The Court Street Kinder
My family never went to church. The Methodist Church was the church from which my family had decided to stay away. I suppose on the census statistics we were regarded as adherents of the Methodist Church although I never went into that building down in Oxford Street until I was a theological student.
However, when I was about four years of age it was time for me to go to Sunday School. This was the opinion of Miss Perry who worked for my parents in their bakery and cake shop.
I can remember as vividly today, as the day it began, being taken to Sunday School on my fourth birthday. I was dressed in a small grey suit, white shirt, maroon tie, short grey trousers, long socks and polished black shoes. My mother had completed the outfitting and that was as far as her responsibility went. From now on it was up to Miss Perry to get me there, and the teachers to keep me there.
It was with some trepidation I arrived at the Court Street Kindergarten of the Box Hill Church of Christ, but a large friendly woman came out and greeted me at the front door. Mrs. McFarlane welcomed me with a great deal of warmth and affection. At once I felt at home.
Walking into the kindergarten building in the basement underneath the church, I was struck with the great crowd of other children who were already there. They were also dressed in small suits and well pressed dresses.
An enormous picture dominated the walls. The picture took the whole height of the wall. It was a painting of Jesus as a good shepherd. He stood more than ten feet high with broad shoulders, a warm smile and in His left arm, he cradled a lamb. The fingers of His right hand by His side were being muzzled by a mother sheep obviously grateful that He was protecting the lamb. The size of this picture of Jesus completely overwhelmed me. He looked like the man the Essendon football team so badly needed to help win its matches.
All the other children in the kindergarten sat round on miniature sized chairs in one large circle. Someone had a birthday, and came out and blew the candles out on a cake while we sang “Happy Birthday” to him. I then discovered it was my turn because it had been my birthday during the week and I was given the birthday treatment.
The time for the offering came and several children vied with one another to go round the circle with a cane basket into which we dropped pennies singing:
“Dropping, dropping, dropping, dropping,
Hear the pennies fall.
Every one for Jesus,
He shall have them all.”
I came to learn other songs in that kindergarten.
“Jesus loves me, this I know
for the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak but He is strong.”
Yes Jesus loves me.
Yes Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me so.”
I had no doubt about the strength of Jesus. That huge shepherd with his great arms cradling the lamb gave me the picture.
Probably the most significant moment in my Sunday School days came when I moved up into the grade for seven year olds and came under the influence of Mr. Gordon Gray. He and his wife, Vi, were a most lovable couple. He was an extremely fit and athletic man, the leader of a boys gymnasium club which I soon joined. Fitness was next to Godliness.
By this time, I’d learnt that every year there was the Annual Sunday School Anniversary conducted in the Box Hill Town Hall. For ten weeks we were drilled in singing special songs in parts and a number of people were trained to sing solos, duets, and quartets.
There was not much chance of my being involved because throughout my childhood I had a very bad speech impediment. I had to go to special therapy, which I hated, in order to say a whole range of words that I used to mispronounce. I was not able to pronounce B, T, P, D, R, TH, F, or Z sounds. The sounds they called labials and dentals were my problem, and my mixed speech caused many a night of anguished tears. On several occasions, I ran from the laughter of a school room.
Therefore, it was something of an enormous shock when Mr. Gordon Gray came and asked if I would learn to say Psalm 23 by heart and repeat it at the Sunday School Anniversary. I had no idea what Psalm 23 was but the thought of saying anything in public was absolutely overwhelming.
He and his wife came to visit my mother and encouraged her to allow me to do it, saying they believed it would give me confidence and would be very good for my speech. Miss Perry was enthusiastic and offered to train me. My mother agreed. Then began the torturous months of saying over and over every night:
“The Lord is my Shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
I had not a clue what it all meant. Learning it by heart was a great difficulty but every Sunday Mr. Gray would ask me the progress of learning and I would reply that I was up to verse three or verse four as the case may be.
Miss Perry met me every night after school and went through the words with me. For a boy who could not say any words with TH in them, can you imagine the difficulty of saying “maketh”, “leadeth”, “restoreth”? The difficulty was tremendous. Looking back, I think the whole exercise was an exercise not of devotion but of speech improvement.
As the Anniversary Day drew close, the unexpected happened. We found my father dead in the gutter of the street outside my home. Only in his thirties, but a bad alcoholic, he died from what the doctor described as cirrhosis of the liver. The word alcoholism was not mentioned.
Among the many visitors that came to our home were a number of people from the church which was quite surprising because our family never attended. Among them were Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Gray. “I do hope that Gordon will still be able to come to the Sunday School Anniversary and to take part” he said.
I do not know if it was what we call these days ‘grief therapy’ but I certainly did go to the Anniversary and certainly did take part. It made a remarkable impression upon me.
The Box Hill Town Hall was packed with more than eight hundred people on the Sunday afternoon. The high stand on the stage was packed with more than two hundred and fifty children, all dressed in little suits and white dresses. The place was decorated with huge vases of flowers and colourful ribbons.
We all stood and sang. The people nodded and talked to each other with eyes fastened upon their own offspring.
Nervously, I waited for the moment. Then my name was called. I had to walk down the seats between the other children, over to the speakers platform, then stand up upon a chair, face the people and speak right into the microphone as we had rehearsed. It was the first time I had ever spoken in public. It was the big test, not only of memory but of tongue to get round words like “leadeth” and “restoreth” and “righteousness”, and especially “Thy” and “Thou”.
I started too quickly.
“The Lord is my Shepherd;
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul:
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death …..”
I suddenly understood. My mother and I, and my younger brother and sisters were in the valley of the shadow of death right at that moment. I had heard someone say that in the last few days. I continued on:
“I will fear no evil:”
That is what we had all discovered in the visits from the people from church. They spoke about death in a different way and no one was afraid.
“For Thou art with me;
Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”
Suddenly, I remembered that picture in the kindergarten. That huge Jesus with a smile on His face and in his left arm was lamb and his right hand was being nuzzled by the mother of the sheep. There was a look of trust and tranquillity. Suddenly, I understood what this was all about.
“Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of my enemies:
Thou anointest my head with oil;
My cup runneth over.”“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow
me all the days of my life:
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.”
All that I had been taught came into focus. The whole point of Sunday School became clear. I was walking through the valley of the shadow of death but I was not afraid. I was not alone. I knew the big Good Shepherd would care for me.
I often thought about that picture and that experience in later years as I walked up Bank Street along the railway line to the top of the hill and to No.5 Miller Street, Box Hill, a great city which was still a village where the adults were kind and the children grew up responsibly.
GORDON MOYES