Federal College of the Bible
Despite the misgivings of certain friends and relatives Gordon’s determination strengthened. In February 1957, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he lined up with a dozen other newcomers at the Federal College of the Bible in Glen Iris, an outer suburb of Melbourne.
He was youngest of the thirteen men in the new theology class and by far the youngest in the college of forty-seven students. Smartly dressed in a new grey, double-breasted suit and conservative necktie, he suffered no qualms about his status or his future.
His first sermons were already past. His high school graduation so recent that he still addressed all men in authority as “Sir.” Knuckling down to study would be no problem to him as it was to some of the others who came to train for the ministry. Most of them were mature men who already had professions or trades behind them.
A few of them also had advanced university degrees. Of the two men who roomed next door to Gordon, one had a B A and Dip. Ed., and the other a Master of Engineering degree. Another man in the class had a newly acquired Ph.d from the Australian National University in Canberra. Many of the students had enviable academic records behind them and others had wide experience in the ministry. But there was one way in which Gordon, the baby of the college, had it over all the others, he was the only student to already have a church.
It was his extensive and enthusiastic participation at city-wide youth rallies and other church related activities that had led to his church appointment.
The Newmarket church in North Melbourne was an old church with a small static congregation and no minister. Some of the members saw and heard Gordon in action and they felt that this young preacher exhibited so much vitality and enthusiasm that he might be just the tonic for their aged, ailing church.
“At least let’s ask him to fill in,” they urged the Board. “He can be our temporary student-preacher during the holiday period. Then if he doesn’t do a satisfactory job, we’ll ask for a different preacher in the New Year.”
Now, with his ministry of preaching and parish visitation already begun his financial status presented no insuperable problem either. For a weekly retainer of six pounds ($12) it was agreed that he continue to care for the spiritual needs of the Newmarket and Ascot Vale congregations while he pursued his studies. He could not afford to waste a single penny but with care he would manage.
At the moment his most pressing need was transport. In Box Hill he walked or rode a pushbike most places he needed to go. For longer trips to the city or adjacent towns there were trains or buses. But once he commenced college his travel needs would be more frequent and irregular. He must have some type of transport that would take him from college to parish, as well as to Box Hill to visit his mother and family members and of course, Beverley.
This problem remained unsolved until a few weeks before college began. One afternoon he was standing at the top of a rather steep road in Box Hill talking to some of his friends when the sound of an approaching motorcycle drowned their conversation.
“I’ll bet that’s Chick.” One boy said as the group turned to watch. “By the sound of things he’s not going to make it up this hill.”
Even as the boy spoke, the youth on the motorbike crashed. The front wheel of the bike spun crazily off across the road and the empty fork bit into the dirt. The rider somersaulted over the handlebars and landed on the grassy verge.
With a shout of sympathy the onlookers dashed down the hill to help. As they reached him the lad got to his feet and angrily kicked the still spinning rear wheel: “That’s the jolly limit. For five pounds I’d sell the bloomin’ thing.”
Gordon gasped. “Do you really mean that, Chick?” he asked excitedly. “Would you sell if for five pounds?”
“Yeah.” Chick kicked disgustedly at the old motorbike. “Give me five pounds and it’s yours.”
“Done!” Gordon reached into his pocket for the only money he had. “Here’s ten shillings, Chick. I’ll pay off the rest as soon as I start work.”
“Ok.” Chick pocketed the money and limped off, still muttering imprecations against the motorbike.
Gordon and his friends made no effort to hide their glee as they wrestled the big black machine upright. Two of them held it steady while a third retrieved the front wheel and helped bolt it back into place.
“There, that will do for now,” Gordon said grandly. “I’ll have to take it to a mechanic for an overhaul.”
Grinning proudly he sat astride the broad well-sprung seat of the ex-World War ll dispatch rider’s bike. It was a BSA with a single cylinder of 500 cc’s and an exhaust that shattered the silence for streets around. In all respects it was twin to the BSA that he had ridden during his brief friendship with Maxy. Gordon winced as he recalled the impact of sergeant Murphy’s boot on his bottom. He hadn’t been on a motorbike since that fateful day.
