Here is a poem about Exclusive Brethren in Cambridge c. 1951
I do not know what the situation is re copyright. Am posting it here so it is preserved for the benefit of future generations. I have a manuscript written down from memory by Adrian Rubie of Bath.
On Mawson Road on Sunday afternoon
The Reading of the Scriptures is at three;
A brother from St Neots has come to preach
And Bill and I are asked to Mr White's to tea.
The air outside is Cambridge-damp and chill,
Along Mill Road the shops for fish and wool
Rest from the petty dealings of the week; the till
Lies empty, but the Room in Mawson Road is full.
At half-past ten, we hurried from our digs
On bicycles, on foot, with scarf and gown
Marking us out from lesser folk, who trod
A humbler path to Church or Chapel in the town.
Some of us go to Mawson Road, and some
Who rose in time, or (holier motives shunned)
Will lunch at Whittlesford or Holbrook Road
Attend the Room whose patron saint is Rhadegund.
There, limousines draw up, and bicycles are stowed
Behind the Room : while families disembark
In Sunday best, with hats and gloves and books;
Crunching the gravel, , swift they trot into the ark.
The Rhadegundians have a prosperous air
Yet walk devoutly as becometh saints:
With poorer brethren they will gladly share
A portion of their worldly blessings : there are no complaints.
Near Mawson Road the older brethren dwell -
Unmarried maidens of a certain age
Some with their own peculiar private hell
Whose pains they hope the practice of religion may assuage.
Elderly brothers, shopkeepers and clerks
A slightly dotty Don and Mr Mudd;
Miss Holmes; The Bendle Girls; The Wards; Miss Bolt
- Walking in separation, as did Noah in the days before the Flood.
Upon the hour a narrow-shouldered man -
Stooping, mustachioed, spectacles and old
(Beloved Will Graham) rises to his feet
Watched by his buxom wife, who sometimes does as she is told.
He reads the Notices: "On Saturday
The Brethren will assemble here in Care"
- A conscience-pang: the Cinema last night:
Did someone see us? Brethren's eyes are everywhere.
Or were we spotted going into King's
When the last strokes of half-past five had tolled
And beckoning Organ-music caught us up
To psalm and collect: treasury of forbidden gold?
The candle-light; the Book of Common Prayer;
A Tudor anthem; voices ebbed and flowed
Leaving a holiness upon the air:
How could we sing Magnificat in Mawson Road?
* * *
Begone these worldly thoughts: it's ten past three,
We sang a hymn to anatrocious tune
Called Blaenwern: when we sing it after tea
(As sure we will) I'll ask our brother White to learn a new one soon.
"The Dormouse", as he's called, sometimes appears
To be awake: his fingers pat his knees
This habit nearly brings his wife to tears
Or so 'twould seem, she's mournful and looks rather hard to please.
After the hymn we had a word of prayer,
Dear brother Smart of patriarchal mien
(though somewhat wandering mind) unsteady rose
And sketched in general terms the scope of where we were and where we'd been.
We were in Romans: Chapter Eight last week,
Now chapter Nine, and next week chapter Ten;
It was a wondrous fact that, so to speak,
Ten followed on from Nine, and so Amen.
With many a blessed thought and precious touch
The turgid Reading rambles on its way,
While Bill and I have nearly gone to sleep
(We're near the stove) - but some young brethren have a lot to say.
Dear Henry John, a likely lad at Maths,
Is fearfully clued up and Ian B. [Barter]
Is asking awkward questions of the bro.
With whom, in company with Bill and Me he's having tea.
I fear our brother had a vinous lunch:
He, Bill and I adjourned for a repast
Unto my rooms in Corpus, where the port
Went four times round the table - and the fourth was not the last.
So, with a languid air, young Barter asks
Whether our brother has a word to say
Upon the verse which says that man and wife
Shall be one flesh; and if so, how and in what way?
- (Perhaps it is his Economic mind:
The thought of two for one appeals a lot
To any chap who has his way to make
Especially if he chance to be a Scot)
How inconvenient when the facts of life
Explicitly are mentioned in the Word.
You can celestialize the Man and Wife
Idea just now and then, but more than that's absurd.
Slight consternation reigns: he from St Neotss
Says "Very inter-esting: Say some more"
The younger brethren fidget in their seats - -
Their elders look embarrassedly upon the floor.
Our brother Ian has a grasp of truth
Remarkable in one so young: a text
Obscure in origin but to the point
With triumph he produces: and the elders wonder what is coming next.
So poor St Neots contrives a lame reply:
He once was young, and couldn't fully then
Quite apprehend the greatness of the thouught
Which, as the hymn so sweetly says, Is "far beyond the reach of tongue or pen."
We close the Reading with a gently sigh,
And shut our books: a pregnant silence falls
Across the warm and drowsy room; you see
The condensation on the windows and the yellow-painted walls.
But Ian has the final word, a hymn
Rejoicing in uxorious delight
He now gives out: uproariously we sing
"Now we await the day when faith gives place to sight.". [LFHB 1951:434]
A few more words of prayer and we are done
We bustle out: some rearrange the chairs
Facing the desk: where sharp at half-past six
St Neots will entertain us - strangers, too, perchance; or angels unawares?
O happy tea-time, round at Mr White's,
A cheerful fire, arm chairs in cut moquette;
A chiming clock, which interrupts the grace
Said by dear Edward - I can hear it yet;
Staffordshire China, home-made jam and cake
Thin bread-and-butter; gentle pious talk -
How so-and-so is getting on, and how
In these last days, the saints can be encouraged in the narrow walk.
Then after tea, "A few hymns Edward dear?"
The washing-up is left and we adjourn
To where the old piano stands, its lid
Covered with hymnbooks "For the Little Flock" from which we choose in turn.
Bill sits at the piano, and the keys
Yellow with age, slack with long use, reply
To some old Lutheran chorale he's found - "it goes
To 231" - in simple parts which even Edward White can try. [Possibly 104]
A simple harmony indeed was this: so soon
To shatter in the noise of harsh dissent
When children's teeth were set on edge: we ask
Why should a part of life in this sad strife perforce be spent?
The true refining fire has burned apace
These twenty years: we pray some dross has gone;
In all our strivings may God grant us grace
Such as around those early wandering footsteps, all-protecting, ever shone.
Michael Gilliingham
December 1971
