Volunteers of Essendon and Flemington, 1914-1918

 

Captain Chaplain T C Rentoul. 

THE EMPIRE SPIRIT.—TWO PROUD RECORDS. (1917, May 17). Bendigonian

(Bendigo, Vic. : 1914 - 1918), p. 15. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article90851521 

 

Rentoul T C      4th Class        Thomas Craike      Chaplains    33    Clerk in holy orders    Single    Meth

Address:    Glenferrie    

Next of Kin:    Rentoul, M McD, Mrs, mother, Hamilton St, Hawthorn    

Enlisted:    1 Mar 1916        

Embarked:     A9 Shropshire 21 Mar 1916    

 

Relatives on Active Service:

Rentoul-J-W-Pte-13346 brother,  

 

Rev T C Rentoul.  Source:  Linda Fenwick on Ancestry, sighted 27/1/2023.

 

Spectator and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. )  Fri 30 Jun 1916

 

An Embarkation By Chaplain Rev. T. C. Rentoul.

What has been described by the ships officers as the finest embarkation they

have witnessed took place at Adelaide. Our ship, which is a huge liner of 12,500

tons, was one of the first to be requisitioned when the war broke out, and since

then has taken troops from all parts of the world, so that the captain and his

officers have had a good opportunity of judging of -the , matter of which we write.

I will try to sketch in cold words what was a brilliant scene, instinct with life and

emotion. On board all is astir, and every man at his post, pending the arrival, of the

troops. At 8 a.m. there are crowds of civilians outside the barriers. The morn

ing is clear, cold, and bright. Punctually at 10.15 our pulse is stirred by the

strains of the military band, and the first 200 men march on to the pier. They are

so bedecked with little Union Jacks and flowers, and so laden with baggage, that

one can hardly recognise them for the finely built crowd of fellows that they are.

The band is marched off, and presently reappears followed by another squad.

The same process is repeated once again. Orders are shouted, 'Single file!'

'Papers -ready!' 'Quick march!' and the men, with their baggage, file up the

gangway. Outside the 6 ft. picket barriers eager eyes peer through. That

dividing fence marks a sharp contrast in emotions. In the soldiers' hearts there is

ecstasy, exhilaration, even if it is mingled with a tinge of sadness. He is leaving

the dust and drudgery of- camp life for the scene of action. His happiness

sparkles in his eyes, ripples and roars in his laugh; it thunders in their united

voices ! But outside that barrier is the mother, the newly-wedded wife, the sis

ter, and the sweetheart. Pride and grief and all the anguish of love at a parting

that, may be for ever mingle in their bosoms, and lend that peculiar expres-

sion to the general countenance that is not seen at any other time. Presently all

the men are aboard, and the barriers are removed. The crowd, which numbers

thousands, surges along the pier, and, although an armed guard is stationed

every yard along its edges, they are pitilessly jostled aside, It would matter

little if they were armed with live bombs.

 

Each little group is looking for its own particular hero, and will find him. The

embarked soldiers swarm along the sides of the vessel, climb into the rigging,

mount the masts, fill the lifeboats, and generally cling to and cluster over every

thing till they resemble a huge hive of khaki-clad bees. Everyone is shouting

farewells , good wishes, banter, instructions. No one is able to hear anything

except the general roar. Even the mighty siren of the steamer, when starting, could

hardly drown that roar of surging, cheer ing, excited humanity. Presently paper

streamers begin to untwirl. In about twenty minutes these Ariadnes threads,

red, blue, green, white, orange, pink, form a dense, tangled, fluttering cobweb

of colour between the vessel and the wharf. Twisted into one rope, I doubt

not but they would bind the vessel to the shore, for there are thousands of these

outward and visible signs of those inward and invisible ties which bind the heart to

heart. And are not their tangles and twists, their frailty, as well as their

beauty and final snappings, symbolical of our merely earthly affections. The only

enduring relationships are those in Christ. All else is frail and transient. The white

dresses of the ladies, a coloured sunshade or two, with this maze of twirling, flutter

ing, myriads of streamers, lit up by the sweet sunshine, make a picture of much

beauty. Great quantities of fruit are thrown up to the men, and skilfully

caught. One fellow caught a large pear that was a bit over-ripe. He tried a long

shot at the cabin hatchway of the tug that was waiting to tow us out. His aim

was true, and it broke and splashed the gangway with a thousand pieces, amid

the execrations of the tug's crew. An other fellow, a big strong giant, with, a

humorous face, has climbed to the very mast-head, and, holding on with his

knees, waves a great bundle of streamers in one hand, and indiscriminately throws

kisses to the crowd with the other. A little baby about six weeks, old is handed

up from the pier for its father, to kiss, and quickly and tenderly passed down

again to the sweet-looking young mother. Her face turns grey as, she waves a last

farewell, and then slips away through the crowd. This is the keen-edged cruelty

of war. Just near by a friend has thrown a bottle of ginger beer to a soldier, who

