the centre of the room, each group accommodating a separate class. On the walls, which were painted a pale green, were a number of coloured pictures—Moses striking the Rock, the Israelites dancing round the Golden Calf, and so on.
Frankie had never been to a Sunday School of any kind before, and he stood for a moment looking in at the door and half afraid to enter. The lessons had already commenced, but the scholars had hardly settled down to work.
The scene was one of some disorder, some of the children talking, laughing, or playing, and the teachers alternately threatening and coaxing them. The girls' and the very young children's classes were presided over by ladies; the boys' teachers were men, including Mr Rushton and Mr Hunter and Mr Didlum, the furniture dealer. On this occasion, in addition to the teachers and other officials of the Sunday ​School there were also present a considerable number of prettily dressed ladies and a few gentlemen, who had come in the hope of meeting the Rev. John Starr, the young minister who was acting as temporary pastor in place of Mr Belcher, their regular shepherd, who was going away for a holiday for the benefit of his health. Mr Belcher was not suffering from any particular malady, but was merely 'run down,' and rumour had it that this condition had been brought about by the rigorous asceticism of his life and intense devotion to the arduous labours of his holy calling.
Mr Starr had conducted the service in the Shining Light Chapel that morning, and a great sensation had been produced by his earnest and eloquent address, which was of a very different style from that of their regular minister. Although perhaps they had not quite grasped the real significance of all that he had said, most of them had been favourably impressed by the young pastor's appearance and manner. There were, however, one or two members of the congregation who were not without some misgivings and doubts as to the soundness of his doctrines.
Mr Starr had promised that he would look in some time during the afternoon to say a few words to the Sunday School children, and consequently on this particular afternoon all the grown-ups were looking forward so eagerly to his arrival that not much was done in the way of lessons, and every time a late-comer entered all eyes were directed towards the door.
When Frankie, standing, saw all these people looking at him, he drew back timidly.
'Come on, man,' said Charlie; 'you needn't be afraid; it's not like a week day school; they can't do nothing to us, not even if we don't behave ourselves. There's our class over in that corner, and that's our teacher, Mr Hunter. You can sit next to me. Come on!'
Thus encouraged, Frankie followed Charlie over to the class, and both sat down. The teacher was so kind and spoke so gently to the children that in a few minutes Frankie felt quite at home, though he was too much interested in the pictures on the walls and in looking at the other children to pay much attention to the lesson. He also noticed a very fat man, who was not teaching at all, but drifted aimlessly about the room from one class to another. After a time he came and stood by the class where Frankie was, and, after nodding to ​Hunter, remained near, listening and smiling patronisingly at the children. He was arrayed in a long garment of costly black cloth, a sort of frock coat, and by the rotundity of his figure be seemed to be one of those accustomed to sit in the chief places at feasts. This was the Rev. Mr Belcher, minister of the Shining Light Chapel. His short thick neck was surrounded by a collar, apparently studless and buttonless, being fastened in some mysterious way known only to himself, and he showed no shirt front. He was exceedingly fat; in fact his figure was almost like a balloon in its rotundity, the large feet, encased in soft calf-skin boots, representing the car.
After exchanging a few words with Hunter, he moved on to another class and presently, with a feeling of awe, Frankie noticed, that the sounds of whispering and giggling that had hitherto pervaded the place were suddenly hushed. The time allotted for lessons had expired, and the teachers were quietly distributing hymn books to the children.
Meantime the balloon had drifted up to the end of the hall and ascended the platform, where it remained stationary by the side of the table, on which were several books and a pile of folded cards. These latter were about six inches by three; there was some printing on the cover, and ruled lines and money columns on the inside.
Presently Mr Belcher reached out a flabby white hand and taking up one of the folded cards he looked around upon the underfed, ill-clad children with a large, sweet, benevolent, fatherly smile, and then in a drawling voice, he said:
'My deah children, this afternoon as I was standing near Brother Hunter's class I heard him telling them of the wanderings of the children of Israel in the wilderness, and of all the wonderful things that were done for them; and I thought how sad it was that they were so ungrateful.
'Now those ungrateful Israelites had received many things, but we have even more cause to be grateful than they, for we have received even more abundantly, and I am sure that none of you would like to be even as those Israelites, ungrateful for all the good things you have received. Oh, how thankful you should be for having been made happy English children. Now, I am sure that you are grateful and that you will all be very glad of an opportunity of showing your gratitude by doing something in return.
​'Doubtless some of you have noticed the unseemly condition of the interior of our chapel. The flooring is broken in countless places; the walls are sadly in need of cleansing and distempering, and they also need cementing externally to keep out the draught. The seats and benches and the chairs are also in a most unseemly condition and need varnishing.
