Boreham on Blindness

Acknowledging Blindness
In an article entitled ‘The blind spot’, F W Boreham lamented that “the things we see are as nothing compared with the things that we miss”.[1] In writing about the prevalent blindness to reality in ordinary things, Boreham chastised certain individuals who, in “luxuriating among the cowslips” failed to appreciate the beauty under their noses.[2] He also criticised those who declined “to recognise that the mud of life is jingling with jewels”.[3] In alerting readers to the human condition, Boreham was quick to admit his own blindness for, in 1928, the year when he first had occasion to wear glasses, he wrote, “I am sadly aware of a dimness of sight that no oculist can relieve”.[4]

Aversion to Artificiality
Boreham perceived that a symptom of the prevailing blindness in society was the growing popularity of artificial things. His aversion to the artificial (also a theme of Richard Jeffries)[5] was focused on shows about which he said, “very few things look their best when on exhibition”.[6] However, it was the artificiality of life portrayed by the cinema that received Boreham’s harshest criticism. Describing an evening at the cinema, sometime prior to 1915, he observed that the audience was full of admiration for the film’s lifelikeness but in Boreham’s assessment it was “a very stilted, flickery kind of affair”. Reflecting later, Boreham said, “The next day I saw the real thing .… It is a mad world truly! We go into ecstasies over the scene in the cinema; the scene as God paints it only makes us yawn”.[7]

Peril of Familiarity
An aspect of human vision that Boreham believed could be corrected was the blindness that came through familiarity. While he said of his holiday location at Wedge Bay, “The local inhabitants have never awakened to the charms of the beauty-spots around them”, he also confessed, “I saw more of London and formed a more just appreciation of its grandeurs during a brief visit to the Homeland from New Zealand than during all the years of my residence in the world’s metropolis”.[8] Boreham’s editorials on this theme aimed at recovering what the art critic, John Ruskin, described as the “innocence of the eye”.[9] In his writings, Boreham sought to take his readers back to a place or an occurrence with which they were familiar and describe it with a reality and in a way that enabled them to feel that they were seeing it for the first time.

Geoff Pound

Image: ‘A flickery kind of affair…’

[1] Boreham, Mercury, 7 February 1928.
[2] F W Boreham, The other side of the hill (London: The Epworth Press, 1917), 130.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 6 July 1947.
[4] F W Boreham, The fiery crags (London: The Epworth Press, 1928), 251.
[5] Richard Jeffries, Field and hedgerow (London: Longmans, Green, & Co., 1892), 148.
[6] F W Boreham, Mountains in the mist (London: The Epworth Press, 1914), 141.
[7] F W Boreham, The golden milestone (London: The Epworth Press, 1915), 94.
[8] Boreham, The golden milestone, 109.
[9] John Ruskin, The genius of John Ruskin: Selections from his writings, ed. John D Rosenberg (George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1963), 12.

Boreham and a New Way of Looking

New Way of Looking
We have been looking at F W Boreham’s call for the sphere of ordinary life to become a primary focus for his reader’s study and we have considered this theme in reference to selected representatives who inspired him: Dickens, Turner, Blake and Jesus.

Attention is now directed to insights and illustrations from Boreham’s editorials that develop this theme and reflect on how his readers might develop their vision for the ordinary. What were the simple, common, everyday things and events that Boreham addressed? How did he advocate that they be seen and studied and why?

See For Yourself
In one of his many editorials on the theme of seeing, F W Boreham claimed in 1930 that “millions of people have gone through life seeing a blur” and he concluded by saying “the art of life lies in every man seeing clearly for himself”.[1] Boreham’s convictions about ‘seeing’ are reminiscent of the French theologian and scientist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who, in 1938, writing at great length on the importance of ‘seeing’, concluded:

“We might say that the whole of life lies in that verb. That, doubtless, is why the history of the living world can be summarized as the elaboration of ever more perfect eyes within a cosmos in which there is always more to be seen .… If to see is really to become more, if vision is really fuller being, then we should look closely at man in order to increase our capacity to live”.[2]

While both writers elaborated on this theme in different ways and in dissimilar literary styles, they were united in their passion to convince their readers of developing one’s vision. F W Boreham claimed that the realisation of one’s full expression would come by ceasing to see through other peoples’ spectacles and looking through one’s own eyes.

Geoff Pound

Image: Eyes to See

[1] F W Boreham, Mercury, 11 January 1930.
[2] Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The phenomenon of man (London: Collins, 1938-40), 31-32.

Boreham Inspired by Jesus the Storyteller

Down to Earth Storyteller
While writers and artists such as Charles Dickens, Joseph Turner and William Blake were influential in encouraging F W Boreham in his vision for ordinary and everyday things, a major impetus for this sprang from Jesus, the teacher from Nazareth.