As finances allowed he gradually paid off the bike and purchased a leather jacket, goggles, leather gloves and even leather trousers to combat Melbourne’s notorious weather. Eventually he and his motorbike became so well known in the slums of Melbourne that he earned the nickname of “the flying vicar.”
College was an entirely new experience. For the first time in his life he had to pay for his food and residence. As well as that, the students paid fees for the lectures and tutorials they attended. A number of them wanted to do University subjects as well and that called for extra fees.
Each week-end the Glen Iris students were required to preach or assist in various churches, and on Mondays there were no scheduled lectures at the college. This gave the students an opportunity to earn some money toward their expenses. Those with trades or professions returned to work for that one day each week.
Gordon had come straight from school to college and he had no profession to fall back on except that each Easter he went back to Box Hill to the family bakery and made thousands of hot cross buns. At various other times he mowed lawns, packed 5 pound bags of sugar for a large grocery chain and worked as a Manchester salesman in a large store.
His most unusual venture into the workaday world had been shortly before he entered college when as a seventeen-year old, he glued white eyebrows and a long white beard onto his face, padded his slim figure with pillows and donned a Santa Claus costume. For four weeks he became a professional Santa Claus in a big department store. He became adept at saying “Ho, ho, ho” in a deep, jolly voice while at the same time warding off mischievous little imps intent on grabbing his beard or eyebrows.
He also learned the technique of having the children tell him what they would like to get for Christmas—while he bent over to listen he kept his eyes on their parents. In most cases the parents gave him a wink or a nod, or a shake of the head which let him know which of the `wants’ the child would be getting. Then it was easy for “Santa” to tell the child that they would get what they wanted as long as they continued to be good. Alternatively he shook his head and said, “I’m sorry I can’t provide that toy this year, but I’ll think about it for the future.”
As well as the outside jobs each student had to work at the college. Because he was youngest, Gordon got the job that the others didn’t want. Every night he had to peel enough potatoes for next day’s baked dinner for 47 students plus the lecturing staff.
Others might despise such a job but he enjoyed it and continued doing it for his three years at the college. He studied until late at night and then with his brain weary from hours of learning Greek or delving into the intrigues of Old Testament studies, he sneaked down to the kitchen and did manual work for a change.
Other men used their skills in helping run the college farm. Though Glen Iris was only seven miles from the heart of Melbourne, the college had its own flourishing vegetable garden and registered herd of cows and bulls. Ducks, geese and fowls provided eggs for the whole community.
The students considered that the worst job was milking the cows on frosty mornings. Kiwi, the huge New Zealander with size 14 feet, usually cared for the cows. One morning Gordon rose at daylight. He wanted to verify a rumour as to why some of the men refused to have milk with their porridge.
Even on the coldest morning it was said that Kiwi walked across the frosty grass in bare feet with a bucket of milk in each hand. Gordon wondered how on earth he could keep his feet from freezing. Now he was going to find out. He sneaked quietly up to the cowshed door and looked inside. Kiwi sat on a low stool with his head pressed into the side of a placid cow. His huge feet were firmly planted in an outsize bucket into which his busy hands rhythmically directed twin streams of warm, frothing milk.
The Powers That Be constantly reminded Gordon that it was most unusual for an eighteen-year old to be appointed as a student minister; that he was the youngest to have ever been so appointed; and that if he did not perform consistently well in his studies the church work would be withdrawn. The Powers obviously did not know that he thrived on challenges. He was so totally committed to the idea of becoming a pastor that he worked hard at both studies and ministry. To be `temperate in all things,’ (1 Corinthians 9:25) was one Bible injunction that he conveniently ignored.
Gordon always took on far more than he should have and then surprised everyone, sometimes including himself, by accomplishing the impossible. During his final year at high school he had won a scholarship to Melbourne University and he was not going to let that opportunity slip. Even though he had no prior knowledge of the subject, he undertook to study classical Greek. College regulations prohibited students from taking on any additional studies but he worked on the premise that `What they don’t know won’t hurt them.’
