Antigua (1946 - 1948)
Passage was booked on a two mast sailing vessel for transporting our belongings to Antigua, our next assignment. Harry decided to accompany our things by boat. All insisted I go by plane, but from childhood I had wanted a trip on an ocean going voyage on a steamer. This was a far cry from that, but I made up my mind that if Harry could take it I could too. He did not discourage me, so my booking was made also. As it was the maiden voyage, it was clean. The captain kindly offered us the use of his private cabin. It was only a box-like room in the middle of the deck, little larger than the double size bed. We were so grateful the bed was clean. We had to crawl onto the bed through a small door. Curtains could be drawn for ventilation.
The Captain thoughtfully provided a bucket we could use for sanitary purposes. My husband emptied it into the sea. No accommodation had been made for female passengers, but the Captain did all he could to make me comfortable. We sat in deck chairs, using our umbrellas to avoid sun burn. It was a lot of fun to watch the big porpoise fish play like colts as they followed the boat and chased each other in the sea. We would sight great schools of flying fish lift into the air, flying until drying fins compelled them back into the sea, only to rise again, etc. The crew caught plenty of fish and prepared them over charcoal pots. They were delicious. The crew took delight in citing small islands and giving their names, even the islands inhabited only by sea fowl. We sailed near the island of Martinique, and we recalled the story we had read in childhood of the wickedness of the people who, in derision of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, huge crowds gathered as they crucified a pig. This act was followed by a great volcano erupting that killed thousands of people.[1] I cannot vouch for all the story, but the horrible volcano is an established fact in history.
We had been told there would be a layover in Dominica, so we had written St. George Surbrook that we would be stopping. George Surbrook was a brother of W. L. Surbrook, who was the General Supt. of the Pilgrim Church for several years. Sr. Surbrook had visited in Barbados, so we knew her. They met with strong opposition when they started working on the island, but God gave them some converts which only increased the persecution. After a few years he was erecting a new building along with some native help. He came down a ladder to go home for lunch. On returning, he failed to examine it to be sure all was safe. Before he reached the top, the ladder slipped and he fell, killing himself. There were no other missionaries on the island. The few converts helped, a coffin was made, a grave dug, and Sr. Surbrook herself conducted a Christian funeral. She bravely continued the work. Her son finished his education, married, and came to help. When we were there, the work had grown until they had a small group training for Christian ministry.
We were glad to be back on board, heading for our new field of labor. As sea gulls began circling our little craft, we were told we were approaching Antigua. The Kings were expecting us, so he had driven down to the harbor. The water is so shallow that only very small craft can reach the harbor. As anchors were dropped, soon small row boats drew alongside calling for passengers or cargo. We waited in confusion, but soon heard a voice, “Rev. King sent me to get you.” Feeling relief, we handed our suitcases over and were helped into the row boat. As we neared the pier we saw Rev. King and another white gentleman, Rev. Avery from St. Kitts. Bro. King said, “I sent the government launch out to get you.” Then Bro. Bolender replied that the man called out that Bro. King sent him for us. Bro. King, knowing the crafty nature of the natives, turned to him and said, “What did you lie to these people for? I ought to turn you over my knees and spank you till you turn red in your face.” With a sheepish grin he took his pay, not showing any worry of the suggested spanking or the change of the color of his black face. Bro. Avery, who was quite an accomplished photographer, had stood on the pier and had taken a picture of us in the small boat. So that was our first introduction to Antigua.
Arrangements were made for a lorry (truck) to bring out trunks and other cargo to the mission home. We found the mission quarters very different from Barbados. The mission compound contained six acres and the entire premises were enclosed by a four feet strong farm fence imported from the U.S. At the top were two strands of barbed wire. The only entrance was a large farm gate that was always closed and always padlocked at night. Bro. King liked sheep and had several ewes and a buck of a fine strain. Much of the land was used for pasture with a fence and gate dividing it. There was a shed to provide shelter from sun and storm.
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Pel%C3%A9e
The Captain thoughtfully provided a bucket we could use for sanitary purposes. My husband emptied it into the sea. No accommodation had been made for female passengers, but the Captain did all he could to make me comfortable. We sat in deck chairs, using our umbrellas to avoid sun burn. It was a lot of fun to watch the big porpoise fish play like colts as they followed the boat and chased each other in the sea. We would sight great schools of flying fish lift into the air, flying until drying fins compelled them back into the sea, only to rise again, etc. The crew caught plenty of fish and prepared them over charcoal pots. They were delicious. The crew took delight in citing small islands and giving their names, even the islands inhabited only by sea fowl. We sailed near the island of Martinique, and we recalled the story we had read in childhood of the wickedness of the people who, in derision of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, huge crowds gathered as they crucified a pig. This act was followed by a great volcano erupting that killed thousands of people.[1] I cannot vouch for all the story, but the horrible volcano is an established fact in history.
We had been told there would be a layover in Dominica, so we had written St. George Surbrook that we would be stopping. George Surbrook was a brother of W. L. Surbrook, who was the General Supt. of the Pilgrim Church for several years. Sr. Surbrook had visited in Barbados, so we knew her. They met with strong opposition when they started working on the island, but God gave them some converts which only increased the persecution. After a few years he was erecting a new building along with some native help. He came down a ladder to go home for lunch. On returning, he failed to examine it to be sure all was safe. Before he reached the top, the ladder slipped and he fell, killing himself. There were no other missionaries on the island. The few converts helped, a coffin was made, a grave dug, and Sr. Surbrook herself conducted a Christian funeral. She bravely continued the work. Her son finished his education, married, and came to help. When we were there, the work had grown until they had a small group training for Christian ministry.
We were glad to be back on board, heading for our new field of labor. As sea gulls began circling our little craft, we were told we were approaching Antigua. The Kings were expecting us, so he had driven down to the harbor. The water is so shallow that only very small craft can reach the harbor. As anchors were dropped, soon small row boats drew alongside calling for passengers or cargo. We waited in confusion, but soon heard a voice, “Rev. King sent me to get you.” Feeling relief, we handed our suitcases over and were helped into the row boat. As we neared the pier we saw Rev. King and another white gentleman, Rev. Avery from St. Kitts. Bro. King said, “I sent the government launch out to get you.” Then Bro. Bolender replied that the man called out that Bro. King sent him for us. Bro. King, knowing the crafty nature of the natives, turned to him and said, “What did you lie to these people for? I ought to turn you over my knees and spank you till you turn red in your face.” With a sheepish grin he took his pay, not showing any worry of the suggested spanking or the change of the color of his black face. Bro. Avery, who was quite an accomplished photographer, had stood on the pier and had taken a picture of us in the small boat. So that was our first introduction to Antigua.
Arrangements were made for a lorry (truck) to bring out trunks and other cargo to the mission home. We found the mission quarters very different from Barbados. The mission compound contained six acres and the entire premises were enclosed by a four feet strong farm fence imported from the U.S. At the top were two strands of barbed wire. The only entrance was a large farm gate that was always closed and always padlocked at night. Bro. King liked sheep and had several ewes and a buck of a fine strain. Much of the land was used for pasture with a fence and gate dividing it. There was a shed to provide shelter from sun and storm.
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Pel%C3%A9e
The house was a one story wood construction with a porch the full width of the front with three outside doors, one into the living room, one into the office, and the third into a bedroom. The rear of the house was built like a V. On the north were two bedrooms and a shower room; a servant’s room was next to a large above-ground cistern. On the south side were the kitchen and dining room. There was a one car garage and a small fenced lot, sometimes used for fowl and with some rabbit hutches. There was also a garden spot. Two outside toilets completed the whole compound.
Bro. Bolender and Bro. King had known each other in 1912 when they were in God’s Bible School. He met and married a fine educated Christian young lady and they went to Antigua as missionaries in January, 1918. We have no history of former missionary work, though we know there had been some, and there were few professing believers when the Kings came on the scene, like a John the Baptist, laying the axe at the root of the tree. This raised no small commotion; natives who knew the wrong doings of some professing Christians said “New parson preach good, where the living?” Soon the sown seed began to sprout, backsliders were reclaimed, and confessions and restitutions were made. Anglican priests started wholesale persecution, but the work continued to grow. A horse and buggy carried the Kings and the portable organ to outlying villages where open air services were held, and converts were genuinely saved. When some believers died, the Anglican clergy refused to permit them a lot in the cemetery, so nothing could be done but to bury them in the public Potter’s field. This was a great humiliation to the Christians. Bro. King began to try to purchase ground for a cemetery. Most all landowners were members of the Anglican Church and the persecution was so strong that they feared being an outcast if they sold to King. Finally the burial ground got so full, a public officer came to King, complaining about it. Bro. King looked him right in the eye and said, “I will continue burying my people there till their feet go over the fence unless the government compels land to be sold so I can have a cemetery for our people.” It was not long till he was able to purchase a burial spot.
O. L. King was a man who knew no fear, except the fear of God. The work continued to prosper, though the Kings preached against all kinds of immorality and witchcraft that was commonly practiced. Sometimes when they were starting, playing, and singing in a village and a crowd began to gather, an Anglican priest would get a group of ruffians to try to break up the meetings. A strong church was growing in St. John’s, the government seat of the island. A training class was started for those called to preach. Much was done for the poor. Bro. King began programs to better economical conditions. Gradually persecution lessened. Bro. King was gaining respect all over the island.
Mrs. King’s father died. He was a successful M. D. She, being the only child, brought her mother to Antigua and cared for her till she died, and buried her in Antigua. We visited the grave. There was a nice, but not extravagantly priced monument. I wonder how much they donated to the missionary work on the island. There had to be thousands of dollars invested in the properties. The large mission home was built sturdily, but simply, of termite resistant lumber. The St. John Church was a two story frame building with the main auditorium on the second floor; it seated 500. The ground floor was the same size. There were other out station churches that were very nice but smaller, while some were very small with small congregations. Two neighboring islands were included in the Antigua district: Montserrat and Barbuda. Montserrat had three churches; Barbuda had only one.
Though we had less churches on the Antigua District, we had to do more traveling. We had a pleasant time during the weeks before the Kings left. Bro. King took Bro. Bolender to all the country churches. I spent time with Sr. King. She taught me her system of bookkeeping, which was correct and done in a flawless script. Being a devoted lover of figures, she had made scores of entries where many could have just as well been inserted under one account. This was increasingly becoming a nightmare to me, but I found help by stealing away as much as possible to listen to Bro. King telling his interesting stories of the twenty eight years of missionary work. Of all the people we have ever met, I believe he was the greatest, most vivid, and yet I think perfectly truthful, narrative historians we ever met. Sometimes his wife seemed a bit annoyed, seeming to feel that there were more important issues at hand. She also briefed me about the office work and the helpers, her management of the house, and the house servants. There is no doubt of Sr. King’s devotion to God and the work. Neither was there any doubt of her ability to be the queen of the establishment. Indeed, her husband adoringly addressed her as such. She had very rigid rules of dress and behavior for all women and girls of the church, which were not to be disregarded. At a program presented by the children of the St. John’s Sunday School, my heart went out in sympathy to the young girls who had to speak and perform in dresses that came half way between their knees and ankles, full length sleeves, and necks slightly below their chins, while the boys wore straight legged pants coming just above their knees. And at the farewell service, a public rebuke to one of the lady pastors I felt was made especially for my benefit. A great injustice would be made to this heroic couple should I minimize their accomplishments. Many were very sad over them leaving, and gave them a meaningful farewell with many gifts.