Cultivator of Vision
In his Bevan Lectures to preachers at Adelaide’s Parkin College in 1931, Boreham revealed his belief that in any sphere in which people excel, the cultivation of vision was one of three essential arts. Taking the ministry of Jesus as his supreme model and showing the inextricable link between subject and style, the lecturer said:

"He saw things as nobody else saw them. Take, for example, His view of the mob, the crowd, the rabble. Nobody else ever noticed in the pushing, jostling, struggling multitude anything particularly charming. But He did. He looked upon the Eastern crowd; it ravished His eyes: and straightway He likened it to a flock of shepherdless sheep and to a field of golden corn. To the average man, the mob is the most prosaic of all prosaic things. But, in His vision, it became a pastoral idyll: the mob became white sheep on a green and graceful hillside. It became an agricultural idyll: the mob became a field of standing corn, flecked with crimson poppies, over which the clouds were scudding. And, since, in fields and flocks, an Eastern told His wealth, the mob became transformed into a commercial idyll. In the rabble He saw fields and flocks—His fields and His flocks—and it was to Him a stately vision of His own abiding affluence."[1]

In this excerpt from Boreham’s first lecture, ‘The preacher’s vision’, the stimulus of his theme and the source of his passion for the prosaic are evident. It suggests that Boreham saw through the biblical lens and, letting his imagination soar, added colourful details such as golden corn, crimson poppies and scudding clouds to enable his hearers to picture the truth.

Teller of Parables
This statement illustrated Boreham’s use of the parabolic method in which he took an everyday scene and reflected upon it until he arrived at a significant truth. Rather than squeezing one image until exhausting truth, Boreham demonstrated in this lecture his propensity to gather several images, view their various facets like a jeweller and then paint with words the detail of what he saw in order to build a compelling case for the value of an ordinary crowd.

Geoff Pound

Image: "Scudding clouds" in the Middle Eastern sky, Fujairah, UAE.



[1] Australian Christian world, 26 June 1931.

Blake's Influence on F W Boreham

Vision for the Ordinary
We have contended that one of the secrets to F W Boreham’s success as a writer and speaker was that he spoke about ordinary things and made them glow.

This is the fourth article in a series which looks at exponents of the ordinary who used various media to get across their message. This posting looks at the influence of William Blake on F W Boreham.

Glorying in the Commonplace
F W Boreham honoured William Blake “as one of the purest poets, one of the most eminent painters and one of the most cunning engravers of all time ... [who] deserves to be esteemed as the peak and pinnacle of the rennaissance in our literature”.[1] Like Dickens and Turner, the endearing gift according to Boreham, was the way Blake so quickly “saw the glory of common things”,[2] and his ability in which, even when looking at the drabness and squalor of London, he “saw the best shining through the worst”.[3] Boreham, with the perspective of history, hailed Blake as a seer, a prophet and a philosopher.[4] According to Boreham, Blake displayed “the most perfect blend of simplicity with sublimity” which was found in literary records. Of Blake, he said: “To him every common object was transfused with radiant splendour; every crust of bread was sacramental; every cup of cold water that he lifted to his lips was, to him, the Holy Grail. He hardly wrote a line that a little child could fail to understand; yet his crystal clear conceptions are shot through with a gorgeous imagery that for beauty has been unsurpassed”.[5]

Simplicity Without Clutter
Boreham attributed Blake’s simple style to the simplicity of his life when saying, “He was a simple soul. He mingled with simple folk, cultivated simple ways, developed simple tastes, and expressed himself in a simple phraseology”.[6] Boreham deduced that Blake’s simplicity led to a depth of vision and he inferred that the embracing of an uncluttered lifestyle was conducive to the cultivation of pure vision.

Writing amidst the depression of the 1930s, Boreham asked, “Is it too much to hope that it is because our own generation is turning with renewed relish to life’s simpler and sweeter delights that it is discovering a new charm in the minstrelsy of this clear, pure singer of two hundred years ago?”[7]

Life Responding to Life
It has been noted that Boreham attributed the immediate, positive response towards Charles Dickens and Joseph Turner to the fact that their artistry reflected ordinary life and that they gloried in the common things. Accordingly, one would anticipate that Boreham would be swift to find further vindication for artists of the ordinary in the response to the output of William Blake. However, the poet was not lauded in his day, nor was his greatness recognised. Boreham lamented the poor response by Blake’s generation but did not perceive his inconsistency when recording that Blake’s artistry did not illustrate the principle of life responding to life. While Blake’s contemporaries viewed him as an enigma, Boreham commented in 1931, “It is pleasant to notice the growing disposition of our own generation to atone for the neglect and disdain of his unappreciative contemporaries”.[8]

Geoff Pound

Image: I took this photo last week of Blake’s gravestone in the Bunhill Fields cemetery in central London. The photograph is dark because the sky was dark when I took it at 3.30pm!!

[1] F W Boreham, Mercury, 26 November 1949.
[2] Boreham, Mercury, 17 October 1931.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 28 November 1942.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 17 October 1931.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 26 November 1949.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 28 November 1942.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 17 October 1931.
[8] Boreham, Mercury, 17 October 1931.

How Turner inspired F W Boreham

Vision for the Ordinary
We look today at Joseph Turner who, through his art, inspired F W Boreham to write about ordinary, everyday scenes and experiences.

