Auckland's Clergymen Have Some Interesting Hobbies

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 816, 9 November 1929, Page 17

Auckland's Clergymen Have Some Interesting Hobbies

(Written for THE SUN ly

C. T. C. WATSON.)

. OST of the laity have ***~ 11 a . contact—varying | renew principally in one of three ways: by attendance within dedicated walls, by pious interception of the local broadcast, or by persual of Monday’s Sun. l

At all events, through whatever channel spirittial sustenance may come, we are apt, in stepping off into business and professional stride after the weekly halt for recreation, to forget the existence of the man in holy orders. Out of that forgetfu!ne gg was born, no doubt, the uncharitable idea that a minister of religion retires unto himself and, as it were, shuts up shop from Monday to Saturday. A conclusion so serene may have been accurate enough in the dying years of last century and the first decade of this, the age of the cartoonists’ curate who, we were assured, had little more to do than frolic among golden texts, open sales of work and close bars. If that were so, then he haa been safely disposed of by the Great War and “Punch.” Today a miaister of the Church labours not on* day a week, but seven. He Is, in fact, the proprietor of a day-and-night service station. Wliat the Church calls pastoral wort—christenings, marriages, burials, sick visiting, relief of the down-and-out, the supervision of the business aspect of the charge, all combine to hurl the eighthour day by the board.

Someone now asks: “You don’t mean to imply that a clergyman permits himself no release whatever?” Not at all. It is a truism that the busiest man makes time for something else. A recent visit to some of the city’* vicarages and manses disclosed an assortment of clerical “sidelines” as unexpected as diverse.

Had anyone ever before presumed that an archbishop might have spare time? The mission is delicate, but the atmosphere friendly. Archbishop Averill’s ready humour is equal to the occasion. He tells you, gesturing with a reminiscent pipe, that, like the Bishop of London, he could once enjoy a game of tennis. But it is in the past tense, and you try again, rumaging in the subconscious for leading questions. At the right instant a saving intuition recalls that the Archbishop makes a short annual trip to tie Bay of Islands. Now then! That resort and fish are synonymous. And surely enough his Grace knows just what is the best bait for the varying species. No, he has not yet tried the big game fish.

Blahopscourt’s lovely old estate is beautiful with flowers at this season. The archbishop is fond of his garden, but has not now the opportunity to give much personal attention to its culture. By instalments it is elicited that the leading statesman of the Church of the Province of New Zealand, as the Anglican Church in this Dominion is officially known, must sacrifice the relaxation and pastime possible to others, that he might be the more fully informed on world ecclesiastical problems. He periodically tours his wide diocese, penetrating outback tracts to hold confirmations even where two or three are gathered together. Always, too, he baa a word of encouragement for a lonely priest, to whom he is indeed a "father in God.” The distinction of being the first of all the clergy, here or in any part of the world, to use the air for pastoral work, belongs, there is good reason to believe, to Dr. H. W. Cleary, Roman Catholic Bijshop of Auckland. In the pioneering days of flying his Lordship was quick to realise that the new transport promised much as a handle aid of religion. Bishop Cleary was a passenger in the flying-boats operated by the Walsh brothers, of

Kohimarama, when many years ago they demonstrated to whomever would be convinced that air machines were not to be dismissed as dangerous toys. The bishop developed an air sense which has persisted for 15 years. He has flown in Italy, France, Great Britain, and the United States. Lately he has made use of Aucklandowned planes for rapid visits to Te Aroha and Matamata. Bishop Cleary, as editor of that excellently produced magazine, “The Month,” has a wide public. He is a journalist of note. His pen is brilliant both in editorial leadership and in controversy. Before his appointment to the see of Auckland, he was editor of the New Zealand “Tablet,” the oflicial organ of his Church in this Dominion, emanating from Dunedin. Bishop Cleary is now 72, yet retains his forceful abilities' and the love of whirring propellers whose power he so early enlisted In the service of the Church.

Have you met the Rev. H. B. Wingfield, vicar of Holy Trinity Church, Devonport? Part of his spare time he gives to ecclesiastical architecture; an evening now and then finds him pondering over chess, for you must know that he was president of the Auckland Chess Club in 1913 and 1914. In this township and that throughout the province you may see charming little churches, mostly in wood, which were created on Mr. Wingfield’s drawing board. The Church of St.

Mary, Pokeno, is reeognised as perhaps the finest wooden house of worship is the diocese. Another monument to his sense of the aesthetic reposes among the trees at Waingaru. St. Albans-in-the-Forest is as picturesque a church as one could desire. Others are St. Bride’s, Otorohanga; St. Peter's, Te Kopuru; and a Maori church at Te Kapa. His most ambitious achievement is the addition in brick and stone of a chancel and a memorial tower to St. Alban’s, Dominion Road, placed there in his term as incumbent. St. Chad’s chapel is his, also. In church furniture creation, Mr. Wingfield shuns the catalogue pattern. Not a few altars and

pulpits for country churches had their origin under his rule and compasses. “Yes, learnt it before my ordination,” he remarks laconically. “Oh, yes, still do a little . . . Commercial

buildings? I’ve done some in Auckland . . . doesn’t matter which . . . long time ago. Chess? Oh, yes, I’ve competed in telegraphic championships . . . still a member of the club . . ..

