Green with Patrick

The celebration of St Patrick's Day in Sydney was quickly established in the new colony of New South Wales. 

By 1795, Judge-Advocate David Collins wrote in his diary,

On the 17th St Patrick found many votaries [followers] in the settlement ... libations to the saint were so plentifully poured, that at night the cells were full of prisoners.

Governor Macquarie established another custom in 1810 when he provided entertainments for ‘government artificers and labourers’. Later public celebration of St Patrick's Day included horse races, banquets, parades, picnics, concerts, dancing and games.

Changes in celebrations often reflected the change in the mood of the Irish citizens of Australia and their place in the wider community. St Patrick’s Day parades in Melbourne under Archbishop Daniel Mannix were assertive political statements of Catholic loyalty to Australia and also support for Irish independence.

The customs did not always originate in Ireland. St Patrick's Day parades began in North America in the 18th century and later spread to Ireland in the 20th century.

Today it’s a festive Irish cultural event imbibed by many regardless of their Irishness and in Ireland itself, it is a national holiday. It traditionally appeals to two kinds of people; those who are Irish and those who wish they were.

Why 17 March?  Traditionally it’s the date on which St Patrick died, probably about the year 461 AD. So perhaps it began as an Irish wake.

Maewyn Succat

So, what do we know of Patrick? Some admirers have created ‘alterative facts’ over the centuries which result in discrediting an otherwise admirable person. There’s certainly a few popular beliefs which are wrong.

Patrick isn't officially a Saint as he’s never been canonised by the Catholic Church, though he is certainly a saint ‘by acclamation’.

Patrick didn’t drive the snakes out of Ireland. It’s true there aren’t any snakes there now, but it was the ice-age that got rid of them about 10,000 years before Patrick. To be fair, Patrick himself never claimed to have banished the snakes, it was later enthusiasts, perhaps seeing it as a parallel to him ridding Ireland of paganism.

Patrick's Confesio [Declaration], is his authentic literary legacy. It gives a few biographical details and an insight into his self-deprecating manner. There are still many details we don’t know but it’s probably better to say that than make something up.

He wasn't the first Catholic missionary to Ireland. Palladius had been sent in 431, about five years before Patrick went, though he was certainly nowhere near as successful. It’s likely that others had also tried before though with limited success.

Patrick wasn't even Irish. He was first an unwilling ‘boat person’ brought there as a slave, but in the end certainly loved his new homeland. 

According to his Declaration, he was born in a town called Bannavem Taburniae, probably around 385 AD. His hometown may have been in Scotland, Wales or north-east England, this hasn’t been determined. In any case, it’s clear that his parents were well to do Catholics and part of late Roman Britton. His grandfather had been a priest, and his father, Calpurnius, a town councillor and deacon. 

He was named Maewyn Succat – whatever that means.

Young Maewyn was 16 years old when he was captured in a raid and became a slave in what was still radically pagan Ireland. One imagines a comfortable slightly dreamy youth perhaps not quick enough on his feet to escape the thugs. 

Far from home, he clung to the family religion he had ignored as a teenager and found it gave him hope and comfort. Forced to tend his master's sheep in Ireland, he spent his six years of bondage and much time alone in prayer and contemplation.

At the suggestion of a dream, he escaped to Gaul where he studied in a monastery before returning to Britain and reuniting with his parents. They were delighted to see him and hoped he’d remain with them forever. he obviously missed them as much as they missed him, but he couldn’t sit still.

After receiving a supernatural call to preach to the heathen of Ireland he returned to Gaul and was ordained a deacon. That’s when he took the Latin name Patricius, meaning ‘having a noble father’, which is Patrick in Irish. The name may have been to honour both his earthly father and his father in heaven.

Patrick was in his mid-40s when he returned to Ireland. Palladius had not been very successful in his mission, and the returning former slave replaced him. He landed in Wicklow and travelled north converting the people of Ulster and later other parts of Ireland.

Successful cross-cultural communication

Patrick’s success is a case study for those interested in ‘missiology’ (how to be a missionary) or any other kind of cross-cultural relations. Against his will, he had been a lonely stranger in a strange land but the experience changed his identity and gave him a purpose and meaning to his life which he may not have had if he had lived out his life in the comfort which he was born to.

He was intimately familiar with the Irish clan system (his former master, Milchu, had been a chieftain). Patrick’s strategy was based on his knowledge of how Ireland worked. His aim was to convert chiefs first, who would then convert their clans through their influence. Some say Milchu was one of his earliest converts.

Though he was not solely responsible for converting the island, Patrick was more successful than anyone and developed a supporting team. He made missionary journeys all over Ireland, and soon the land at the end of the earth became known as one of Europe's Christian centres.

