|
AN ENGLISHMAN'S
REMINISCENCE.
I DO not know how it may
be now, but twenty years ago there were not many Scotch people in the
midlands of England, and in Birmingham there were very few as you may
tell by looking at the directories of that time. Those who were there
were principally engaged in the distribution, at a profit, of dry goods
and Scotch tweeds, and they ranged from the proprietor of one of the
most extensive wholesale dry goods businesses to the hardy "packman" who
took his piece goods on his back and sold them on the instalment
principle to the operative classes. The proprietor, just mentioned, was,
by the way, a magistrate, but I never heard of one of his own countrymen
being brought up before him.
If the Scots in
Birmingham were few they were substantial, and had built a very
substantial church on one of the leading thoroughfares. It was called
the "Scotch church." It presented no example of "sentiment in stone," it
was, rather, an instance of common sense in blue brick. Blue brick and
hard free stone were its materials, but blue brick—the blue brick of the
"black country"—was in the ascendant. Consequently it will be standing
when the pyramids have crumbled. Most people, viewing its tower and
cupola from a distance, would take it for an exchange, or, seeing that a
gilt cross towers aloft on its highest extremity, an exchange which the
Roman Catholics, ready to utilize and consecrate all places, had
converted into a chapel. The Scotch church did not make much noise in
the town. It never had a bazaar at the town hail, as some of the other
churches had, nor did it produce a town councillor or an M.P.
At the threshold, on
Sundays, a very pleasant looking gentleman stood behind a table on which
was a money box. Strangers passed him hurriedly, perhaps they did not
want him to think they were in search of alms. Regular church goers put
coins into the box.
The interior of the
church was on the Romano Greek packing box principle, and lighted from
above as most churches profess to be. Right before you, at about the
usual pulpit elevation, was a recess surmounted by an arch. In front of
the recess was a slightly projecting brass rail, having marone hangings,
and in the centre of this was the minister's desk. The minister attained
his position there by means of an unseen postern. He did not give his
congregation that sight of him ascending the pulpit stairs which was one
of the pleasures of our childish days, when we rejoiced at the stairs in
that they were high and many, and wondered why the parson could not shut
the door himself but had the beadle to do it, and whether or not the
beadle locked him in.
All the colouring of the
church interior was sombre, and did not reflect much of the light from
the glass ceiling on to the preacher's face, so that under these
circumstances even an open-hearted man looked sinister ; all the
projecting parts of his physiognomy casting deep shadows. When the
minister came in, an elderly man and grave, in black gown and bands, he
seemed like a judge about to pass sentence. In fact, the whole
impression of the place was that produced by a court of justice,
especially as the minister preached in black kid gloves. Visitors
sometimes thought they understood that gilt cross on the top of the
tower outside, and fancied that the architect must have had a tussle
with the building committee about it. They fancied him pleading that no
one would know it was a church if they did not let him give it some
distinctive sign. But it was upon the seating of the church that the
architect had lavished the resources of his intellect. From the backs of
the pews rose small, ornamental, cast iron standards, supporting a round
mahogany rail, about as thick as a thick ruler against which the auditor
leaned. The effect of these rails stretching right across the
church—there was no central aisle— was quite original. The rail was not
very nice to lean against, it kept you awake, but it gave a sort of
polished and comfortable look to the place.
The sermons at the Scotch
church were long and solid, but at the time of which I speak they had
been reduced to one hour. The singing was led by a precentor who guided
very well the vocal performances of a choir composed of eight lassies
and the same number of laddies. The congregation was small and
intelligent-looking, with an unusually large proportion of men in it.
They were very attentive to strangers, and gave them Bibles and
hymnbooks with great liberality.
As a congregation, the
Presbyterians in Birmingham were somewhat isolated, keeping very much to
themselves, and giving the occasional visitor the impression that they
were exiles from their native land. They did not fraternize with other
religious bodies. They never advertised their services, nor mingled in
the life of the town. The contrast between the Presbyterians of Canada
and those in Birmingham at the time of which we are speaking could not
be much greater than it is.
B. M. |
