Cathy Le Feuvre

Founders' Day - the beginnings of The Salvation Army

If you've never had July 2 noted in your calendar as an important date, then you're probably not involved in or associated with The Salvation Army, the global church and charity organisation.

You won't know, therefore, that July 2 is 'Founders' Day' ... the day in 1865 which is marked as the start of the Christian movement that (eventually) became The Salvation Army.

More than a decade ago I was privileged to have published my first book ... 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Monarch Books 2013).

As the title indicates, it's the story of William and Catherine Booth, who between them started the Christian movement which today is in 134 countries across the world offering not just spiritual support through a network of churches (or 'corps' as they are known) but also hope and help for people who find themselves disadvantaged - those who are homeless, victims of modern slavery, those struggling with addiction, families needing support through foodbanks and the need for housing, support and fun for children and young people. And SO much more!

In my book I trace William and Catherine's love story, family life, and spiritual journey ... a journey which began way before the couple came to London, where The Salvation Army was founded, way before William was ordained into the Methodist Church, and Catherine herself took up a preaching ministry mostly to other women.

My book is a mixture of story-telling. There are excerpts from William and Catherine's personal letters, which are today held in the British Library in London, who kindly granted me permission to reproduce parts of some of the letters. There's a whole lot of 'history' which followed many many months of research on my part, the narrative which brings the story together. And then there are short 'stories' of my own making, based on information in Salvation Army history, and the Booths' letters.

These little 'glimpses' into life in Victorian England and into the lives of the Booths and the early Salvation Army may be described as 'immersive history' telling, and they were such fun to write as I tried to get under the skin of the times and the people with whom the Booths came into contact. I hope they really bring the couple and their times to life!

Chapter 13 of the book includes one of those little tales from that summer of 1865, when we know the Booths were settling into life in London, after years of living in lots of different places in England. We know also that it was midsummer of 1865 that William Booth preached outside the Blind Beggar pub in the poor East End of London. Not long after that, he was invited to preach as part of a wider Christian campaign and on July 2 1865 he preached in a tent on the Mile End Waste in the East End... not far from that pub.

THAT tent meeting is the occasion that Salvationists - members of The Salvation Army across the world - mark as the start of the Christian church and movement to which they belong. Which is why we are marking THAT day today! 

Please feel free to read about that day at the Blind Beggar pub ... from that chapter in my book.... and if this whets your appetite for more and you fancy reading the whole thing and even buying the book then you may click here.

Thanks so much!

Outside on the street a tall man with a thick dark beard mounted an old box.

Oh, not this again!

Couldn’t a man enjoy a couple of ales without having that noise outside? If the pub wasn’t so handy for home, he’d find somewhere else to sup. But the Blind Beggar was perfect, especially when he’d had a few too many – all he needed to do was stagger round the corner to the old woman who’d be there, as always, waiting to put him to bed.

The drinker rubbed the dirty window pane to peer out.
“George!” he shouted to the aleman behind the bar. “Can’t you get rid of ’em?”
“It’s a free world, Joe. So long as they don’t step over the doorstep we can’t do nuffink about ’em!”
“Shut the door!” someone yelled.
“Don’t you dare! It’s bloody boilin’ in here!” shouted barman George.

He was right, of course. Even this late in the day, it was still warm. Well it was midsummer, after all, and the inn reeked of sweat, stale beer, and the stench of the open sewer in the road outside.

Joe looked out of the window again. He’d lost count of the times his drinking had been interrupted by these religious fanatics. There seemed to be an endless stream of them, all spouting about God and how he needed “saving”.

Saving from what, that’s what he wanted to know. Who could save him from the misery of gruelling hard work and grinding poverty?

Maybe another pint might help. He searched his torn pocket. Just a penny left. Enough for one more, but then he’d go home empty-handed again and he’d get it in the neck from the old woman. He’d done that many a time before, even though it meant the kids went to bed with empty bellies. But a man had to have his fun, didn’t he? What with spending all day at the docks, hauling all those sacks of whatever it was they were loading the ships with. Maybe he’d just spend the ha’penny.

“Another half, George!” Joe approached the bar, where the crowd had thinned out a bit. A few of his mates had ambled outside and seemed to be listening to the tall man. A few were heckling from the door, but a couple had moved forward.

Just to get a bit of air, Joe took his half across the threshold into the street and stood there under the Blind Beggar sign.
“Not seen this one afore, Will!” he said to the man next to him.
“No – new, I think! Looks a bit fresh, doesn’t he?”

Not just fresh, but not posh either, Joe noted. He wasn’t dressed particularly sharply; his frock coat looked a little worse for wear. In fact, he appeared more frayed around the edges that the other missioners who usually turned up outside the pub. This one’s thick black hair was all over the place as he waved his arms around. He was sweating profusely and occasionally mopped his brow with a grey-looking kerchief. And what was that accent? He wasn’t from London, that was for sure.

Joe was intrigued. He found himself listening to this one as he hadn’t listened before. He was, of course, a religious nut, but he seemed to be a bit more normal than the rest.

“What’s ’is name, Will?”
“That’s right!” came the reply, followed by a hearty laugh.
“Don’t muck me about, mate! What’s ’is bloody name?”
“You said it! ’is name is Will! William Booth!”

                                                                   .....

In the summer of 1865 outside the Blind Beggar pub, William Booth was doing what came naturally, preaching to the unconverted in their own environment. Under a pub sign, risking ridicule and even some physical danger – it wasn’t unusual for street preachers to have things thrown at them by a heckling crowd – William was part of an evangelistic tradition that was growing rapidly in mid-nineteenth-century London. There were numerous chapels and small missions, many of them Methodist, across this part of town. By the 1850s there were around 144 charities at work in London, many of which were already mixing religion with practical works and good deeds.

William’s street preaching impressed a group of churchmen and evangelists known as the East London Special Services Committee. Among them were Mr R.C. Morgan and Mr Samuel Chase, the editors of The Revival, who, despite their misgivings over the preaching antics of the Revd Booth’s wife, were still determined to have William join them for their next evangelistic campaign.