One belief is that Patrick used the three-leaf clover to explain the Trinity idea which was basic to his efforts to convert Irish pagans. The Shamrock was also supposedly worn to symbolise the cross. It’s hard to know if this is true. The original colour associated with Patrick was actually blue. The link could be the fact that Patrick came to symbolise Ireland – a lush green country. Wearing green and honouring Patrick both became symbols of Irish pride.

Estimates are he baptised 10,000 Irish people and planted 300 churches. Patrick knew and loved the Irish people and changed the Emerald Isle forever.

Happy Maewyn Succat’s Day!

Why do family history?

First up we need to agree on what family history is. Is it the same as genealogy?

A useful distinction to make is that a genealogist aims to put the names and dates on an ancestry chart. Family history adds life to them by telling their stories. Before we can tell the story well, we need to get the basic facts in place. Genealogy is part of the background to telling the story.

It’s the stories we find most satisfying if they have meaning to us.

I once worked with a fellow who claimed to have been infected by the ‘family history bug’. For him, it was a kind of compulsion which his family could see no rhyme or reason to. Try as he might, he could not infect his family with the bug nor explain to their satisfaction where the desire for it came from. Nonetheless, they were happy that the illness got him out of the house and off to the library. Now, of course, you can do much of it from your desktop.

I am a fellow-sufferer. In trying to ‘sell’ the idea there are several ‘benefits’ which I used to feel may be convincing to others. These are:

Family medical history could prove useful in identifying the likelihood of contracting some illness. In fact, most people either know of major family illnesses or only research them after someone has been diagnosed.

Get to know ‘where you came from’. Well, I knew my parents and some of my grandparents and those who came before them were dead and buried long before I came along. If you don’t have an identity crisis, this is also not a great motivation. For some people, such as those adopted at birth with no knowledge of their natural parents it can be a motivator.

Discover family you never knew you had. If you don’t know them why go looking for them? If you find a cousin on the other side of the world, are you likely to become good friends?

Resolve old family mysteries. That’s if you have any. Could be you know nothing of your great grandparents and don’t have any odd stories. There is no reason to imagine that their lives had any meaningful impact on yours.

Something to share with family. Stories about what you did or what your personal memories are of your childhood probably have a more lasting impact on family members than reciting what you found on your favourite family history site.

It’s problem-solving!  Great for staving off Alzheimer’s – but why not do Sudoku?

You may find a famous ancestor! Does that impact on who you are? Probably not, and the ‘infamous’ ones may be more interesting. If we’re after famous connections, think about this: statistically, everyone with European ancestry is descended from Emperor Charlemagne (who was crowned only 1200 years ago)!

OK, so I haven’t yet convinced anyone. The question should probably be, ‘Why am I doing it?’

Benefit and real reason

There’s a difference between possible benefits and your reason for doing something. Realising this flicked a switch in my mind. I don’t need to convince others that it’s a good idea in order to give myself permission to enjoy it. While I do have some family history mysteries to solve, my reason for doing it is bigger. I do enjoy problem-solving, understanding different periods of history and writing up some of the things that I find. I do have some interesting stories to tell if the subject comes up but if not I am still enjoying the journey.

So why do I research family history?

It’s therapeutic. Like a good film or pottering in the garden: it takes my mind away. It’s relaxing. Time stands still. 

It’s probably also good for my mental and physical health but that’s another benefit, not a reason.

Sunday School Captain: My glimpse of Norman Gordon Rae MC

At the age of seven, after a life-changing week-long visit to hospital, I developed an interest in religion.

My spleen was eating up blood platelets faster than I could make them. As a result, bumps turned into bruises which took ages to heal. The teachers suspected bullying at school – or perhaps at home - and I was examined by the headmaster in his office. He contacted my parents and this lead to a visit to the family doctor at Seaford, Thomas B. Ready.

Dr Ready referred me to pioneering paediatric haematologist Dr John Colebatch (AO) at the Royal Children’s Hospital in Melbourne. He proposed a minor procedure with a few days’ observation in hospital. So, late one afternoon Dad drove us all from Seaford to Bethesda Hospital in Richmond. We stopped for fish and chips on the way.

The hospital floor was covered with hard dark brown ceramic tiles and the metal-framed bed was much higher than my bed at home. Mum was worried that I might fall out and crack my head – something I managed not to do.

Dad was present for the procedure and looked on with the occasional controlled squirm. Dr Colebatch pressed some instrument into my sternum and I heard several ‘clicks’ and felt pressure but no pain. The aim was to inject steroids into my bone marrow. This would often rectify the condition; if not the next step was to remove the spleen. Luckily it worked. A bandage was applied and this was followed by clear advice not to ‘pick the scab’.  The opportunity to try this didn’t happen for at least a day when the dressing came off.

My hospitalisation was to observe the recovery and also to try to get me to improve my diet. I was prepared to eat anything offered if meals concluded with chocolate ice-cream. I made a deal about this though tinned peach was added to the Neapolitan ice cream which I did think was a sign of bad faith.