We took them to the small airport, realizing Antigua was losing two who had dedicated their lives for the advancement of spiritual, moral, and agricultural interests, but their primary purpose was to build the kingdom of Christ.
While our work on Barbados had done much to prepare us for our new field of labor, we found the standards of living and education quite lower than those in Barbados. The church work seemed to have practically reached a stalemate. Rev. King had contracted typhoid fever about three years prior to our going. He lay for days delirious with raging fever. Over and over in his delirium he repeated, “And no man cared for my soul.” The burden of the work was still on his heart. He pulled through, but was never quite the same. He was never able to make the trip by sloop (a small one mast sailboat) to Barbuda. He preached and retained (to far the majority of the people) his well earned position of the religious title of King of the island.
Not long before came a large shipment of used clothing from the states. When Bro. King drove down to get them, they charged him an unreasonable amount for custom dues. He replied, “Our American friends pay to send these clothes to help the needy people of your island, and you charge an exorbitant duty. I will not pay it. I will have orders to dump it in the sea and get up in my church on Sunday morning and tell my people exactly what has happened.” The customs official said, “Oh, no, don’t do that.” They reduced the duty to a reasonable price. We were glad this had happened before we went, for we had no custom trouble after that.
In many ways the mission home was not as nice and comfortable. We had wood shutters in all the windows instead of glass in all the rooms except the front room. Most of all we missed our refrigerator that we had shipped from St. Louis. When we learned that the mission home in Antigua had no electricity, we donated our refrigerator to the Barbados home. All our water had to be boiled, then poured into large earthen vessels and left to cool over night. Some ice was made on the island, but we did not put it in the water, for it had not been boiled. We had more privacy as we were the only ones in the house except the cook, who had her own room at the rear. She had been with the Kings for years, was absolutely trustworthy and a devout Christian. I don’t know how we could have ever gotten along without Christiana. Then there was a maid who did the house work, and a younger servant who did the marketing and helped with laundry work, etc. So when the two office girls came we had several during the day. Bro. King never did any office work. Quite a lot of material was prepared for pastors and Sunday School workers. The office had a large, old type duplicator. I was glad one of the girls had learned to operate it. Again, the job of District Treasurer fell to me. Bro. King had pastored the St. John Church. But Bro. Bolender soon met the committee and appointed me as pastor of the St. John’s church.
Bro. Bolender and Bro. King had known each other in 1912 when they were in God’s Bible School. He met and married a fine educated Christian young lady and they went to Antigua as missionaries in January, 1918. We have no history of former missionary work, though we know there had been some, and there were few professing believers when the Kings came on the scene, like a John the Baptist, laying the axe at the root of the tree. This raised no small commotion; natives who knew the wrong doings of some professing Christians said “New parson preach good, where the living?” Soon the sown seed began to sprout, backsliders were reclaimed, and confessions and restitutions were made. Anglican priests started wholesale persecution, but the work continued to grow. A horse and buggy carried the Kings and the portable organ to outlying villages where open air services were held, and converts were genuinely saved. When some believers died, the Anglican clergy refused to permit them a lot in the cemetery, so nothing could be done but to bury them in the public Potter’s field. This was a great humiliation to the Christians. Bro. King began to try to purchase ground for a cemetery. Most all landowners were members of the Anglican Church and the persecution was so strong that they feared being an outcast if they sold to King. Finally the burial ground got so full, a public officer came to King, complaining about it. Bro. King looked him right in the eye and said, “I will continue burying my people there till their feet go over the fence unless the government compels land to be sold so I can have a cemetery for our people.” It was not long till he was able to purchase a burial spot.
O. L. King was a man who knew no fear, except the fear of God. The work continued to prosper, though the Kings preached against all kinds of immorality and witchcraft that was commonly practiced. Sometimes when they were starting, playing, and singing in a village and a crowd began to gather, an Anglican priest would get a group of ruffians to try to break up the meetings. A strong church was growing in St. John’s, the government seat of the island. A training class was started for those called to preach. Much was done for the poor. Bro. King began programs to better economical conditions. Gradually persecution lessened. Bro. King was gaining respect all over the island.
Mrs. King’s father died. He was a successful M. D. She, being the only child, brought her mother to Antigua and cared for her till she died, and buried her in Antigua. We visited the grave. There was a nice, but not extravagantly priced monument. I wonder how much they donated to the missionary work on the island. There had to be thousands of dollars invested in the properties. The large mission home was built sturdily, but simply, of termite resistant lumber. The St. John Church was a two story frame building with the main auditorium on the second floor; it seated 500. The ground floor was the same size. There were other out station churches that were very nice but smaller, while some were very small with small congregations. Two neighboring islands were included in the Antigua district: Montserrat and Barbuda. Montserrat had three churches; Barbuda had only one.
Though we had less churches on the Antigua District, we had to do more traveling. We had a pleasant time during the weeks before the Kings left. Bro. King took Bro. Bolender to all the country churches. I spent time with Sr. King. She taught me her system of bookkeeping, which was correct and done in a flawless script. Being a devoted lover of figures, she had made scores of entries where many could have just as well been inserted under one account. This was increasingly becoming a nightmare to me, but I found help by stealing away as much as possible to listen to Bro. King telling his interesting stories of the twenty eight years of missionary work. Of all the people we have ever met, I believe he was the greatest, most vivid, and yet I think perfectly truthful, narrative historians we ever met. Sometimes his wife seemed a bit annoyed, seeming to feel that there were more important issues at hand. She also briefed me about the office work and the helpers, her management of the house, and the house servants. There is no doubt of Sr. King’s devotion to God and the work. Neither was there any doubt of her ability to be the queen of the establishment. Indeed, her husband adoringly addressed her as such. She had very rigid rules of dress and behavior for all women and girls of the church, which were not to be disregarded. At a program presented by the children of the St. John’s Sunday School, my heart went out in sympathy to the young girls who had to speak and perform in dresses that came half way between their knees and ankles, full length sleeves, and necks slightly below their chins, while the boys wore straight legged pants coming just above their knees. And at the farewell service, a public rebuke to one of the lady pastors I felt was made especially for my benefit. A great injustice would be made to this heroic couple should I minimize their accomplishments. Many were very sad over them leaving, and gave them a meaningful farewell with many gifts.
We took them to the small airport, realizing Antigua was losing two who had dedicated their lives for the advancement of spiritual, moral, and agricultural interests, but their primary purpose was to build the kingdom of Christ.
While our work on Barbados had done much to prepare us for our new field of labor, we found the standards of living and education quite lower than those in Barbados. The church work seemed to have practically reached a stalemate. Rev. King had contracted typhoid fever about three years prior to our going. He lay for days delirious with raging fever. Over and over in his delirium he repeated, “And no man cared for my soul.” The burden of the work was still on his heart. He pulled through, but was never quite the same. He was never able to make the trip by sloop (a small one mast sailboat) to Barbuda. He preached and retained (to far the majority of the people) his well earned position of the religious title of King of the island.
Not long before came a large shipment of used clothing from the states. When Bro. King drove down to get them, they charged him an unreasonable amount for custom dues. He replied, “Our American friends pay to send these clothes to help the needy people of your island, and you charge an exorbitant duty. I will not pay it. I will have orders to dump it in the sea and get up in my church on Sunday morning and tell my people exactly what has happened.” The customs official said, “Oh, no, don’t do that.” They reduced the duty to a reasonable price. We were glad this had happened before we went, for we had no custom trouble after that.
In many ways the mission home was not as nice and comfortable. We had wood shutters in all the windows instead of glass in all the rooms except the front room. Most of all we missed our refrigerator that we had shipped from St. Louis. When we learned that the mission home in Antigua had no electricity, we donated our refrigerator to the Barbados home. All our water had to be boiled, then poured into large earthen vessels and left to cool over night. Some ice was made on the island, but we did not put it in the water, for it had not been boiled. We had more privacy as we were the only ones in the house except the cook, who had her own room at the rear. She had been with the Kings for years, was absolutely trustworthy and a devout Christian. I don’t know how we could have ever gotten along without Christiana. Then there was a maid who did the house work, and a younger servant who did the marketing and helped with laundry work, etc. So when the two office girls came we had several during the day. Bro. King never did any office work. Quite a lot of material was prepared for pastors and Sunday School workers. The office had a large, old type duplicator. I was glad one of the girls had learned to operate it. Again, the job of District Treasurer fell to me. Bro. King had pastored the St. John Church. But Bro. Bolender soon met the committee and appointed me as pastor of the St. John’s church.
He knew that he would have to spend time with pastors on all three islands, and to my relief, he made up his mind to revise the book keeping system. It was a great relief when I saw that the congregation accepted me as well as the committee.
A day or so after the Kings left, I accompanied Bro. Bolender as he drove the car on an errand in a thickly settled poor section of town. He left me in the car and walked to finish his errand. Some women congregated near and began talking. I felt sure I was the subject of their conversation but tried to show no interest. They wanted to be heard so began to talk louder. Presently a large black woman spoke very loud, “Rev. King gone. Ah church all smash up, all smash up.” Just then Bro. Bolender returned and we left. On reaching home I told Christiana about it. After asking a few questions she said she knew the woman and that she had been a member of the church but caused so much trouble that Bro. King had to read her out of the church. We never saw her again.
I had a similar yet very different experience before Mrs. King left. She told me she wanted to take me to meet an old shut-in lady, a member of the church. I was very interested. From childhood I always loved to be around elderly people. We found her very small two-room home neat and clean. A lady stayed with her because she was bedfast. Mr. King greeted her and said, “Sis. Williams, I have brought the new missionary to see you.” She said, “I do not want to see her. I have been praying that the Lord would take me before you left.” Sis. King tried to console her, assuring her that I would visit her and do all I could for her, but the dear old lady was not to be consoled. So Sis. King prayed with her, committing her to the Lord.
We both shook her hand, and Sis. King bade her a last farewell, showing as little emotion as possible. Lest I fail to get back to the sequence of my story, I will say, I did visit Miss Williams and soon found a warm response to my efforts, and when we made our last call before leaving for the States, she gave me two gifts I have cherished. One was a blue cup and saucer, the other a very fancy glass basket. She said her brothers brought them to her when they returned after having helped build the Panama Canal.
