God Strike Me Dead
When I was studying to be a minister of the Gospel, my student churches were two adjacent wooden churches in the inner slum areas of Melbourne. For seven years during the 1950’s and 1960’s the people of those inner slum areas were my parish.
I had not been ministering at the Newmarket church for very long when, one day a knock came to one of the front wooden doors of the church. As a student I only had a limited time in the parish to do any pastoral work or counselling and I used to hang a notice outside on the wooden door saying “Minister Available For Counselling” at any time I happened to be in the area and had an hour between appointments. This day I was working in the little front room which doubled as a study and office, but was also used for meetings, Sunday School classes, wedding preparation and private counselling, when the knock came to the door. I opened the door to the bright sunshine to be faced by a well dressed man with a good fitting three piece suit and a jaunty hat with a feather in it. He had a white handkerchief in his top pocket and gave the air of being a happy professional man at ease with the world. He introduced himself as Mr. Alexander Tamby and asked if he could step into my study on a very confidential matter.
I showed him in the door, over the big door mat, and as he went into the study I noticed his shoes were fairly scruffy and not cleaned. Having always been taught never to wear a suit without polished shoes, I noted the state of his shoes with some surprise.
He introduced himself to me as Alexander Alastair Tamby and laughed saying “You will never forget the name. It is the same initials as TAA, the Australian airline.”
He sat down on the old horse hair leather chair which had seen much better days, but which for probably most of the 90 years the little wooden church had stood on that site, had been in that room.
He started to tell my about his life and this matter of great embarrassment that brought him to me. He showed me a number of references written by businessmen and ministers, written on the back of their business cards. One read, “I commend Alexander Alastair Tamby for his consistent Christian character” and that card came from a Church of England clergyman. Another card said, “I have employed Mr. Alexander Alastair Tamby and find him to be trustworthy and loyal”. And that came from an estate agent.
I read the cards he proffered with some interest. He was obviously very embarrassed and held his hat between his knees running his fingers round the brim of it in a most anxious manner. He told me he had never been in such a difficult and embarrassing position in his life before. Over the years he had helped many clergymen and many churches, particularly in the country town where he had lived for most of his life. But now having shifted to the city he discovered himself in a most embarrassing situation.
He had purchased a house not far from us and he mentioned the street. I knew the house because it had had a “For Sale” notice outside it for some time. He indicated that he had purchased that house and was anxious to get into it. His furniture had all arrived with an out of state carrier but, because of a legal hold up which meant the people in the house were not able to get out in time, he had had to send his furniture van back to a base for two or three days while he sorted out the financial arrangements with the other family and got admission to his own house.
I understood the problem and even though I was only eighteen years of age I knew how these hitches could occur. His point of real embarrassment, however, was that in all the luggage were his books and personal papers, including his cheque book and banks books, with the result that he had neither money nor ability to get any to cover him for three days.
However, his mother lived at Dandenong and he could go there and stay with her for three days and would have no difficulty with living costs, but he was in the immediately embarrassing situation of needing one pound five shillings for the train fare.
I sympathized with his problem and agreed that I could give it to him. He looked immensely relieved and thanked me profusely. I then explained to him that I was in the situation where one pound five shillings was a large amount of money to me and I did not have that much money on me, but I had already made arrangements with the local station master should this situation ever arise. Taking a sheet of note paper upon which was written the name and address of the Newmarket Church of Christ, I wrote a brief note to the station master at Newmarket telling him I knew Mr. Alexander Alastair Tamby and asked him to provide him with a single second class fare to Dandenong and stating I would pay him on Friday, the 24th of this month. I signed it and gave it to him.
He fingered the letter for a long time and then said to me, “I am sorry, but the letter will not help. I really need the cash. Because I must go by tram first of all into the city because I have my hand luggage which I have put into one of the lockers at the Flinders Street Railway Station and I must pick that up first of all.”
I did not have anyone I knew on the trams to write a similar letter and I was more suspicious than ever of his motives in wanting cash. I told him, “Mr. Tamby, I have a feeling that you are trying to rip me off. I have got an idea that you are more likely to spend this money I now give you in a pub than buying a train ticket to Dandenong, but if it helps you get to your mother I will be relieved. On the other hand you have been such a plausible rogue, and you have told me such a darned good story, that whatever money I give you and lose will be well worth the price.” He looked at me most hurt as I went through my wallet and pockets and came up with twelve shillings and sixpence. He looked at me and said, “I would never lie to you. I swear by God Almighty that every word I have told you this day is true. May God strike me dead if I have uttered one word of a lie.” His words were so sincere and powerful that I felt ashamed that I had even questioned his integrity.