Painting Things as they are
In an editorial entitled, ‘Things as they are’, Boreham stated that the landscape painter, Joseph Turner (1775-1851), “did for art what Dickens did for literature. He threw a lustre about the mediocre and the ordinary”.[1] Not only did Turner insist on painting things as they appeared but he exhibited a fascination in looking for beauty in the most unexpected places.

Always attentive to human response, Boreham said, “As if by magic, many eyes were opened. People recognised that there is a wealth of comeliness lurking in sordid and mundane objects that had hitherto appeared to them so utterly prosaic and almost disgustingly commonplace”.[2] Boreham contended that when people respond to art that has a “fidelity to reality”,[3] as in Turner’s paintings, it leads them to a new way of looking at their world. Writing of this service of art to people, Boreham continued: “By means of such paintings art provides windows through which any man may gaze into infinity. Art renders us her most valuable service when she teaches us to see marble where, until then, we had only seen mud .… From that moment the world becomes transfigured. Having discovered loveliness in one commonplace setting, we look for it in every setting”.[4]

Hungry Eyes
In his editorials about Turner, Boreham referred to the domino effect in which the viewing of beautiful paintings sets one looking for loveliness in the world that, in turn, makes “the eye become hungry with expectancy”.[5] Boreham wrote that a further consequence of this process was the cultivation of an eye for beauty.

Richard Jeffries hinted at the potential to train the eye when saying, “If a man carries a sense of beauty in his eye, he will find beauty in things as they really are”.[6] Urging this development of vision in his readers, Boreham said, “The eye becomes a realm of fascination. And, since we are living in a world in which we see pretty much what we have eyes to see, we henceforth find scintillations of beauty breaking from every crack and cranny”.[7]

Furthermore, Boreham believed a person could only claim to have an eye for beauty in ordinary things, when: “In donning his hat and coat on a day of fog and slush and drizzle, he beholds, in the outlook framed by his own doorway, a picture that, portrayed upon canvas, would constitute itself a masterpiece …. The man who cannot find Fairyland beside his own doorstep will never find the fairies anywhere”.[8]

Geoff Pound

Image: Joseph Turner's Frosty Morning set in Yorkshire.

[1] F W Boreham, Mercury, 12 September 1931; Age, 14 September 1946.
[2] Boreham, Mercury, 12 September 1931; Age, 14 September 1946.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 12 September 1931; Age, 14 September 1946.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 13 February 1932.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 12 September 1931; Age, 14 September 1946.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 13 February 1932.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 13 February 1932.
[8] Boreham, Mercury, 12 September 1931; Age, 14 September 1946.

Boreham and His Debt to Dickens

Boreham and Dickens
In an earlier posting we have discussed the similarities between Charles Dickens and F W Boreham—those things which may have urged Boreham to lean on Dickens for inspiration. To recapitulate, they were both reporters, they both learned shorthand to help their journalistic writings, they both had stints at editing newspapers, their popularity grew through their stories that were first printed in newspapers and later were compiled into many books, they both liked to visit the scenes they were describing and they had retentive (photographic?) memories.

There is one other significant area for comparison and this focuses on the theme of this series of postings—their vision for ordinary people and things and their ability to capture the colour and the detail of everyday life in words and pictures. This is one of the big secrets behind their popularity and success as communicators in their age.

Artist in Real Life
We have already seen how the English novelist Charles Dickens shaped Boreham’s literary style but let us focus specifically now on how Boreham understood Dickens’ views and descriptions of the ordinary. The reason why Boreham praised Dickens as “an artist in real life” was because of the novelist’s commitment to study and know ordinary life. In Boreham’s words, “he saw humanity in every garb and from every conceivable angle. The panorama fascinated his hungry mind”.[2] Characteristic of the Dickensian style was the telling of stories about common things and common people. Quoting Compton-Rickett’s tribute to Dickens, Boreham wrote, “He is great because, though dealing continually with little worries, little hardships, and little pleasures, he made the dullest of lives in the drabbest of streets as enchanting as a fairy tale”.[3]

Love is Notoriously Blind
A compelling stylistic feature for Boreham was Dickens’ “unswerving fidelity to truth” yet, through “the melting pot of his vigorous mentality”, Boreham recognised that Dickens expressed his own rendition rather than presenting an accurate reflection of what he saw. However, in Boreham’s reckoning, these two features could coexist without contradiction, for when noting Chaucer’s transparent honesty, yet conceding validity in the public criticism of Chaucer’s depiction of an idealised England, he said: “Love is notoriously blind. When a lover describes his lady, everybody knows that, though he may be the soul of veracity, he is not telling the whole truth. He has no eyes for the faults and foibles that seem so conspicuous in the sight of others. So was it with Chaucer, and, on the whole, we like him all the better for it”.[4]

Ringing with Reality
Despite questions as to Dickens' faithfulness in articulating his vision, it was his descriptions of ordinary people, everyday moods, typical scenes in recognisable places such as the kitchen, the club or the street that delighted his readers. Writing about everyday human experience led Boreham to say of Dickens that “his pages carry conviction; they ring with reality”.[5] The familiarity of his creations produced an affinity rather than contempt.