An older boy moved into the bed to my left; he was about 12. One of his visitors was going to be his ‘minister’. I anticipated seeing a man in with a beard and flowing black robes. Instead, the minister had a grey suit with a white shirt and dark tie. He spoke to me in a normal voice. A rotund Fijian nurse spent rather too much time speaking to him and trying to impress me with stories of the ‘good work’ such people had done in Fiji.

To my right was a long corridor at the end of which was a nurse’s station and the door through which my parents and brother would come to visit. Young Jeff came in first one day and was told by the nurse at the door not to spend too much time. He ran to my bed and plonked a Mediterranean blue plastic model of Donald Campbell’s Bluebird car on the bed and quickly turned to run about again, tripping at the door. I thought this was terribly unfair for him as he had followed the silly instructions in good faith.

In any case, the ‘ministerial visit’ left an impression on me because it was definitely not what I expected.

After a few days, Dr Colebatch came through to ask a few of the children when they could like to go home. Most wanted to go home immediately and he reasoned with those who couldn’t about why they needed to stay longer.

By the time he came to me I knew what to say. ‘When would you like to go home?’ ‘Since I came on the weekend I should stay a whole week and go home on Sunday’, I said. He seemed surprised by this though he certainly agreed.  He asked if I was eating my meals and I proudly told him ‘yes’.

On returning to school I paid more attention to ‘religious instruction’.  Prior to that, I had thought the irrelevant volunteers who conducted these courses were a waste of time. I had learned that my expectations were incorrect, so I wanted to know more. I heard about the Church of England Boys Society (CEBS) and thought that would be a good thing to join. It was apparently like the scouts but without the thugs. Though I didn’t enjoy the poison ball games in the old Seaford Hall and was confused by the first game of ‘Chinese whispers’, I did read the CEBS manual which said that every good CEB should pray and go to church. The CEBS master suggested that the newish St Silas Church in Seaford South would be most convenient for me.

The ‘church’ however was not as expected. The group of about 30 squashed into a garage neatly lined with unpainted Masonite. The ‘Vicar’, Albert Church, from the parent church, St Paul’s Frankston, did at least have robes and wore his collar back-to-front.

The garage was on the property of Norman Rae, who Dad told me was a war hero.

Although he was no minister he was certainly in charge of what went on. It seemed to be a very short period of time that the church moved half a block down to a bright and airy new hall. By that time, I had been and later confirmed at St Paul’s Church, which did look like a proper church.  

After that I became an altar server, risking life and limb to climb the ladder to post the hymn numbers every Sunday morning.

Norman Rae was an imposing figure. I was impressed by his energy since he was almost 80. He did strike me as a heroic type; he knew what was going on, no one contradicted him, he had built the garage church with his own hands and somehow managed to raise enough money for a new hall. He was also the driving force behind the Sunday School which I took part in eagerly.

My participation in the church meant that Mum had an opportunity to volunteer to play the piano for church services and also the choir practice. Dad felt his duties were fulfilled by dropping Mum and I off for services and choir practice. While my brother was also baptised he did not show an interest in such things. 

The choir was led by Eric Jones, a short stentorian-voiced Welshman who knew his music. There were about 20 people in the choir practice and we were all assigned the relevant parts; soprano, alto, tenor and base. Only one voice resonated in the base section - Norman’s.

The St Silas church community was regularly grateful to ’Mr Rae’. He had grown up at ‘the Overflow’ in New South Wales, a place romanticised in Patterson’s poem ‘Clancy’ and for that reason seemed to me that it was a logical place to breed heroes. Each year he would travel there for a holiday. Each year the church community would buy him a bigger farewell gift and crowds would be there to farewell him. 

If some thought such well-wishing and farewelling would aid his 'retirement' they were mistaken. He accepted the warm wishes and would return refreshed from his trip home.

Later we moved suburbs and I lost contact with St Silas. In 1974 I was working at the Manyung Gallery in Mount Eliza, and one day old Mr Rae came in for a look. He removed his old dark green hat with its small feather to enter the building. 

There had been some kerfuffle when he came in which made me look. We chatted for a while. He had slowed somewhat and was not as spritely as I remembered him. This was a little sad as he was about the same age as my grandfather who had retained his sprightliness though not his ‘bravery’. 

Apparently, he had argued with the Yorkshire-woman who guarded the Gallery door about the 50-cent admission fee. This was a common cause of discontent, later dropped. The guardian could not understand why I had given him so much time, but I was impressed that he had tackled her directly and successfully – a rare achievement.

Battle of Beersheba

I thought of Norman Rae recently as this year marks the 100^th anniversary of the Battle of Beersheba, a significant turning point in the history of the Middle East.