The Special Committee didn’t come from or belong to one single denomination, and William Booth had already preached for them at the Garrick Theatre some years before. Now they wanted him for more radical work, and on 2 July 1865 – the date that is now noted in history as the “start” of The Salvation Army – William Booth stood to preach for them in a tent on the Mile End Waste, on the old Quaker Burial Ground in Whitechapel, East London.

Although the old tent blew down that autumn, there was no stopping the Booth mission. 

The East London Christian Revival Society was born and in the winter of 1865 it moved indoors. On Sundays the meetings were held in a local building – the Assembly Rooms on New Road, Whitechapel, otherwise known as Professor Orson’s Dancing Academy, its main function in the week. Even on the Sabbath the evangelists had to share their meeting hall with a photographer, and on weekdays the Booths and their expanding group of supporters rented other venues: an old chapel, a warehouse, a stable, a carpenter’s shop, a skittle alley.....

What happened next? 

By 1870 the 'Christian Revival Association' had been renamed 'The East London Christian Mission' and then simply 'The Christian Mission'. It was early in 1878 that publicity was issued with both the name 'Christian Mission' and 'Salvation Army' attached, but by May of that year the name 'Christian Mission' had been finally dropped and William and Catherine's Christian movement became ... 'The Salvation Army'.

The rest, as they say, is history!

Founders' Day - the beginnings of The Salvation Army

If you've never had July 2 noted in your calendar as an important date, then you're probably not involved in or associated with The Salvation Army, the global church and charity organisation.

You won't know, therefore, that July 2 is 'Founders' Day' ... the day in 1865 which is marked as the start of the Christian movement that (eventually) became The Salvation Army.

More than a decade ago I was privileged to have published my first book ... 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Monarch Books 2013).

As the title indicates, it's the story of William and Catherine Booth, who between them started the Christian movement which today is in 134 countries across the world offering not just spiritual support through a network of churches (or 'corps' as they are known) but also hope and help for people who find themselves disadvantaged - those who are homeless, victims of modern slavery, those struggling with addiction, families needing support through foodbanks and the need for housing, support and fun for children and young people. And SO much more!

In my book I trace William and Catherine's love story, family life, and spiritual journey ... a journey which began way before the couple came to London, where The Salvation Army was founded, way before William was ordained into the Methodist Church, and Catherine herself took up a preaching ministry mostly to other women.

My book is a mixture of story-telling. There are excerpts from William and Catherine's personal letters, which are today held in the British Library in London, who kindly granted me permission to reproduce parts of some of the letters. There's a whole lot of 'history' which followed many many months of research on my part, the narrative which brings the story together. And then there are short 'stories' of my own making, based on information in Salvation Army history, and the Booths' letters.

These little 'glimpses' into life in Victorian England and into the lives of the Booths and the early Salvation Army may be described as 'immersive history' telling, and they were such fun to write as I tried to get under the skin of the times and the people with whom the Booths came into contact. I hope they really bring the couple and their times to life!

Chapter 13 of the book includes one of those little tales from that summer of 1865, when we know the Booths were settling into life in London, after years of living in lots of different places in England. We know also that it was midsummer of 1865 that William Booth preached outside the Blind Beggar pub in the poor East End of London. Not long after that, he was invited to preach as part of a wider Christian campaign and on July 2 1865 he preached in a tent on the Mile End Waste in the East End... not far from that pub.

THAT tent meeting is the occasion that Salvationists - members of The Salvation Army across the world - mark as the start of the Christian church and movement to which they belong. Which is why we are marking THAT day today! 

Please feel free to read about that day at the Blind Beggar pub ... from that chapter in my book.... and if this whets your appetite for more and you fancy reading the whole thing and even buying the book then you may click here.

Thanks so much!

Outside on the street a tall man with a thick dark beard mounted an old box.

Oh, not this again!

Couldn’t a man enjoy a couple of ales without having that noise outside? If the pub wasn’t so handy for home, he’d find somewhere else to sup. But the Blind Beggar was perfect, especially when he’d had a few too many – all he needed to do was stagger round the corner to the old woman who’d be there, as always, waiting to put him to bed.

The drinker rubbed the dirty window pane to peer out.
“George!” he shouted to the aleman behind the bar. “Can’t you get rid of ’em?”
“It’s a free world, Joe. So long as they don’t step over the doorstep we can’t do nuffink about ’em!”
“Shut the door!” someone yelled.
“Don’t you dare! It’s bloody boilin’ in here!” shouted barman George.

He was right, of course. Even this late in the day, it was still warm. Well it was midsummer, after all, and the inn reeked of sweat, stale beer, and the stench of the open sewer in the road outside.

Joe looked out of the window again. He’d lost count of the times his drinking had been interrupted by these religious fanatics. There seemed to be an endless stream of them, all spouting about God and how he needed “saving”.

Saving from what, that’s what he wanted to know. Who could save him from the misery of gruelling hard work and grinding poverty?

Maybe another pint might help. He searched his torn pocket. Just a penny left. Enough for one more, but then he’d go home empty-handed again and he’d get it in the neck from the old woman. He’d done that many a time before, even though it meant the kids went to bed with empty bellies. But a man had to have his fun, didn’t he? What with spending all day at the docks, hauling all those sacks of whatever it was they were loading the ships with. Maybe he’d just spend the ha’penny.

“Another half, George!” Joe approached the bar, where the crowd had thinned out a bit. A few of his mates had ambled outside and seemed to be listening to the tall man. A few were heckling from the door, but a couple had moved forward.

Just to get a bit of air, Joe took his half across the threshold into the street and stood there under the Blind Beggar sign.
“Not seen this one afore, Will!” he said to the man next to him.
“No – new, I think! Looks a bit fresh, doesn’t he?”

Not just fresh, but not posh either, Joe noted. He wasn’t dressed particularly sharply; his frock coat looked a little worse for wear. In fact, he appeared more frayed around the edges that the other missioners who usually turned up outside the pub. This one’s thick black hair was all over the place as he waved his arms around. He was sweating profusely and occasionally mopped his brow with a grey-looking kerchief. And what was that accent? He wasn’t from London, that was for sure.

Joe was intrigued. He found himself listening to this one as he hadn’t listened before. He was, of course, a religious nut, but he seemed to be a bit more normal than the rest.

