The Changes
Until he was nearly thirteen years old Gordon’s spiritual life revolved around Sunday School and Service, plus the annual picnic, prize-giving and Christmas programme. He enjoyed these and other church related activities where Jean and Maggie Perry and Jack Ferris kept an eye on him.
However, around this time he became disenchanted with Sunday School and decided that he’d had enough, he wouldn’t go any more. This meant that his brother and sisters couldn’t attend either, but he didn’t care.
It all resulted from a disappointment. Each year the Sunday School awarded a special prize to the pupil who was always present and on time. Gordon wanted that award and tried hard to earn it, but sometimes his exhausted mother did not have the younger children ready when Jack Ferris arrived and that made them all late.
At the end of the year Max Sandalls won the coveted prize and Gordon felt that it wasn’t fair. Max’s father was a Sunday School teacher so he was always on time and he brought his son along in the car with him so of course Max was always on time, too.
“He should have been disqualified,” Gordon grumbled to himself. “With him around, no one else has a chance.”
On the Sunday after the prize-giving, a thoroughly disgruntled boy made up his mind that this was going to be his last day at Sunday School. He lounged on a bench in the Sunday School hall and wondered how to tell Miss Perry about his decision.
At that precise moment two strangers approached the hall and hesitated at the door. Gordon did not know it at the time but a widow and her thirteen-year old daughter, newcomers to the district, had decided to join the Court Street Church of Christ. Beverley Vernon had sparkling blue eyes and hair so blonde that it seemed to shine around her head like a halo. Gordon’s young heart pounded erratically when by chance she directed a shy smile at him.
Male intuition dictated that he get on the right side of the mother first. Nobody else had noticed the strangers so he slid off the bench, straightened his shoulders and walked toward them. He cleared his throat and with suitable tonal inflection and gesture a la Miss Appsley, offered his services as guide to the newcomers.
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs Vernon smilingly accepted his offer. “We have not been to this church before. Is this where Sunday School is conducted?”
“What about Christian Endeavour?” she further queried as Gordon guided them through a maze of Sunday School rooms, “Do they have Christian Endeavour at this church?”
“Oh yes,” he responded grandly. “There is an excellent Christian Endeavour here.” He had previously shown little inclination toward the Christian Endeavour group but if that is where the Vernons’ interests lay, then he would join. As soon as possible, he did, and became an active long term member.
In fact, far from this being Gordon’s final attendance at Sunday School, he became an increasingly active participant in any future event in which Beverley Vernon was included.
Much later in the year, returning from the Sunday School picnic, he managed by a great deal of bluff and show-off to exclude himself from the back of Jack Ferris’ truck in which all the boys rode, and include himself in the vehicle in which the girls travelled.
Nor was that all. The seats were full but he brazenly squeezed in between Beverley and her friends and pulled their rug over his knees as well. In doing so, his hand came in contact with Beverley’s and the electric shock that ran through his arm seemed to affect hers also. She did not draw her hand away and while the chaperons in the bus sat in blissful ignorance, a friendship that has lasted nearly fifty years began.
In 1952 the Melbourne Churches of Christ hosted the World Convention of Churches of Christ and ten thousand people packed into the Exhibition Building for the great public rallies.
Along with the Convention came two American evangelists, Mr Pollock the song leader and Dr E. Ray Snodgrass the speaker. They conducted their meetings in Wirth’s Olympia where rows of chairs filled the huge circus arena and thousands of people pressed in to listen to the singing and the preaching.
Almost everyone from Box Hill Church of Christ attended. Good old Jack Ferris packed his truck with senior boys from the Sunday School. Gordon was there of course, ring-leader in the shouting and hilarity that accompanied the drive into the city. He was also foremost among the group of lads who occupied the highest row of seats at the back. Obviously determined not to take any part in the meetings they whispered loudly and folded the sermon announcement sheets into paper airplanes which they sent flying over the devout heads of the congregation.