I handed over the 12/6d and then as he was leaving he said, “Oh, by the way. Could I have your card with your telephone number so that I can ring you and tell you how I am getting on? And I tell you, as soon as my furniture is shifted in I will be round here to worship God on my first Sunday.”
I took one of my newly printed cards which announced that I was pastor of the Ascot Vale and Newmarket Churches of Christ. But across the back I wrote, “Ring me in any time of need”. I did not believe in leaving a blank card which could be filled in by someone else. He dipped his hat to me and went off walking down the street towards the tram line with his jaunty air.
Pocketing my keys I decided to follow him discreetly at a distance. After he turned the corner, I set off after him down the road. I followed him down to Flemington Road and stood behind a wide old elm tree.
To my shame and embarrassment he stood at the tram stop and waited until tram 14 came along which would take him into the city where his hand luggage was in the locker. The tram stopped and a couple of ladies got off, and he stepped out towards the tram and deviated suddenly to walk behind the tram. The tram took off and went on its way without him while he walked straight across the road and into the swinging doors of the Doutta Galla Hotel. I watched him go into the bar, then turned and walked back to the church, disappointed that he had let me down in spite of all of his protestations, but satisfied that my judgments of him were correct.
That night someone called me from the upstairs window of the student accommodation at The College of The Bible in Glen Iris to come and answer the ‘phone. I pulled a dressing gown and slippers on over my pyjamas and in the early morning hour went up to answer the student ‘phone that served all of the 60 young student ministers in the college.
The voice on the other end apologized for disturbing me in the middle of the night and introduced himself as the Sergeant of Police at the Newmarket Police Station. He asked me did I know a Thomas Alexander Archibald. I said I knew no one by that name. He then said to me, “Do you know Alexander Augustus Toplady?” and I again replied that I did not know him either. He then asked me “Do you know any of the following four men: Aaron Adam Thomas, Albert Abbot Tenterfield, Arthur Taft Abrahamson, or Alan Agnew Taylor?”
I replied: “No, Sergeant, I am sorry, I do not know any of those men.” The Sergeant continued: “It is not any of those men but all of those men are one man, and all of his names have the initials A.A.T. or T.A.A., the same as the Australian national airline.” I replied, “I do know Alexander Alastair Tamby.” And the police sergeant replied, “So that is the name he used with you. Let me look here, yes, here it is. It is also on the list.”
“This man that you know is a notorious con man, wanted in three States for fraud and deception. We arrested him this afternoon in the Doutta Galla Hotel and brought him back here to the cells.”
I told the police sergeant that I had met him briefly that day and had lent him 12/6d. I said to the police sergeant, “But why are you ringing me about this man? I do not really know anything about him except that he had apparently bought a house that was for sale nearby.”
“So he used that old story with you, did he?” said the police sergeant. “He has never bought a house and he does not own anything. He has made his living for years, however, by getting people to lend him much and we have had him on our list for some time.”
“I have rung you because I think he needs your help.”
I replied to the police sergeant, “Well I have not had much experience with helping people like Mr. Tamby, but if I can help him what do you suggest that I could do? Does he need bail, because I have not got any money for bail.” The police sergeant laughed, “No he does not need bail, but you can help him with more than that.”
“We found him dead in his cell about two hours ago. The police doctor has just confirmed that he died of a heart attack and we will probably need you to conduct a funeral.”
I suddenly remembered his awful oath, “God strike me dead if a word of what I have said has been a lie.” I hope God did not!
I said to the police sergeant, “But why have you rung me?” The sergeant replied “Because when we found him he had your card in his hand, and on the back of it you had written ‘Ring me in any time of need’ and I guess this is a time of need. Would you be able to bury him?”
It was a time of need and two days later at a funeral that was attended only by an undertaker, his assistant, the grave digger and myself, in a lonely part of Fawkner cemetery, the mortal remains of Alexander Alastair Tamby, or was it Alastair Augustus Toplady, or Aaron Adam Thomas, or Albert Abbot Tenterfield, or Arthur Taft Abrahamson, or Alan Agnew Taylor, or whoever, trusting that the God who made him understood at long last who he was when he entered into eternity.
It had been an interesting end to an unusual day when I had hung my sign outside the door of the Newmarket church and first met the man in the jaunty hat and the fine suit with the unpolished shoes.
I had never guessed it would end up the way it did that day when I walked out into the heavy air blowing from abattoirs and started my motor bike and headed towards the College of The Bible to train as a young minister thinking of my meeting with one of God’s children in the slums of Newmarket.
GORDON MOYES