“What’s ’is name, Will?”
“That’s right!” came the reply, followed by a hearty laugh.
“Don’t muck me about, mate! What’s ’is bloody name?”
“You said it! ’is name is Will! William Booth!”

                                                                   .....

In the summer of 1865 outside the Blind Beggar pub, William Booth was doing what came naturally, preaching to the unconverted in their own environment. Under a pub sign, risking ridicule and even some physical danger – it wasn’t unusual for street preachers to have things thrown at them by a heckling crowd – William was part of an evangelistic tradition that was growing rapidly in mid-nineteenth-century London. There were numerous chapels and small missions, many of them Methodist, across this part of town. By the 1850s there were around 144 charities at work in London, many of which were already mixing religion with practical works and good deeds.

William’s street preaching impressed a group of churchmen and evangelists known as the East London Special Services Committee. Among them were Mr R.C. Morgan and Mr Samuel Chase, the editors of The Revival, who, despite their misgivings over the preaching antics of the Revd Booth’s wife, were still determined to have William join them for their next evangelistic campaign.

The Special Committee didn’t come from or belong to one single denomination, and William Booth had already preached for them at the Garrick Theatre some years before. Now they wanted him for more radical work, and on 2 July 1865 – the date that is now noted in history as the “start” of The Salvation Army – William Booth stood to preach for them in a tent on the Mile End Waste, on the old Quaker Burial Ground in Whitechapel, East London.

Although the old tent blew down that autumn, there was no stopping the Booth mission. 

The East London Christian Revival Society was born and in the winter of 1865 it moved indoors. On Sundays the meetings were held in a local building – the Assembly Rooms on New Road, Whitechapel, otherwise known as Professor Orson’s Dancing Academy, its main function in the week. Even on the Sabbath the evangelists had to share their meeting hall with a photographer, and on weekdays the Booths and their expanding group of supporters rented other venues: an old chapel, a warehouse, a stable, a carpenter’s shop, a skittle alley.....

What happened next? 

By 1870 the 'Christian Revival Association' had been renamed 'The East London Christian Mission' and then simply 'The Christian Mission'. It was early in 1878 that publicity was issued with both the name 'Christian Mission' and 'Salvation Army' attached, but by May of that year the name 'Christian Mission' had been finally dropped and William and Catherine's Christian movement became ... 'The Salvation Army'.

The rest, as they say, is history!

A (very old) Red Post Box

Post boxes ... those receptacles where we can post our letters here in Jersey in the Channel Islands, and across the British Isles (and the UK) .... are not just functional, many of them are a thing of beauty and can also tell us about our history.

They are sometimes also called 'Pillar Boxes' when they are stand-alone items.

For those who live in other parts of the world who often might only post letters at an actual Post Office, this might seem unusual. But red post/mailboxes ... either as those stand-alone pillar boxes or, built into a wall cavity, are a striking part of our street scenes, and a constant reminder of our history.

The boxes represent the Royal Mail... or in our case, Jersey Post ... and the clues to their age and origin are right there.

Each one bears the Crown, and the letters are called the “Royal Cypher”. They signify the King or Queen who was the monarch at the time when the post box was erected.

Most of the red post (or mail or pillar) boxes you can currently see around the British Isles, of which the Channel Islands are a part) currently bear the initials ER ... representing the late Queen Elizabeth II, who reigned over the United Kingdom, Great Britain and its 'Crown Dependencies', of which Jersey is one, for more than 70 years before her death on 8 September 2022. 

ER stands for 'Elizabeth Regina'.

But older boxes still exist, and this one on the left, bearing the initial GR, is still in use in the parish of St Ouen in Jersey. It's set into a granite pillar outside the Morrison's supermarket in the village.

GR stands for 'George Rex'... King George. Queen Elizabeth took the throne when her father died on 6 February 1952 ... he was King George VI and he reigned from 11 December 1936, taking the British throne when his brother Edward VIII abdicated after less than a year as monarch. Edward had succeeded to the throne on 20 January 1936 when his father, and Queen Elizabeth's grandfather, King George V, passed away.

A GR post box was put up during the era of a King George and if there are no more letters around the GR, then it’s likely from the period of King George V.

If it’s from the era of King George VI I'm reliably informed that we may notice a little “VI” next to the GR.

SO ... bottom line ... it appears that this red post box dates from the reign of Elizabeth's grandfather! It's very old! Maybe more than 100 years old ... And it's still in use today!

The interesting thing is those two post boxes above actually sit at the same location, just about a metre apart ... it's great that the postal authorities have left the old box there as a testament to history!

And if you're wondering... at some point in the future we'll start to see new post boxes bearing the Crown and the initials CR ... representing our 'new' and current King Charles III, who succeeded to the throne on his mother Elizabeth's death on 8 September 2022.

For those geeks among us, interested in stuff like 'street furniture', this sort of thing is very exciting. I have yet to see a red post box with the initials VR (Victoria Regina, representing Queen Victoria, who reigned from 20 June 1837 to 22 January 1901) ... but I'm assured some of those red pillar /post/mailboxes do STILL exist!

Just a little footnote ... a similar post about the old GR post box first appeared on my ClickASnap website, which I'm loving populating! Click here to check it out if you want to... or click on the link on this website.

Thanks! Enjoy!

If this be loving ... then I love!

On this Valentine's Day I share with you something very special.

A few years back I wrote a book based on the lives and letters of the couple who founded The Salvation Army, the global church and charity movement.

William Booth met Catherine Mumford in 1851 and they married four years later, in July 1855. Their relationship was developed through letter writing, and that correspondence continued throughout their marriage.

Those letters are held in the British Library in London, and it was sheer pleasure to spend hours pouring over those epistles, deciphering the handwriting. Through the correspondence I got to know these individuals on quite a personal level and I discovered that, although they were obviously very religious and spiritual, they were also complex characters, flawed individuals, and ... I found to my surprise ... very much in love.

That personal even romantic love kept Catherine and William close, and that and their love for God and humanity and their mutual passion for sharing the Christian gospel,  helped them to stay strong often during very difficult times.

I love that in 1872, 17 years into their marriage, William - who was also quite an accomplished poet - was inspired to write this to his wife, the mother of his eight children, and his partner in life, faith and Christian mission.