In contrast to Shakespeare and Milton, whose devotees took time to appreciate their worth, Boreham said that Dickens experienced an immediate response of appreciation that vindicated his passion for writing about the commonplace. Boreham explained Dickens’ secret as “life answers to life, as, in another connotation, love answers to love”.[6]

Geoff Pound

Image: Charles Dickens

[2] F W Boreham, Mercury, 9 June 1951.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 12 June 1920.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 2 September 1933.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 12 June 1920.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 9 June 1951.

Boreham's Vision of the Ordinary

Secret to His Success
What made F W Boreham such a popular writer with book sales passing the one million mark?

We have examined in previous articles Boreham's easy, simple, clear, literary style and his attention, as a wordsmith, to finding the right word for the right place.

But one of his big secrets was the way he wrote about ordinary, everyday things about which every reader had experience and from this rich sphere he extracted valuable truths that made those same readers say: "Yeah! That is so right! Why didn't I think of that?"

The Significant Arena for Reflection
Melbourne churchman Irving Benson once referred to Boreham's essays entitled ‘Strawberries and cream’ and ‘Dominoes’ as representative of the many ordinary things that F W Boreham used to commence an editorial and gather a host of associated ideas.[1] Benson then quoted Emma Herman’s description of Boreham’s process and presentation as being “reminiscent of the great Dutch manner of painting, which, by the magic play of light and shade, can make a peasant’s kitchen romantic as a fairy palace”.[2]

It has been noted in previous blog postings that F W Boreham reveled in nature and delved into history to find many of his writing themes. In these next few postings we shall explore the way Dr Boreham found the ordinary, the commonplace and the everyday to provide a wealth of truth and inspiration. As Benson and Herman hinted, this theme in Boreham’s writings was as much about style as it was about subject.

Exponents of the Ordinary
F W Boreham discovered from several important authors and teachers the importance of writing about ordinary, everyday objects and experiences.

He lauded Daniel Defoe for championing the prosaic,[3] Samuel Richardson, whose extraordinary success with Pamela and Clarissa “proved that love is human rather than aristocratic”,[4] Walter Scott and his “reverence for reality”,[5] John Constable who “insisted on painting people and things as they actually did look”[6] and Geoffrey Chaucer whose secret lay in his ability “to transfer to his broad canvas nothing but what he actually saw”.[7]

In the next few postings I want to give a more extensive examination of the thoughts of F W Boreham as they related to three people who looked at the ordinariness of life and expressed its reality in their respective medium: Charles Dickens the novelist, Joseph Turner the painter and William Blake the poet.

P.S.
What sort of a speech or sermon would you be able to construct from the game of dominoes, draughts, chess or some other popular game? It is not enough to talk about some popular game- one must also do the deeper reflection and application.

If you want to know what F W Boreham made of the game of dominoes you can read about it if you have the book: F W Boreham, ‘Dominoes’, The Silver Shadow (London: The Epworth Press, 1918), 11-21. Place a comment at the bottom of this article if you'd like me to post it. It is one of the essays that might qualify for inclusion in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

By the way Michael and I still need financial help to get this and other books by F W Boreham published. Give a gift this Thanksgiving. Check The Best Stories of F W Boreham web site to discover how you might do this.

Geoff Pound

(To be continued.)

Image: Dominoes

[1] C I Benson, ‘Dr Frank W Boreham—The man and the writer’, The last milestone (London: The Epworth Press, 1961), 9-10.
[2] Benson, ‘Dr Frank W Boreham—The man and the writer’, 12.
[3] F W Boreham, Mercury, 23 February 1924.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 3 July 1948.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 11 April 1925.
[6] F W Boreham, I forgot to say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 126.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 2 September 1933.

Boreham on the British Empire

Lover of Empire
From F W Boreham’s first editorial for the Otago Daily Times, the subject of the British Empire was a constant theme throughout his editorial writings. Still expressing his fascination for the Empire in 1944, Boreham said, “Its history is, far and away, the most stately romance that has ever been written. There is nothing in legend or fable to compare with it”.[1]

Boreham’s annual editorial on Empire Day (celebrated in Australia on 24 May from 1905 to the late 1950s) gave him the chance to tell the story of Empire, to arouse readers’ appreciation and to stir aspirations about the Empire’s future. One can sense his deep feelings for the subject in the following words:

“We speak of the Empire, and, as those two glowing syllables fall from our lips, we discover that they throb with a magic peculiarly their own. They spread before the mind a broad canvas of vivid and variegated hues. These are words in our vocabulary that mean very much more than any dictionary would suggest. Such words represent fossilised poetry, petrified history, embalmed romances. All the ages have left the record of their tears and their laughter, their virtues and their vices, their passion and their pain in the words that they have coined. Among these archives of articulation no word is more rich in encrusted tradition and glittering association than the word that falls so musically and so majestically upon our ears on May 24.”[2]

British Uniqueness
Beyond sentiment, Boreham often expressed the uniqueness of the British Empire in its ability to “evoke deep-seated affection of heterogeneous citizens”.[3] It epitomized for him democracy at work as Great Britain brought together a united commonwealth of free and equal nations. Since the time that Empire Day had been established in Australia there was a minority who opposed the concept, including the editor of the Bulletin, who called it ‘Vampire Day’ and “the feast day of St Jingo”.[4] The vast majority of Australians who supported the commitment to the Empire recognised the strong ties of blood, language, history, culture and the practical link in trade.

