I was 26 when I left my work as a country parson to take up the prestigious position as the Minister of Cheltenham Church of Christ Victoria. This Church had the reputation of being a very large and alive Church. But that was a mirage. The reality was quite different as this young country parson was soon to discover. The life of a suburban Minister has some real surprises.

It was a cold winter’s day in Melbourne. The rain blew in gusts and as I stood by the open doors of the church under the high white tower early that Sunday morning I wondered how many people would come out for the first Service. The other Services in the day were all better attended but the first Service started early, the morning was bleak, wet and I wondered how many people would actually make the journey. A couple of the faithful were there and in their place, some other people had driven their cars around to the carpark and were just waiting for a break in the weather before running through the rain to the church doors, when I noticed a new couple coming down Chesterfield Road and turning to walk up to the church drive. I had never seen them before and wondered what strength of character brought them out on such a terrible wet morning. As they walked up the path – not exactly walked, rather he was shuffling – I recognised them as a couple in their fifties and that he looked as if he had suffered some kind of a stroke or physical impairment. He wore a thick tweed coat but no hat and his head was wringing wet. She had a plastic cover over her hair and a thick raincoat. They were absolutely drenched. I could see they had been walking in the rain for some distance. I stepped out into the rain, put out my hand to greet them, and led them up into the church giving them a most warm welcome. The man said very little but just stamped his feet and cleared off some grit and water from his highly polished shoes. I introduced myself and the woman replied “This is Joseph Thames and I’m Martha. We have just moved into your district and we were thinking we would like to come and join your church. We’ve seen a lot of people here last Sunday and we’re really Presbyterian but the Presbyterian is over the other side of the highway and I don’t want Joseph crossing the highway. We come to every activity that’s on in the church and I don’t want to be going backwards and forwards across that busy highway. We don’t want Joseph confused in the traffic do we love?” she asked as she looked at him.

“We’re really Presbyterian you know, and we’ve been involved in the Presbyterian church all of our life. It’s just that much further and it does involve us crossing the highway, so I said to Joseph ‘Why don’t we go down to that nice white church with the white tower and we will go there.’” I welcomed them into the church and offered to hang up his wet coat on one of the clothing racks we had there whenever there were wet days but he preferred to sit in the coat even though it was wet. I was to discover over the next years that Joseph always wore his coat and he wore it in church and out and in fact I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wore it in bed.

The following Tuesday or Wednesday I was walking out of my office when I noticed Martha riding her pushbike up to the church office. I went over and greeted her and thanked her for coming to church. She said “We’re so happy here. I hope we will be of help to you. I can assure you that Joseph is a very keen person. Anything that we can do to help we will do. Joseph will be happy to come up here during the week and pull out weeds or tidy up, or he will do anything around the church that you need. You only have to point it out to him and he will do it, the poor dear. He’s a wonderful man really and if you give him something to do it will really help fill in his day, with him not working and so on.”

I nodded at the various comments she was making and filed them in the back of my mind for the time I would go and visit them in their home. I called on them and found out some of their story. They were living in a small square of houses in one of the poorest areas of Cheltenham. The square of houses caused a great deal of antipathy from time to time with the local residents. It was an entire block called “Harmony Square” but the problem was it was usually disharmony.

The houses had been built by the Housing Commission of Victoria to provide low cost rental accommodation in the midst of an ordinary community for people they felt were deserving of a chance to get out into the suburbs instead of living in the inner city. However, the low rental housing, pegged to about twenty per cent of the total income of the family regardless of how that income arrived, meant that most of the people who came there showed little respect for their property and certainly because they did not own it had no sense of pride in ownership. All around Harmony Square were high priced, triple brick fronted houses with double garages and tiled roofs. This was a high priced area, but right in the midst was Harmony Square consisting of Housing Commission homes rented to people who were generally regarded as social misfits. The gardens were all neglected simply because the people had no pride in ownership and because many of them were fairly transitory. It was some Social Worker’s idea that just didn’t work out.