unfastens the stopper, and drains the contents without moving an eyelid. The

steam siren again sounds, and the cheers and the tears, the laughter and the music

fade from us, as the great liner moves steadily out. But even yet the farewell

is incomplete. The crowd had chartered a small pleasure steamer, and presently

it steams alongside, laden to the gunwale. After encircling the ship a few times and

reciprocating our cheers, they close alongside and hand up a parcel for the

Padre. - It is filled with hastily-written notes, small packets containing money,

love missives, field glasses, the inevitable socks, etc., etc., altogether there were

scores of these items, and I had great fun for an hour after mess, finding the

owners, 'Darling Claude,' 'Dearest Charlie,' and all the rest were identified at

last, and received these last tokens of affection. It was a helpful introduction

to many, of the lads. Later on in the night we ran into a heavy gale with huge

seas. And as this is an appropriate moment to draw down the curtain, I do so.

Suffice to say that there was no church parade next morning.'

 

An Embarkation (1916, June 2). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle

(Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 702. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154273713

 

 

Somewhere at Sea.

By Chaplain Rev. T. C. Rentoul.

As I write we are somewhere in the Indian Ocean just across the Equator.

We have had exceptionally fine weather since leaving W. A. This is some compen

sation for the first part of the voyage, when it was very rough, with huge seas

breaking right over the ship. It is reported from South Australia that the

fishermen there have gone insolvent, the finny tribes having followed one of the

transports to other climes. It is very hot here. The Shipping Company has packets

of ice cream on sale at 3d., each. They sold 9,600 of these in three days.

 

The men are a splendid lot, both physically and morally. They mostly come from the

agricultural, districts of S.A. and W.A. There is a fairly large percentage of

Methodists on board, and while we do not make any special denominational distinc

tion, one is always pleased to meet members of his own Church. I may be a bit

prejudiced, but these Methodist lads seem to be the finest type we have on

board. I cannot help regretting that there are so few Victorians on board.

Almost from the moment I put foot on the vessel I have had opportunities of

rendering little services to the men which have been the means of establishing ac

quaintance. It thrills one to find a strapping young fellow step up to you, and

say, 'Padre, I am a Christian, I come from so and so Church, sang in the choir,

etc., etc., and will help you.' We have formed a Bible class of about 20 members.

It is a cosmopolitan assembly.  There are Methodists, Anglicans, Baptists, Church of Christ, Presbyterians, Seventh Day Adventists, and one Latter Day Saint. And I nearly forgot to say that the one we appointed leader is a young Salvation Army captain.

 

We are studying the Book of Acts.' I do not take part except to sum up and adjudicate on any disputes. We meet down in one of the men's decks in the hold. There is no privacy whatever. Above us the whole ceiling —  if I may call it that — is hidden with row after row of hammocks; around us on every side are the rough deal mess tables.

We use one of these for the class. It is inevitably a noisy place. The air is full

of a strange melody of sounds; the click of quoits against the peg, the swish of

cards being dealt out, and an occasional curse as a fellow gets a bad 'hand,' or

loses a point. Others are chewing biscuits and cheese, some are reading, some

playing dominoes, etc., etc., others are asleep and snoring. As the class begins

heads peep down at us over the sides of the hammocks, other fellows stand round

with heads bent over our shoulders, until our table is at least the focus of a hun

dred eyes. These boys of the Bible class are magnificent, some of them have the

physique of giants, others the brains of philosophers, and one or two the flaming

tongue of the apostle. They are both an inspiration and a rebuke to their chaplain.

 

Of course, they think I am no end of a fine fellow. If a soldier likes anyone it is

not with a nice discrimination, but whole heartedly. They are prodigal and foolish

in their praise. I found this out, curiously enough, because I am the censor. Thou

sands of letters have passed through my hands. Of course they do not know who

the censor is. This censoring is a liberal education. But that is another story.

Our officers are almost ideal. The men are very fond of them. One of the most

popular is a probationer of our W.A. Conference—Lieut. Carter. Many of the

others are Christians. There is not one R.C. amongst them. Our O.C. is a mem

ber of the Anglican Church. He is a tee totaller and non-smoker, and very sym

pathetic and just towards the spiritual side of the chaplain's work. I had a won

derful time speaking at the Church parade on 'Human Freedom and Respon

sibility.' The power and authority of God just thrilled me. The men were, as

is unavoidable on shipboard, clustered everywhere, in all attitudes, hundreds and

hundreds' of them. The address got right home, and in addition to many of the men

seeking me out afterwards, I have been able to have close personal talk with eight

or nine of the officers, who came to me privately. Since that morning there has

been a marked change in their attitude towards me. A couple of them have come

back to Christ again. We are an exceedingly happy family.