but not a great deal of time . . .you’d realise that.” A community lacking a hall for the social aspect of church life, and possessing hut a meagre cash account with which to build one, was what the Rev. W. P. Rankin, Minister of St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, New Lynn, discovered in answering a call three years ago from Otago. His paramount interest lay-in work -among young people, and social Intercourse was a proved means of holding their allegiance. St. Andrew’s must have a hall. So it was that the minister set about a task that was to earn for him a designation of which he is proud—the “Bricklaying Parson.” In the last eight months the ring of his trowel on good red brick has sounded early and late. With only casual assistance he has mortared thousands of bricks, all laid faithfully and well. The stocky Scotsman learned the

art by watching others In “auld Glesca.” He tried, too, became efficient and worked at the trade between University lectures and in the long vacation. He tells this story:—“One Saturday afternoon I was going home

—this was in Clyde, Otago—after a game of bowls. I met a builder friend who said in a tone of disgust, ‘Ah, you parsons, you don’t know what wur-r-rk means. A good day’s wur-r-rk would kill you.’ Then he grumbled about having been let down by a bricklayer who was to make a fireplace, for a certain sum, on the Monday, and would take a week over it.

“I said I’d build his fireplace. But he was full o’ scorn. I turned up on Monday and he said sarcastically, ‘Wliat are you doing out so early?’ 1 reminded him about the job. ‘Man,’ he laughed, ‘you’re joking. It’s heavy wur-r-rk; but what do you know about it?’ I set to. In three days the job was finished and the inspector having passed it, I asked for my money—the amount that the defaulting bricklayer had been promised. My friend got: angry and wouldn’t pay the full figure because I had only taken three days instead of six. But I got my cash in the end—all of it.” If you happen to look In at St. Paul’s vicarage, City, any evening toward the end of the month, likely as not you will see the vicar’s study floor paved with an expanse of paper, neatly spread. The Rev. Cecil Watson will ask you to “excuse the mess.” You have caught him at the operation of “getting out” his parish magazine for the new month. The freshly-inked pages are hardening off. In the corner nearest the window you will see a strange apparatus. But for the fact that a series of trays marked “Cheltenham” and “Halley,” and so forth stand adjacent, and an assortment of type and space-leads is strewn nearby, you might not recognise the

machine as a press. Although Mr. Watson has served an apprenticeship, of his own tutoring, of a few months’ duration, the quality of his output suggests a master craftsman. “The St. Paul’s Press,” so registered at the Supreme Court, employs but one hand. He is at once compositor, stonehand, proof reader and —well, in view of his office it must be warily remarked that he is also the printer’s deviT, though hardly the devil of a printer! He knows all about that

bewildering paraphernalia involving “ems” and “six-point” and “upper and lower case” (which have to do with the size of type) and “chases” (square frames the dimensions of the printed page In which the type is

assembled). He knows -too, the annoyance of transpositions Ikie tihs. The vicar has invaded the field of miniature engineering. He is well acquainted with the how and why of electricity and can use a file or a soldering-iron as well as any. As a photographer outstanding success has been his. He makes his own lantern slides, operates his home-made enlarger, is a mediocre carpenter, and an inventive metal-worker. Already

he has perfected a new “gadget” which greatly extends the utility of his English press. . In July there came to Auckland two ministers who were one. The Rev. William Constable and his wife, the Rev. Wilna Constable, joint pastors of the Unitarian Church, hope to take part in Little Theatre work when they have settled down. Each is said to have considerable histrionic ability. They have studied dramatic art in the Old Country and acted in many plays, both classic and modern. As students they founded the Dramatic Study Circle associated with Edinburgh University. Mr. Constable has lectured in poetry, literature and the

drama at Warwick and Leamington. His literary excursions have taken him through plays pre- and postShakespeare, and modern English and Irish. Further, he has more than a casual experience of contemporary foreign drama. An impression gained from his book-shelves that he has an esteem for George Bernard Shaw' was not incorrect. On this provocative and quizzical old gentleman, Mr. Constable is an authority. The “Reverends

Constable” have played in “Saint Joan” and “Caesar and Cleopatra.” They have appeared in Galsworthy’s “Silver Box” in Barrie’s “The Will,” and in several one-act plays. A year ago the pastors wrote and produced an “Armistice Pageant,” a play depicting the spirit of religion and the spirit of peace. That presentation and a nativity play given a littje later were favourably commented upon by the Press.