'Now, therefore, after much earnest meditation and prayer, it has been decided to open a Subscription List, and although times are very hard just now, we believe we shall succeed in getting enough to have the work done. So I want each of you to take one of these cards and go round to all your friends to see how much you can collect. It doesn't matter how trifling the amounts are, because the smallest donations will be thankfully received.
'Now I hope you will all do your very best. Ask everyone you know; do not refrain from asking people because you think that they are too poor to give a donation, but remind them that if they cannot give their thousands they can give the widow's mite. Ask everyone! First of all ask those who you will feel certain will give; then ask all those who you think may possibly give; and, finally, ask all those who you feel certain will not give; and you will be surprised to find that many of these last will donate abundantly.
'If your friends are very poor and unable to give a large donation at one time, a good plan would be to arrange to call upon them every Saturday afternoon with your card to collect their donations. And while you are asking others, do not forget to give what you can yourselves. Just a little self denial, and those pennies and halfpennies which you so often spend on sweets and other unnecessary things, might be given—as a donation—to the good cause.
'All those who wish to collect donations will stay behind for a few minutes after school, when Brother Hunter, who has kindly consented to act as secretary to the fund, will issue the cards.
'I would like here to say a few words of thanks to Brother Hunter for the great interest he has displayed in this matter, and for all the trouble he is taking to help us to gather in the donations.'
This tribute was well deserved. Hunter in fact had originated the whole scheme in the hope of securing the job for ​Rushton and Company, and two and a half per cent. of the profits for himself.
Mr Belcher now replaced the collecting card on the table, and taking up one of the hymn books, gave out the words and afterwards conducted the singing, flourishing one fat hand in the air and holding the book in the other.
As the last strains of the music died away, he closed his eyes and a sweet smile widened his mouth, as he stretched forth his right hand, open, palm down, with the fingers close together, and said:
'Let us pray.'
With much shuffling of feet everyone knelt down. Hunter's lanky form was distributed over a very large area; his body lay along one of the benches, his legs and feet sprawled over the floor, and his huge hands clasped the sides of the seat. His eyes were tightly closed and there was an expression of the most intense misery in his long face.
Mrs Starvem, Ruth Easton's former mistress, was so fat that she knew if she once knelt down she would never be able to get up again, so compromised by sitting on the extreme edge of her chair, resting her elbows on the back of the seat in front of her, and burying her face in her hands. It was a very large face, but her hands were capacious enough to receive it.
In a seat at the back of the hall knelt a pale faced, weary looking little woman about thirty-six years of age, very shabbily dressed, who had come in during the singing. This was Mrs White, the caretaker, Bert White's mother. When her husband died, the Committee of the Chapel, out of charity, gave her this work, for which they paid her six shillings a week. Of course they could not offer her full employment; the idea was that she could get other work as well, charing and things of that kind, and do the Chapel work in between. There wasn't much to do: just the heating furnace to light when necessary; the Chapel, committee rooms, classrooms and Sunday School to sweep and scrub out occasionally; the hymn books to collect, etc. Whenever they had a tea meeting—which was, on an average, about twice a week—there were the trestle tables to fix up, the chairs to arrange, the table to set out, and then, supervised by Miss Didlum or some other lady, the tea to make. There was rather a lot to do on the days following these functions: the washing up; the tables ​and chairs to put away, the floor to sweep, and so on; but the extra work was supposed to be compensated by the cakes and broken victuals generally left over from the feast, which were much appreciated as a welcome change from the bread and dripping or margarine that constituted Mrs White's and Bert's usual fare.
There were several advantages attached to the position; the caretaker became acquainted with the leading members and their wives, some of whom, out of charity, occasionally gave her a day's work as charwoman, the wages being on about the same generous scale as those she earned at the chapel, occasionally supplemented by a parcel of broken victuals or some cast-off clothing. The possibility that her employers took advantage of her poverty to impose upon her conditions of price and labour which a woman in a more independent position would not have endured, never occurred to Mrs White. On the contrary her heart was filled with gratitude towards her generous benefactors.
During the prayer the door was softly opened and a gentleman in clerical dress entered on tip toe and knelt down next to Mr Didlum. He came in very softly but all the same most of those present heard him and lifted their heads or peeped through their fingers to see who it was, and when they recognised him a sound like a sigh swept through the hall.
At the end of the prayer, amid groans and cries of 'Amen,' the balloon slowly descended from the platform and collapsed into one of the seats, and everyone rose up from the floor. When all were seated and the shuffling, coughing, and blowing of noses had ceased, Mr Didlum stood up and said:
'Before we sing the closin' 'ymn, the gentleman hon my left, the Rev. Mr John Starr, will say a few words.'