 

I am ably and happily assisted in my work by Mr. W. S. Rowan, of the

Y.M.C.A. He was a young Presbyterian Home Missionary of Victoria before enter

ing the work. He is spiritual, and has plenty of common sense. I am arrang

ing a series of talks of a popular character, with discussion and question box, on

the Christian fundamentals. The Bible class fellows act as scouts and orderlies

for this work. The men simply flock to hear of the deep things of God. At W.A.

another chaplain (Anglican) came on board. He is strong and virile, and full

of human sympathy, and we are already firm friends. My equipment of games is

proving invaluable. It is only lately that the men are looking round for amuse

ments. At first their chief occupation was in making short rushes to the sides

of the ship and peering down at the water. By the way their shoulders shook,

it seemed to afford them great hilarity, and they would return with the tears

coursing down their cheeks. There seemed to be no order and organisation

in this game. When the novelty of this performance wore off, there was all the

wonder of their venture to talk over, but they are now looking round for other di

versions. This is where the ludo and draughts, quoits, air gun, and all the

games come in. If the friends in the Hawthorn circuit and elsewhere, who

made it possible for me to procure these things, could only see the fun they afford,

and the means of access they give to the deeper needs of the men, these friends

would feel repaid a hundred fold. The boys are commencing to develop an appe

tite for trading, and my seven cases of magazines and books are proving a centre

of attraction. There are multitudes of other details of which I could write, but

this must suffice for the present. 

Somewhere at Sea. (1916, June 30). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 823. Retrieved January 20, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154269763

 

'Smith Street' in Egypt.

By Chaplain Rev. T. C. Rentoul.

'Captain Gault and I are in neighbouring training battalions in this great

canvas city. We unite as far as possible in our work, and our combined efforts are

being blessed. In order to reach a large number of fellows who do not frequent

the Y.M.C.A. halls — of which we have three— we decided to commence open air

services on a couple of nights a week. The spot we have chosen is on the main

Camp-road, near the military railway platform. We have named it Smith-st.,

because on the night we commenced operations, someone in the crowd — evi-

dently a denizen of Collingwood — yelled out, 'What-O Smith-st.' as Captain Gault

started to speak. Afterwards we found the man, and he said, 'It was the voice

that got me, knew it in a minute; used to 'ear it every Friday night opposite Foy's.'

 

Chaplain Gault has a 3-jet acetylene gas burner. One of the soldiers made a

seven feet stand, for it, and this affords ample light for our choir, which is com

posed of our Bible- class ,boys (we each have a class). On the first night while

we were fixing the organ, lights, box to orate on, etc., the soldiers gathered

round as curious and yet as shy as colts. Evidently they thought we were going to

sell razor paste or mechanical toys, or start a gambling school. When the hymn

books came out and a tune was started, one fellow groaned, 'Good lord, it's re

ligion, and the crowd commenced to evaporate. But they soon came back.

They are attracted by singing like flies to bread and jam. (To fully appreciate

the force of the simile, one needs to live in Egypt). In a few minutes we had hun

dreds of listeners. The crowd grew and gradually closed in, the front rows sitting

down in the sand. Sunday night, May 14th, was memorable. The crowd was

larger than hitherto, and the attention seemed magnetic. They listened with

that absorbed attention of the man who has at last got an opportunity of listen

ing to 'religious talk,' while not regarding himself as officially present. To go

voluntarily or compulsorily to even the simplest religious service, seems to set up

a kind of calculated aversion, not to say antagonism —the not-going-to-becon

verted feeling. But to stop more or less casually at an open air service is nothing.

He persuades himself he is not there, and listens freely with a self-forgetfulness

that disarms the customary prejudice. This night their eager faces looking up at

us as they puffed away at pipe or cigarettes, or sat with arms round their knees,

gripped our hearts irresistibly, and drew forth from us both language and sym

pathy. I spoke first and tried to show them that the knowledge of the conse

quence of wrong doing often does not deter us from evil, but rather provides a

fascination to indulge in sin. 'When the law came, sin revived, and I died.'

Therefore warnings are of little use; men' need a new desire and a new power to

overcome sin. Jesus gives that power. After some more hymns out of 'Sankey's

1,200,' and a beautiful solo by Private G. Spinks, of Penguin, Tasmania, Captain

Gault spoke. I think he spoke about everything; but everything he said was

full of point and power. At the conclusion of the address he said, 'If any fellow

wants to get right with God, let him walk over here with - me to this open sand,'

indicating a spot some distance from the road. I remained with the boys to carry

on the singing. Presently one or two walked across. Others soon followed'.

Noticing the numbers increasing I went over to them, and in about ten minutes

we had a crowd of 60 to 70 men seeking God. The message had struck deep,

chords in the hearts of these fellows, who Were startled and charmed to find the

capacity in their own souls for the music 

The 'Orontes' Bible Class, conducted daily by Chaplain j. A. Gault.

 

of Faith, Hope; and Love. There on that African desert, with the pale African

moon shining down and ready to carry the tidings home; under the, same heavens

which David considered; and which formed the only canopy of our Lord, as

He continued all night in prayer for His other sheep, we. witnessed them coming

home. After dealing personally, with these men for about half an hour, one of

our singers came across and said, 'Must we keep on,- sir ? we are about pumped.'