While we were getting our feet down on our new appointment, Juanita was in Cincinnati, Ohio where she and my sister were making plans for her wedding. She was married to Ransom Victor Clayton Gibbs (he had always been called Victor; after being drafted he carried the official name of Ransom) on June 11, 1946. We missed seeing the weddings of both of our children, but we were happy that both had married Christians. In fact both of the in-law families were very personal friends of ours.
A day or so after the Kings left, I accompanied Bro. Bolender as he drove the car on an errand in a thickly settled poor section of town. He left me in the car and walked to finish his errand. Some women congregated near and began talking. I felt sure I was the subject of their conversation but tried to show no interest. They wanted to be heard so began to talk louder. Presently a large black woman spoke very loud, “Rev. King gone. Ah church all smash up, all smash up.” Just then Bro. Bolender returned and we left. On reaching home I told Christiana about it. After asking a few questions she said she knew the woman and that she had been a member of the church but caused so much trouble that Bro. King had to read her out of the church. We never saw her again.
I had a similar yet very different experience before Mrs. King left. She told me she wanted to take me to meet an old shut-in lady, a member of the church. I was very interested. From childhood I always loved to be around elderly people. We found her very small two-room home neat and clean. A lady stayed with her because she was bedfast. Mr. King greeted her and said, “Sis. Williams, I have brought the new missionary to see you.” She said, “I do not want to see her. I have been praying that the Lord would take me before you left.” Sis. King tried to console her, assuring her that I would visit her and do all I could for her, but the dear old lady was not to be consoled. So Sis. King prayed with her, committing her to the Lord.
We both shook her hand, and Sis. King bade her a last farewell, showing as little emotion as possible. Lest I fail to get back to the sequence of my story, I will say, I did visit Miss Williams and soon found a warm response to my efforts, and when we made our last call before leaving for the States, she gave me two gifts I have cherished. One was a blue cup and saucer, the other a very fancy glass basket. She said her brothers brought them to her when they returned after having helped build the Panama Canal.
While we were getting our feet down on our new appointment, Juanita was in Cincinnati, Ohio where she and my sister were making plans for her wedding. She was married to Ransom Victor Clayton Gibbs (he had always been called Victor; after being drafted he carried the official name of Ransom) on June 11, 1946. We missed seeing the weddings of both of our children, but we were happy that both had married Christians. In fact both of the in-law families were very personal friends of ours.
We met a real challenge in our new work. We, with most of the island and the foreign missionary department, held the highest esteem for the Kings and the work they had done. But we were not there two weeks until we discovered a lack of initiative. It seemed things were at a standstill. Sunday after Sunday a large crowd gathered in the large St. John’s Church. We sat and listened to a long sermon, never less than an hour long, perfect in doctrine, but lacking in tenderness and appeal, and just as lacking in response. By the time our worthy predecessors left we both knew we faced a difficult situation. Bro. Bolender knew that he had the problem of leading the entire district to a revival of commitment and of soul winning and progress; and who was I to assume the leadership of the largest church under these circumstances. We had only one resource from which to find help and guidance, so we began seeking divine guidance. Each week as I studied and prayed concerning the coming Sunday messages I was definitely led to a scripture on prayer. It seemed the scriptures, topics, and enlargement were boundless with no need for repeating. Everyone seemed receptive. I surely could not compete with Bro. King’s one hour messages. Soon I noticed signs of renewal. The early morning weekly prayer and fasting group began to increase. The weekly open air services took on new life. Many of the church people began to see their own need and publicly come forward for prayer. But still I could not get away from messages on prayer, commitment, and soul winning. God was helping Bro. Bolender on the district with the national pastors. Truly we could see the stirring in the tops of the Mulberry tree. (1 Chronicles 14:15). We received a letter from our friends, the Sharps, who had been with us in Barbados, saying that they were feeling led to come to Antigua for evangelistic work. We knew God was working on both ends of the line. We replied with an urgent welcome. They soon arrived and we began with a revival in the St. John Church. The weeks of prayer and soul searching really paid off, for the church filled from night to night with many seeking God. It had been years since they had experienced such a revival. The country churches were all waiting their turn.
As services began in the country churches the spirit of revival carried right on. Crowds packed the churches. The Sharps usually preached night about.[1] This usually made little or no difference. Night after night souls lined the altar. Most made clear confessions of faith, but as always some like the rich young ruler went away feeling the price was too great. Not because of riches, but the gospel had been presented in power and purity and they knew they must give up their sinful life and take up the cross of a truly Christian life. Restitution on a truly Bible basis was preached. It was not a “namby pamby” sort of religion represented. Still they came, drawn by the power of the Holy Spirit.
I will not try to go into detail naming churches, but the revivals continued from week to week. About the last was in a village called Cedar Grove. It was a small poor village with a small group of believers. Bro. King had tried to buy land on which to build a church, but failed. They could only rent a small cottage, take out one partition, and make a pulpit, altar rail, and seats. This little building had been used for several years as our church. I can never forget the last night of the revival there. Every available foot of space was taken. The Sharps, my husband, and I, were squeezed together like sardines in a can. The four wooden windows were opened (there was no glass). People were packed outside around all windows and the one door. Bro. Sharp barely had room for his feet as he stood to preach, but preach he did to a spellbound crowd. As he neared the conclusion of the message I wondered how he would manage to give the altar call, but there needed to be no lengthy appeal, just an invitation. Children who had occupied the altar bench were removed by parents. Some people stood on benches to make room for penitent people to get through the crowd to the altar. It was filled and still they came. I noticed movements outside the door. In seconds I saw a man pushing through the crowd toward the door. I could hardly believe my eyes; but the ones near him were trying to move to give him room to squeeze through, some pushing while a few tried to help by pulling. A place was made for him to kneel near the front. It was very difficult to deal individually with seekers, but Bro. Sharp’s voice, though husky, urged seekers to repent of and forsake sin and to believe Jesus Christ to forgive and receive Him into their hearts. That was a memorable revival and I am sure there was great rejoicing in Heaven.
The campaign concluded on Antigua. Bro. Bolender planned for us to go to Montserrat. We got passage on the gasoline launch and enjoyed a pleasant voyage, landing at Plymouth, the main seaport where we had a church. It was decided that Sister Sharp and I should stay and conduct services there while the men held services in the two outstation churches. We stayed at the only hotel on the island. The pastors and people received us graciously. The services were largely attended in each place and some sought the Lord. We were thankful for each soul won but felt a let down after the great outpouring of Pentecostal revival on Antigua. We made the 40 mile return trip on the same boat, the Monica.
After a brief rest the Sharps were slated to go to St. Kitts, having received a hearty invitation from our missionary friends, the Avery’s. We accompanied them. Some very competent native preachers could always fill in at St. Johns when we were away. We went to St. Kitts by plane. We so much enjoyed being with the Avery’s again. It was during the Christmas holidays and St. Kitts was noted for its wild heathenish celebrations at Christmas time. All Christmas week they paraded the streets of Basseteere, St. Kitts. A large crowd followed an iron band composed of pieces of iron of all shapes and sizes, that they beat with iron rods or wood sticks with iron fastened to the end. No people on earth can compete with the black race when it comes to rhythm. They had rhythm plus but, so far as we could tell, there the music stopped. The crowds would yell, cheer, and dance. I remember stating before that Bro. Avery was quite a photographer. He took his camera out and snapped a picture of one of these wild performances in full swing. A self trained acrobat was putting on a one man show; while someone held a short handled pitch fork, prongs up, he ran and leaped over it. The biggest celebration came on New Year’s Day when they drove the devil out of town. We never knew if the man who represented the devil was appointed or volunteered, but he was dressed in gunny sacks, had part of a cow’s head with the horns fastened on his head. Two men with black snake whips followed, lashing him while the noisy crowd followed. Our Christian people had nothing to do with their unfruitful works of darkness.
Our first and only revival was in the Basseteere church. Though other villages and churches were visited, I can recall only two. One was Dieppe Bay and the other was Sandy Point, a comparatively new work that the Avery’s were promoting. Dieppe Bay was one of the oldest of the mission churches and was pastored for years by a missionary lady, Sis. Purdy, I cannot recall her first name, but I think she was from Canada. She was old, retired, and blind when we were there. She was cared for by a native family who loved her. She did not want to return to her native land, but preferred to die and be buried among the people she had labored with so long. What a privilege it was to visit this aged saint and to pray with her. I feel deeply impressed to relate one story of her life. At one time the natives were so angered about certain acts of the British government that a great resisting mob organized all over the island, centering chiefly in Basseteere. It became so violent that it was not safe for a white person to be on the streets or public roads. Sister Purdy continued her work in the little village unhindered. When her supplies became low she told the man who cared for her horse and buggy to hitch the horse to the buggy, for she must go to town. In fear and astonishment he begged her not to risk such a thing. Others joined in the entreaty. She quietly assured them that all would be well, that God would care for her. When her vehicle reached the edge of the village a crowd began to gather. Her friends stepped forward saying, “Miss Purdy, she love we, she love we.” The crowd divided, leaving the way clear. This procedure continued all the way into Basseteere. She made her purchases and returned to the village; not a hand was raised or a stone thrown. And as I write, the words of St. Paul rings down through the centuries – and now abideth these three, faith, hope, love, but the greatest of these is love.
Now back to the revival in the Basseteere church; after the heathenish confusion of New Year’s day, greater interest developed in the revival, crowds increased. Bro. and Sr. Sharp were bringing powerful messages from night to night. Many were responding to the invitation to seek Christ and for believers to be sanctified. The last Sunday morning service of that revival in January, 1947 left a landmark on the history of the Pilgrim Holiness Church, now known as the Holiness Wesleyan Church of the Caribbean area. Not too often have we felt more strongly the prevailing presence of the Holy Spirit than we felt that morning. When the invitation was given, many responded. Among them was a dignified tall young man with an attitude of deep concern who knelt among others. Many of us knew who he was, but God alone knew the battle that raged in his breast. On one hand God was calling to a life of sacrifice, a full commitment to the ministry; on the other side were clamoring voices pointing to popularity, position, wealth and pleasure. All of these seemed to be within fingertip grasp. Few words were audibly said by him and few said to him, but oh, how saints prayed. After awhile he arose to his feet; the battle was over, the victory was won and Wingrove Taylor stood before us a new man, fully committed to being all God willed him to be and do. Soon after, he enrolled as a student at God’s Bible School in Cincinnati, Ohio, where his father Alfred Taylor and his mother Irene Blyden Taylor prepared for the ministry. Today he is General Superintendent of the Provisional Conference of the Caribbean area.[2] For years he has been one of the evangelists at the great annual camp meeting at God’s Bible School. Thousands across the United States, Canada, England, and the West Indies have been blest by his life and ministry. Two of his daughters have attended God’s Bible School, making three generations to have done so. I am just now thinking of how Irene Blyden influenced my life when I was only eight years old. Then my husband attended the Bible School in 1912 with Alford Taylor and it was our privilege to intercede at the throne of grace when Wingrove made his life decision. And last Christmas 1983, this great man of God took time to write a letter, by his own hand, of encouragement to us. How glorious to be a member of the family of God.