I called in to Joseph and Martha Thames’ home in Harmony Square. There had been some effort to tidy up the front garden and there were two plants, planted on either side of the small porch leading into the front door. At least they were making some kind of effort. However, when I was welcomed into the home I realised that Martha was not a person like her Biblical namesake. The house hadn’t recovered from their shift, even though they had been in it for several weeks and the place was in great disorder. Joseph sat in a lounge chair and said very little but Martha certainly made up for him. “We don’t have any children so we can’t help you in the Sunday School, but we don’t mind that do we love? We’re content on our own. We’re really Presbyterian you know but it’s too much for poor Joseph to cross the highway – that’s why we’ve come to your church.”

I had remembered her remark about giving Joseph a job and so I put forward a very simple plan. “Joseph, I’m so glad to have you attending the Cheltenham Church of Christ, and I do have a problem that I was looking for a very reliable man to undertake. You came to our first Service. Well, we have three morning Services, one after the other and then one at 5pm and one at 7pm. Now, our people are very friendly people and they love to talk to each other after church and my problem is there isn’t much time to straighten up the church after one Service before the next Service begins and I’m so tied up farewelling people as well as welcoming people for the next Service that I just don’t get a chance to ensure that everything is tidy and in it’s place. I’m wondering if you could help me each morning by picking up the hymn books that people leave on the back of the pews and bringing them out to the hymn book cupboard and generally picking up any papers or old bulletins that have been left on the seats, and if you wouldn’t mind putting up the hymn numbers for each of the Services.”

Joseph nodded his head. He understood that. Then he spoke to me the longest piece of conversation that we had had ever since I had first met him. “I used to put the hymn numbers up in the Presbyterian Church when I took Services” he said. “I know what to do and I’ll be reliable.” I passed over his words about when he used to take Services as I didn’t feel like prying. It was most unlikely that Joseph ever took Services.

So it was that Martha and Joseph Thames came into the life of our Church. I must say that my appreciation and liking of them grew week by week. Joseph was first there, eager to open up the doors and after a few weeks I gave him his own set of keys to the church. He really relished that sense of responsibility. If it was a cold, wet morning he would arrive an hour early and put all the heaters on so that when people arrived for the first Service they were met by a very warm church. Between Services he would go along every row of pews, collecting any pieces of paper left over, old bulletins from the previous Service and especially the hymn books were taken out and neatly stacked in the large hymn book cupboard.

This was no mean task with hundreds of people attending and, with Services one after the other, we really needed someone to keep those hymn books in order. Joseph presided over the hymn book cupboard as if it were his personal property. The hymnbook cupboard was a very high and ornate affair covering a whole section of wall in the foyer. To one side of the cupboard there was a memorial board for members of the church who had served in the First World War with stars beside the names of those members who had died. On the other side was a similar memorial board with all the names of members of the church who had served in the Second World War, with gold stars against those who had died. At that time, in the nineteen sixties, we were engaged in the most furious debate in the community over the Vietnam war. We already had some young men from the congregation serving in Vietnam, and we had two young men who had featured in the local press quite prominently over the last few weeks because they had registered as conscientious objectors.

This was the time when Dr. Jim Cairns and others were leading protest marches in the streets of Sydney, sitting down on the tram tracks and holding up the city traffic as part of their protest to end the war in Vietnam. Conscription was an angry issue and Dr. Cairns was advising young students and others to register as conscientious objectors. Two of my young people had so registered, and in the same way as we supported and helped those who were fighting in Vietnam as part of the Australian armed forces, so we provided support and counsel to those who were going before the local courts to have their cases heard as to why they should be accepted as conscientious objectors. Our church itself had a lot of tension in it between those people who believed that every young man over the age of eighteen, chosen by the marble lot, according to his birthday, should go to Vietnam. Some of our older people very strongly opposed those who were conscientious objectors. On the same hand, there were some of our most devout and Christian people who believed that Christians should not be involved in killing others and gave the young lads every support.

All of this passed over poor Joseph’s head. However, he stood there at the hymnbook cupboard for every Service and afterwards, making sure that the hymnbooks were lined up in proper order, ready for use.

It was just after a particularly widely publicised court case concerning one of our conscientious objectors that a disturbance occurred in the foyer of our church just after a 7pm Service had started. I was in the pulpit in the front of the church. However, at the back of the church there were two large plate glass windows that allowed people standing in the foyer to look into the church. It was also possible for me standing in the pulpit to look out at those who were in the foyer.