We had forgotten all about the boys and the singing, in the joy of pointing men to

Christ. 'We feel that the prayers of the home Churches and the family circles in Aus-

tralia are being answered. It is impossible to imagine these men, while in Aus-

tralia, listening for two minutes to the Gospel. But the Holy Spirit has softened

and made tender and responsive their hearts. There is nothing in camp life to

cause this change. The camp influence is debasing and deadening. God Himself is

moving amongst them. He is working through your prayers. Your prayers are

enabling Him to do what would otherwise be impossible. Your and our labour is

not in vain m the Lord.'

OUR HOME MISSIONS. (1916, July 14). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 907. Retrieved January 20, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154270560

 

SIX METHODIST CHAPLAINS IN EGYPT, May, 1916.'

From left to right-Revs. T. C. Rentoul, J. A. Gault, M. R. Maley, R. O. Finigan,

C. Perry, James Green (seated).

 

Chaplain T. C. Rentoul to the Chaplain-General.

''I am now with the 15th T.B., which is composed of reinforcements to the

57th, 58th, 59th, 60th Battalions. These are all Victorian units. I am glad of

this, because it means that friendships formed with these men are more likely to

be enduring than those with men from other States. This camp is very vast in

extent. As far as I know I am the only Australian Methodist chaplain here. We

were all split up in the turmoil of the removal of the Australian Infantry Forces

from Egypt, and I have not yet found out where the other chaplains are. There

does not seem to be any immediate prospect of my being allotted to a definite

brigade. Not that one would complain of this particular work. It really affords op-

portunities that one could not hope for anywhere else. Men are constantly pass-

ing through these T.B'.s to the firing line, and I am thus able to touch more lives

than if I were settled in a brigade at the front. All the same, I do not want to be

here until the war ends. I would like to see some of the real thing.

''Well, sir, apart from the gladness of my work amongst the men — and it has

been most happy — I have been having a most fascinating experience, being on the

move almost continually since leavings Australia. At Colombo four of us were

able to charter a car and journey to Kandy through a scene of almost fairy-

like beauty. One could never forget the wild luxuriance of that tropical mountain

scenery, the picturesque villages, and the smiling faces of the pretty Cingalese chil-

dren. The next picture that is indelibly printed on my mind is Egypt — weary

Egypt. Its monotony is crushing. Long since has it exhausted all the possibilities

of variety, novelty, freshness. There is nothing new, startling, inventive. It is

the age-long home of the tired feeling. It is so old that it seems to have grown

weary of itself. It suffers from an intolerable ennui. One can realise here why

the Buddhist ideal of self obliteration could ever hold out any inducement to a

human being. Being alive is a hate and an amazement. Better sink into a dream

less, endless rest ! This land, itself the home of tombs, is, in Carlylean phrase,

''shuffling into its last enterprise, that of getting buried.'' It lies down, wrinkled

and bloodless, in its own dust, awaiting a slow, silent, certain sandy burial — an

entombment whose own monotony is unbroken by any clank of spade or thud of

falling clod — an interment, for the most part, long earned and well deserved. The

sandy desolation is just a symbol of its moral desolation. There is less in Egypt,

morally, that deserves to live than in any place I know of.

 

We left it at 1 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and a few hours later in a palatial

steamer, the ''Aragon,'' were soon slipping through the blue waves of the Medi-

terranean. The sweet, fresh breeze, and the bright sunshine of the white, foam-

crested waves and frequent views of rugged mountain coast-line, were most

welcome after the flat, hot, desolation of Tel-el-Kebir. But for the fierce, long,

grey destroyer gliding ahead and athwart us like a fanged serpent, we might easily

forget that there was any war in the world, or any hidden terror lurking in the

deep. My Sankey's books and the little organ were in much demand onboard. I

had a song service every evening at 5.30 — nothing but singing with a short prayer

at the close. I never heard singing like it. The whole mass of hundreds of men

seemed to be swept by a fire of emotion. In fact, when we were weighing anchor

at Gibraltar, it was just the hour of the men's singing, and the captain had

to send word to me to stop them, as the officers could neither hear nor give orders

to work the ship. 

 

We landed at Plymouth on Saturday, and journeyed through Devon that afternoon

in a long special train. And now my feeble powers of language and description

break down. I wish I were Wordsworth!  Devon, lovely Devon ! The overwhelming

impression produced on my mind was that of soft harmoniousness. It is inarticulate

music. And it set every fellow's heart  singing. There is not a discord — not a

dry twig, not a withered leaf, not a dead blade of grass ; nothing but sweet scented

clover and rye, trim hedges, cute little paddocks and fields bright with wild

flowers, scarlet poppies, and white daisies, and the evening summer air all

trembling with the songs of hundreds of skylarks. There are sleek cattle and

sturdy horses. Beneath stately elms and lusty oaks shelter the most delightful

farm houses. All the colours are strong and true, and every outline firm, yet over

hill and valley and homestead is folded this soft, indefinable, mellowing light,

which awakens all the slumbering poetry and praise a fellow may possess.