[1] The context of this indicates that they took turns preaching.
[2] Wingrove Taylor served as General Superintendent from 1974 till 1994.
I will not try to go into detail naming churches, but the revivals continued from week to week. About the last was in a village called Cedar Grove. It was a small poor village with a small group of believers. Bro. King had tried to buy land on which to build a church, but failed. They could only rent a small cottage, take out one partition, and make a pulpit, altar rail, and seats. This little building had been used for several years as our church. I can never forget the last night of the revival there. Every available foot of space was taken. The Sharps, my husband, and I, were squeezed together like sardines in a can. The four wooden windows were opened (there was no glass). People were packed outside around all windows and the one door. Bro. Sharp barely had room for his feet as he stood to preach, but preach he did to a spellbound crowd. As he neared the conclusion of the message I wondered how he would manage to give the altar call, but there needed to be no lengthy appeal, just an invitation. Children who had occupied the altar bench were removed by parents. Some people stood on benches to make room for penitent people to get through the crowd to the altar. It was filled and still they came. I noticed movements outside the door. In seconds I saw a man pushing through the crowd toward the door. I could hardly believe my eyes; but the ones near him were trying to move to give him room to squeeze through, some pushing while a few tried to help by pulling. A place was made for him to kneel near the front. It was very difficult to deal individually with seekers, but Bro. Sharp’s voice, though husky, urged seekers to repent of and forsake sin and to believe Jesus Christ to forgive and receive Him into their hearts. That was a memorable revival and I am sure there was great rejoicing in Heaven.
The campaign concluded on Antigua. Bro. Bolender planned for us to go to Montserrat. We got passage on the gasoline launch and enjoyed a pleasant voyage, landing at Plymouth, the main seaport where we had a church. It was decided that Sister Sharp and I should stay and conduct services there while the men held services in the two outstation churches. We stayed at the only hotel on the island. The pastors and people received us graciously. The services were largely attended in each place and some sought the Lord. We were thankful for each soul won but felt a let down after the great outpouring of Pentecostal revival on Antigua. We made the 40 mile return trip on the same boat, the Monica.
After a brief rest the Sharps were slated to go to St. Kitts, having received a hearty invitation from our missionary friends, the Avery’s. We accompanied them. Some very competent native preachers could always fill in at St. Johns when we were away. We went to St. Kitts by plane. We so much enjoyed being with the Avery’s again. It was during the Christmas holidays and St. Kitts was noted for its wild heathenish celebrations at Christmas time. All Christmas week they paraded the streets of Basseteere, St. Kitts. A large crowd followed an iron band composed of pieces of iron of all shapes and sizes, that they beat with iron rods or wood sticks with iron fastened to the end. No people on earth can compete with the black race when it comes to rhythm. They had rhythm plus but, so far as we could tell, there the music stopped. The crowds would yell, cheer, and dance. I remember stating before that Bro. Avery was quite a photographer. He took his camera out and snapped a picture of one of these wild performances in full swing. A self trained acrobat was putting on a one man show; while someone held a short handled pitch fork, prongs up, he ran and leaped over it. The biggest celebration came on New Year’s Day when they drove the devil out of town. We never knew if the man who represented the devil was appointed or volunteered, but he was dressed in gunny sacks, had part of a cow’s head with the horns fastened on his head. Two men with black snake whips followed, lashing him while the noisy crowd followed. Our Christian people had nothing to do with their unfruitful works of darkness.
Our first and only revival was in the Basseteere church. Though other villages and churches were visited, I can recall only two. One was Dieppe Bay and the other was Sandy Point, a comparatively new work that the Avery’s were promoting. Dieppe Bay was one of the oldest of the mission churches and was pastored for years by a missionary lady, Sis. Purdy, I cannot recall her first name, but I think she was from Canada. She was old, retired, and blind when we were there. She was cared for by a native family who loved her. She did not want to return to her native land, but preferred to die and be buried among the people she had labored with so long. What a privilege it was to visit this aged saint and to pray with her. I feel deeply impressed to relate one story of her life. At one time the natives were so angered about certain acts of the British government that a great resisting mob organized all over the island, centering chiefly in Basseteere. It became so violent that it was not safe for a white person to be on the streets or public roads. Sister Purdy continued her work in the little village unhindered. When her supplies became low she told the man who cared for her horse and buggy to hitch the horse to the buggy, for she must go to town. In fear and astonishment he begged her not to risk such a thing. Others joined in the entreaty. She quietly assured them that all would be well, that God would care for her. When her vehicle reached the edge of the village a crowd began to gather. Her friends stepped forward saying, “Miss Purdy, she love we, she love we.” The crowd divided, leaving the way clear. This procedure continued all the way into Basseteere. She made her purchases and returned to the village; not a hand was raised or a stone thrown. And as I write, the words of St. Paul rings down through the centuries – and now abideth these three, faith, hope, love, but the greatest of these is love.
Now back to the revival in the Basseteere church; after the heathenish confusion of New Year’s day, greater interest developed in the revival, crowds increased. Bro. and Sr. Sharp were bringing powerful messages from night to night. Many were responding to the invitation to seek Christ and for believers to be sanctified. The last Sunday morning service of that revival in January, 1947 left a landmark on the history of the Pilgrim Holiness Church, now known as the Holiness Wesleyan Church of the Caribbean area. Not too often have we felt more strongly the prevailing presence of the Holy Spirit than we felt that morning. When the invitation was given, many responded. Among them was a dignified tall young man with an attitude of deep concern who knelt among others. Many of us knew who he was, but God alone knew the battle that raged in his breast. On one hand God was calling to a life of sacrifice, a full commitment to the ministry; on the other side were clamoring voices pointing to popularity, position, wealth and pleasure. All of these seemed to be within fingertip grasp. Few words were audibly said by him and few said to him, but oh, how saints prayed. After awhile he arose to his feet; the battle was over, the victory was won and Wingrove Taylor stood before us a new man, fully committed to being all God willed him to be and do. Soon after, he enrolled as a student at God’s Bible School in Cincinnati, Ohio, where his father Alfred Taylor and his mother Irene Blyden Taylor prepared for the ministry. Today he is General Superintendent of the Provisional Conference of the Caribbean area.[2] For years he has been one of the evangelists at the great annual camp meeting at God’s Bible School. Thousands across the United States, Canada, England, and the West Indies have been blest by his life and ministry. Two of his daughters have attended God’s Bible School, making three generations to have done so. I am just now thinking of how Irene Blyden influenced my life when I was only eight years old. Then my husband attended the Bible School in 1912 with Alford Taylor and it was our privilege to intercede at the throne of grace when Wingrove made his life decision. And last Christmas 1983, this great man of God took time to write a letter, by his own hand, of encouragement to us. How glorious to be a member of the family of God.
[1] The context of this indicates that they took turns preaching.
[2] Wingrove Taylor served as General Superintendent from 1974 till 1994.
After the revival Brother Avery wanted Bro. Sharp and my husband to accompany him on a visit to the island of Nevis that was also under his supervision. As I recall the islands are less than 20 miles separated. The day that they made the trip, the sea was very rough. We three wives accompanied them to the harbor to see them off. When their boat came, the waves were so high as they stood on the end of the pier that they had two chances to get on board. One was to jump as the boat was carried above the pier and the other as the boat went lower than the pier. None of the three had been athletes but they leaped one at a time and landed on deck. We watched as the boat pulled away from shore, sometimes carried high on a crest, then descending out of sight in a trough. You may be sure that six people were praying, three on board that storm tossed craft, and three on land. We were delighted four days later when they returned with a good report of their safe landing at Charlestown, Nevis, good services, and a quiet peaceful voyage back.
From early childhood I had learned of missionary work on these islands, and now what a thrill to be a part of it. Nevis was the center of Brother and Sister Taylor’s work. Their home was in Charlestown. There they reared their four children. We returned to Antigua to resume our duties and the Sharps to the U.S.A.
From early childhood I had learned of missionary work on these islands, and now what a thrill to be a part of it. Nevis was the center of Brother and Sister Taylor’s work. Their home was in Charlestown. There they reared their four children. We returned to Antigua to resume our duties and the Sharps to the U.S.A.
Although I served as pastor of the St. John’s church, the District Superintendent always supervised at all committee meetings. At one of these I expressed my deep concern about so few young men in attendance in our Sunday School and regular services. My heart had been greatly burdened as I had so often seen groups of young men gambling or idly roaming the streets. I solicited interest in starting a program in reaching some of these young men. After a few remarks, some one suggested that I make contacts, organize a young men’s class and teach them. I felt this was one of the biggest challenges that I had ever faced. I thought, here I am, pastoring the church, which to me had always included a lot of home calling, plus the district office work. But I knew God had laid this burden on my heart and I felt that I dare not refuse, so I agreed to try but I asked each one to give me the name of a young man and where he lived so that I might have a lead to start my project. Streets and gaps (alleys) had names but houses had no numbers. Our mission home in Barbados was Edenville Bank Hall. In Antigua our mission home did not have a name except Pilgrim Mission Home. I got my list of prospective names on Wednesday night. I think there were 15 and I added one who was a watch repairman who lived across the street. On Friday I started after my prospects. It was not easy but I kept at it until I found all of them but one. Having their names helped. I introduced myself, telling them my business, that I wanted to organize a young men’s Bible class, starting on the coming Sunday morning and that I wanted them as charter members. I insisted that they come once and then decide if they wanted to come again, promising that I would not bother them if they did not want to return. To each one I asked if he thought that a fair proposition; all agreed that it was.
I was weary when I returned home but had a satisfied, hopeful feeling. We had followed the plan Bro. and Sr. King used, preaching services Sunday morning and night, Sunday School in the afternoon. To my delight I had six young men present Sunday p.m. I had prepared and prayer for wisdom. We only had books for teachers, so the Kings had one night each week that all teachers met and Sr. King taught them the lesson for the following Sunday. Of course we followed the same plan and I found it to be a good system. They could bring questions to the class and offer suggestions. This required me to fully study the lesson two weeks in advance. Most of my time the first Sunday was taken up with introductory matters, spending a short time on the lesson, but I had slips of paper typed with the subject of the next Sunday’s lesson and reference where it was found with a question that I wanted them to answer in the lesson. I found that most of them had Bibles in their homes or said that they could get one. I was thrilled with their interest. I asked if they would like to bring a friend the next Sunday. From then on the class steadily grew until I had over 25 enrolled. I never had a more cooperative class. They accepted assignments and most of them entered freely into discussions. Of course sometimes I did not endorse some of their viewpoints and I am sure that some of them differed with mine, but they gave me due respect and never did an angered argument occur. Some of these young men began attending some of the other services. I was prayerfully waiting for the harvest of the seed being sown.