However, one night Dr Snodgrass caught Gordon’s attention. The preacher held up five fingers and said they represented a person’s commitment to God.
“The thumb is Number One and shows that God requires people to have faith in His Son, Jesus Christ.
“The forefinger means that we should repent of sin and try to live a better life.
“The middle finger stands for confession. Asking God to forgive our sins and then publicly taking a stand as a follower of Jesus.“The fourth finger signifies that people should be baptized as Jesus was,
“And the fifth finger relates to the Holy Spirit Whom God gives to those who believe, repent, confess and are baptized.”
Gordon sat transfixed. With a sudden rush of conviction he remembered the time he had been entrusted to carry the day’s takings home to his hard-working mother and he’d stolen a pound note out of the cloth bag. He recalled how he teased his sisters, lied to get himself out of trouble, shot spitballs at his school-teachers’ unsuspecting backs and all too often neglected his chores.
Yes, Gordon understood perfectly. If he wanted to be a Christian he needed to repent and be forgiven. The paper plane that he had been about to launch dropped to the floor as he strained to hear Dr Snodgrass’ next words.
“While the choir is singing, those of you who want to give their lives to Jesus Christ, please come down to the front.”
The organist struck the note and the choir began softly singing:
“Just as I am without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid’st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come. I come.”
Without a moment’s hesitation young Gordon Moyes, gulping and trying to hold back his tears, pushed past his rowdy peers and made his way to the front of the sawdust covered circus ring.
On their way back to Box Hill Jack Ferris invited Gordon to sit with him in the cabin of the truck. As the tyres chewed up the miles the one-eyed orchardist congratulated him on his decision.
“You’ll never regret it, lad,” for just an instant he turned toward Gordon and his one eye beamed benevolently. “It’s the best decision you’ll ever make. The Christian walk is one of service and happiness. God will never let you down. Stick close to Him.”
Two nights later Jack Ferris and the minister came to the Moyes’ house to discuss with May the importance of Gordon’s decision. They had a Bible study and knelt in prayer together. Mrs Moyes made no objection. She didn’t mind which church Gordon joined if it would make him a better boy.
The next Sunday night, 21st September, 1952, two months before his fourteenth birthday, Gordon Keith MacKenzie Moyes, along with several hundred other converts, was baptized in a portable baptistery at the Snodgrass-Pollock mission. More than five thousand people witnessed the baptism, among them were Jean and Maggie Perry and May Moyes and her younger children.
It was not long after this that kind-hearted Jack Ferris died. Now there was no one to take the Moyes children to Sunday School, but Gordon had sufficient commitment to marshal his younger brother and sisters and walk the two miles to and from Sunday School each week. Besides, there was the little matter of seeing beautiful blonde Beverley with whom he was madly in love.
As the months lengthened into years the thrill of commitment wore off. Not that he suddenly gave up on the Christian life and took up with bad habits similar to his father’s. Far from it. He still regularly attended Sunday School and Christian Endeavour and Boys’ Club and everything else connected with the church’s social life, but he was not committed enough to join in the Christian students’ prayer groups and lunch time Bible discussions at high school. There were too many other interesting things going on.
Sport, for instance. At Box Hill Boys’ High School each of the nine hundred boys concentrated on one sport—either the one that they played best or the one that they enjoyed most. Not so Gordon and his friend, John Zigouras, known as “Ziggy.” They decided that they wanted to excel in every possible team competition.
Sports played a major part in the school’s curriculum. The principal, Bill Woodfull, a former Australian test cricket captain, believed that sport was the answer to every problem of discipline and motivation.
Certainly the sports regime required a lot of out-of-school training time for teachers and students alike. Tennis, football, cricket and swimming were compulsory and in these as in the other school sports the boys played house against house, team against team, even challenging teams from other towns.
Gordon played Australian rules football for his house at school until the arrival of postwar refugees from Europe brought soccer to Box Hill.