These were William's words, penned to his beloved Catherine in 1872 ... by the time he wrote this loving poem, they had been married for 17 years, having got married on 16 June 1855!

If ’tis love to wish thee near,

To shed for thee the silent tear,

To start at every step and fear,

Yet hope, that it will bring thee near –

If this be loving, then I love.

If ’tis love to wish that I,

Knit by some strange mysterious tie,

Might with thee live or with thee die,

Then dwell with thee eternally –

If this be loving, then I love.

 

Your own, your husband,

William.

By the way, if you fancy reading my book based on the Booth Letters, I will be honoured.

It's called 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Lion Hudson 2013)

You can also find it and some of my other books on Amazon and other sites.

You can also check out my Author Central page on Amazon 

If you go to the top of this page and click on 'Cathy Home Page' you will also find my main website and occasional blog. And there's more info on 'Cathy's books'.

Thanks and Happy Valentine's Day!

(This post was first shared on February 14, St Valentine's Day, 2021 ... as part of my 'One Day at a Time' blog which featured a thought for every day that year. I've added a few words here but if you want to check that blog out it's on the front page of my website ... click here for 'One Day at a Time')

Bouanne Libéthâtion!

Happy Liberation Day! 

That's the headline today ... in Jersey's native language ... Jèrriais!

In Jersey and Guernsey - the two largest Channel Islands, it’s Liberation Day today!

It was on this day - May 9th - in 1945 …. that the Channel Islands were liberated after five long years of Occupation by enemy forces! (*Sark residents celebrate May 10th & for residents of the Northern Isle - Alderney - all of whom were evacuated and had to leave their island in 1940, they returned later in 1945).

So, this year is the 78th anniversary of the day when British forces marched into St Helier after the surrender was signed outside the harbour on the HMS Beagle early that morning!

Today, celebrations included a re-enactment of that moment when the Union flag was raised again over the Pomme d’Or Hotel in St Helier, in what is now called ‘Liberation Square’! Parties and fun were had, and there are always moments of reflection as we honour those who lived through that dreadful period of our history and came through it, and those who did not survive.

It’s a fascinating period of history … all the more poignant for those of us who had family who lived through the Occupation!

Three years ago, to mark the 75th anniversary of Liberation, I spent a year working with Jersey Heritage to select 5O Objects from their Archives and Museum collections which told the story of the Occupation and Liberation era … 1940 to 1945.

It was an amazing project to work on and I’m so proud to have worked on it with the team at Heritage!

Object 47 featured the diaries of Ralph Mollett, who was the Secretary to the Bailiff during the war years, and he had an amazing view of history… standing next to and working with the head of our island during that time!

I reworked this episode for BBC Radio Jersey’s Breakfast Show on May 8th this year, but here’s the original audio which features on the Jersey Heritage 50 Objects Vimeo site.

If you have a few moments please do listen … it’s just fascinating!

Happy Liberation Day everyone!

Bouanne Libéthâtion!

50 Objects - No47 from Jersey Heritage Vimeo on Vimeo.

 

A Little Welsh Doll

If you take any notice of this blog at all, then you will have realised that it's been a whole twelve months since I posted anything.

My last blog post was March 1st 2022 when I wished you all a 'Happy St David's Day'!

And today I repeat that greeting ... including in Welsh ... because, of course, St David is the patron saint of Wales, and today is his patronal day.

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

And in honour of the day, I share with you a Little Welsh Doll ... dressed in traditional Welsh attire ... but more of that later.

When I wrote my blog post last year,  I little realised what the succeeding 12 months would bring.

Let me explain ... and this will also explain my absence.

For quite a few years now I've been living with my darling Mum here in Jersey in the Channel Islands and although she grew older she remained well and happy and active. That is, until the COVID pandemic hit us and, in 2020, forced us all into 'lockdown'.

This affected Mum as it did many elderly folk across the world. We were together as a family (Mum and myself and one of my brothers) but our lives became 'smaller'. Mum's mobility altered and she became frailer. I worked from home for a couple of years but then, at the end of March 2022 I left my job, to work more 'freely' and give myself time to spend more time with Mum as her needs grew.

This time last year Mum was forgetful and not very mobile, and often terribly anxious about pretty much everything, but still herself really. Although we kept isolated, COVID finally got us in late March, and that seemed to speed up Mum's ailments. She quickly became very poorly and her forgetfulness developed into what we now know was full on dementia, with moments when she barely knew us. And yet, there were still moments of clarity and personality, and love.

In The Salvation Army, the Christian denomination (church) that Mum and I are aligned with, when someone dies we say they are 'Promoted to Glory' because we believe that when we die we do not 'disappear' into nothingness, but rather as believers we go to Heaven to be with God and Jesus and all those who have gone before.

In early May last year, our darling Mum was 'promoted to glory'. And although I know that, at the end, she was ready to go ... so tired and so poorly ... the shock of losing her was immense for us all, especially her family.

Mum was the centre of our family, the secure point in my life certainly. She had a special relationship with all her children and I, as the only girl, was privileged to have a beautiful relationship with her. She was not just my mother, but my role model in life and faith, my friend, the person to whom I turned for recognition and affirmation and wise counsel.

And, suddenly, she was gone. No more smiles or laughter, stories, kisses and hugs, support and advice.

The grief I've experienced in the past year has been ... well ... earth shattering for me.

For months I just couldn't operate at all. I was so tired - physically and emotionally exhausted - from the many months of caring for Mum as she became less well and less mobile, more anxious and more vulnerable. Not to mention the last six weeks or so including the final few weeks sitting beside her, holding her hand in hospital as she slowly slipped away. As a family we were able to say our final 'goodbyes' but the whole process ... including hospital issues which I won't go into right now ... was devastating. Losing her has also brought other challenges and anxieties for me and often I have found myself wanting some advice and not having Mum, my sounding board, to turn to.

Right now I'm still tearful at times because I miss Mum so much...but the gut wrenching grief, which overwhelmed me in those first days, weeks and months and which rendered me immobile at times ... is beginning to level out. A little.

And these days I find myself remembering and smiling, sometimes through a few tears, but more often with thanks for the lovely person Mum was, and the relationship I had with her, and the legacy of faith and love that she left us, her family, with.