To be continued.

Chaplain T. C. Rentoul to the Chaplain-General. (1916, September 20). Spectator

and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 1207.  http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154269642

 

Chaplain T. E. Rentoul to the

Chaplain-General.

(Continued.)

''The Australians receive the most enthusiastic welcome. At every town,

village and farm we passed there was flag-waving and cheering. Old men and

old women, and children and young women, but no young men, turned out to

do us honour. At Exeter, where the trains stop 20 minutes, the Lady Mayoress and

a staff of assistants provide every colonial soldier with a cup of hot tea, and a bun

and some cake. These ladies are on duty at all hours of the day and night when

troop trains are passing through. I called for three cheers for these workers. The

result was more like a roar of artillery, than anything else. By this time the boys

were simply wild with enthusiasm. However, we all cooled down later on. We

disembarked at a little village called Amesbury about 1.30 a.m. It was now

very dark and bitterly cold. We had a march of four miles through the gloom

and fog, and then had to wait out on the open plain in drizzling rain until daybreak.

 

We are now most comfortably quartered. The English do things thoroughly, and

this camp is perfect in its appointments. "We are only about half a mile from

Stonehenge. The huge old Megalithic monuments are a relic of the Stone age.

I suppose they have witnessed some wild, weird ceremonies, in that little known

period of the history of this isle, i.e., prior to the Roman invasion. It so happened

that on Sunday morning last the Druids were celebrating their annual services

there. This has been done regularly, at least since the sixteenth century. The

Druids say it has never been allowed to lapse from the earliest times, but after

what I am about to relate concerning their beliefs as expressed by the Chief

Priest, we may be entitled to doubt that statement. In company with several

officers from our battalion I walked over to the old monument, and presently a

small procession appeared coming over the crest of the hill. It was led by an aged

priest, of noble countenance, dressed in an immaculate white suit, over which he

wore a Prussian blue gown and white surplice, with some adornments on the

breast, and a string of beads or charms on the left wrist. His head was covered

with a white cloth cap, not unlike a judge's wig. This was crowned with a

small wreath of fresh oak leaves. Following him were two others similarly

attired except for the little 'extras.' Then came a few men and women — mostly

young, some of whom wore a wide, bright yellow sash over the right shoulder

and wound once round the body, and then tied in a loose, flowing knot at the hip.

There was also another gentleman carrying the incense in a kind of dilapidated

billy-can. After some singing, led by a violin, which was rather good, and some

finely expressed prayers to a somewhat vague and impersonal deity, and a couple

of exhortations read by one of the women, the old priest spoke. His voice was rich,

and the language choice and flowing, quite unlike the terse way in which I am

compelled to report him. He commenced by referring to the ruins : ''They were

older than the Pyramids of Egypt. In fact the Egyptians had borrowed from the

Druids all that they knew of mathematics and astronomy. The measurement of the

great Pyramid and Stonehenge correspond, or are multiples of one another.

The outer and inner circles of stones typify the cycles of existence, wheels

within wheels. What is, was ; and what was, will be. The atmosphere, the sun-

shine, the nutritive forces of nature producing fruit and beauty are now what

they have ever been. They are directed by the same Spirit. The great nutritive

forces and reproductive forces of human life — parenthood — are never the same. He

called His followers back to the root truth of life. All the religions of the

world and all the wisdom of the world are all extravagances and excrescences that

have sprung from the Druid truth. The Greeks borrowed their alphabet from the

Druids ; also their philosophy, and passed it on to the world in an adulterated form.

The Druids accept no developments because truth cannot develop. It is the

same yesterday, to-day, and for ever (and of course they, had the whole of it from

the beginning). Christ is only one in a series. Christ must ever die. Christ is

dying in the workshop, the battlefield, the mine, the hospital. The she-wolf dying

for her young, the whale nurturing her offspring — it is all the same. The true spirit

of brotherhood is animal, is Christian, is Buddhist, is Mohammedan, is Confucian,

is Egyptian, is Druid. No salvation but by man. Avarice is at the basis of the

war. Seek justice. Druids build upon the foundation of justice ; hence the

martyrs of England have mostly been Druids. The promised Deliverer will come

to raise these fallen stones, at our ancient place of worship.'' A magnificent wave

of the arm, and his eye resting upon the 15 or 20 of his followers, and doubtless

feeling that some apology was needed for their fewness, he proceeded : — ''We are

only a remnant, we may be small, we may be weak, but through this remnant will

come the fulfilment.'' (Some more here about the Astral planes). ''There is no

end to existence. As we came from the womb, so shall we go to the womb. We

shall all reappear, reincarnated, to carry forward the purposes of the ineffable

Light.' And as I looked at the faces of his followers, I almost hoped it would be

so, for they were a remarkably silly-looking lot, and might stand a better chance if

they had another opportunity. It was altogether a remarkable ceremony. A

spacious mind roaming through all the nebulosities of Baker-Eddyism, Buddhism,

heathenism, and mingling them, even lighting them up, with some of the

radiance of Christianity. 