However, classical Greek was not as easy as he had expected. Twice a week he studied with private tutors. He wrote lists of Greek verb endings on slips of paper and kept them in every pocket so that he always had something to learn in spare minutes. He set out to translate parts of Plato and Socrates and he waded through Herodotus and Xenophon.
In his desperate endeavours to master Classical Greek, Gordon elected to do Years 11 and 12 simultaneously and sit for both examinations at the end of the year. The results were unexpected and caused a great deal of mirth to his tutors. Gordon failed Year 11 Classical Greek but passed the much more difficult Year 12.
During his three years in the Bible College, he studied such subjects as New Testament, Old Testament, New Testament Greek, Homiletics, Religious Education, Church History and Comparative Religions.
Despite all the studies and the reading and essays connected with them, Gordon maintained his interest in sport and athletics. Nor did he neglect the social activities. He played a variety of parts in the college concerts and other musical and social events.
One of the trials of being at college was that he only saw Beverley at week-ends. This was more than young love could be expected to endure so the pair formed a plan. Gordon’s lunch hour between classes was noon to 1 p m so Beverley arranged her lunch hour at work to coincide with his and regularly at 12:30 each day she telephoned the college.
The public telephone was within hearing of the dining room and when Gordon heard the phone ring, if he was not already waiting for the call, he gulped down the last mouthful of food and rushed to the telephone booth. Closing the door he spent fifteen blissful minutes talking to the most wonderful girl in the world.
Even when they saw each other at week-ends Gordon’s ambitions intruded on their time together. Beverley had done secretarial studies and now she helped him by typing his essays and dissertations and his sermons for the churches at Ascot Vale and Newmarket.
By the end of his first year at college Beverley Vernon and Gordon Moyes announced their engagement. Two-year engagements were the approved norm and they planned to be married as soon as they turned twenty-one, fortunately their birth dates fell only one week apart.
It was during Gordon’s second year at college that his beloved brother died. In his early childhood Robbie suffered a bout of rheumatic fever which left him with a weak heart. As he approached his teens Robbie appeared to `grow out of it’ and entered into all the activities of a normal healthy boy.
Robbie ran well and swam like a fish and in high school he was eager to follow in his brother’s footsteps. He won several trophies for swimming and in the swimming championships during his second year he entered several races in the same day and won the under fourteen freestyle. By the time he reached home that night he was utterly exhausted.
Next morning when he tried to help mow the lawn he collapsed. At Epworth hospital they discovered that he had strained his heart. Weeks turned into months as the medical staff battled to bring his abnormally pounding heart under control.
By now Gordon was a college junior and the only time he could visit his brother was at night when his arduous college programme ended for the day. Many times he parked his motorbike at the hospital gate and climbed up the fire escape and crept into Robbie’s room. The nursing staff came to know Gordon well and obligingly overlooked these out of hours visits.
The two brothers talked a lot during these times together and Gordon prayed with his young brother. The only Bible instruction that Robbie received was what he had learned at Sunday School.
Sleeplessness and pain were Robbie’s constant companions. He lost weight dramatically. His swollen joints stood out like doorknobs on his matchstick arms and legs. The throbbing of his enlarged heart was plainly visible through his bony ribcage.
The medical and nursing staff all knew that he would not recover and eventually the doctors broke the news to May, suggesting that she might like to have her son at home. Robbie was moved back to Box Hill and after that Gordon only saw him at week-ends.
One morning as Gordon sat in class trying to keep his weary eyes from closing, an office girl brought him the message that he must go home at once. Instinctively he knew why. For the second time in little more than a decade Death had visited the Moyes’ household.
At the beginning of his final year at Bible College, Gordon set himself the goal of earning honours in every subject, including the Advanced Greek which he was not supposed to be studying. He knew that he would not be Dux of the College, there were other students who already held degrees in various subjects, but he would be setting a record if he earned straight A’s in every subject.
He succeeded.