The Battle of Beersheba was his regiment's first major battle and it made the Australians a legend. It was the basis for thinking of him as a war hero and along with the impression he gave of being imposing meant he usually got his way, though as a child I didn’t really understand this.

On 31 October 1917, an attack was launched to outflank the Turkish bastion of Gaza, against which two previous attacks had failed, by capturing another heavily defended town to the east - Beersheba. 

A deteriorating tactical situation late on the first day of the operation caused the 4th and its sister regiment, the 12th, to be unleashed on Beersheba at the gallop: the charge of Beersheba.

Captain Rae was awarded the Military Cross for ‘conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty’ in this battle. During the mounted attack on hostile trenches, he single-handedly captured over 60 prisoners setting an example to his men under extremely heavy rifle and machine-gun fire.

After Gaza fell, Turkish resistance in southern Palestine collapsed. 40 days later, General Allenby entered Jerusalem on foot through the Jaffa Gate, together with his officers. He did this out of respect for the status of Jerusalem as the Holy City important to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam and was well received by the city’s inhabitants.

I don’t know where Captain Rae’s firm religious beliefs came from but his participation in and survival of such a significant battle together with the momentum that battle helped create to change the face of the Middle East would have left him with a stronger resolve.

Norman Rae died in 1977 and St Silas closed in June 1987, but the heroism and significance of the Battle of Beersheba are still remembered.

See also: A ‘new’ photo of an Australian Beersheba hero?

The Seventh Day Men Part 3: under King Charles II

Persecution Renewed

In 1658 Oliver Cromwell died. Soon the experimental Commonwealth lacked stable government and by 1661 the exiled son of Charles I was asked to return as King Charles II. 

Eager to avenge his father’s execution and with a taste for the high-life, he willingly accepted, promising religious toleration. In fact, persecution was renewed. All who would not support the Church of England, as previously constituted, were to be imprisoned or otherwise punished under the Act of Uniformity - made law in 1662. 

The Fifth Monarchy Movement was banned, and those who supported it were regarded as rebels.

John James was at this time preaching to a ‘seventh day’ baptist church in Bullstake Alley, London. Like Edward Stennet, James was not a Fifth Monarchist, but he did expect Christ to literally return to earth displacing all earthly government to establish the Millennium.

On Saturday 19 October 1661, after a vigorous sermon on this subject, James was arrested with thirty of his congregation. The charges were plotting treason, and being a Fifth Monarchist. The authorities apparently decided to make an example of James and ordered him executed: his head was placed on a stake outside the Bullstake Alley meeting house.

Sabbath-keeping Spreads West

No wonder that in such times many sought the relative freedom of America. One member of Stennet's congregation, Stephen Mumford, decided to escape and arrived in Rhode Island in 1664. There he found initial fellowship with the local Sunday keeping congregation. With Mumford, the Sabbath idea came to America, and in a few years, with the help and encouragement of Stennet and Dr Peter Chamberlen, he established America's first Sabbath-keeping church.

Back in London, the dozen or so Sabbath-keeping congregations faced new times with tenacity and resourcefulness. Talented men would yet add their voices to the Sabbath chorus; with each a new harmony.

The aristocrat Francis Bampfield, also fully conversant with Greek and Hebrew was but one and is worth a separate article as are a number of those mentioned. In September 1662, he was arrested at home and imprisoned for nearly nine years. There he preached almost daily and formed a Sabbath-keeping church within the prison walls.

On his release in 1675, he travelled through several counties preaching and finally settled in London. He gathered a congregation of Sabbatarian Baptists at Pinners' Hall, Broad Street. Whilst conducting service there, he was arrested and returned to prison where he died on 16 February 1683. 

Large crowds of sympathisers attended his funeral at the Anabaptists' burial-ground in Aldersgate Street.

Bampfield defended the Sabbath in 1677, in his book The Seventh Day Sabbath - The Desirable Day, 'The LORD Jesus Christ, who is Redeemer, was Creator... Jehovah Christ as Mediator did himself at Mount Sinai proclaim the law of Ten Words. 

Cover of The Seventh Day Sabbath.

His argument was simply that it was Jesus Christ Himself who wrote the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. Why then would this same Christ seek to do away with one of them?

The legacy

What had been achieved by the end of the seventeenth century was not merely the rediscovery of an old idea, but the formulation of a particular way of defending it. This defence would be repeated by succeeding generations of Sabbath-keepers who, in time, would lose all knowledge of the people and times to whom they owed so much.

The same can be said of many new ideas which developed at this time. 

King Charles II. Via wikipedia.org

This is the third and final instalment of the series. In later posts, I hope to develop mini-biographies of a number the individuals mentioned. 

The Seventh Day Men Part 2: under Lord Protector Cromwell

By 1643, the Puritans had won the argument about Sunday: the law upheld the Christian Sabbath. Two Civil wars preceded the astounding development of the execution of Charles I in 1648. Oliver Cromwell headed a Puritan government that opposed the idea of a State Church and was prepared to allow some freedom of thought.

