If ever a child had a precious heritage, I had. These days we don't seem to set store by conserving the riches of the past with all the wisdom gathered through the years. I have been given gifts and graces and am increasingly aware of them and thankful for them. How have they formed me to be the person I am and what I have accomplished?
As cousins, we now talk more about the homes we grew up in and share our views of all the family members, giving substance to what I see as a family collage. It is for us to evoke an appreciation of these people in the coming generation. The true meaning of conservatism. These are the stories so necessary to a vibrant society aware of its destiny.
Much of Scripture is written for this purpose.
"Oh, that they had such a heart in them that they would fear Me and always keep all my commandments, that it might be well with them and with their children forever!" Deut 5:29
"And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart; you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up." Deut 6: 6,7
Friday, 29 May 2009
MY MATERNAL GRANDPARENTS
Grandma Beatty
My grandmother left Ireland to make a home in South Africa for someone she barely knew. There couldn't be a greater contrast to the green of Ireland than the semi-desert of what was still known as the Cape Colony. Miles from the larger centres she raised seven children, losing two in childhood.
She never lost her love of beautiful artefacts and would often attend sales to buy what we now regard as beautiful antiques. Their home in Ireland was that of the town surgeon but even in the 1950's they cooked over the hearth and collected water from a well at the bottom of the garden.
The picture I gained from her daughters was that of a gentle spirit, loving to give hospitality to the soldiers during the II World War and to those of Jewish descent. Her greatest gift to her family was her prayers for future husbands of her daughters. These were answered to a remarkable degree. Each one was cherished by gentle, caring, but strong men who were all leaders. Their first concern was always for the welfare of their wives to a remarkable degree.
My mother cared for her parents for many years and sorrowed over the relatively early death of her mother in 1952. Looking at an early portrait of my grandmother she was a beautiful woman with a serene expression which I think epitomised her life which was never easy.
My mother's father was the son of a farmer near Tempo. He took a post with the Post Office in the Cape Colony at a time where life in Ireland was hard. His career took him to Aliwal North in the Karoo and then to Pretoria.
Things said and unsaid left me the impression that he was not an easy man to live with. My mother's gentle spirit was damaged by her father who seemed to live a dual life. He was known as something of an evangelist amongst the Brethren, visiting the black nurses at the General Hospital and preaching among the prisoners in Pretoria's goal. My grandmother was a loyal wife and never complained.
My grandmother left Ireland to make a home in South Africa for someone she barely knew. There couldn't be a greater contrast to the green of Ireland than the semi-desert of what was still known as the Cape Colony. Miles from the larger centres she raised seven children, losing two in childhood.
She never lost her love of beautiful artefacts and would often attend sales to buy what we now regard as beautiful antiques. Their home in Ireland was that of the town surgeon but even in the 1950's they cooked over the hearth and collected water from a well at the bottom of the garden.
The picture I gained from her daughters was that of a gentle spirit, loving to give hospitality to the soldiers during the II World War and to those of Jewish descent. Her greatest gift to her family was her prayers for future husbands of her daughters. These were answered to a remarkable degree. Each one was cherished by gentle, caring, but strong men who were all leaders. Their first concern was always for the welfare of their wives to a remarkable degree.
My mother cared for her parents for many years and sorrowed over the relatively early death of her mother in 1952. Looking at an early portrait of my grandmother she was a beautiful woman with a serene expression which I think epitomised her life which was never easy.
My mother's father was the son of a farmer near Tempo. He took a post with the Post Office in the Cape Colony at a time where life in Ireland was hard. His career took him to Aliwal North in the Karoo and then to Pretoria.
Things said and unsaid left me the impression that he was not an easy man to live with. My mother's gentle spirit was damaged by her father who seemed to live a dual life. He was known as something of an evangelist amongst the Brethren, visiting the black nurses at the General Hospital and preaching among the prisoners in Pretoria's goal. My grandmother was a loyal wife and never complained.
Friday, 15 May 2009
MY PATERNAL GRANDPARENTS
My grandfather, known as Grandpa Swazi.
From his earliest days he was a man of vision and drive. He had an all-consuming passion to present the Gospel but also to enable men to keep themselves, to shun idleness. He was the only missionary I know who sought to make the mission self-sufficient. Many, in what was then Nyasaland, and later Swaziland have him to thank for building and woodwork skills.
My grandmother tells the story of Grandpa Swazi climbing onto his desk at school, to declare he was going to be a missionary in Africa and this he was till his dying day. I now so wish I could have appreciated his preaching. When I got to know him, he was separated from his beloved Africa of the wilds and soon afterwards the flame of his life was extinguished.