After graduation came ordination. This was the moment that Gordon had dreamed about for years. His heart raced with mingled feelings of excitement and awe as he knelt on the platform while the officiating ministers prayed. Now, he thought to himself, I am a true minister of the gospel, ordained by God to care for His flock and preach His love to lost sinners.
Scarcely had he arrived back in Box Hill before Beverly and he were plunged into a joyful round of parties. Twenty-first birthday parties—their own and others of their Box Hill friends. Then came kitchen teas and pre-wedding parties and trying on of suits and dresses and rehearsals and decisions—
Being a mere male spared Gordon from most of the trauma of wedding preparation, that fell to Beverley and her mother. Mrs Vernon sewed the magnificent wedding gown with its fashionably hooped petticoat. She made the going-away outfit and the dainty dresses for four bridesmaids. Gordon had only to provide four male friends to accompany the bridesmaids down the aisle.
Eventually the great day arrived and Victoria produced its worst weather. Protected by large black umbrellas, the wedding party arrived at the church and took their carefully rehearsed places. The organ pealed the unforgettable notes of `Here Comes the Bride’ and the congregation of friends and relatives rose to their feet.
For Gordon the remainder of the service merged into one glorious blur. With the perfume of orange blossom in his nostrils and his lovely young bride by his side he smiled through the hours of photos and felicitations and the happy reception in the hall. The church’s catering ladies excelled themselves, the telegrams and speeches were amusing and there were sentimental sighs and nostalgic reminiscences from the older folk as the happy couple retired to change into `Going Away’ clothes.
May (Moyes) Vial’s wedding gift was something the young couple urgently needed but would not have been able to afford for years to come—a brand new Volkswagon. Alas, Gordon’s friends got to it first. With much good-natured shouting and heave-ho-ing, they lifted the tiny car and set it on the footpath securely jammed in between two trees. They filled the hub caps with stones and tied long strings of empty tins to the back bumper. Not content with making sure that the young Moyes would have a noisy send-off, they painted a dozen JUST MARRIED signs over the little `beetle.’
Gordon planned an overseas trip for their honeymoon. “Overseas” being across the San Remo bridge onto Philip Island in Westernport Bay. That was as far as he could afford to go.
Their honeymoon cottage was something else. He had answered an advertisement in a Christian magazine that offered: “Charming beach cottage, marvellous views. Fully furnished, homely and comfortable.”
The most appealing feature of the advertisement was that the rent was only five pounds per week, but when they arrived at their honeymoon home not even young love could blind the newly-weds’ eyes to the charming cottage’s short-comings. It had cement sheet walls and a tin roof. The furniture consisted of a table and three chairs, two old lounge chairs with springs and stuffing sticking out, and a bed with sagging wires and a lumpy kapok mattress.
Had the weather been kinder the young Moyes could have enjoyed themselves outdoors, but constant rain thundered onto the tin roof and they had to shout if they wanted to speak to each other.
As if all that was not bad enough, Gordon’s frenetic lifestyle finally caught up with him. All the strain of the last few months concentrated itself into an abscess that grew on the front of his chin underneath a lower tooth.
The island’s dentist did his best but the pain became worse. Then he began vomiting. Christmas Day he spent in bed too ill to eat and retching almost continuously. Poor Beverley sat in the dreadful kitchen watching the pouring rain and choking down a few mouthfuls of what should have been their first festive meal together.
Next day, in between bouts of retching Gordon managed to croak, “Enough’s enough.”
The miserable honey-mooners turned their backs on the Charming Cottage and drove to Moonee Ponds to Gordon’s maternal grandmother’s house. It had already been decided that they would share the house at 15 Vine Street, paying a nominal rent in return for keeping an eye on the old lady.
The move did nothing to help Gordon. He grew rapidly worse and late that night he was rushed off to Royal Melbourne Hospital for emergency surgery on a strangulated intestine.
He survived the operation and made a rapid recovery, but having graduated and not yet been inducted into his part-time ministry, he was without salary. The honeymoon had exhausted their savings, so the hospital book-keeper entered against Gordon’s name on the RMH’s records—”Pauper.”