Up sprang a variety of independent churches. These were a long way from modern denominations. Each congregation considered itself to be a part of the one spiritual Christian Church. For example, ‘baptist’ did not become a denominational title until later.

In 1650, a pupil of Brabourne, who had adopted believer's baptism, announced that the Sabbath commandment has been ‘restored to its primitive purity’. 

James Ockford's seventy-two-page book marks the start of a spread of Sabbath keeping amongst some baptist congregations.

James Ockford's book marks the start of a spread of
Sabbath keeping amongst some baptist congregations.

Thomas Tillam and Peter Chamberlen M.D.

Thomas Tillam was a prominent preacher at Hexham, in the north of England. 

His vigorous exhortations, based on graphic adaptations of the Book of Revelation, brought scores of people to baptism. Jealous rivals soon complained of his preaching methods to Hansard Knolleys. Knolleys' London congregation provided leadership for many baptists and in 1653 Tillam was called to give an account of himself. The congregation revoked its support of Tillam, who then had no money or credentials to preach.

Tillam set out to find other congregations which might share his views. This led him to Dr Peter Chamberlen, who guided the only baptist congregation which supported the Fifth Monarchy Movement.

The movement was a semi-political pressure group which drew support from ‘fundamentalist’ congregations. It expected Christ's Kingdom (the Fifth Monarchy to follow the four Kingdoms described in Daniel 2) would soon be literally established on earth. To prepare for this, they urged that England quickly pattern its government and laws on the Bible.

This friendship would prove important for the establishment of Sabbath-keeping congregations in England and later the United States. In normal times these two men would never have met. 

Chamberlen was a clean-shaven respected aristocrat and former Royal Physician. He and his father had invented forceps and undertook many good works for the community. Tillam believed that real men had short hair and long beards, came from a very different social position. He also had an air of wild eccentricity.

Another baptist and moderate Fifth Monarchist was Henry Jessey. He was a gifted preacher with a sound knowledge of Hebrew. He believed that the King James Bible lacked an understanding of Israel's calendar and customs.

Their Discovery of the Sabbath

By 1655 Tillam moved to Colchester. His gifts as a preacher impressed the local mayor who invited him to use the parish church. Enlivened by this opportunity, Tillam baptised over one hundred people in a few months. It is also probable that Tillam came to know Brabourne who lived in the area.

Early in 1656, Tillam began holding services in the parish church on Saturday. Exactly how he arrived at the idea of the Saturday Sabbath is not clear. Through this period, he had remained in regular and close contact with Chamberlen, whose London congregation adopted the Sabbath about the same time. Chamberlen also probably knew Ockford.

Displeased with Tillam's innovation, the authorities had him imprisoned. Like many seventeenth-century religious prisoners, Tillam occupied himself in writing and produced his most memorable work: The Seventh Day Sabbath Sought Out and Celebrated published in 1657. 

It brought a rush of condemning response. Tillam developed the link between the Sabbath and Biblical prophecy, first suggested by Ockford, into a detailed scenario. The Sabbath, said Tillam, ‘...is in these very last days become the last great controversy between the Saints and the Man of Sin, The Changer of Times and Laws’.

Tillam was the first to call the Sunday Sabbath the ‘Mark of the Beast’. But, while Chamberlen felt that Sabbath observance negated all significance of Sunday, Tillam believed that the resurrection could be celebrated on Sunday, so as not to cause divisions between Christians.

Perhaps the strongest agreement of the pair was that their adoption of the Sabbath would aid the conversion of the Jews. It would be a sure sign that Christ's return was near. As Chamberlen wrote to Tillam, ‘The Jews of London are very much affected with our keeping the Sabbath...'

Peter Chamberlen M.D. Prominent Sabbath-keeper
and public health advocate. Picture via Wikipedia.

Chamberlen's Congregation

Tillam's book was written as an answer to a pamphlet against Sabbath keeping by William Aspinwall, a leading Fifth Monarchist. Aspinwall systematically ridiculed the arguments of Ockford and another Sabbath-keeper, John Spittlehouse.

Spittlehouse, the spokesman for Chamberlen's congregation, published his advocacy of the ‘unchangeable morality’ of the Sabbath in mid-1656. But Aspinwall's abuse did not quell Sabbath enthusiasm.

Almost immediately, Spittlehouse and William Sellers presented a petition to the Chief Magistrates, asking that the Saturday Sabbath be established in law. The task must have seemed easy, as English law now supported all the arguments in favour of Sabbath-keeping. All they had to do was convince the lawmakers that the supposed Sunday texts of the New Testament did not change the Sabbath to Sunday. 

Their confident appeal was unceremoniously rejected.