Writing about the first Empire Day celebrations in 1905, Gavin Souter discerned that Australians had a dual perception, believing that “to praise the whole was automatically to praise the part” and not result in any diminution of the young nation.[5] Being part of the Empire also “conferred on Australians a role and significance in the world which they could not otherwise hope to attain”.[6] When some in 1914 were casting doubts on the viability and worth of the Empire, Boreham exclaimed, “To say that the British Empire has had its day is nonsense”.[7] Gibbon had taught him that what fostered the growing affection for the motherland was that in contrast to other empires that had “looted” new territories “like vampires”,[8] the British Empire had operated by the opposite principle. According to Boreham, Great Britain “has given of her best to her dependencies, and has, in the process, bound them to herself with hoops of steel”.[9] Boreham’s Empire was “not bound by red tape”[10] but by “deep affection” forged through “moral ties”.[11]

Contribution of Empire
Boreham recognized that the greatest contribution of the Empire was in its inculcation of values that had the potential to transform colonial cultures and penetrate even the remote parts of the commonwealth.[12] These values he identified as Britian’s integrity, justice, the championship of freedom, honesty in dealing with national rulers[13] and chivalry or gentlemanly spirit.[14] This attitude fostered an “attachment of people of the same stock, thinking the same thoughts, cherishing the same ideals”,[15] an approach that was vindicated, Boreham believed, in the affectionate way in which colonies regarded Great Britain. At its worst, this belief in British cultural superiority bolstered the country’s White Australia policy (1901) and with it discrimination towards Asians and aborigines.[16]

Empire During War
Imperial sympathy became most apparent during the struggle of international wars. During the Second World War, Boreham predicted the future role of the British Empire when he stated, “The guardianship of the world’s peace, must, after the war, become the supreme responsibility of the British people”.[17] Writing from Australia in 1949, Boreham said, “Never since English history began has so much affection and so much sympathy been felt for England on this side of the world”.[18]

Empire Excelling
Noting that explorers such as Captain Cook had been motivated by a love of empire, Boreham wrote that British and Australian conquests in exploration[19] and sport[20] were major peacetime methods of fostering the imperial spirit. To this end, Boreham expressed the hope in 1921, 1937 and 1947 that Mount Everest would be first climbed by a “British conqueror”[21] and writing about the link between citizenship and sport he stated, “Nothing is more to be desired than that the British peoples may continue to lead the world in the quality and the purity of their sport”.[22]

Resilience of British Throne
Boreham considered the British monarchy to be the heart and embodiment of the British Empire. His recognition in 1935 that the number of thrones that had been overturned within the lifetime of the current generation led him to conclude that “monarchy, as an abstract principle, is passing through difficult and trying days”.[23] The unique thing that explained the resilience of the British throne and the affection throughout the empire was, in Boreham’s estimation, the “personal excellence” of the monarch and the royal family. Boreham’s understanding of history led him to recall that when Queen Victoria commenced her reign there were calls for the throne to become vacant and obituaries were published announcing the death of the British monarchy. However, her influence raised the prestige of royalty and “the attractive life of Queen Victoria elevated the social conditions of the entire British people”.[24] Assessing Victoria’s personal influence Boreham continued, “She saved not only the Throne but the Empire itself”. In 1935, Boreham wrote that “King Edward and King George have splendidly maintained the shining tradition established by that noble lady” and that the interest of people in the Royal family augured well for the “happy state of things for many a long day to come”.[25] While Boreham’s descriptions of the royal visits were full of superlatives, more recent writers have detected little sign of the diminution of ‘royal worship’. Reading the accounts of the royal visits of 1920 and 1934-35, historian Michael Davie says they are written in “the tone … of breathless admiration and shameless sentimentality”.[26]

Cashing the Check
Boreham drew a distinction between the possession of the Empire and the creation of an imperial spirit, saying that such an inheritance needed to be cashed like a cheque.[27] He, therefore, encouraged the observation of Empire Day, Empire Youth Sunday, royal birthdays, anniversaries and royal visits as key occasions for expressing appreciation and arousing aspirations for the Empire and the monarchy. Boreham wrote about the importance of flags,[28] statues[29] and music[30] in awakening memories and stirring a reverential allegiance toward the monarchy.