An expectant murmur rippled through the hall. The ladies lifted their eyebrows and nodded, smiled and whispered to each other; the gentlemen assumed various attitudes and expressions; and the children were very quiet. Everyone was in a state of suppressed excitement as John Starr rose from his seat and stepping up on to the platform, stood by the side of the table, facing them.
He was about twenty-six years of age, tall and slenderly built. His clean cut, intellectual face, with its lofty forehead and air of refinement and culture, were in striking contrast to the coarse appearance of the other adults in the room.
​But it was not merely his air of good breeding and the general comeliness of his exterior that pleased and attracted. There was an indefinable something about him, an atmosphere of gentleness and love that seemed to radiate from his whole being, almost compelling confidence and affection from those with whom he came in contact.
As he stood there facing the others with an inexpressibly winning smile upon his face, it seemed impossible that there could be any fellowship between him and them.
He did not give a very long address this afternoon, only just a few words; but they were very precious, original and illuminating. He told them of certain thoughts that had occured to his mind on the way there that afternoon; and as they listened, Sweater, Rushton, Didlum, Hunter, and the other disciples exchanged significant looks and gestures. Was it not magnificent! Such power! Such reasoning! In fact, as they afterwards modestly admitted to each other, it was so profound that even they experienced great difficulty in fathoming the speaker's meaning.
As for the ladies, they were motionless and dumb with admiration. They sat with flushed faces, shining eyes and palpitating hearts, looking hungrily at the dear man as he proceeded:
'Unfortunately our time this afternoon does not permit us to dwell at length upon these Thoughts. Perhaps at some future date we may have the blessed privilege of so doing. But this afternoon I have been asked to say a few words on another subject. The failing health of your dear minister has for some time past engaged the anxious attention of the congregation.'
Sympathetic glances were directed towards the interesting invalid; the ladies murmured 'Poor dear!' and other expressions of anxious concern.
'Although naturally robust,' continued Starr, 'long continued overwork, the loving solicitude for others that often prevented him taking even necessary repose, and a too vigorous devotion to the practice of self denial, have at last brought about the inevitable breakdown, and rendered a period of rest absolutely imperative.'
'With this laudable object,' proceeded Starr, 'a Subscription List was quietly opened about a month ago, and those dear children who had cards and assisted in the good work ​of collecting donations will be pleased to hear that altogether a goodly sum was gathered, but as it was not quite enough, the committee voted a further amount out of the General Fund, and at a special meeting held last Friday evening, your dear Shepherd was presented with an illuminated address and a purse of gold sufficient to defray the expenses of a month's holiday in the south of France.
'Although, of course, he regrets being separated from you even for such a brief period, he feels that in going he is choosing the lesser of two evils. It is better to go to the south of France for a month than to continue working in spite of the warnings of exhausted nature and to be taken away from you, perhaps altogether—to Heaven.'
'God forbid!' fervently ejaculated several disciples, and a ghastly pallor overspread the features of the object of their prayers.
'Even as it is there is a certain amount of danger. Let us hope and pray for the best, but if the worst should happen, and he is called upon to Ascend, there will be some satisfaction in knowing that you have done what you could to avert the dreadful calamity.
'He sets out on his pilgrimage to-morrow,' concluded Starr, 'and I am sure he will be followed by the good wishes and prayers of all the members of his flock.'
The reverend gentleman resumed his seat, and almost immediately it became evident from the oscillations of the balloon that Mr Belcher was desirous of rising to say a few words in acknowledgement, but he was restrained by the entreaties of those near him, who besought him not to exhaust himself. He afterwards said that he would not have been able to say much even if they had permitted him to speak, because he felt too full.
'During the absence of our beloved pastor,' said Brother Didlum, who now rose to give out the closing hymn, 'his flock will not be left hentirely without a shepherd, for we 'ave arranged with Mr Starr to come and say a few words to us hevery Sunday.'
When they heard Brother Didlum's announcement a murmur of intense rapture rose from the ladies, and Mr Starr smiled sweetly. Brother Didlum did not mention the details of the 'arrangement'; to have done so at that time would have been most unseemly, but the following extract from the ​accounts of the chapel will not be out of place here: 'Paid to Rev. John Starr, for service rendered on Sunday, 14th November, £4 4s., per the treasurer.'
After the 'service' was over, most of the children, including Charley and Frankie, remained to get collecting cards. Mr Starr was surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and a little later, when he drove away with Mr Belcher and Mr Sweater in the latter's motor car, the ladies looked hungrily after that conveyance, listening to the melancholy 'pip, pip' of its hooter and trying to console themselves with the reflection that they would see him again in a few hours' time at the evening service.