The Sabbath had become an issue of controversy among baptists, many of whom now observed it. Jeremiah Ives, a popular baptist controversialist, decided to meet the arguments head-on. He challenged Tillam and Chamberlen to a public debate. They agreed, and for three days in 1658, the Stone Chapel in St. Paul's Cathedral was crowded with eager listeners.

Each side considered itself the winner. Soon after two able preachers added their voices to the defence of the Sabbath: Edward Stennet and John James.

Stennet had been a chaplain for the Parliament during the Civil wars and, though not a Fifth Monarchist, he did expect Christ to return in his lifetime. His defence of the Sabbath was published in 1658. In it, he argued for the perpetuity of the Ten Commandments, which he dubbed the ‘Royal Law’ after James 2:8. 

The literature produced in the relative freedom and literacy of Cromwell’s rule is a rich field of original and reflective thinking. The modern world is yet to fully mine its treasures. 

So many new ideas took seed. A few blossomed and made the English-speaking world more civilised as a result. Some began to bloom but were cut down before their full beauty and diversity were spent.

Luckily, we still have many of the seeds…

(Revised and pictures added July 2018)

Read part 3: The Seventh Day Men under Charles II.

The Seventh Day Men Part 1: The Sabbath under James I & Charles I

Dusty arguments about the nature of ‘the Sabbath’ seem of little relevance to the modern world. This feeling is heightened in the specialised world of the Christian observation of the Saturday Sabbath. After all, isn’t this a Jewish idea?

But, in the seventeenth century, for a handful of Britons, it was vital and for many, literally a matter of life and death.

These Sabbath-keepers did not form a new denomination; indeed, they were not even a unified group. They just believed they were just one step ahead of their brethren who would soon see the light.

The story is of real people many of whom displayed the same human failings as modern religionists; from naïve openness to unreflective zeal.

Today if we hear of Christians observing the Saturday Sabbath we think of Seventh-day Adventists. Before them, there were (and still are) Seventh Day Baptists. Before them in seventeenth-century England, there were individuals who had many differing opinions about other theological and political topics.

John Traske

Soon after James I came to the English throne in 1603, a Puritan manifesto asked him, as head of the Anglican Church, to settle some religious disputes in their favour. The astute King wanted a different religious settlement. He listened to prominent Puritan leaders but sided with his bishops. He dismissed the peevish legacy of old Puritanism and aimed for the ‘middle-ground’.

Soon after the publication of the famous King James Version of the Bible in 1611, John Traske, an itinerant, arrived in London. Disgusted by the obvious corruption of some clergy, he preached that God would give his Spirit to those who obey him in the way they live their lives. Not a new idea.

He began advocating fasting and went on to revive the Old Testament prohibition on unclean meats. In a short time, this gifted preacher had built a significant following of men and women. Hamlet Jackson was one such scrupulous student. His studies led him to conclude that there was no Biblical command to observe Sunday and that the Saturday-Sabbath observed by the Jews had never been abolished.

Traske agreed, indeed he may have already held this view. Certainly, they began observing and preaching for the ‘Saturday Sabbath’. Most of Traske's congregation also adopted it. 

Sunday versus Sunday

At this time, the wider society, two opposing and equally elaborate arguments were developing about the meaning of Sunday. The traditional view, upheld by King James, saw Sunday as a Christian festival. It had been established by the early church, and it was called the ‘Lord's Day’ in honour of the Lord's resurrection. It had no connection at all with the Sabbath of the Old Testament, which became redundant.

Opposing this view, Puritan opinion insisted that the Bible did not abolish the Sabbath command. However, because of the resurrection, the Sabbath had been transferred to Sunday; the ‘Christian Sabbath’. Exactly how and when this transformation took place was the subject of much argument. 

Traske's view was by contrast attractively simple: the Sabbath command remained and it had not been changed to Sunday. Anglican and Puritan both cried ‘Judaising’ against him. While the term was not well defined, all agreed it was a very undesirable thing to be.

Traske and his followers were arrested in 1616 and brought before a panel of bishops. Traske refused to be argued back to Anglican orthodoxy. Offended by his challenge that they would all one day observe Saturday, they imprisoned him and urged him to repent.

While in prison Traske studied early Church history, with material provided by the bishops. He made another surprising move. He denounced Easter as a man-made blasphemy of the same kind that Sunday was. In its place, Traske adopted the Passover and also observed the Days of Unleavened Bread as did the Jews.

Infuriated, Traske's persecutors formally charged him in 1618 with seducing the King's subjects away from the Church to Judaism. Traske was imprisoned, degraded from the ministry, whipped, branded with a ‘J’ on his forehead, and fined one thousand pounds. Defeated and dejected, Traske published a recantation three years later.

Traske was the first known Christian of modern times to observe the Sabbath. But his name became so stigmatised that the following generation of Sabbath-keepers didn’t mention him.