 

''Well, sir, I don't know whether our

people would be interested in all the foregoing stuff. Of that you will judge. But

it will convey some faint impressions of what might be called the non-military and

non-Methodistic side of our experiences. However, it is the ordinary things that

count ; and the ordinary work is done day by day and week by week. The men are

just as susceptible as ever to the influence of Christ. To see Him is to bow down

before Him, and to commence to love Him. We are seeking conversions con-

tinually. The only trouble in these huge camps is that we are ''spread out so thin''

that I am afraid many may be missed who need shepherding. My stock of Sankey's

1,8oo's has dwindled down by over 100. Men want them ; they like to read the

hymns. Testaments are always in demand. Our people will be proud to know

that the Methodists, both officers and men, are amongst the most uplifting in-

fluences of the camps. The Puritanic elements in our teaching now reveal their

worth, in the stress and temptations of this life. At -Tel-el-Kebir I found Hector

McCraw doing a splendid work amongst the men. At the request of his officers,

he took several church parades when there was no chaplain available. And

they managed to sneak him in more than once when there were chaplains available.

The soldiers appreciate a man who can sing a good song or tell a story, but they

reverence the fellow soldier who can speak to them about God, and live it out

somewhat. In this connection I was speaking yesterday to an officer (who was

then a private) about the services which Col. Forsyth (now General) of our Auburn

Church, conducted at Gallipoli. He said these services produced a profound emo-

tion in the souls of the men. He himself, though not a Methodist, nor a professing

Christian, would never forget their simplicity and reality. Just one more story

and then I must ''Mafeesh'' as the Egyptians say. On the Headquarters

staff at Tel-el-Kebir was a young Methodist from Launceston named Archie

Newton — a devoted Christian, who hoped to have been a candidate for our ministry.

He was the leader of a band of his office mates, and they used to walk out over the

desert in the evenings, passing on their way, the Commandant's tent. The latter,

a High Churchman, by the way, was interested in this young Methodist, and

wondered where he and his party of mates used to go so regularly. One evening

just about dusk, he decided to find out. Keeping some distance off he followed

them, and when they stopped, he listened. And he heard the voices of his own office

lads, one after another, uplifted to God in prayer. And the old Colonel, with a sus-

picious moistness in his eyes as he told the story, related how he slipped quietly

away from the prayer meeting further out into the desert, and ''had one on his own.''

A moment later he added wistfully, ''I often have one now.''

Chaplain T. C. Rentoul to the Chaplain-General. (1916, September 27). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 1239. Retrieved January 25, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154271365

 

Personal. (1917, February 28). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle

(Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 236. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154180586

 

 

A Chaplain's ''Day Out.'' By Captain T. C. Rentoul.

AMONG many pleasant memories which we treasure, the visit of our

Chaplain-General, Colonel Holden,to the troops on Salisbury Plains

one day, stands out conspicuously. It was the occasion of a motor car trip to

Bristol, which as you all know, was one of the earliest and most fertile places

where the seeds of Methodism were sown. Both John and Charles Wesley

lived here for many years, and their original church still remains almost intact.

To see this venerable and curious old place of worship was the primary object

of our ''day out.'' The Chaplain-General was accompanied by Colonel James

Green and Captains Dains and Mills, together with the writer. After various

deterrents in the nature of punctures, broken agreements by garage people, a

big Overland car was secured, and proved equal to doing the 80-mile run in

fast time and  without mishap. For the most part our route lay along the

valley of the Avon (the Somerset Avon ; there are seven rivers of this name

in England), and as we sped through the rich pasture lands of Wiltshire and

Somerset, we had a vision of quiet beauty and fertility such as few places in

this world can afford. The first touches of the frost were upon the trees, and

it was as though the hand of God had passed over the woods and forests during

the night, sprinkling showers of golden snow.  The autumn tints of England

are beyond compare. According to the nature of the trees, so does the foliage,

vary from palest cream to richest wattle gold and deep bronze red ; and as

the leafage is extraordinarily abundant and graceful, the hillsides presented the appearance of leaping cataracts of flames. We saw many a quaint cottage

with thatched roof and latticed windows, whose porch, festooned with dainty 

garlands of scarlet creeper, would have made no unseemly frame for the

beauty of a princess. Indeed, we passed many country girls along the road,

who, in point of grace and beauty, were more truly princesses than many

of Royal blood.

 

I have since seen these English forests tripped bare — destitute of the glorious

leafy raiment of spring and autumn. Only yesterday morning I found that this

same frost, whose touch had bronzed and gilded the world, had now, by the

magic alchemy of nature, trans formed those leafless trees into a vast exhibition

of the most beautiful and exquisitely delicate filagree silver ; and the hedges along the roadside, also leafless, were as graceful folds and drapings of silver lace. Trees

of solid silver! Each twig and bud and thorn was a shining point of silvery crystal,

fresh from the engraver's hand. Towers and palaces of silver upon a silver field.