Today was one of those days and this is where the Little Welsh Doll comes in.

My Mum was originally from Wales and she was very proud of her Welsh heritage ... she kept the traces of her Welsh accent even though she lived out of that country for most of her life. 

Years ago my 'Auntie' Lil, one of my Mum's 'Best Friends' in Wales, made this little doll, probably for a Salvation Army church fair, knitting the outfit which represents the traditional Welsh female national dress. Mum often said that when she was a little girl, she used to be dressed up in the dress, apron, shawl and big hat on St David's Day and for other special occasions. She loved that doll because it reminded her of her childhood and her family who raised her, her heritage, and her friends. The shawl also reminded her that when we, her four children, were babies, she swaddled us close to herself in a Welsh blanket or shawl as generations of Welsh mothers had done before her.

That Little Welsh Doll usually sits on her dresser, but in the past few years we've placed it on the other side of the lounge, on the fireplace mantlepiece where it was in her line of sight from her chair. Seeing it there made Mum smile, and brought memories flooding back.

This time last year when the doll was once again placed on the mantlepiece, we again had a conversation, as we had so many times, about the Welsh costume days, and the Salvation Army bring and buy 'fairs' or sales, especially in the early days of my Mum and Dad's Christian ministry as officers or church leaders of The Salvation Army, some of those spent in South Wales itself.

So, today, I took Mum's Little Welsh Doll from the dresser, blew off a few specks of dust which had gathered on the dress, and placed it on the mantlepiece.

And I smiled, albeit through a few tears, and remembered my Mum with all the love in the world.

I miss our conversations, even if we had them over and over in the past few years. I miss her so much, and every day, and probably will do so until it is my time to cross over to that other land. 

But today, as I remember St David and all my Welsh family and friends, scattered across the world, I smile and remember my darling Mum and give thanks to God that we as her family and friends, and the world, was privileged to have her for so long (nine decades) and we were privileged to be able to care for her at home until almost the end. I give thanks even for those final hours as we watched her slip into Heaven, heart breaking as it was.

Thanks Mum! Love you Lots! See you in the morning!

Hope you're enjoying your first St David's Day in Heaven!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

Happy St David's Day!

Today is St David's Day!

And if you're from the country of Wales, if you're Welsh, or part-Welsh (as I am) this is an important day.

On March 1st every year the people of Wales, and those of Welsh heritage wherever they are in the world, celebrate their patron saint. 

My Mum is Welsh so in our family we've always known about St David's Day. But it was when I spent my final two years of schooling in Wales that I realised how passionate people are about their saint, their history, their culture and their language. 

On this day, people wear the traditional symbols of Wales - daffodils or leeks - and in fact at school I remember one girl coming to class with a leek ... a huge vegetable ... pinned to her chest.

It WAS, of course, very funny ... and wow did it smell by the end of the day ... but it also impressed me as being a great show of 'nationality'.

On this day we may also enjoy traditional Welsh food ... my favourites are Welsh cakes which are like little griddle pancakes. Yum!

Today - St David's Day 2022  - also happens to be Shrove Tuesday, the start of the season of Lent, 40 days during which Christians prepare for Easter.

Shrove Tuesday is also known as 'Pancake Day' ... if you want to find out more about that maybe you'd like to read my blog post from 2021 when I wrote a blog every day of the year ... 'One Day at a time'.

But let's get back to St David, and you might be asking this question ... who was he?

Well in the 6th century, he was a Bishop of a place called 'Mynyw', which is the modern day St Davids, a city in the county of Pembrokeshire  in the southwest of the country.

David (Dewi) was born in Wales, although there's no clear evidence as to the year that happened. It is known that he was a celebrated teacher and preacher and that he founded monasteries and churches in Wales - St David's Cathedral is situated on the site of a monastery he founded in the Glyn Rhosyn valley of Pembrokeshire - in 'Dumnonia' (a kingdom in the southwest of England) and even Brittany in France. David is even believed to have visited the ancient religious site of Glastonbury. 

David established his own Monastic Rule, a system of religious and daily living for monks, and one of David's main rules was that when his followers were tilling the soil, THEY had to pull the plough themselves, rather than animals. Monks living by the Monastic Rule of David drank only water and ate only bread with salt and herbs - no meat, and certainly no beer. They were allowed no personal possessions and while David's monks worked in the day, they spent the evenings reading, writing and praying. 

So, why is David's feast day March 1st? 

That's the day when it's thought he died. As with his birth, there's a question mark over what year that was. Some say 601AD, others 589AD. 

David was buried in St David's Cathedral and his shrine was a popular place of pilgrimage throughout the Middle Ages. Invading Vikings removed the shrine during the 10th and 11th centuries but in 1275 a new shrine was constructed, the ruined base of which remains to this day.  

Although St David had been a popular saint in Wales since the 12th century, his religious feast day didn't become a national festival until the 18th century. And it's on March 1st every year that Welsh heritage people celebrate the man who now is their patron saint. Children especially are encouraged to celebrate as they learn about their history, and they often head to school for the day dressed as coal miners or in the traditional Welsh woman costume, with the girls often wearing a leek in their lapel. I remember at school one girl wearing such a BIG leek, a huge green vegetable, that it covered her whole chest and ... boy did it smell (like onion).

But why daffodils, and why leeks ? 

Well the leek became a symbol of the Welsh spirit because one legend says that St David advised his people to wear leeks in a battle against the Saxons. It was the days of hand-to-hand combat and wearing the leek meant that they would be recognised as Welsh by their compatriots in the heat of the battle - so no chance of someone killing a fellow Welshman! That's just one of the stories, but leeks were a popular food for many centuries and were also used for medicinal purposes, and the link with St David's Day is thought to be especially through the Tudors, who had strong Welsh roots and heritage.

And the daffodil?

This lovely yellow blooms appears in early Spring, around the time of St David's Day and it's just a joyful flower, isn't it?

But the floral link with Wales is fairly recent really and is thought to have been adopted as an alternative to the leek in the early 20th century, by which time the wearing of vegetables on your coat on March 1st had become a bit of a joke. Welsh politician and elder statesman David Lloyd George, who was British Prime Minister from 1916 to 1922, was said to be an advocate of the daffodil being used as a symbol of his Homeland.