There had been a branch Sunday School operated by the St. John Church for quite some time before the Kings left. It was perhaps 1 ½ miles from our church in a community called Gray’s Farm. There was no building; all open air. A spot had been selected that had quite an open space. There was one small tree. Each Sunday afternoon after the St. John’s S.S. was over, the group of teachers assembled their supplies and walked to Gray’s Farm. One of the leaders carried a large hand bell. When nearing the place where the service would be held he gave the bell to a young boy who, feeling very honored to be trusted, took it running up and down the narrow, dusty streets ringing the bell, calling all to the Sunday School. Crowds came from all directions. Songs were sung from memory, prayer was offered, then teachers stepped forward calling their age group and, whether boys or girls, they led their classes. Many were in the hot sunshine. A few were allowed to gather on the shady side of a neighbor’s tiny house. The teachers told a Bible story, taught choruses and Bible verses. When the bell rang, all assembled in a closing session after which small Sunday School cards were given to the children. These had been sent from the States. We needed thousands of these; our average attendance at Gray’s Farm had reached around 200. Some old women who came regularly and enjoyed the Bible stories and singing, complained loudly when they failed to receive a picture card.
The need for a building had been felt for months with no success. It became a subject of prayer. Finally Bro. Bolender located an almost new building that was for rent. He obtained permission to remove the one partition so that it could be used for a mission and he rented it. Church workers removed the wall and made seats and a pulpit. It was far too small but much better than nothing. Several classes assembled outside.
We now began having regular night services. We had some young men who felt called to the ministry. This gave them an opportunity for service. All this had been done prior to the Sharp’s evangelistic crusade. They conducted a week of services there. This added several converts to those already saved. We had met with some persecution, especially from a man who ran a gambling joint just across the road. One day while service was in progress, a commotion was heard outside. Someone stepped out to investigate. They saw our opponent lying on the ground in front of his house. We were told that he stepped outside cursing the mission and the Christians, when he was instantly felled from a stroke. He was taken to the hospital and afterwards died. Great fear fell on the whole community and the persecution ceased. Many sought the Lord, but as many times occurs, there were those who failed to make a full commitment.
One day Brother Bolender was in the neighborhood, when he heard a woman call loudly to a neighbor, “Here comes the Parson that cool the house off”. Then calling to a neighbor she said, “Yo better to get the Parson to cool yo house off.” So the cat was out of the bag. We learned that this man and his wife had a family row. Both had been to the altar and professed to be Christians. Down there such things must be dealt with, so a time was set when we would meet them at their home. When we arrived, they were both there. Soon after we arrived Brother Bolender told them that we had heard that they had been having trouble and had come to talk with them. At this, they both began talking at once, trying to justify themselves and condemn the other. Brother Bolender quieted them down, telling them that only one could talk and the other listen. And, West Indian style, the husband had the preference. He was to give his side of the story while she was to remain absolutely quiet. Then when he was all finished, she would have her turn to give her side of the story and he was not to interfere. He talked a long time of how unfair she was, giving her children so much and neglecting his children; that was his main gripe. “She no give my children nothing atall, atall.” When he seemed to have unwound, Brother Bolender asked if he had any more to say. After a pause, he said no, so she had the floor. She used a complete line. She said, “He come home. He so vexed, he raise he voice, he go out, he lick up my coal pot.” (The coal pot is a native-made clay stove for burning charcoal). With her hands she demonstrated how he broke her only device for cooking into shreds.
When they both finished, the Parson read an appropriate scripture concerning Christian behavior. We could see their attitude changing. Bro. Bolender read to him from the New Testament about the husband’s duty toward his wife and impressed upon him his need of repentance. I talked to the wife of her duty as a wife and Christian love and forgiveness. We had season of prayer. We never heard of further trouble. Had this been in Barbados they would have been disciplined.
There was one occasion that happened while in Antigua. We quite often visited an elderly woman in the village of Parham. She had been a midwife in her earlier days and had delivered quite a few babies in wealthy homes. Her daughter lived with her in a large rather dilapidated old house and kept a small telephone exchange. The daughter, who was perhaps 40, was always Miss Bessie. They raised a granddaughter whose mother we presumed was dead, but whose father was in the states and sent support. She was always called Miss Battle by her grandmother. This all went together to give them a status among the higher ranks in the village. They were very light skinned. We seldom went to the home without some poor neighbor coming to beg a piece please. They never refused to give a bit of salt pork or dried fish that helped season their sweet potatoes, fungi, or whatever they would have for perhaps their only meal for the day. They never allowed us to leave without giving us a piece of paper money which had always been washed and pressed, explaining that they never gave money into God’s cause that had been probably touched by many dirty hands. One night after they retired upstairs, they were awakened by sounds below, whereupon Miss Bessie, in a loud voice called, “Mother, get the gun.” This frightened the intruder and he left. The next morning they found quite a large dog that they had never seen before which the kindhearted old lady kept and fed along with her pet monkey. Very soon they found a litter of puppies added to the household. About two or three weeks later we were there for a visit when we heard for the first time of the prowler leaving the dog. When we petted the cute puppies, one resisted with deep puppy growls such as I had never heard. I remarked to my husband, “You say you have never been afraid of a dog? Pet that puppy.” He replied, “I would not try to change that pup’s disposition for anything. He may be of untold value some day.” When the pups were old enough to wean, our friend presented that vicious pup to my husband remarking, “I will not name this dog. I will suggest a name – General Douglas McArthur.” We put him in the fenced enclosure with the rabbit hutches. He was the first puppy that I never heard whine. It took carefulness and persuasion to get it to eat. Christiana soon mastered that and he quickly responded to his shortened name of Mack. The mission home had been broken into at least twice and valuables taken. Another time someone had reached through an open window and stolen Bro. King’s shirt while he slept. Mack was always on a chain through the day, but as night came, the gate to the public road was locked and Mack was turned loose. He loved to sleep on the front porch by our window. If anyone lingered near that gate we would hear a low growl and he was on his way. Those natives had a great fear of a vicious dog, so we had no more trouble with intruders.
While we were in Antigua we had the joy of helping Miss Battle go to Jamaica to our Bible School. After she graduated she married a young minister and was a great blessing to that district. We also sent two young men to the school. One of them has now served as district superintendent of Antigua, since our work in the West Indies is now indigenous, all manned and supported by the natives.
The congregation at Potter’s Village was worshipping in a small weather beaten wood building. They had been praying for a new church. A man had promised to donate a lot on which to build a church, but had put it off from year to year. After Bro. King left, Bro. Bolender went to see him but got little satisfaction. The old rented building they had used so long would hardly keep out rain. The church was getting desperate. Before August, Monday (a national holiday celebrating the freedom from slavery) they agreed to spend the day in fasting and prayer that God would touch this man’s heart and that they would get their church. We went for part of the day. Soon afterward Bro. Bolender went again and made arrangements for the signing of the deed. God had answered prayer. A very sturdy poured concrete church was built. It was structured and well reinforced with heavy steel rods to resist earthquakes. We had experienced one while on the island. It was not severe. After we left, the Phillippe’s reported a more severe one. The report we received said that the new Potter’s church had not moved a quarter of an inch.
In early August we received the news of our first grandson’s arrival. Warren Ralph Gibbs was born July 26, 1947.
I have failed to mention that Bro. and Sis. Sharp after returning home had told of the warm water that they had to drink while they were with us, and in missionary meetings they held, they raised money and sent us a kerosene refrigerator. What a surprise, and what a blessing it was! When we left, God had permitted us to leave means of refrigeration in two mission homes.
As I reviewed my church roll, I found a name that I was not familiar with, so I asked Sis. Turner, my office helper. She said that she knew her but did not know where she lived, but she would find out. A few days later we went. On the way we were joined by a lad of about 12 years who volunteered to be our guide. As we talked, mention was made of the good service the night before. James looked up with a glowing expression and said, “I would not have missed it for anything.” Then he went on to say, “We had nothing to eat for three days, but after the service last night I felt full, full.” I turned my head to hide the burning tears. The boy showed no evidence of seeking sympathy. When I had my emotions under control I asked if he had food that day. He said with a smile, “Oh, yes, Mother got bread today.” After that we had him some work to do around the mission premises for which he was thankful. After we left we learned that James became very ill and was taken to the hospital where he died, leaving a testimony that he was going to be with Jesus.
So many times my heart has been troubled as I have seen food thrown into the garbage can as I remember some of our experiences. Many times we had men working for us whose shirts and pants were so patched it was hardly possible to tell what the original garment was. Of the eight islands we had the privilege to minister on, Barbuda was the most primitive. It was 25 miles north of Antigua and on that district Bro. and Sis. King had not been able to visit the work there for three years, but the native pastor kept in close touch with them. Bro. Bolender thought we should go as soon as possible, but it could not be arranged for a few months. The only means of travel was by schooner, a one mast sailing craft. Christiana had helped the Kings prepare for these trips and was of untold value in our preparation. The Barbuda pastor helped in selecting the best captain and arrangements for our entertainment while there.
You might be interested in some geographical and historical facts concerning the island. I cannot remember the size of the island’s square miles, but it was small, quite flat, with only two landing points, one they called the river, the other the creek. Why these names, we never knew. The river had a pier, the creek did not. The entire island was known as Queensland. No one individual was allowed to own a foot of land. They could get a government permit to build on a stated piece of ground. The buildings were personal property. Everyone lived in one village. There were four public buildings in the village. The Anglican Church, the Pilgrim Church, the elementary school which was affiliated with the Anglican Church, and a building to house any official who cam to the island on government business. The island was governed by Antigua. Arrangements were made for us to live in the government house, as no officials were occupying it then.
We had a pleasant voyage over; the boat was not crowded by either passengers or cargo. At the creek the boat could not reach the shore line, but dropped anchor in fairly shallow water. We saw a crowd gathered on the beach. Some natives swam or waded ashore. A rather large man took me in his arms and waded to shore with me. It sure was a new experience to be carried in the arms of a big black man, but after all, what was I to do? I don’t think I could have waded and I seriously doubt my husband could have carried me. I waited while he went back and carried the Rev. The folks on the beach kept growing. A wagon arrived, people on donkeys, many walking. Brother Joseph, the pastor had brought the only vehicle, the government wagon, to take us and our baggage to the village. A large man stepped forward and introduced himself as the “fust” brother of the church. We mentioned this to Bro. Joseph later. He told us that he had to “read that man out of the church three years before.” Well, he had made his point. We had shaken his hand, saying that we were glad to meet him and bidden him God’s blessing.