Sway of the Crown
In writing about the changing role of the British monarchy, Boreham observed a gradual development of its influence and rule throughout the centuries. Despite the monarch’s decreasing involvement in the political processes of Britain and the Empire, in 1935 Boreham rejected Emerson’s simile about being “as impotent as a British monarch” saying “nothing was further from the truth”.[31] On the occasion of the visit of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip to Tasmania in 1954, Boreham declared “that the sway of the Crown is today immensely more potent and more impressive than in the days when our sovereign assumed despotic and dictatorial prerogatives”.[32] Throughout his lifetime Boreham perceived an increase in affection between Australians and the royal family and regularly stated that “the Crown is never more popular than today”.[33]

Aussie Shifts
The shift in Australian’s relationship to the British Empire was apparent at the New South Wales Conference of the Labor Party in 1931 when the Education Committee recommended that Empire Day no longer be observed in the schools of NSW, the weekly ceremony of flag saluting be discontinued and the Imperialist bias be removed from school textbooks.[34] Although the acquisition of new territories in the first part of the twentieth century was slower than in the second half of the nineteenth century, Boreham did not concede that the British Empire was in decline.

Declining Empire
When after the Second World War there was a redefinition of the status of Britain’s dominions, a disintegration of a common foreign policy within the Commonwealth and independence declared by India, Ceylon and Burma, Boreham did not interpret these events as an erosion of British influence. In the 1950s, the rush towards independence by the many remaining British colonies in Africa, Asia, the Caribbean and the Mediterranean coincided with the conclusion of Boreham’s editorial career. He neither discussed these issues nor reported on a waning of the imperial spirit. One would suspect that Boreham found it hard to accept that the British Empire was in decline.

Geoff Pound

Image: 'Sway of the crown...'

[1] Boreham, Mercury, 2 September 1944.
[2] Boreham, Mercury, 20 May 1944; Age, 24 May 1947.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 24 May 1952.
[4] A G Stephens, ‘Empire Day’, Bulletin, 18 May 1905.
[5] Gavin Souter, Lion and kangaroo: The initiation of Australia, rev. ed. (Melbourne: The Text Publishing Company, 2000), 129.
[6] Souter, Lion and kangaroo, 3.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 17 February 1914.
[8] Boreham, Mercury, 21 May 1921.
[9] Boreham, Mercury, 20 May 1944; Age, 24 May 1947.
[10] Boreham, Mercury, 20 May 1916.
[11] Boreham, Mercury, 19 September 1914.
[12] Boreham, Mercury, 20 February 1954.
[13] Boreham, Mercury, 19 September 1914.
[14] Boreham, Mercury, 30 June 1928.
[15] Boreham, Mercury, 19 May 1928.
[16] Notions of citizenship were formed on the view of Australians as being British subjects. Asians and aborigines were excluded from voting by the 1901 constitution and excluded from the 1903 Naturalisation Act.
[17] Boreham, Mercury, 20 May 1944.
[18] Boreham, Mercury, 23 April 1949.
[19] Boreham, Mercury, 12 March 1921.
[20] Boreham, Mercury, 4 November 1919.
[21] Boreham, Mercury, 12 March 1921; Mercury, 5 November 1938; Age, 1 November 1947.
[22] Boreham, Mercury, 4 November 1919.
[23] Boreham, Mercury, 11 May 1935.
[24] Boreham, Mercury, 19 June 1937.
[25] Boreham, Mercury, 11 May 1935.
[26] Michael Davie, Anglo-Australian attitudes (London: Secker & Warburg, 2000), 92-93.
[27] Boreham, Mercury, 20 May 1916.
[28] Boreham, Mercury, 21 May 1921.
[29] Boreham, Mercury, 14 May 1921.
[30] Boreham, Mercury, 7 December 1940; Age, 17 May 1947.
[31] Boreham, Mercury, 4 May 1935.
[32] Boreham, Mercury, 20 February 1954.
[33] Boreham, Mercury, 2 June 1928; Mercury, 11 May 1935.
[34] Clark, A history of Australia vol. vi, 373; Sydney Morning Herald, 4, 6, 7 April 1931.

Boreham Remembering Special Days

Observer of Days
F W Boreham was attentive to special anniver-saries and was an avid 'observer of days'. Any ordinary event he liked to attach to some anniversary of significance. In this vein, he commences his autobiography:

"Salvoes of artillery and peals of beals echoed across Europe on the morning of my birth.... I discovered afterwards... that my advent synchronized exactly with the dramatic termination of the Franco-Prussian War. On Friday March 3, 1871, an hour before my arrival, the Prussian troops that had held Paris in a cruel strangle-hold commenced the evacuation of the capital."

Each year in his editorial columns he always included fresh ideas on regular anniversaries. One of these he addressed each year was Christmas.

Everybody’s Day
While Dr Boreham often compared the festivities of Christmas in England with the celebrations in Australia,[1] he also emphasized the universality of this anniversary when describing Christmas as “everybody’s day”.[2]

He was conscious of the breadth of religious affiliation among his readers and he highlighted the inclusive nature of Christmas with its independence of geography,[3] its cosmopolitan attraction in drawing together “men and women of all kinds, classes and conditions”[4] and its childlike simplicity and profundity as the baby “expresses the unexpressable and utters the unutterable”.[5]

Queen of Feasts
On this anniversary, described by Boreham as “the queen of feasts [and] festival of festivals”,[6] Christmas provided the occasion “for the forgetting of old feuds and grudges, [and] for the exercise of benevolence, sympathy, consideration and goodwill”.[7] Boreham named Christmas the “changeless festival”[8] whose reminder became especially important to him during years of war when readers could experience both the incongruity and comfort of “pealing bells and bursting shells”.[9]

Geoff Pound

Image: A symbol of Remembrance Day, 11 November.