The Welsh are a proud people and on St David's Day that pride is more obvious than ever.

If you're not aware, the country (now called the Principality) has its own ancient language. Welsh is a Celtic language - with links to the ancient Celtic Britons - and although for centuries Welsh was the common language of the people, it did fall into decline in the early 20th century as English became dominant. However in the 1990's the value of the native language was formerly recognised for its importance to the Welsh culture, heritage and future, with The Welsh Language Act 1993 and the Government of Wales Act 1998  regulating that the Welsh and English languages should be treated equally in the public sector, where sensible and possible.

These days there's Welsh speaking media, the language is taught in schools, as well as there being educational establishments where Welsh is the predominant language for conversation and teaching. I read recently that as of September 2020, it was reckoned that about a third of the population of Wales could speak the language and more than 15% spoke Welsh every day. It's been a real success story for the reinvigoration of a mother language that could easily have died out. And if you visit Wales, you'll see signs everywhere in Welsh and English.  

I know just a few words of Welsh ... passed down through my Welsh heritage ... but I'm no expert.

So, finally, today I could say 'Happy St. David’s Day!

But I instead will sign off by wishing you ...  'Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant Hapus!'

Never Forget!

Where were you on Tuesday September 11th 2001? 

It's a date that, of course, goes down in history as one of the saddest and most shocking of modern times.

And today it's 20 years since what has become known as '9/11', that infamous terrorist attack on the United States of America

Four commercial airlines were hijacked mid-flight by 19 al-Qaeda terrorists.  Two of the aircraft were deliberately crashed into the World Trade Centre,  the iconic Twin Towers in New York City, with the subsequent collapse of those towers. A third was crashed into the west side of the Pentagon in Washington DC, the headquarters of the American military. A fourth was also hijacked and was also destined for the USA capital, but the brave passengers on board attempted to gain back control of the aircraft, which subsequently crashed instead in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.

Of course, it's the image of the burning Twin Towers that remains in most of our memories and that's why many of us remember where we were on that day.

At the time I was Head of Broadcast of a small (somewhat experimental) TV station in Hertfordshire in England. It was called 'Home TV' and it broadcast just to the towns of Hertford and nearby Ware and surrounding areas ... the forerunner, one might say, of the small digital and cable stations that sprang up later. We ran locally generated news, sports and weather mostly, mixed in with other interesting 'bought in' programmes and national news from SKY TV.

Some members of my small team and I were in the operations room, the control room from which we controlled transmission. It's a room with lots of TV monitors which allow the directors and engineers to see what's coming in and what being transmitted to our viewers. The SKY TV news feed monitor was always on so we could see what they were running, even if we were not 'taking' the live feed at the time.

It was around 3 o'clock in the afternoon and we were having a meeting about the upcoming local news bulletin - scheduled for 6pm - when we looked up to see the SKY TV monitor flick to pictures of the World Trade Centre in New York, with one of the towers (the North Tower)  ablaze. We turned up the sound to hear those words 'News coming in of ....'

We all stood there, pretty shocked, I have to say. And then, a few moments later,  we saw it ... the second aircraft plough into the South Tower.

It was devastating! It was at at THAT point that I realised that this had to be a terrorist attack rather than an airline crash or accident.

But with my news head on I also realised that we needed to break into our regular programmes and show what was happening there across the Atlantic in New York City and, as it transpired, in Washington DC and other parts of the USA.

We had to have special permission to dip into SKY TV outside of our contracted hours, so I picked up the phone to their control desk.

All I said was 'Home TV in Hertford, we're taking your news feed now!' I guessed that no one there would be able to answer questions because of the seriousness of the events unfolding, and I figured that if we were in trouble for taking the feed, we'd deal with that later. We flicked live to the SKY TV feed and stayed with it all day. Somehow, news of what was happening in two small provisional towns in the UK seemed immaterial at the time, as did re-runs of cartoons and natural history programmes and sports compilations.

I really can't remember if we did a 6 o'clock bulletin. What with trying to get reaction from local people and working with the small team of largely young and inexperienced staff who were, understandably, rather traumatised by the day, September 11 2001 became a bit of a blur.

It was only when I went home late that night and sat down to watch the national BBC News that the enormity of the day began to settle on me. 

That day 2,977 people were killed and more than 6,000 others were injured. The immediate deaths included 265 on the four planes (including the terrorists), 2,606 in the World Trade Centre and in the surrounding area, and 125 at the Pentagon.  Most of those who died were civilians but we know that 344 firefighters and 71 law enforcement officers died in the World Trade Centre and on the ground in New York City. Another law enforcement officer died when United Airlines Flight 93 crashed into that  field near Shanksville and 55 military personnel perished in the attack on the Pentagon.

Of the 2,977 people who died, 2,605 were U.S. citizens and 372 non-U.S. citizens - all were loved, had families, some were dads and mums and grandparents. Each person is a hole in the life of someone else. 

9/11 is the deadliest terrorist attack on the USA and, in fact, in world history. Over the past two decades we've seen the experiences of that day played out on TV over and over and over. I think that must just be awful for those who lost someone that day, especially in the Towers, as they are being constantly reminded of their precious loved ones final moments of life.

Of course, we know that the 9/11 attacks led to an invasion of Afghanistan, where the al-Qaeda terrorists were allowed sanctuary, the eventual killing of the mastermind behind it - Osama bin Laden - and 20 years of Allied troops on the ground, with the loss of many more thousands of lives. American and British and other military personnel who were killed or injured in the subsequent years of battle and not forgetting the many many thousands of  innocent Afghanis who got caught in the cross fire. It's only last month - August 2021 - that the allies have moved out, leaving the country once again in disarray and once again under the control of the Taliban ... itself a radical Islamic group. But that's another story.

In the intervening years I was privileged to hear some of the personal stories of those who were directly affected by the events of 9/11. People who were on holiday in New York city and saw the events unfold in front of them. People who served at 'Ground Zero' (the place where the towers fell) for many months afterward, including chaplains and others from The Salvation Army in New York City and the wider north eastern provinces. People back here in the UK who were also affected and traumatised.

So today, as I have done every year  since that infamous day in 2001, I take time out to remember all those precious souls lost on that dreadful day.