He went out to Africa with the Zambezi Industrial Mission, keen to teach handcraft skills but his first concern was to bring the people knowledge of God. His first declaration of the Gospel on African soil was unique. Rushing ashore, his zeal to speak the language of the African people expressed itself in the words ‘Do you love God?’ Apparently there was an error in his words, but not in his zeal. To me, it reveals that he wanted all men to share his love for his saviour.
He was a great story-teller, my mother tells me. This was an art he used in visiting schools in rural Africa, taking the gospel to faraway villages. He relates how he was called to the hut of a dying African woman and told her ‘the old, old story of Jesus and His love’. Months later, when in the vicinity of her village, he was told that she died, declaring that she wanted no ancestor worship at her funeral as Jesus was her Saviour. Fruit indeed in a pagan culture where so many syncretise the old with the new out of fear of ancestor spirits.
He had a great respect for education having had little himself. He ensured that his sons had every possibility of furthering their education and to good effect. They each continued to the top of their professions, equally good with their hands as well as their heads, emulating his creativity as well as his tireless efforts to do good.
My grandfather built pleasing houses as well as churches, making furniture as well as assembling useful technologies to improve their lives. A radio as well as an electricity generator, cars as well as motorcycles.
He was a mastercraftsman in woodwork, stone, stories and men's souls.
Not making much of it , both grandparents received MBE’s for their service as pioneering missionaries. There is a picture of my grandmother, sitting next to the Swazi queen mother, one of many whom she taught to crochet.
Grandma Swazi
She trained as a nurse, and then as a midwife in Glasgow. Even then she wanted to care for black babies. There was a possibility that she may have gone to India, but it was Africa which drew her. She was sent out as a missionary with the Church of Scotland in the early 1900’s.
She had a great pride in her Scottish roots and retained a love of her homeland. Some of this she passed on to me, together with an abiding interest in the medical profession. She loved chatting and how I wished I had listened more closely. Perhaps it was her isolation from good conversation which made her so eager to speak at length when with friends and family. She had a prodigious correspondence with many friends and acquaintances all over the world. When my parents went on holiday they never told her where they were going as she always knew someone whom she thought they could visit!
My grand mother was said to be a wonderful homemaker, starting all over again in a new country at the age of fifty. Tribute was paid to her by the elders of the church in Swaziland, who recognised that she did much to make her husband and their pastor, happy. My father realised something of the pain she must have had when separated from her children in their early years, so far and for so long.
From his earliest days he was a man of vision and drive. He had an all-consuming passion to present the Gospel but also to enable men to keep themselves, to shun idleness. He was the only missionary I know who sought to make the mission self-sufficient. Many, in what was then Nyasaland, and later Swaziland have him to thank for building and woodwork skills.
My grandmother tells the story of Grandpa Swazi climbing onto his desk at school, to declare he was going to be a missionary in Africa and this he was till his dying day. I now so wish I could have appreciated his preaching. When I got to know him, he was separated from his beloved Africa of the wilds and soon afterwards the flame of his life was extinguished.
He went out to Africa with the Zambezi Industrial Mission, keen to teach handcraft skills but his first concern was to bring the people knowledge of God. His first declaration of the Gospel on African soil was unique. Rushing ashore, his zeal to speak the language of the African people expressed itself in the words ‘Do you love God?’ Apparently there was an error in his words, but not in his zeal. To me, it reveals that he wanted all men to share his love for his saviour.
He was a great story-teller, my mother tells me. This was an art he used in visiting schools in rural Africa, taking the gospel to faraway villages. He relates how he was called to the hut of a dying African woman and told her ‘the old, old story of Jesus and His love’. Months later, when in the vicinity of her village, he was told that she died, declaring that she wanted no ancestor worship at her funeral as Jesus was her Saviour. Fruit indeed in a pagan culture where so many syncretise the old with the new out of fear of ancestor spirits.
He had a great respect for education having had little himself. He ensured that his sons had every possibility of furthering their education and to good effect. They each continued to the top of their professions, equally good with their hands as well as their heads, emulating his creativity as well as his tireless efforts to do good.
My grandfather built pleasing houses as well as churches, making furniture as well as assembling useful technologies to improve their lives. A radio as well as an electricity generator, cars as well as motorcycles.
He was a mastercraftsman in woodwork, stone, stories and men's souls.
Not making much of it , both grandparents received MBE’s for their service as pioneering missionaries. There is a picture of my grandmother, sitting next to the Swazi queen mother, one of many whom she taught to crochet.
Grandma Swazi
She trained as a nurse, and then as a midwife in Glasgow. Even then she wanted to care for black babies. There was a possibility that she may have gone to India, but it was Africa which drew her. She was sent out as a missionary with the Church of Scotland in the early 1900’s.