Brabourne: an intelligent development

Puritans and their parliamentary supporters were eventually provoked into open revolt against James successor, Charles I, who was crowned in 1626. He promoted William Laud to the position of Archbishop of Canterbury and took a hard line on religious dissent.

In 1621, the Puritan Thomas Broad published a book detailing the reasons why Sunday should be considered the Christian Sabbath. It became prescribed reading for Puritan ministers, and Theophilus Brabourne was one of the many respectable preachers who studied it.

However, Brabourne could find no evidence for the change of the Sabbath from Saturday to Sunday. Amazed, he published a book, Discourse on the Sabbath in 1628.

Brabourne had more surprises to come. Nobody responded to his book. So he revised it, putting the case more forcefully, and dedicated the work to King Charles I, asking him to enforce the Saturday Sabbath.

This book certainly was noticed: Charles was offended and Brabourne found himself before the Bishops. He was sent to Newgate Prison for eighteen months. After a year, he was re-examined and threatened with the loss of his ears in an effort to clarify his thinking. He quickly submitted a brief ambiguous statement, which was accepted as a recantation. Perhaps his captors were happy to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Brabourne lost his living as a minister but continued to observe and write for the Sabbath. However, not wishing to be disloyal to the Church of England, he remained a staunch supporter and refused to lead a breakaway congregation. Unlike Traske, he was generally well regarded by later Sabbath keepers who reflected familiarity with his well thought out writings.

Read part 2: the Seventh Day Men in Cromwell's time.

Would Governor Phillip have wanted 7 February for ‘Australia Day’?

This year there were some protests about 26 January as Australia Day. 

A chant on the streets was ‘Change the day’ and some of the commentaries suggested that ‘any other day’ would be better. 

Advocates for a date change are unlikely to be successful unless an alternative is proposed. There are a number of possibilities, each with pros and cons.

What might the first Governor of the Colony of New South Wales, Arthur Phillip, have suggested?

26 of January was not a public holiday until its thirtieth anniversary in 1818, when it was as much a remembrance of Governor Phillip himself, who had died only three and a half years before.

In the evening of the 26 January 1788, the ‘British colours’ were displayed on shore at Sydney Cove. Governor Phillip, with a few officers and others, assembled round the flag, drank to the king's health, and success to the settlement. This was done ‘with all that display of form which on such occasions is esteemed propitious, because it enlivens the spirits, and fills the imagination with pleasing presages.’

Indeed.

None of the people there gave the event much lasting importance, except perhaps for Lieutenant Johnson who liked to remind people that he was the first person ashore. The majority of the people in the fleet weren’t there; they remained where they had been for the previous eight months: on board the 11 ships of the fleet.

Some male convicts disembarked the next day to help establish the settlement and offload supplies. The process continued for several days. Female convicts and the sick were the last to come ashore on 6 February, by which time a tent hospital had been established and an area cleared to enable the group of about 1300 to be assembled.

The first official ceremony at Sydney Cove

The first official ceremony occurred on the 7 February 1788. The whole colony assembled with some formality around the Governor. The Royal Commission was then read by Lieutenant David Collins, the Judge Advocate. Arthur Phillip was officially appointed Governor of New South Wales. The territory for the Colony covered most of what we now know as Australia, except for what became Western Australia.

This was later called a ‘memorable day which established a regular form of Government on the coast of New South Wales’.  Sounds like a better date for an official annual event than 26 January already.

There is no record that any indigenous people were present. But after a couple of weeks of noisy tree cutting, the emergence of strange domestic animals, the smell of fires and unfamiliar cooking, together with the general noise which would have occurred, they can’t have failed to notice or keep watch. One can imagine them looking on at the proclamation ceremonies with amusement. Later reports indicate that many had been concerned about what these strange beings were.

While it is true that neither 26 January or 7 February were thought of as ‘Australia Day’, 7 February probably meant more to Philip. Apart from being the day he took office, it was also the opportunity for the expression of high hopes and the worthy intentions. Something worth celebrating. 

His instructions were quite clear. Amongst them, he was to ‘endeavour by every possible means to open an intercourse with the natives and to conciliate their affections, enjoining all [the King’s] subjects to live in amity and kindness with them.’

Whatever problems occurred later (and there were many), the stated formal aim of the colony and the personal wish of Phillip was to establish the best possible relations with the local inhabitants and to punish those members of the Colony who ‘wantonly destroy them, or give them any unnecessary interruption in the exercise of their several occupations’.

Phillip himself was at the end of an adventurous career and had nothing to prove. He was apparently a man of deep faith and strong ideals; he saw the potential for the Colony to become a vibrant new nation when most others did not. 

It is a pity that Phillip has been overshadowed historically by Cook, Nelson, and Washington, perhaps because he did not exude the same sense of his own place in history. Interestingly, the original of Phillip’s formal ‘Instructions’ in founding the Colony have been lost, but fortunately, a draft survived.