I pray for their family, friends, loved ones, colleagues. I pray for the children who never knew their fathers, all those lives unfulfilled and the doors closed too soon.

And I remember them.

It's twenty years since that terrible day and we should NEVER forget them!

*This post also appears on my One Day at a Time blog, which is a daily blog for every day of 2021.

But I thought it was worth sharing here as well!

Never Forget!

Missing the Man on the Moon

July 20 1969 !

50 years ago today -  Man Walked on the Moon!

What an amazing, astonishing feat of science, technology, human bravery and determination.

Man actually walked on the surface of another celestial body!

Two men - Neil Armstrong and then Buzz Aldrin - placed their feet on the powdery, barren lunar surface. A third astronaut  - their Apollo 11 command module pilot Michael Collins - shared their historic journey, watched by millions upon millions of people across the globe via TV.

And today, millions of people are remembering where they were when they sat mesmerised by those grainy black and white images from the moon, and heard Armstrong's immortal words ...

'It's one small step for (a) man. One giant Leap for Mankind'

But not me.

You see - while everyone who is anyone has a memory of that day - even those really too young to remember ... I admit ... I missed it.

I Missed the First Man on the Moon!

Sorry, but it's true.

I AM old enough to have memories of July 20 1969. But at the time when Armstrong placed his foot on the dusty surface of the moon, I was tucked up in bed in a boarding school dormitory in Kenya, in East Africa. Probably dreaming of the soon-to-come school holidays when I'd be back home on a farm in the African bush, and later on the beach in Mombasa with my family. Even at 10 I was good at dreaming.

My brother Steve did enjoy listening to a recording of the moon landing the next day thanks to a brilliant teacher, but I have no memory of even being told about it.

Later, of course, I would learn all about that momentous day, and what it meant for mankind, for science, for our understanding of what being 'human' is about.

But on the day itself ... nothing. Nothing to report. Didn't see the TV pictures, don't recall it making an impact on my life at all.

As a budding writer, you'd maybe expect me to have a diary note ... 'Today Man walked on the Moon. The World is Forever Changed!' But ... unfortunately not.

Don't get me wrong, this lack of Moon Landing Experience hasn't stopped me from being a little obsessed with All Things Space.

On several occasions, I've visited Cape Canaveral - the Kennedy Space Centre in Florida where Apollo 11 launched on July 16 1969. I'm intrigued by space, love all the space movies, and am in awe of those men and women who have ventured into the atmosphere and beyond. I loved seeing the mock up of the Houston control room ... etc etc

But while others today flood social media and tell the world what they were up to on that day in 1969 ... this is all I have to offer.

Yet even this lack of experience reminds me of something profound.

Life isn't, I think, about the Big Stuff that happens. Not really.

Rather, life is about the small events - the day to day waking up, going to school or work, looking after the kids, coping with illness, shopping, cooking the dinner, having an argument and making up, reading a book under a tree in the garden, going for a walk, sleeping and loving and laughing and crying.

Yes, occasionally a Huge Occurrence breaks into the routine of life. And sometimes we DO remember where we were when it happened. And sometimes we don't.

So - if like me - you don't have a memory of that day when Man Walked on the Moon ... don't worry. Life is not all about what has become known as 'Selfie Moments'. We don't have to remember absolutely everything that happens in the world, although if we do have a memory or two tucked away that relates to the Big Stuff, that's ok.

Sometimes it's just about living our lives ... regardless of what's happening around us.

 

A Wedding Anniversary

June 16th!

I don't know about you but I'm pretty intrigued by dates. For every day in the calendar there will be something interesting that will have happened on that date, sometime in history.

For instance, did you know that it was on this day in 1890 that a child called Arthur Stanley Jefferson was born in Lancashire in Northern England? He would grow up to be Stan Laurel, one of the greatest comic actors of all time, who with his partner Oliver Hardy appeared in over 100 films at a time when the movie business was just beginning.

Now, this is not a piece of information I was born with, or even learnt at school. No ... I looked up 'June 16th' on the internet and  got the information from one of the many websites that has this kind of stuff on it.  In this case it was On This Day.com

But something that's not on many, if any, sites is that this day - June 16th - is also an important one in the history of one of the global Christian movements, a church and charity organisation that today works with the disadvantaged and the marginalised in over 130 countries across the world - The Salvation Army

Because it was on this day - June 16th 1855 - that the founders of The Salvation Army, William Booth and Catherine Booth, were married at Stockwell Green Congregational Church in London. 

They had met a few years earlier, in 1852, at a tea party organised by a fellow Methodist who had taken William, who was a would-be preacher, under his wing. In the intervening years, William had travelled across the United Kingdom, preaching the Christian Good News as an itinerant independent evangelist but at last the couple found time in his busy schedule to be married. After a long struggle to find a church which would ordain him, the Methodist Church would become their home for a while. Then followed years when they both became known as touring independent preachers, until they finally found themselves back in London where, in 1865, they set up an organisation called The Christian Mission, which reached out to and shared the Christian message with some of the poorest communities in the British capital city.  

 In 1878 they changed their name to ' The Salvation Army' and soon the Christian movement would not just have centres and groups ('corps') in London, in England and the British Isles, but across the world.

From the day of their first meeting, during their long engagement and over the next 35 years of marriage William and Catherine wrote letters to each other and these letters are held today in the British Library in London. When I was asked by Lion Hudson Books to write a book to coincide with the 150th anniversary of The Salvation Army in 2015, I turned to these letters - hundreds of them - to build their story.

So - on this day - June 16th - I offer a short extract from that book  - 'William & Catherine' - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters.

This is my imagining of that day and a little of the narrative that follows in Chapter 7.

 

 

The sun emerged from behind the early summer clouds as Catherine and William stepped over the threshold of the Stockwell Green Congregational Church.

Catherine clutched her new husband’s hand, feeling small yet secure.

William looked down at Catherine’s sweet face and smiled. He could feel her shaking ever so slightly and a rush of protectiveness towards this woman overwhelmed him. He could hardly believe that, after all this time and so many obstacles, they were at last man and wife.

It had been a short and solemn service and blessing. Perfect.