What a sight we made in the small farm type wagon pulled by two not too fat horses with between 50 to 75 people following, several on donkey, but most walking, making the almost three miles to the village. It was a great occasion, for no white missionaries had visited them for over 3 ½ years. We were taken to the government house. Our suitcases and boxes were unloaded. Ena, our dear, faithful house maid, had come with us and began unpacking the boxes and putting things away, and we prepared our evening meal. Soon a woman came and told us that the men were gone hunting and she was the one to bring us some meat. When she came, she said “Missus, I too sorry this is all I could get. I try too hard to get the head but this is all I can get.” And she brought us a piece of the ham. I assured her we were satisfied and asked her the price. There were no stores or shops on the island at that time. They lived from their gardens, the sea, and the game on the island that consisted of deer, wild hogs, and guineas. Anyone could have a garden by going out of the village and marking out a spot not already taken.
Most of them tried to build a makeshift fence around their gardens. The men fished and hunted, then the take was divided peaceably among them. They failed to get a deer while we were there, but we had fish and wild guinea and hog. Our services were well attended. We had excellent order and some seekers. Bro. Joseph had a group who had finished a converts’ class. We had a baptismal service and they were added to the church roll. On the last Sunday morning ushers counted over 700 of the little less than 1000 inhabitants of the island. They counted not only the people packed inside, but crowded at each window and the door. We were treated with the highest respect and felt God had helped us to meet a need our church on Barbuda had felt for a long time.
Our return trip was not so pleasant. We traveled on the same boat with the same captain and had smooth sailing, but there was a full load of passengers beside some sheep, pigs, and chickens. I suppose they were being taken to Antigua to barter for necessities, for you absolutely could not buy a comb, dish, or needle on Barbuda. Several children got sea sick and were vomiting, but most everybody was in good spirits. They laughed, talked and sang, first the Anglican songs, low and solemn, then they turned to our more lively and joyous songs they had learned at our church. The squealing of pigs and squawking of chickens did not seem to bother them. We had gotten a late start and all knew it was absolutely necessary to reach our destination before dark because of the treacherous reef. As the sun was sinking into the sea a quiet hush fell upon us. The captain sent a man to climb the mast pole to try to see the light house. Time passed and darkness settled. Silence grew intense. Three people were praying silently. Presently a message came from above. We did not understand, but the captain did. Messages kept coming. Finally the message came clear, “Light houses in line.” Everybody drew sighs of relief, for now we were in a straight channel for the harbor. To my mind came the grand old hymn, “Let the Lower Lights be Burning”, and since then, as we have sung it, I have prayed that as Christians our lights shall be in direct harmony with our great Light House, that poor mariners will be safely guided into port.
It was good to be safely home. Christiana had kept the fort in our absence. When Bro. Bolender asked, “Well, Christiana, how is everything?” she said, “I can’t count one sheep.” Our fence was high with barbed wire above, but the thieves managed to get a nice fat sheep over it. Had Mack been able to have gotten into the pasture it would not have happened, but being alone Christiana wanted him near her door. We were grateful that only one sheep was gone.
While in Antigua, we went several times to the leper colony. It was vastly different from the one in Barbados, not so isolated, and made up of small cottages rather than a large building with wards. There was a small chapel where services were held. Quite a few patients came to the services. There was an altar and at each service some came and knelt for prayer. It was a privilege to minister to these unfortunate ones.
Letters came from headquarters that Rev. H.S. Bennett would be coming for evangelism, as St. Johns was by far our largest church. We planned the revival there. All country pastors were asked to announce the special meetings. It was well announced in town. Crowds filled the church. Bro. Bennett preached under the Spirit’s anointing. Each night souls lined the altar. I felt impressed that we should have a special men’s night. When I suggested it to Brother Bolender and Bro. Bennett they both approved. The revival was spreading. When we went to town people were talking about it on the street, in shops, and in the post office. We felt it was time to draw the gospel net; truly the waters were troubled. The night was selected and announced and a public address system was installed with a speaker downstairs where women and children would assemble. The building had stairs on each side on the outside with a landing of about 3 X 5 feet and doors opening into the main auditorium. With these open, we had a good sweep of air across the platform which was greatly appreciated in that hot climate. I was pastor, but I told the evangelist and District Superintendent that I would be with the women. We wondered what the response would be, but the crowd began to assemble early. The announcements were understood so no difficulties were encountered. Men completely filled the auditorium while women and children filled the downstairs, the stairs and side landings. Church ushers counted 500 men. There were more than that including many women and children, and because of the loud speakers, most could get the message. Bro. Bennett preached with great power to an attentive audience. When the invitation was given, over 100 men responded. I could stay downstairs no longer, but made my way up the crowded stairs till I could glimpse the crowded altar rail and saw men on their knees everywhere seeking God. Bro. Bolender was on the platform praying when he saw one of my young men’s Bible class members who had not responded to the call. The Spirit urged him to speak to him. It was no small task to make his way through that crowd of kneeling men, but when he reached him and put his hand on his shoulder and asked if he did not want to give his heart to the Lord, he knelt right where he was and was beautifully saved. I regret that his name has slipped our minds, but his face is very vivid all down through these years. He grew in grace and became teacher of that fast growing men’s class. They became the Ambassadors, and became a group that went to another island to do personal evangelism. This information was given to us by missionaries who succeeded us. We have no way of knowing how many really found complete victory that night but we know a great victory was won. The revival closed the following night with souls finding victory.
Bro. Bolender had been suffering from physical problems that he felt would require surgery, so he wrote Bro. Flexon about it, telling him that he did not want the surgery done there and did not feel he could take another summer in the tropics. I wanted my husband to have this surgery. I knew that he needed it and I did not wish him to have surgery there. We had not known of many cases of surgery, though we had done considerable calling there. Most of it had been among the poorer class, and I shrank from the very thought of some of the conditions that I saw. But my heart ached at the thought of leaving the mission field. Since childhood I had read missionary books, heard missionaries speak, and I had longed to go. I had no doubt or qualms of conscience. God had led step by step over hills, mountains, and plains. Through sickness, where we had looked death right in the face, I could look back and say, “In all these things we are more than conquerors.” How marvelously He had fulfilled that promise, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will bring it to pass. Delight thyself in the Lord and he shall give thee the desire of thy heart.” Yes, God had beautifully fulfilled his promise, but I felt it sorely because we would not be able to finish our full five year term.
Plans were made for the E. E. Phillippe's to take our place. Once more in Jan. 1948 we began planning and packing. We had more to take back than we brought, for the dear people on both Barbados and Antigua had showered us with farewell gifts and we had collected some very nice large shells we wanted to take home and a large set of books acquired from a minister leaving the island and could not take them. Bro. Bolender purchased some roughly sawed mahogany planks and made a box about the size of an ordinary trunk. He nailed this securely after we had packed it. I proceeded packing, making reports, and carrying on services at St. John’s. Bro. Bolender was trying to work with Brother Flexon to arrange for us to return home by steamer. That way all our trunks and boxes could travel with us; and beside, I had always wanted a sea voyage. Three times bookings were made, but each time cable grams came of cancellations.
In the meantime the Phillippe’s arrived. They could well be considered veteran missionaries, having two grown sons that were born on the island of Saba where they served their first term. They had left Paul and Marcus to continue their education at Frankfort Indiana Bible College. Their two daughters were with them. Naomi, a lovely girl of 13, was quiet and well behaved. Little Esther, who was five, was full of life and so excited over getting back to the West Indies where she felt perfectly at home. She brought life and amusement to all except the day she decided to get acquainted with Mack, who was fastened in the rabbit lot. When no one was near she succeeded in opening the gate. When we heard a yell everyone ran. Christiana reached her first. When she brought her in sobbing, we were grateful that the dog had only gotten part of her dress. I doubt he ever became her special pet, but Mack had a head full of sense and I am sure he soon learned that she belonged there.
There required little time for transferring the operation of district duties to the Phillippe’s as they had been missionaries so long. Welcome and farewell services were conducted. These are always times of mixed joys and sorrows. Our tickets and visas arrived, trunks locked and labeled along with the big heavy mahogany box we left for Bro. Phillippe to send on the next steamer heading for New York. Goodbyes were not easy at the mission home to those who had so faithfully labored for and with us. We knew we would even miss Mack. On Feb. 28 we boarded the plane. A very short stop was made on St. Thomas, then we continued our journey to Puerto Rico. Missionaries met us at the airport and took us to their home. The Christian fellowship and their hospitality were wonderful. We went with them to a service that night. As neither of us spoke Spanish, we both spoke through an interpreter that night.
The next day we boarded a large American airliner bound for Miami. A slight engine trouble called for an hour’s delay in Cuba. We were glad to have a chance to stretch our legs, walk about a bit, but were soon on again and soaring over the Atlantic. I had flown before and have since, but I still feel as I did then – there is nothing to it except it gets you there quicker. If one was traveling to a desired destination, that was good, but in my heart there was still that sad deep feeling as I remembered the needy hungry hearts, the hands outstretched for a gospel tract. I tried to never leave the mission home without a supply of them and never came back with any whether it was on a crowded bus or walking along a narrow gap with tiny houses on each side. Many of these tiny houses might seem like a chicken house on some back woods farm, but it was home for those for whom Christ died to save. My heart was there.
Landing at Miami, we were glad for a good night’s rest. We were quite comfortable as we boarded a train for Jacksonville the next day, but when we left there we were very cold and realizing we were traveling north the first of March. We checked our baggage, for we had a short layover before our next train was due and we decided to go out and find some warmer outer garments. It was dark and we could not spend much time. Before long we found a small Jewish shop not far from the depot where Bro. Bolender found a sweater he could wear under his suit coat and I found an ugly little short coat that fit me. We soon boarded the train and settled as comfortably as we could to catnap throughout the night. To us missionary funds were too precious to be spent for sleeping berths. As morning came we were delighted by the beautiful scenery of the North Carolina mountains. We traveled on through Tennessee and Kentucky pulling into Grand Central Station in Cincinnati, Ohio. Herbert was there to meet us. Yes, it was good to be home again. He drove us to the little hometown of Felicity. How wonderful it was to see Father and Mother Bolender again. He was 90 and practically blind. She was 80 and had been totally deaf for years but with help from Herbert and his family who lived on the home farm, one and a half miles away, they managed to live in their own home. We had a few days in visiting brothers and sisters then went to missionary headquarters in Indianapolis.