[1] F W Boreham, Mercury, 17 December 1927.
[2] Boreham, Age, 21 December 1946; Argus, 24 December 1935.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 24 December 1941.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 22 December 1945.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 23 December 1950.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 23 December 1944.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 23 December 1950.
[8] Boreham, Mercury, 24 December 1938.
[9] Boreham, Mercury, 25 December 1939.

Boreham on Anniversaries

Retaining the Nuggets
F W Boreham’s repeated his plea to his readers to celebrate their national achievements as a sign of Australia’s growth in nationhood. This patriotic call was a strand within a larger theme in which Boreham viewed the observation of anniversaries as a collective savoring of the lessons of history and opportunities to imbibe corporately the values that such occasions marked.

“Memory is like a sieve,” he said, “and we need to let through the sand and retain the nuggets”.[1]

Communal Remembering
Boreham had a fondness for celebrating his personal anniversaries and a large proportion of his editorials were suggested by a particular one.[2] Certain editorials (including Christmas, Easter, Old Year and New Year) were designed to foster a common remembering (national and international) and to appeal to a basic human longing.

Boreham said such remembering on these anniversaries was contagious, spreading an “infection of festivity” because “we are gregarious creatures ... [with an] instinct to festivity”.[3] This next section looks at two representative types of editorials: Remembrance Days and the religious festival of Christmas.

Geoff Pound

Image: 'Memory is like a sieve'..

[1] F W Boreham, Mercury, 20 April 1935.
[2] Boreham, The silver shadow, 246. In this example, Boreham wrote about celebrating the anniversary of his ordination.
[3] Boreham, Mercury, 27 December 1919.

Boreham on Coincidence (9)

This is the ninth and final instalment in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coin-cidence, soon to be included in the forth-coming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

And there is a third class of coincidences. Here, for example, are a number of people gathered together in the house of John Mark in Jerusalem. Peter is in prison and these good men and women have met to pray for him. And, whilst they pray, a great light illumines the darkness of the dungeon. Angels appear: chains fall: gates fly open: Peter escapes!

Every person of any spiritual experience at all has met with such coincidences. One has prayed and things have happened. One has been profoundly moved to write a certain letter or to pay a certain visit. The letter or the visit proved to be the very thing that the grateful recipient most sorely needed. Or one has been perplexed; has sought guidance; and, 'o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent', the Kindly Light has led in the most wonderful way. When we approach these sublime coincidences, we shed our sense of surprise and yield instead to adoration. We feel that we are merely beholding, on the most exalted plane, the operation of the law of cause and effect. The forces at work in producing the coinciding factors are so obvious that we no longer consider the resultant coincidences as coincidences at all.

F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Peter's escape from prison.

Boreham on Coincidence (8)

This is the eighth in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coincidence, soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

A pair of nuns had glided silently up the Cathedral aisles, and, the movements of the elder of the two having been arrested by a question from an attendant, the younger moved slowly on and was waiting for her companion at a spot close to Lucy's elbow.

`You are interested in Saint Teresa?' asked the young nun, in slightly foreign but strangely musical accents.

`I was wondering why she is represented as carrying flowers,' Lucy replied with diffidence.

`Saint Teresa loved flowers—roses particularly', explained the pale-faced nun. `She planted red roses all round the grounds of her Convent at Avila, and, whenever she desired to bestow any signal favour upon any of her young nuns, she invariably accompanied it with the gift of a red rose.'

By this time the elder nun had approached, and, with the softest suspicion of a smile, the pair moved on, leaving Lucy alone with the statue.

`Oh, Santa Teresa' Lucy sighed rather than prayed, for she remained standing and open-eyed, `oh, Santa Teresa, the condition of my dear, dear mother must be known to thee. If only thou could'st send me a red rose to tell me of her blessedness! If only thou could'st-and would'st!'

That afternoon, in Melbourne, Beryl was writing to her friend. Lucy was not to worry, Beryl said, everything at the shop was going well. `Make the most of your holiday; stay as long as you can; and come back all smiles.' She was just about to seal the letter when her eye fell upon the vase of flowers with which she had decorated her desk. Almost mechanically she took a small red rose, pressed it, folded it in tissue paper and slipped it into the envelope.

And when, next day, Lucy opened the letter, she was unable to read it. At sight of the red rose, she sobbed as though her heart would break. But her tears were tears of joy and gratitude. And from that moment she never grieved again.

Was it purely a coincidence purely a coincidence? Was it? I wonder! Who shall say?

(To be continued)

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: 'An armful of flowers'.