“What do you think of it?” the high school boys asked one another. Soccer was considered un-Australian, even slightly disloyal. Nevertheless, with so many new-Australians enrolled, the school decided to commence a soccer team. Gordon Moyes, the only boy on the team with an easily pronounceable surname, lined up with all the newcomers and it wasn’t long before he represented his school in the soccer team.
At about the same time an English schoolmaster formed a rugby club and rugby union became the popular sport. In his senior years Gordon represented the school and Box Hill community in rugby union.
He did nothing by halves. It was foreign to his nature to take on anything in which he could not excel. As well as having natural ability he pushed himself to the limit to attain his goal of excellence in everything he attempted.
“You’ll have to watch that boy,” well-meaning friends advised May Moyes. “Make him slow down a bit. He always wants to be the best in everything. He pushes himself too hard. He’ll end up with a weak heart like Robert.”
May Moyes sighed. Trying to stop Gordon would be like trying to stem the tide. At least when he was training for sports she knew that he was not getting around with the rowdy element who frequented the streets after dark.
Even though team sports took so much of Gordon’s life, athletics was his great love. Back in his early childhood foot-races were the big thing at all Sunday School and church picnics. The committee arranged races for every age group from toddlers to grand-parents.
The picnic conveners soon discovered that Gordon ran fast. He won races in his own age group and went on to win against older children. By the time he was twelve he took athletic training seriously. Melbourne was due to host the Olympic Games in 1956 and there wasn’t a young sports hopeful in Australia who didn’t have the Games in his sights.
For six years Gordon represented his school and won many trophies. By his last year at high school he had set records for the 100 yards, 200 yards, 440 yards, 880 yards and the one-mile for under 17. Some of these records remained unbeaten for years.
Moyes was almost as fast in water as he was on land. For his six years of high school he was a member of the school swimming team. He participated in freestyle, breaststroke, and backstroke events as well as both high and low diving, and won many trophies. Forty years later, by a strange twist of fate, he again took up swimming—this time to save his life.
With sports, church and social life occupying most of his interests, Gordon had not much time left for study. As a result his lessons suffered. He was not interested in what happened in 1066 or which was the most populous country in the world or whether x plus y equalled xy.
His lackadaisical attitude to study and the serious side of life worried his teachers and some tried to reason with him, but to no avail. He was obsessed with sports.
Nevertheless, several teachers managed to profoundly influence his life. Vincent Kelly the music master, a devout Roman Catholic who never missed Mass on Sunday, taught his students to appreciate the stirring religious oratorios of Handel and Mozart. He tried to make his students see that there was a religious purpose behind everything.
For six years Jack Guthrie laboured to instil Latin conjugations into Gordon’s unwilling head, but he taught the boy a lot of more important lessons by his own rigid adherence to moral principles and his insistence on justice and fair play for the underdog.
Gordon had nearly completed his fourth year in high school when he and sister Lorna decided that mother should marry again. They discussed it privately and then approached their mother.“Look here, Mum,” Gordon acted as spokesman. “We are out so often with our high school and church activities and you are just left sitting here at home alone. Why don’t you marry Joe? You said you wouldn’t marry again until we were all grown up and we’re nearly grown up now. So what about it?”
May had a suitor. Ever since Norman’s unexpected death his mate, Joe Vial, had come around to the Moyes home every week to see what he could do to help. At first he chopped wood and built chicken houses and helped with all the heavy chores, but as the children grew he became a father-figure to them. At that time Joe was proprietor of the Criterion Bakery, the Moyes’ opposition in Box Hill, but it was an amicable opposition. No one could fight with Joe Vial. He had a friendly grin for everyone.
“You shouldn’t keep him waiting around any longer,” Gordon reprimanded his mother. “It’s not fair to Joe.”
Whether it was his little speech or whether the pair had already made up their minds, May and Joe were married during the year-end holidays of 1953-54 and enjoyed more than thirty-five years of happy companionship.