I was weary when I returned home but had a satisfied, hopeful feeling. We had followed the plan Bro. and Sr. King used, preaching services Sunday morning and night, Sunday School in the afternoon. To my delight I had six young men present Sunday p.m. I had prepared and prayer for wisdom. We only had books for teachers, so the Kings had one night each week that all teachers met and Sr. King taught them the lesson for the following Sunday. Of course we followed the same plan and I found it to be a good system. They could bring questions to the class and offer suggestions. This required me to fully study the lesson two weeks in advance. Most of my time the first Sunday was taken up with introductory matters, spending a short time on the lesson, but I had slips of paper typed with the subject of the next Sunday’s lesson and reference where it was found with a question that I wanted them to answer in the lesson. I found that most of them had Bibles in their homes or said that they could get one. I was thrilled with their interest. I asked if they would like to bring a friend the next Sunday. From then on the class steadily grew until I had over 25 enrolled. I never had a more cooperative class. They accepted assignments and most of them entered freely into discussions. Of course sometimes I did not endorse some of their viewpoints and I am sure that some of them differed with mine, but they gave me due respect and never did an angered argument occur. Some of these young men began attending some of the other services. I was prayerfully waiting for the harvest of the seed being sown.
There had been a branch Sunday School operated by the St. John Church for quite some time before the Kings left. It was perhaps 1 ½ miles from our church in a community called Gray’s Farm. There was no building; all open air. A spot had been selected that had quite an open space. There was one small tree. Each Sunday afternoon after the St. John’s S.S. was over, the group of teachers assembled their supplies and walked to Gray’s Farm. One of the leaders carried a large hand bell. When nearing the place where the service would be held he gave the bell to a young boy who, feeling very honored to be trusted, took it running up and down the narrow, dusty streets ringing the bell, calling all to the Sunday School. Crowds came from all directions. Songs were sung from memory, prayer was offered, then teachers stepped forward calling their age group and, whether boys or girls, they led their classes. Many were in the hot sunshine. A few were allowed to gather on the shady side of a neighbor’s tiny house. The teachers told a Bible story, taught choruses and Bible verses. When the bell rang, all assembled in a closing session after which small Sunday School cards were given to the children. These had been sent from the States. We needed thousands of these; our average attendance at Gray’s Farm had reached around 200. Some old women who came regularly and enjoyed the Bible stories and singing, complained loudly when they failed to receive a picture card.
The need for a building had been felt for months with no success. It became a subject of prayer. Finally Bro. Bolender located an almost new building that was for rent. He obtained permission to remove the one partition so that it could be used for a mission and he rented it. Church workers removed the wall and made seats and a pulpit. It was far too small but much better than nothing. Several classes assembled outside.
We now began having regular night services. We had some young men who felt called to the ministry. This gave them an opportunity for service. All this had been done prior to the Sharp’s evangelistic crusade. They conducted a week of services there. This added several converts to those already saved. We had met with some persecution, especially from a man who ran a gambling joint just across the road. One day while service was in progress, a commotion was heard outside. Someone stepped out to investigate. They saw our opponent lying on the ground in front of his house. We were told that he stepped outside cursing the mission and the Christians, when he was instantly felled from a stroke. He was taken to the hospital and afterwards died. Great fear fell on the whole community and the persecution ceased. Many sought the Lord, but as many times occurs, there were those who failed to make a full commitment.
One day Brother Bolender was in the neighborhood, when he heard a woman call loudly to a neighbor, “Here comes the Parson that cool the house off”. Then calling to a neighbor she said, “Yo better to get the Parson to cool yo house off.” So the cat was out of the bag. We learned that this man and his wife had a family row. Both had been to the altar and professed to be Christians. Down there such things must be dealt with, so a time was set when we would meet them at their home. When we arrived, they were both there. Soon after we arrived Brother Bolender told them that we had heard that they had been having trouble and had come to talk with them. At this, they both began talking at once, trying to justify themselves and condemn the other. Brother Bolender quieted them down, telling them that only one could talk and the other listen. And, West Indian style, the husband had the preference. He was to give his side of the story while she was to remain absolutely quiet. Then when he was all finished, she would have her turn to give her side of the story and he was not to interfere. He talked a long time of how unfair she was, giving her children so much and neglecting his children; that was his main gripe. “She no give my children nothing atall, atall.” When he seemed to have unwound, Brother Bolender asked if he had any more to say. After a pause, he said no, so she had the floor. She used a complete line. She said, “He come home. He so vexed, he raise he voice, he go out, he lick up my coal pot.” (The coal pot is a native-made clay stove for burning charcoal). With her hands she demonstrated how he broke her only device for cooking into shreds.
When they both finished, the Parson read an appropriate scripture concerning Christian behavior. We could see their attitude changing. Bro. Bolender read to him from the New Testament about the husband’s duty toward his wife and impressed upon him his need of repentance. I talked to the wife of her duty as a wife and Christian love and forgiveness. We had season of prayer. We never heard of further trouble. Had this been in Barbados they would have been disciplined.
There was one occasion that happened while in Antigua. We quite often visited an elderly woman in the village of Parham. She had been a midwife in her earlier days and had delivered quite a few babies in wealthy homes. Her daughter lived with her in a large rather dilapidated old house and kept a small telephone exchange. The daughter, who was perhaps 40, was always Miss Bessie. They raised a granddaughter whose mother we presumed was dead, but whose father was in the states and sent support. She was always called Miss Battle by her grandmother. This all went together to give them a status among the higher ranks in the village. They were very light skinned. We seldom went to the home without some poor neighbor coming to beg a piece please. They never refused to give a bit of salt pork or dried fish that helped season their sweet potatoes, fungi, or whatever they would have for perhaps their only meal for the day. They never allowed us to leave without giving us a piece of paper money which had always been washed and pressed, explaining that they never gave money into God’s cause that had been probably touched by many dirty hands. One night after they retired upstairs, they were awakened by sounds below, whereupon Miss Bessie, in a loud voice called, “Mother, get the gun.” This frightened the intruder and he left. The next morning they found quite a large dog that they had never seen before which the kindhearted old lady kept and fed along with her pet monkey. Very soon they found a litter of puppies added to the household. About two or three weeks later we were there for a visit when we heard for the first time of the prowler leaving the dog. When we petted the cute puppies, one resisted with deep puppy growls such as I had never heard. I remarked to my husband, “You say you have never been afraid of a dog? Pet that puppy.” He replied, “I would not try to change that pup’s disposition for anything. He may be of untold value some day.” When the pups were old enough to wean, our friend presented that vicious pup to my husband remarking, “I will not name this dog. I will suggest a name – General Douglas McArthur.” We put him in the fenced enclosure with the rabbit hutches. He was the first puppy that I never heard whine. It took carefulness and persuasion to get it to eat. Christiana soon mastered that and he quickly responded to his shortened name of Mack. The mission home had been broken into at least twice and valuables taken. Another time someone had reached through an open window and stolen Bro. King’s shirt while he slept. Mack was always on a chain through the day, but as night came, the gate to the public road was locked and Mack was turned loose. He loved to sleep on the front porch by our window. If anyone lingered near that gate we would hear a low growl and he was on his way. Those natives had a great fear of a vicious dog, so we had no more trouble with intruders.
While we were in Antigua we had the joy of helping Miss Battle go to Jamaica to our Bible School. After she graduated she married a young minister and was a great blessing to that district. We also sent two young men to the school. One of them has now served as district superintendent of Antigua, since our work in the West Indies is now indigenous, all manned and supported by the natives.
The congregation at Potter’s Village was worshipping in a small weather beaten wood building. They had been praying for a new church. A man had promised to donate a lot on which to build a church, but had put it off from year to year. After Bro. King left, Bro. Bolender went to see him but got little satisfaction. The old rented building they had used so long would hardly keep out rain. The church was getting desperate. Before August, Monday (a national holiday celebrating the freedom from slavery) they agreed to spend the day in fasting and prayer that God would touch this man’s heart and that they would get their church. We went for part of the day. Soon afterward Bro. Bolender went again and made arrangements for the signing of the deed. God had answered prayer. A very sturdy poured concrete church was built. It was structured and well reinforced with heavy steel rods to resist earthquakes. We had experienced one while on the island. It was not severe. After we left, the Phillippe’s reported a more severe one. The report we received said that the new Potter’s church had not moved a quarter of an inch.
In early August we received the news of our first grandson’s arrival. Warren Ralph Gibbs was born July 26, 1947.
I have failed to mention that Bro. and Sis. Sharp after returning home had told of the warm water that they had to drink while they were with us, and in missionary meetings they held, they raised money and sent us a kerosene refrigerator. What a surprise, and what a blessing it was! When we left, God had permitted us to leave means of refrigeration in two mission homes.
As I reviewed my church roll, I found a name that I was not familiar with, so I asked Sis. Turner, my office helper. She said that she knew her but did not know where she lived, but she would find out. A few days later we went. On the way we were joined by a lad of about 12 years who volunteered to be our guide. As we talked, mention was made of the good service the night before. James looked up with a glowing expression and said, “I would not have missed it for anything.” Then he went on to say, “We had nothing to eat for three days, but after the service last night I felt full, full.” I turned my head to hide the burning tears. The boy showed no evidence of seeking sympathy. When I had my emotions under control I asked if he had food that day. He said with a smile, “Oh, yes, Mother got bread today.” After that we had him some work to do around the mission premises for which he was thankful. After we left we learned that James became very ill and was taken to the hospital where he died, leaving a testimony that he was going to be with Jesus.
So many times my heart has been troubled as I have seen food thrown into the garbage can as I remember some of our experiences. Many times we had men working for us whose shirts and pants were so patched it was hardly possible to tell what the original garment was. Of the eight islands we had the privilege to minister on, Barbuda was the most primitive. It was 25 miles north of Antigua and on that district Bro. and Sis. King had not been able to visit the work there for three years, but the native pastor kept in close touch with them. Bro. Bolender thought we should go as soon as possible, but it could not be arranged for a few months. The only means of travel was by schooner, a one mast sailing craft. Christiana had helped the Kings prepare for these trips and was of untold value in our preparation. The Barbuda pastor helped in selecting the best captain and arrangements for our entertainment while there.
You might be interested in some geographical and historical facts concerning the island. I cannot remember the size of the island’s square miles, but it was small, quite flat, with only two landing points, one they called the river, the other the creek. Why these names, we never knew. The river had a pier, the creek did not. The entire island was known as Queensland. No one individual was allowed to own a foot of land. They could get a government permit to build on a stated piece of ground. The buildings were personal property. Everyone lived in one village. There were four public buildings in the village. The Anglican Church, the Pilgrim Church, the elementary school which was affiliated with the Anglican Church, and a building to house any official who cam to the island on government business. The island was governed by Antigua. Arrangements were made for us to live in the government house, as no officials were occupying it then.
We had a pleasant voyage over; the boat was not crowded by either passengers or cargo. At the creek the boat could not reach the shore line, but dropped anchor in fairly shallow water. We saw a crowd gathered on the beach. Some natives swam or waded ashore. A rather large man took me in his arms and waded to shore with me. It sure was a new experience to be carried in the arms of a big black man, but after all, what was I to do? I don’t think I could have waded and I seriously doubt my husband could have carried me. I waited while he went back and carried the Rev. The folks on the beach kept growing. A wagon arrived, people on donkeys, many walking. Brother Joseph, the pastor had brought the only vehicle, the government wagon, to take us and our baggage to the village. A large man stepped forward and introduced himself as the “fust” brother of the church. We mentioned this to Bro. Joseph later. He told us that he had to “read that man out of the church three years before.” Well, he had made his point. We had shaken his hand, saying that we were glad to meet him and bidden him God’s blessing.