Catherine had been pale and had spoken quietly, her voice quivering as she repeated her vows of love and obedience. In contrast, William had found that his voice, which he was accustomed to using to rather larger congregations, had rung loudly around the church. As his “I do!” echoed around the building it had provoked a little giggle from his beloved. Then, in the cavernous chapel, William and Catherine had knelt at the altar and pledged themselves to God and to each other.

Behind Catherine, William noticed that his father-in-law, John Mumford, and his sister Emma, the only witnesses to the solemn ceremony, were now exiting the building and squinting in the watery sunshine. For a moment he regretted the absence of the rest of his family. Of course, it was unlikely that Ann would attend, but he had hoped that his mother and her namesake, his sister Mary, all those miles away in Nottingham, might have been able to make it, even at such short notice. However, he and Catherine had been thrilled when Emma had sent word that they would be able to afford for her, at any rate, to attend. He knew Catherine’s day was also slightly saddened by the fact that her own mother had been disinclined to attend the ceremony, but, as he held Catherine’s little gloved hand in his, he felt a rush of love and appreciation for her commitment to him.

Catherine pulled her shawl closer around her neck and shoulders. She shivered again. Even with layers of petticoats under her skirts she still felt the chill of the day. Maybe she should, after all, have worn her coat. The few days of milder weather in May hadn’t lasted and it was still chilly, even for mid-June.

Catherine turned to the Revd David Thomas, who had so kindly agreed to preside over this most sacred of ceremonies.

“Mr Thomas, thank you!” she announced, grasping his hand and shaking it wholeheartedly. No simpering little handshake for this gentleman. She remembered their previous debates and discussions about the place of women in church and society, and she knew he would expect this forwardness from her, even on this day.

Father Mumford was calling from the street. The Stockwell New Chapel was tucked away from the main thoroughfare and he had a cab waiting. William, Catherine, and Emma took their leave of the minister and made their way to the horsedrawn vehicle. It was but a short drive back home to Russell Street in Brixton, where, regardless of her unwillingness to attend the actual service, William was sure that Mrs Mumford would be waiting with some light refreshments. Whatever her views on the marriage, and he still wasn’t quite sure of her, she loved her daughter unconditionally and would, he was sure, come around.

William reached out his hand to Catherine. She grasped it and he helped her into the carriage. Whatever the future held now, they were one. The Lord would determine their way, and, whatever happened, they would face it together.

When William Booth married Catherine Mumford, they intended it to be a simple occasion, and it was. In common with many weddings of the time, theirs was a quiet ceremony in church, held in the morning. After the ceremony the couple would have signed the parish register in the vestry, the bride signing her maiden name for the very last time.

As was common then, the venue was the bride’s choice. This had been the subject of some discussion over the weeks, but despite her previous falling-out with the Revd Thomas over the matter of women’s equality Catherine still greatly admired him, and despite the fact that she and William had rejected Congregationalism, she knew the Stockwell Chapel and it was quite near home. They had to marry in a local church and other options fell through, but the choice of venue may have been a reason why Mrs Mumford decided not to attend the marriage of her only daughter. Mrs Booth Snr’s absence, along with that of William’s youngest sister, was almost undoubtedly for financial reasons. They and Emma still only scraped a living in a haberdasher’s shop in Nottingham.

The wedding ceremony would have been followed by a small family celebration at home, perhaps with a specially made cake or perhaps not; perhaps in the company of a few friends, but maybe not. This was certainly a wedding on a shoestring budget.

Although William had earlier intimated that they would both have new outfits for the wedding, it’s likely that they had better things on which to spend their meagre resources and the extravagance of new clothes may have been one step too far. "Sunday best” would have sufficed.

For the rich and well-to-do, marriage down the centuries had often been seen as a way of cementing helpful and even political alliances, and for the upper classes weddings afforded an opportunity to display their wealth. However, wearing white was not common for brides until it was made popular by Queen Victoria. When she married Prince Albert in 1840, some fifteen years before William and Catherine’s wedding day, she opted for a white dress and, following the wide publicity of the day, this was copied by those who could afford expensive white fabric.

But even if Catherine Mumford had been romantically inclined to emulate her queen in this matter, her purse and that of her parents, who still appeared to stagger from one financial disaster to another, would have disallowed it.

Very few couples other than those with money could really afford a proper “honeymoon”, but William had yearned for one, and had planned to take his bride “overseas” for that short “getting to know you” holiday. The reality was a week on the Isle of Wight, staying with friends. The couple then moved on for a mission campaign in Guernsey, from where Catherine wrote to her parents reporting crowds of people flocking to hear her husband but “not so many cases of conversion” as William had expected and hoped for.

Their return boat trip included a short stopover at the nearby and larger Channel Island of Jersey, but the voyage home to England left Catherine violently ill. Very soon she was to discover that she was expecting their first child, but she remained determined to be with William whenever possible. She had waited this long for her husband and now she hoped not to be apart from him for any length of time.

Theirs was to be an itinerant life. On his wedding day, William Booth gave his “home” address as Ardwick, Manchester, where he had lodged during his evangelistic work. He had very lately been confirmed by the Methodist New Connexion Conference in the post of evangelist with an annual salary of £100 for the year plus his travelling expenses.

As he had proudly informed his fiancée just a few weeks before their marriage, “This, of course, is an advance of £30 or £40 on the young man’s salary.” He was to be employed directly by the Annual Conference rather than by any circuit, and this greatly pleased him and Catherine because it meant that he was not under the governance of local church leaders.

After Guernsey he already had invitations to visit (among other places) York and Chester. As always, finances occupied his mind. He reported to Catherine that he had had to pay £5 for his Beneficent Fund Subscription but he hoped to receive £6 for preaching in London, so he had it covered.

Although they had no permanent home to move into once the wedding and honeymoon were over, William hoped to continue with his evangelism while Catherine would continue to live with her parents and join him whenever possible.

 

Hope you've enjoyed reading this little extract from what was my first book. I've written a few more since then but am still so proud of this one!

If you want to find out more or even buy a copy please feel free to go to the 'Books' Page of my website - https://www.cathylefeuvre.com/pages/cathys-books.html - or to any of the online sale sites, especially the Lion Hudson site for this book.

Thanks so much!

Have a great day!