The 7pm Service was packed with young people. There were chairs in the aisles and a great air of expectation. These were great evenings and I used many young people in drama, music and forms of contemporary worship. The Service was under way about fifteen minutes when I noticed some rather tough looking lads standing in the foyer looking through the window. “Tough” was the operative word. This was the era of the “bovver boys”. They were copy-cat people from the English tough street lads.

Some of them had hair in the new punk version that was being displayed in the inner city areas and I guess if I could see all of them I would have seen leather pants or military pants and very big boots. These were tough, aggressive lads and I wondered why they were in the foyer of our church.

Suddenly there was a scuffle and quite a bit of noise in the foyer. Three of our stewards jumped up from their seats and headed towards the door. I did what every minister does when there is some commotion in church – announced the next hymn. I have found over the years that when someone has collapsed with heat exhaustion in Melbourne’s hot summers, or on a couple of occasions when we’ve had people die in the middle of a Service, or when someone had some acute emergency, it was best to have a hymn and the general noise of the hymn singing and the fact that people were doing something covered up what the stewards were able to handle. The organist was taken by surprise but had the music ready. The band, the organ and the piano joined together in the next stirring hymn. Meanwhile, I could see over the heads of the crowd quite a bit of coming and going in the foyer of the church. There must have been about eight of our stewards and ushers out in the foyer and then as quickly as it began there was peace and quiet and the rest of the Service went on without disruption. However, after the Service everybody was talking about it.

Apparently, six of these young lads dressed in their tough gear of leather jackets, tattoos, smoking and with some carrying cans of beer, came into the church and demanded of Joseph who was standing at the hymn book cupboard that he point out to them the lad from the congregation who had been in the papers as a conscientious objector. They were going to deal with him. Apparently Joseph stood there in his sphinx-like expression, just staring at them with six hymnbooks gripping in one hand. They started to ask him and shout and demand that he get out the conscientious objector. Joseph told them to be quiet. They looked at this big, odd man in his big, harris tweed overcoat. One of the lads pulled the lapel of his overcoat. “What’s with you, grandpa? You frightened of catching cold? Gotcha overcoat on to cover your long undies?”

One of the leather coats had a swastika on it and Joseph ignored the comments about his overcoat but pointed to the swastika and said in his gruff, blunt voice “You shouldn’t be wearing that. It’s not right to wear that in church.”

The young hood in his leather jacket held out the sleeve with the swastika on it and gave the Nazi salute “Heil Hitler grandpa”.

Apparently that triggered something inside big Joseph. Putting down the six hymn books very carefully he turned round and looked at the six young toughs. The stewards told me that they heard a roar like a bull and with two big arms outstretched he rushed at all six of them, gathering them in his arms and pushing them with momentum straight back into the wall. Six heads hit hard against the brick wall with a thud that could be heard inside the church. It was the crunch that alerted the stewards that something was happening. When they jumped up and rushed into the foyer they found two very dazed young men staggering, two lying on the floor (one of whom was unconscious and the other holding his head) and Big Joseph frogmarching two others out of the foyer. He held them up by the scruff of the neck so that their feet very virtually not touching the ground and before any of the stewards could do anything he had literally thrown them out of the tower and down the front stairs. He then turned round to get the next two but by this time the stewards had gathered the young men and were ushering the two dazed looking people out and paying attention to the other two on the floor. Joseph just stood there saying “It’s not right in church. It’s not right.”

By the time the Service was finished and I came up to the foyer there was no-one else to be seen. The six young men had disappeared. Our stewards were talking excitedly about the action and Joseph, the one-man demolition team, was just stacking hymnbooks into the hymnbook cupboard. I don’t know who those young men were and we never had any contact with them after that. I felt however that Joseph’s actions had to be followed up.

Later that night I went round to Harmony Square. Joseph was sitting on the lounge with his overcoat still on, having a biscuit and cup of tea. Martha fussed round us both. “He never meant no harm, honestly he didn’t, but they shouldn’t have done what they did. They shouldn’t have acted like that, should they dear?” she said, looking at Joseph. Joseph looked ahead and said simply “Not right in church, a Nazi salute and swastika. It’s just not right.”