It is no surprise that, unlike the initial flag raising and toast of 26 January, all records from the First Fleet mention the ceremony on 7 February 1788. 

This is as Phillip would have wanted. 

Arthur Phillip has a think.

Read also: Australia Day: when would you like it?

Australia Day or Rum Rebellion Remembrance Day?

A tale of two tea planters: Claud Bald and F G Marsh

As a child, I knew that my maternal grandfather, F G ‘Fred’ Marsh, had been a tea planter in Darjeeling. I also knew more vaguely that my great-grandfather, Claud Bald, had ‘written the book on tea’.

Claud Bald: a tea pioneer

Claud Bald was born in Glasgow in 1853. He began tea planting on the Lohargur Tea Estate near Darjeeling in 1877 at the age of 24, the year following his father's death. In about 1881, he joined the Lebong Tea Company where he served as manager over the next 26 years.

David Bald, Claud's younger brother, is the first of the family to appear in Indian records. He died of cholera in Calcutta, on 3 April 1883 at the age of 24. He had been an assistant foreman at ‘Sindaria’ [which may be a misspelling of the town of Tindharia] in Darjeeling. I can't find what he did there but there was a tea plantation and a railway station there. Perhaps David had gone to India in the care of his older brother or perhaps he joined him there later. Both had training as engineers. Another younger brother Henry was in Darjeeling by 1887 and worked for the Government.

In October 1885 at the age of 32, Claud married 24-year-old Glaswegian lass Margaret Ker the elder daughter of religious parents. 

Why did Claud go to Darjeeling? He had arrived at a time of rapid growth for the tea industry. Between 1860 and 1864 the Darjeeling Tea Company established four gardens at Ging, Ambutia, Tukdah and Phoobsering and the Lebong Tea Company established tea gardens at Tukvar and Badamtam. Tea production from 1866 to 1874 had increased by 89%, from 1874-1885 to 56.8%, and from 1885 to 1895 by 22.4%. 1888 was the year India produced more tea than any other country.

In 1907, he became manager of the Tukvar Company’s estates, holding this position until his retirement in 1918 at the age of 65.

Fred Marsh arrives

Fred Marsh was born to English immigrants Henry and Mary Marsh in Adelaide, South Australia, in 1891. He arrived in India in 1912. His eldest sister Edith was already there with her husband, Percy Clark who was a Baptist missionary. Fred had also gone there to learn the local languages ahead of possibly becoming a missionary himself. Fred’s objective changed, however. He met the respectable Claud…and he also met Claud’s eldest daughter Margaret.

‘Marsh’, as Claud called the young Fred, became Claud’s assistant manager in 1913 managing Simla, a small estate. While he was there he married Margaret in December 1917. 

Claud was impressed with Fred and supported his successful bid to become manager at Phoobsering Tea Estate in April 1919. Later that year, Claud left Darjeeling to spend his retirement in Worthing. Tea had been Claud’s life and his book Indian tea: its culture and manufacture, first published in 1903, was revised three times during his life. He died in 1924.

Fred, along with most tea plantation managers, including his father-in-law, joined the Northern Bengal Mounted Rifles (NBMR). Fred joined a few days after the declaration of World War I.

Fred’s time at Phoobsering

On 15 January 1934, a severe earthquake opened up the ground under the 70-year-old Phoobsering house. Fred decided to design a new ‘earthquake-proof’ house. Under the house were six concrete rollers and the house itself was a concrete block. The theory was that the house could ‘shake, rattle and roll’ in an earthquake but not break. The house has since survived several strong earthquakes.

When World War II began, Fred and Margaret decided it was safest to leave their daughters with his brother Frank who lived in Melbourne. They then returned to India to ‘do their bit’ for the war effort and tea production increased strongly. Fred and other NBMR members were involved in moving food supplies between Burma and India and facilitating logistics for some British and Australian troops though the details are not yet known.

In 1947, Fred decided that he was coming back to Australia. The ‘communists’ as Fred called them, had stormed many tea factories. Every window in the Phoobsering house was broken. Fred felt they had no choice but to leave the country although their original plan was to remain there even past retirement.

Fred and Margaret Marsh arrived in Melbourne from India in July 1947 where they lived for the remainder of their lives. As a widower, Fred visited Darjeeling and Bhutan in about 1967 after working for 10 years with an insurance company. He died in 1979 at the age of 88.

Claud entertains a few guests at Tukvar Tea Estate in 1914

Claud Bald (centre with beard) at Tukvar in 1914. His wife Margaret is seated in front of him. Their daughter 'Evelyn' (my grandmother) is on the left next to the cleric. 
The troops are members of the Northern Bengal Mounted Rifles which Claud had been a member of as a young tea planter.

More details and pictures are at the Koi Hai site.