''The sights and sounds of this lovely world are but the drapery of the robe in

which the Invisible hath clothed Himself.'' But on this day out, the prevailing

colours were green and gold. (Some of our young ladies will think that these

colours are quite Methodistic and not to be improved upon.) As we became

used to the motion of the car upon the road, whose surface would rival that

of Collins-st., it seemed as though we had become stationary, and the neatly-

hedged road, like a dark ribbon in a groove, was rushing to meet us, and all

the kaleidoscopic beauty of the countryside being presented to our eye like

pictures on a film. As we neared the ancient and historic city of Bath, the valley,

conscious of its own serene loveliness, smiled welcome to us. The road ascends

here, and we had glimpses of the river winding ''like a silver serpent through

a garden of flowers.'' Bath is the city of terraces. For every detached house

there must be 500 ''joined up.'' Coming round the brow of the hill it looks

rather spectacular, but it must be depressing to live in; and the very depth of

despair to the convivial ''drunk'' whose nightly problem would be not

merely to get the ''Conshtable arresht the keyhole,'' but to find the right door.

Bath looks prosperous. It has many fine shops. This is accounted for by the

large numbers of tourists — mostly wealthy invalids — who visit it, seeking

the curative properties of the hot springs, from whence the city derives its

name. Bath is full of these wealthy sufferers. It is said that if anyone sneezed

in the street, half the population would drop dead. But I saw some of these

patients in the eating houses and restaurants (both are famous for their

cookery), and they were doing tolerably well. As the cakes and sandwiches

disappeared, I thought they would yield good dividends to their doctors

for many a long day. We stayed here for lunch and had a brief glimpse in

the Abbey, which is specially noted for its fan-patterned ceilings. We then

had a look at the old Roman Baths — the present House of healing is above

them — and saw where in the first and second centuries, the beauty and

culture of Rome came to bathe at the watering place of Aqua Sulis. Their

bold and symmetrical masonry is but little displaced or decayed, and many

old pieces of pottery, as well as curious jewels and adornments which were

discovered here, are on view.

 

The next ten miles to Bristol was not so interesting. Bristol itself, like so many

maritime towns, is none too clean. But we had come to see, not the city, but

the old Wesley relics in it. After I had ''asked the policeman'' a few times, we

found the streets. (They are as haphazard as the streets of London — were never planned, only ''happened.'') The Church itself is not in the possession of the

Wesleyans. It is now used as a Welsh chapel, and the services are conducted in

that language — that is, if one is entitled to call it a language.* The congrega-

tion numbers six in the morning and 20 at night. Modern buildings —

warehouses and shops — surround the church, and tower above it on every side.

Just a little to the right round the corner, is the stable where John used to keep

his horse. We stood in this snug little stable. The stout old oak rafters look as 

though they were good for another couple of hundred years. Passing in through

the small door, one enters the historic church. It is lighted by a large circular skylight, which comes down through the dwelling rooms which are above the place of

worship. The organ, of course, is new, but many of the old oak seats are there.

The pulpit is the same one that Wesley preached from, and the mahogany table

in front is as solid as the day when the two brothers dispensed from it the

Sacramental elements. Some wealthy American Methodists recently tried to buy

this table, offering £500. But the Welsh owners, fully aware of the decreasing supply

of Wesley relics and also of the increasing wealth of the Americans, are waiting

for the market to rise.** In these meat-less days, every skylark wants his pound

of flesh. The gallery is never used. I went up there and nearly came through the

floor, for the softwood boards have quite decayed away.The clock on the left was

hung there by John Wesley, and is still going strong. To the right, under the gallery

is a small dimly-lighted room; you can notice its little window. It is never used now,

but in that little room the first Methodist Conferences were held. We were much

moved and affected by many things on this unique visit, but personally I felt the

greatest thrill as I stood in that little low-ceiled room, where such men had met,

and whose deliberations and devotions were fraught with such tremendous

issues for the world. God starts small, but nothing He takes a hand in dies out.

And God's hand rested mightily upon those men. A most remarkable feature of 

this room is a trap door in the corner, which reveals a subterranean passage. It

originally led out to the horse fair, about a quarter of a mile away. That other

end has crumbled in and been lost, and no one has been down this end within

living memory. Tradition is somewhat obscure as to whether John used it to

escape inwards from the crowd without, or to escape outwards when things

were lively up-stairs.