What a sight we made in the small farm type wagon pulled by two not too fat horses with between 50 to 75 people following, several on donkey, but most walking, making the almost three miles to the village. It was a great occasion, for no white missionaries had visited them for over 3 ½ years. We were taken to the government house. Our suitcases and boxes were unloaded. Ena, our dear, faithful house maid, had come with us and began unpacking the boxes and putting things away, and we prepared our evening meal. Soon a woman came and told us that the men were gone hunting and she was the one to bring us some meat. When she came, she said “Missus, I too sorry this is all I could get. I try too hard to get the head but this is all I can get.” And she brought us a piece of the ham. I assured her we were satisfied and asked her the price. There were no stores or shops on the island at that time. They lived from their gardens, the sea, and the game on the island that consisted of deer, wild hogs, and guineas. Anyone could have a garden by going out of the village and marking out a spot not already taken.
Most of them tried to build a makeshift fence around their gardens. The men fished and hunted, then the take was divided peaceably among them. They failed to get a deer while we were there, but we had fish and wild guinea and hog. Our services were well attended. We had excellent order and some seekers. Bro. Joseph had a group who had finished a converts’ class. We had a baptismal service and they were added to the church roll. On the last Sunday morning ushers counted over 700 of the little less than 1000 inhabitants of the island. They counted not only the people packed inside, but crowded at each window and the door. We were treated with the highest respect and felt God had helped us to meet a need our church on Barbuda had felt for a long time.
Our return trip was not so pleasant. We traveled on the same boat with the same captain and had smooth sailing, but there was a full load of passengers beside some sheep, pigs, and chickens. I suppose they were being taken to Antigua to barter for necessities, for you absolutely could not buy a comb, dish, or needle on Barbuda. Several children got sea sick and were vomiting, but most everybody was in good spirits. They laughed, talked and sang, first the Anglican songs, low and solemn, then they turned to our more lively and joyous songs they had learned at our church. The squealing of pigs and squawking of chickens did not seem to bother them. We had gotten a late start and all knew it was absolutely necessary to reach our destination before dark because of the treacherous reef. As the sun was sinking into the sea a quiet hush fell upon us. The captain sent a man to climb the mast pole to try to see the light house. Time passed and darkness settled. Silence grew intense. Three people were praying silently. Presently a message came from above. We did not understand, but the captain did. Messages kept coming. Finally the message came clear, “Light houses in line.” Everybody drew sighs of relief, for now we were in a straight channel for the harbor. To my mind came the grand old hymn, “Let the Lower Lights be Burning”, and since then, as we have sung it, I have prayed that as Christians our lights shall be in direct harmony with our great Light House, that poor mariners will be safely guided into port.
It was good to be safely home. Christiana had kept the fort in our absence. When Bro. Bolender asked, “Well, Christiana, how is everything?” she said, “I can’t count one sheep.” Our fence was high with barbed wire above, but the thieves managed to get a nice fat sheep over it. Had Mack been able to have gotten into the pasture it would not have happened, but being alone Christiana wanted him near her door. We were grateful that only one sheep was gone.
While in Antigua, we went several times to the leper colony. It was vastly different from the one in Barbados, not so isolated, and made up of small cottages rather than a large building with wards. There was a small chapel where services were held. Quite a few patients came to the services. There was an altar and at each service some came and knelt for prayer. It was a privilege to minister to these unfortunate ones.
Letters came from headquarters that Rev. H.S. Bennett would be coming for evangelism, as St. Johns was by far our largest church. We planned the revival there. All country pastors were asked to announce the special meetings. It was well announced in town. Crowds filled the church. Bro. Bennett preached under the Spirit’s anointing. Each night souls lined the altar. I felt impressed that we should have a special men’s night. When I suggested it to Brother Bolender and Bro. Bennett they both approved. The revival was spreading. When we went to town people were talking about it on the street, in shops, and in the post office. We felt it was time to draw the gospel net; truly the waters were troubled. The night was selected and announced and a public address system was installed with a speaker downstairs where women and children would assemble. The building had stairs on each side on the outside with a landing of about 3 X 5 feet and doors opening into the main auditorium. With these open, we had a good sweep of air across the platform which was greatly appreciated in that hot climate. I was pastor, but I told the evangelist and District Superintendent that I would be with the women. We wondered what the response would be, but the crowd began to assemble early. The announcements were understood so no difficulties were encountered. Men completely filled the auditorium while women and children filled the downstairs, the stairs and side landings. Church ushers counted 500 men. There were more than that including many women and children, and because of the loud speakers, most could get the message. Bro. Bennett preached with great power to an attentive audience. When the invitation was given, over 100 men responded. I could stay downstairs no longer, but made my way up the crowded stairs till I could glimpse the crowded altar rail and saw men on their knees everywhere seeking God. Bro. Bolender was on the platform praying when he saw one of my young men’s Bible class members who had not responded to the call. The Spirit urged him to speak to him. It was no small task to make his way through that crowd of kneeling men, but when he reached him and put his hand on his shoulder and asked if he did not want to give his heart to the Lord, he knelt right where he was and was beautifully saved. I regret that his name has slipped our minds, but his face is very vivid all down through these years. He grew in grace and became teacher of that fast growing men’s class. They became the Ambassadors, and became a group that went to another island to do personal evangelism. This information was given to us by missionaries who succeeded us. We have no way of knowing how many really found complete victory that night but we know a great victory was won. The revival closed the following night with souls finding victory.
Bro. Bolender had been suffering from physical problems that he felt would require surgery, so he wrote Bro. Flexon about it, telling him that he did not want the surgery done there and did not feel he could take another summer in the tropics. I wanted my husband to have this surgery. I knew that he needed it and I did not wish him to have surgery there. We had not known of many cases of surgery, though we had done considerable calling there. Most of it had been among the poorer class, and I shrank from the very thought of some of the conditions that I saw. But my heart ached at the thought of leaving the mission field. Since childhood I had read missionary books, heard missionaries speak, and I had longed to go. I had no doubt or qualms of conscience. God had led step by step over hills, mountains, and plains. Through sickness, where we had looked death right in the face, I could look back and say, “In all these things we are more than conquerors.” How marvelously He had fulfilled that promise, “Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will bring it to pass. Delight thyself in the Lord and he shall give thee the desire of thy heart.” Yes, God had beautifully fulfilled his promise, but I felt it sorely because we would not be able to finish our full five year term.
Plans were made for the E. E. Phillippe's to take our place. Once more in Jan. 1948 we began planning and packing. We had more to take back than we brought, for the dear people on both Barbados and Antigua had showered us with farewell gifts and we had collected some very nice large shells we wanted to take home and a large set of books acquired from a minister leaving the island and could not take them. Bro. Bolender purchased some roughly sawed mahogany planks and made a box about the size of an ordinary trunk. He nailed this securely after we had packed it. I proceeded packing, making reports, and carrying on services at St. John’s. Bro. Bolender was trying to work with Brother Flexon to arrange for us to return home by steamer. That way all our trunks and boxes could travel with us; and beside, I had always wanted a sea voyage. Three times bookings were made, but each time cable grams came of cancellations.
In the meantime the Phillippe’s arrived. They could well be considered veteran missionaries, having two grown sons that were born on the island of Saba where they served their first term. They had left Paul and Marcus to continue their education at Frankfort Indiana Bible College. Their two daughters were with them. Naomi, a lovely girl of 13, was quiet and well behaved. Little Esther, who was five, was full of life and so excited over getting back to the West Indies where she felt perfectly at home. She brought life and amusement to all except the day she decided to get acquainted with Mack, who was fastened in the rabbit lot. When no one was near she succeeded in opening the gate. When we heard a yell everyone ran. Christiana reached her first. When she brought her in sobbing, we were grateful that the dog had only gotten part of her dress. I doubt he ever became her special pet, but Mack had a head full of sense and I am sure he soon learned that she belonged there.
There required little time for transferring the operation of district duties to the Phillippe’s as they had been missionaries so long. Welcome and farewell services were conducted. These are always times of mixed joys and sorrows. Our tickets and visas arrived, trunks locked and labeled along with the big heavy mahogany box we left for Bro. Phillippe to send on the next steamer heading for New York. Goodbyes were not easy at the mission home to those who had so faithfully labored for and with us. We knew we would even miss Mack. On Feb. 28 we boarded the plane. A very short stop was made on St. Thomas, then we continued our journey to Puerto Rico. Missionaries met us at the airport and took us to their home. The Christian fellowship and their hospitality were wonderful. We went with them to a service that night. As neither of us spoke Spanish, we both spoke through an interpreter that night.
The next day we boarded a large American airliner bound for Miami. A slight engine trouble called for an hour’s delay in Cuba. We were glad to have a chance to stretch our legs, walk about a bit, but were soon on again and soaring over the Atlantic. I had flown before and have since, but I still feel as I did then – there is nothing to it except it gets you there quicker. If one was traveling to a desired destination, that was good, but in my heart there was still that sad deep feeling as I remembered the needy hungry hearts, the hands outstretched for a gospel tract. I tried to never leave the mission home without a supply of them and never came back with any whether it was on a crowded bus or walking along a narrow gap with tiny houses on each side. Many of these tiny houses might seem like a chicken house on some back woods farm, but it was home for those for whom Christ died to save. My heart was there.
Landing at Miami, we were glad for a good night’s rest. We were quite comfortable as we boarded a train for Jacksonville the next day, but when we left there we were very cold and realizing we were traveling north the first of March. We checked our baggage, for we had a short layover before our next train was due and we decided to go out and find some warmer outer garments. It was dark and we could not spend much time. Before long we found a small Jewish shop not far from the depot where Bro. Bolender found a sweater he could wear under his suit coat and I found an ugly little short coat that fit me. We soon boarded the train and settled as comfortably as we could to catnap throughout the night. To us missionary funds were too precious to be spent for sleeping berths. As morning came we were delighted by the beautiful scenery of the North Carolina mountains. We traveled on through Tennessee and Kentucky pulling into Grand Central Station in Cincinnati, Ohio. Herbert was there to meet us. Yes, it was good to be home again. He drove us to the little hometown of Felicity. How wonderful it was to see Father and Mother Bolender again. He was 90 and practically blind. She was 80 and had been totally deaf for years but with help from Herbert and his family who lived on the home farm, one and a half miles away, they managed to live in their own home. We had a few days in visiting brothers and sisters then went to missionary headquarters in Indianapolis.