Opposite Pahi, the little hamlet exquisitely remote in its setting on the Kaipara Harbour, there is another such called Wakapirau. Here lives, in semi-retirement, the Rev. F. Latter. In between hours given to the tending of His trees and his vines, he performs a singular service for neighbours. There is no school on his side of Kaipara’s deep-thrust arm; neither is there bridge to Pahi, and the children must go to school. Mr. Latter has a sturdy boat and a strong oar, and he bends to a pleasant labour early in the morning and again after school. Five days a week the clerical ferry makes the crossing, surely the quaintest hobby, if it can be so termed, that ever churchman in the province has pursued. A man who in his time has played many parts, and most with more than ordinary success—so may one estimate the Rev. Jasper Calder, City Missioner in Auckland. It is puzzling to sort out where Mr. Calder’s routine work leaves off and his hobbies begin. Any line of demarcation is blurred. What is meant by this is that if, for example, he is in attendance at the Police Court to intercede for some hapless prisoner, the missioner is active in the study of one of his sidelines^—that of criminology, or, more accurately, the study of motivation in delinquents. There is nothing violent or even obtrusive about it. He is mentally noting and pigeon-holing material for the furtherance of his spiritual ministrations.

If, again, Mr. Calder is promoting what the public affectionately likes to call a “Jasper stunt”—he disowns the usage—religion is somewhere in it, though at the back of the stage. If the missioner is cruising on his launch he is, like a doctor or a newspaper man, not absolutely off duty, but rather makes and takes opportunity to elevate the Cross a little higher. The story of Mr. Calder’s work among the down-and-out, the wretched and the distressed, needs no amplification. He declines to say much about that, but tells, with relish, yarns of moments when he has been able to discard the round coliar. Back in 1902 he owned and sailed the 20-

foot yacht Sea Horse. He raced very successfully, and that in the heyday of the class. He has bred horses, champion Arabs which invariably took the ribbon. And racehorses? He admits with a twinkle some success in that activity. No, he had never ridden them over spirited furlongs. He remembered the time when the cameraman snapped him at Ellerslie with one eye on his card and the other on public opinion. Mr. Calder does not tell everyone

how, since his ordination, he competed in a Whangarel rodeo. As champion rough-rider he won a medal which now lies in his office drawer. Four years ago the missioner again took up boating. He Is a flag-officer of the Akarana Yacht Club, and up goes the chaplain’s pennant to the fore. And in the breeze its streaming cross com-

mands respect on the Gulf and in the bays. Yachtsmen’s open-air services are popular among the crews. On a Sunday morning, while it is yet early, he may be seen paddling his row-boat in and out the gently heaving flotilla, pausing now and then to bang on a benzine-can —his church-bell. “Jasper” is always welcome; he knows what men want.

Down in reposeful Howick you may meet a clergyman dowered with a very remarkable gift. Canon H. Mason is widely known for his capabilities as a water-diviner. It is said that 90 per cent, of his “predictions” have bubbled and gushed the living stream. All over the province and farther, steel tower and brimming trough stand monumental to his inexplicable art. Waterless borough councils and parched farmers have summoned him desperately, and like Moses he has raised a flow where his followers had least expected it.

Some years ago a large abattoirs company found to its consternation that its wells had dried. If a new supply were not immediately forthcoming. the entire works must be moved. The canon was sent for. He marched about, responded to a hidden impulse—and earned the gratitude of a worried board of directors. He makes no charge for his services, being content as in the solemnisation of holy matrimony with what may or may not be given. However mysterious his gift may seem, one thing is abundantly clear—if his divining-rod were as unbending as his determination not to be photographed, the good canon would get no water at all! The Rev. H. M. Smyth, vicar of Onehunga, is one of the few wireless amateurs who can make his apparatus do the same thing twice. Hong before his ordination he was an electrical expert, and experimented in the wonders of wireless at a time when comparatively little was known about the new power. As a student he worked with Ernest Rutherford (now Sir Ernest) in the laboratory of Canterbury College. Mr. Smyth has carried out research work on behalf of the Government, delving more deeply into the science of radio than many professional wire less men have ever probed. He is in a way the official broadcast authority to the diocese of Auckland and during the visit of the Bishop of London fitted out numerous churches for reception of the bishop's addresses. Mr. Sms’th operates largely on the short-wave system, and has been singularly successful. “A clock-maker gone astray,” is how Archbishop Julius, of Christchurch, has been described. The former Primate is, too. a mechanical engineer of conspicuous skill, both as a repairer of anything from a burst pipe to a refractory sewing machine, and as an inventor. In his library he works at the king of machine tools, a lathe electrically driven. On it he fashions, in the days of his retirement, intricate and interesting devices. In an adjoining room is an older and heavier lathe —his father's, with an outfit of tools. It has been his gift to make and mend things; a gift he inherited from his father and passed on to his sons —witness the recent invention in Australia, by one of them, of an electric totalisator!

The archbishop was thought to have had something to do with it, but this he strongly denies. "No,” he once

told The Sun, "I had nothing to do with it, but I warned my son that he’d burn his fingers if he used it.” Archbishop Julius has perfected a number of wonderful things. Notable is his “fowl-feeder,” made at his daughter’s request. Controlled by an alarm clock, it not only feeds the chickens at the proper hour, but scatters their wheat into the fowlhouse. His crowning achievements are two electric clocks which take their energy from an ordinary powerpoint. They are regarded by those privileged to see them as masterpieces of ingenuity and resource. One thing of outstanding importance has not yet been invented. If his Grace could be prevailed upon to make it commercially possible he would be conferring an ineffable boon on harassed civilisation. The world is badly in need of an alarmless alarm clock!