I gave some reassuring comments that I was glad that he was there and was glad he had acted in defence of the young men who were in the church whom they were seeking. Martha then launched into a remarkable story. “Mr. Moyes, I must tell you that this wonderful man of mine wasn’t always like this. We were really Presbyterian you know and before the war when we were young Joseph was the President of our PFA. He took a leading part in the Presbyterian Fellowship and often took part in the church Services. He was a tall, handsome man and I was very much in love with him. He was a champion bike rider, you know. You see those cups over there on the sideboard (and she pointed in the direction of the sideboard where there were three gold and silver cups). He won those for bike riding. Did you know he came second in the Melbourne to Warrnambool – one of the toughest road races that there is? Oh, he was a good bike rider, Joseph, and so strong.

We were married just before the war and Joseph was called up. My word how all the other girls envied us. He looked so handsome in his uniform. I was quite sure he would soon be an officer. He was such an outstanding leader of men and people really admired him. But all of that changed didn’t it dear. Joseph was in a group of men who were in one of the reconnaissance parties in Borneo when he was captured by the Japanese. He spent four and a half years in a concentration camp did our Joseph. And he suffered greatly didn’t you dear? Our Joseph used to care for everybody in that camp. Some of the men who came back afterwards speak about him most highly. He’s got a lot of medals you know. Not just for what he did in the war, but for what he did for other prisoners of war. My Joseph was a real angel. However, he wasn’t the same after the war were you dear? She turned and looked to him. Big Joseph just sat there in his overcoat with his cup of tea. “When he came back home he was so thin and so affected by what had happened in the concentration camp. Joseph never was able to get a job again. He’s a TPI and he belongs to the POW Association. We get a government pension and we get by. We don’t have much to spare but our life is good, isn’t it dear?”

“I must apologise for him Mr. Moyes, but when he saw those young men giving a Nazi salute he just couldn’t help himself.”

Joseph looked up and said “It’s not right. They shouldn’t do that in church.”

I had tears in my eyes as I recognised the personal cost of the war that was still being borne in the man’s life. I got up from my seat and walked over to where Joseph was sitting on the couch, balancing his empty cup of tea. I knelt on the carpet in front of him, put my hands on his knees and looked him in the eyes “Joseph, what you did was quite correct. I don’t blame you for anything. I don’t understand all that you have suffered in your life, but I do know that what happened to you during the war has made a great difference to your life and people who are young and have lived in this country in freedom should not despise those of you who won that freedom for us. It’s only because men like you kept our country free from invasion that young people like them have the freedom to dress the way they do and say the things they do. I know it’s not right that they should do that in church and that they were there in order to rough up a young man who was a conscientious objector. But what you did was quite understandable and I want to thank you for defending him and defending our church from disruption from people who only wanted to cause trouble. As far as I am concerned, Joseph, you are a hero and you will always be a hero to me.”

I meant every word of it. Joseph was a hero and from that time on I had a totally different viewpoint of that big man in the overcoat. I’m still moved as I tell you this story.

There were times when I would come in for an early morning Service to see Joseph with the lights on and the heaters going in the church, standing there like a sentinel on duty beside the hymn book cupboard. On one side of him was the memorial board with the names of those people who had served from our church in the First World War, and on the other side the names of those people who had served in the Second World War. I would realise that we should have had another board there for those who had served from our church in Korea, Malaysia and who were now in Vietnam. Somehow or other these people were not receiving the recognition that those in the two World Wars had received even though they were making the same sacrifices. And then one day, as I looked at Joseph standing by the hymn book cupboard, and to his left the names of all those who had served with distinction in the Second World War, I only wished we should add his name to the list and give a gold star for the sacrifice he had made. But then again, we couldn’t do that. Because Joseph, throughout all the years he had served and is still serving in the Cheltenham Church of Christ, insists very proudly “I’m really a Presbyterian”.

It wasn’t long after that our church cleaner retired and I went to Martha with the offer that she might become our church cleaner. She was allowed to earn extra under her pension from the Veteran Affairs Department and she became our cleaner. Not the most spotless or tidy of cleaners, but somehow or other we were adding to their income and doing it with a sense of pride.

That night in my study I spent some time writing up my journal and looking out of the window at the never ending stream of cars stopping at the traffic lights at the corner of Nepean Highway and Chesterville Road, that wide intersection that was dominated by the lovely white Church with the high white tower noting down the events of another day as a suburban minister.

GORDON MOYES

Thursday, 7th April, 2005, 10:42 am | A Suburban Minister, Australian Short Stories