 

We were shown John's Dining-room ; with original table and forms. The window

at the back of the dining room opens into the funnel-shaped skylight referred

to above. Just to the left of this room is his study, where one is amazed to see

the old bookshelves erected by his own hands. The study leads into the bedroom,

and both rooms are very small. They are now occupied by two old maiden ladies

who were rather reluctant to permit me to invade their apartments.***

 

Someone, by the name of James Moore, desiring to perpetuate his name,

scratched it on the glass of one of the windows of this room. Underneath it, in

the unmistakably neat and angular writing of our founder are these words :

''Be ye also ready.'' Mrs. Wesley's rooms were on the other side of the house,

and were rather more spacious than those of her husband. We saw the original

entrance to the premises. The steps lead up to a dark, narrow little stairway

and passage which opens on a landing, from which either half of this divided

household could get to its own part of the abode with out passing the other's

domain. The high, solid wall no less than the heavy iron bound gate and the

tunnel, lead one to suppose that those brave pioneers of ours took no needless

risks from the fanatical crowds who used to hate the ''new religion.''

 

The house where Charles Wesley lived for 22 years — 1749 to 1771 was also

inspected. Happily our Church still possesses this property. It is now tenanted

by a freakish old couple, who have turned it into an old curiosity shop, with

more than a fair share of the ''chamber of horrors'' about it. After exhibiting

to us a great amount of rubbishing curios — none that even remotely had 

anything to do with the Wesleys — he opened a cupboard, and showed

us that he had a literal skeleton in it, with grinning skull waggling about. He

also conducted us to a couple of rooms he had built in the back yard from

bricks and other odds and ends he had carried home. It was small, but replete

with all furnishings ; and as he proudly informed us, ''it was for Jesus.'' By

which he meant that if anyone came along needing a night's lodging, here it

was ready ! Colonel Green asked him how long it had been built. ''About two

years.'' "Had many sleeping in it ?'' was the  next question. ''Oh, why, that is

— oh, no, no  one yet,'' the old man replied. Like a number of other people

and institutions, he had all the machinery, but it never occurred to him to get

steam up and work it. And, truth to tell, there was need of it, for the house now

stands in the slum area. When we again came to the front of the house, we

found that a ''young multitude'' of ragged children and haggard women (many 

with babies in their arms) had gathered about the door to see ''the fine Australian officers.'' As I collected and ''scrambled'' amongst the children all the small

change our party could produce,**** Capt. Dains tried to get a ''snapshot,'' 

but the light was defective, and he failed. As  the sun was nearing the horizon

and we had over 40 miles to go, we turned our faces homewards, and were soon

back at ''Australia in England,'' i.e., ''Lark Hill'' on Salisbury Plains.

 

A Chaplain's "Day Out." (1917, April 11). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle

 (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 397. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154183081

 

* A little bit of casual racism towards the Welsh.

** Again, a little non-Christian contempt towards the Welsh. The pulpit remains in Bristol, now in the Wesley Museum. 

*** Displaying an unChristian sense of entitlement.

**** ie, throwing the coins to the children to scramble after to provide entertainment for the "Fine Australian Officers".

 

Personal. (1917, June 13). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle (Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929),

p. 646. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154179721

 

Our Chaplains at the Front. (1917, August 15). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle

(Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 862. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154178349

 

War News and Notes. (1917, September 12). Spectator and Methodist Chronicle

(Melbourne, Vic. : 1914 - 1929), p. 958. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article154181699

 

PERSONAL. (1917, November 14). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 8.

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article1663042

 

An honour roll which contained the names of thirteen Methodist chaplains on active service; was unveiled at Wesley Church, Lonsdale-street, on Sunday, May 26, by the Rev. A. McCallum. The names are: — The Revs. A. Holden, A. P. Bladen, F. T. Cleverdon, T. C. Rentoul, T. T. Webb, A. H. Mitchell, F. G. Lewis, E. Nyes, J. A. Gault, E. B. Bond, F. C. Bremer, P. R. Bradbury, M.C., and H Trigge (naval), Captain S. M. Bruce, M.C., M.H.R., said that the chaplains he had seen and known on active service were as the salt of the   earth to the soldier. They showed the spirit of Christian virility that was so greatly needed these days.   MEN. (1918, June 7). Graphic of Australia (Melbourne, Vic. : 1916 - 1918), p. 19. Retrieved April 3, 2015, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article153587017

 

Thomas Craike Rentoul served in two World Wars, and ultimately became Chaplain-General of the AIF.  Source: State Library of Queensland.

War Service Commemorated                                                                                            

Kensington Methodist Church

Wesley Church, Lonsdale Street

 

Rentoul performed the wedding service at the Kensington Methodist Church for Florance Duncombe and Edward Draper.  Florance's brother was Duncombe-V-G-Pte-2494, and Draper's best man was Tytler-S-J-Pte-5919, the latter two both of 22 Inf Bn.  Family Notices. (1921, May 19). Table Talk (Melbourne, Vic. : 1885 - 1939), p. 24. Retrieved May 25, 2015, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article146719121

 

Mentioned in this publication:

Prelude, fugue & Variations, by T C Rentoul, Richmond, Victoria Publisher: Spectrum Date: 1989.  [RHSV]

 

Rentoul worked  and boarded in Kensington as a grocer before the war.  The book consists of letters from a  from T.C. Rentoul to his teenage girlfriend as an Army Chaplain during the  First World War.