She had a great pride in her Scottish roots and retained a love of her homeland. Some of this she passed on to me, together with an abiding interest in the medical profession. She loved chatting and how I wished I had listened more closely. Perhaps it was her isolation from good conversation which made her so eager to speak at length when with friends and family. She had a prodigious correspondence with many friends and acquaintances all over the world. When my parents went on holiday they never told her where they were going as she always knew someone whom she thought they could visit!
My grand mother was said to be a wonderful homemaker, starting all over again in a new country at the age of fifty. Tribute was paid to her by the elders of the church in Swaziland, who recognised that she did much to make her husband and their pastor, happy. My father realised something of the pain she must have had when separated from her children in their early years, so far and for so long.
MY PARENTS
As a child one so often sees what is before him. He has no way of putting day to day life into a broader context, observing how his life differs from that of another, his family from another.
We seemed to be as any other family in the church – the only wider life I knew. Mt parents were quietly-spoken and retiring, never raising their voices. I would hear from time to time that my father was a clever man but this was not conspicuous at home, where he would work in the garden or on the car. Life was very ordered.
Now as I look back I see my father in a different light. I am increasingly aware of his brilliance and yet simplicity. He was valued by his colleagues but was always self-effacing. He also valued good quality but not ostentation. Our home reflected this. Not much but the best.
He inherited , as both sons did, their father’s industriousness. His achievements are chronicled elsewhere. My father was best in an advisory role and was mentor to many in his profession. His father built churches and houses, my Dad built a house too, but also a communications tower and retirement centre – the fruit of his retirement. Yet again, a wendy house and a swimming pool.
He was decades ahead in transfer of information, speaking of video-conferencing in the 1960's and electronic transfer of money.
He always exhibited a kind, gentle spirit and was an honourable man. He gathered quotations of great thinkers and was ready to share this wisdom.
My mother was a quiet, gentle woman but with a lively curiosity and a listening ear, the ideal wife for my father. She deprecated herself academically but again looking back, this was due to circumstances in her home. She cared for the family when her mother was ill and was often called home to take over the reigns. She was 'mother' to her youngest sister, a role she played until her sister's death in her seventies.
For a woman of her era, she had an adventurous spirit and never kept me back from treading new paths. Her concern and empathy was for all in need, black or white. I well remember driving over bumpy tracks through the bushveld to the village of our black gardener and supporting our black maid as she suffered as a result of her son,a political agitator, being held on Robben Island. He many kindnesses were valued by church members - baking cakes and sending cards.
My mother was my best friend through whom I gained my own identity as I was encouraged to express myself on all issues of life. This gift has been passed on to my son who has a lively mind of his own.
Her gentleness masked a steely character and took her to the end of her days in a country other than her birth.
We seemed to be as any other family in the church – the only wider life I knew. Mt parents were quietly-spoken and retiring, never raising their voices. I would hear from time to time that my father was a clever man but this was not conspicuous at home, where he would work in the garden or on the car. Life was very ordered.
Now as I look back I see my father in a different light. I am increasingly aware of his brilliance and yet simplicity. He was valued by his colleagues but was always self-effacing. He also valued good quality but not ostentation. Our home reflected this. Not much but the best.
He inherited , as both sons did, their father’s industriousness. His achievements are chronicled elsewhere. My father was best in an advisory role and was mentor to many in his profession. His father built churches and houses, my Dad built a house too, but also a communications tower and retirement centre – the fruit of his retirement. Yet again, a wendy house and a swimming pool.
He was decades ahead in transfer of information, speaking of video-conferencing in the 1960's and electronic transfer of money.
He always exhibited a kind, gentle spirit and was an honourable man. He gathered quotations of great thinkers and was ready to share this wisdom.
My mother was a quiet, gentle woman but with a lively curiosity and a listening ear, the ideal wife for my father. She deprecated herself academically but again looking back, this was due to circumstances in her home. She cared for the family when her mother was ill and was often called home to take over the reigns. She was 'mother' to her youngest sister, a role she played until her sister's death in her seventies.
For a woman of her era, she had an adventurous spirit and never kept me back from treading new paths. Her concern and empathy was for all in need, black or white. I well remember driving over bumpy tracks through the bushveld to the village of our black gardener and supporting our black maid as she suffered as a result of her son,a political agitator, being held on Robben Island. He many kindnesses were valued by church members - baking cakes and sending cards.
My mother was my best friend through whom I gained my own identity as I was encouraged to express myself on all issues of life. This gift has been passed on to my son who has a lively mind of his own.
Her gentleness masked a steely character and took her to the end of her days in a country other than her birth.
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