Boreham on Coincidence (7)

This is the seventh in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coin-cidence, soon to be included in the forth-coming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

After describing several coincidences and offering some reflections F W Boreham describes another amazing coincidence:

Only last night I came upon a set of circumstances so arresting and so intriguing that, for the life of me, I cannot with confidence declare that they do, or do not, represent anything more than a very remarkable coincidence.

I number among my friends two young ladies—Beryl Hamilton and Lucy Minogue—who, as partners, control one of those attractive businesses whose windows and counters are tastefully adorned with high-class bric-á-brac—artistic pottery, pretty paintings, dainty calendars, busts, plaques, statuettes, and the like. Beryl is a Protestant, Lucy a Catholic. Both are transparently sincere, and each is the soul of courtesy and consideration in her attitude towards the faith of the other.

Some time ago, Lucy's mother, a widow, to whom she was passionately devoted, suddenly died. The cruel shock and the desolating loss shattered the daughter's nerve. Night and day, she could think of nothing but her dead mother. Where was she? Would they ever meet again and be to each other what they had been in the old days? And, above all, was her mother happy? The sacraments of her Church comforted her, but they gave her no solid satisfaction on this point. Was her mother happy? How could she ascertain? The terrible uncertainty, preying constantly upon her mind, affected her health; and Beryl, her partner, urged her to take a good rest with an entire change of scene.

`Why not go to Sydney?' Beryl pleaded. `A quiet spot in the country or beside the sea might give you too much time to brood. But Sydney is a lovely place for a holiday. You will have the city to distract your thoughts when you desire that kind of relaxation, and, whenever you feel inclined for the beach or the bush, you can find a new excursion every day. It will do you heaps of good. And I'll be quite all right here. It's the slack season, and either of us could easily be spared.'

Infected by Beryl's enthusiasm, Lucy agreed to do so. And it was during that visit to Sydney that she encountered the experience of which I am about to tell.

She thoroughly enjoyed her stay and was particularly appreciative of the good sense displayed by her partner in suggesting the venue of her holiday. Beneath all her pleasure, however, she was subconsciously aware of the old deep undertone of terrible loneliness and insatiable longing. If only she knew—knew for certain—that all was well with her mother! Impelled by some such mood, she one afternoon turned from the bustle of the city to rest quietly for a while amidst the green lawns and gushing fountains and colourful flower-beds of Hyde Park. Seated there, her eye carne to rest on the graceful turrets and Gothic stateliness of St. Mary's Cathedral. As though magnetized by its solemn splendour, she rose and turned her footsteps towards it.

In wandering aimlessly but meditatively about the Cathedral, she felt herself drawn—she scarcely knew why—towards a small statue of Santa Teresa. It instantly brought to mind the lovely stories that her mother had told her. Her mother always spoke of Santa Teresa as the most human, the most understanding, the most womanly of saints—a saint who radiated sympathy and courage and common sense. She used to tell Lucy of Teresa's fondness, as an old woman, for the young nuns under her charge and of her anxiety that they should all be perfectly happy. Lucy had never before seen a representation of Santa Teresa; but now that she looked into her sculptured face, she felt that there was something singularly winsome and kindly in her countenance. Teresa was represented, in the statue, as carrying a cross and an armful of roses. Why the flowers? Lucy wondered.

(Story to be continued)

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: St. Mary's Cathedral, Sydney

Boreham on Coincidence (6)

This is the sixth in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coincidence, soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham. After describing several coincidences from different chapters of his life he gives some reflections before he describes a few more:

Confronted by Mystery
Any person who cares to ransack the pigeon-holes of their memory will find a wealthy hoard of such recollections stowed away there. They teach us charity. For, obviously, it does not follow, because several circumstances happen to point steadily in one direction, that the conclusion suggested by their unanimity is necessarily established. What seems like corroboration may be pure coincidence. And surely they make faith less difficult. For if, among the ordinary odds and ends of life, we find ourselves confronted by situations so remarkable as to be almost incredible, it is by no means surprising that, in a more august and mysterious realm, we sometimes find ourselves out of our depth.

More than Mere Coincidence
I turn from these coincidences, which are pure coincidences, to those remarkable happenings, familiar to us all, beneath the surface of which we seem to sense something that is more than mere coincidence. How often, in walking down the street, you find your thoughts suddenly and irresistibly reverting to the memory of a friend whom you have not seen for months, perhaps for years. Within five minutes you turn a corner and meet him face to face! It is easy to wave such incidents aside with an airy reference to telepathy. That blessed word `telepathy' is a hot rival to that blessed word `Mesopotamia'. What is telepathy?

And then again, the confident conclusions of the spiritualists can only be met by a frank recognition of the fact that, behind the forces that Science has investigated and classified, there are other forces, shadowy and elusive, that, so far, we have only vaguely sensed.

More than We Can Dream
I am intimate with a family—devoutly Christian and by no means superstitious—in whose home a thing occurred one evening that set every member of the household thinking of a very dear relative on the other side of the world. At the very hour of that singular happening, that relative died. Since scores of people die in England every day to whose kinsfolk in Australia no such mysterious intimation is vouchsafed, the episode was evidently the operation of no fixed law. It proves nothing. Yet the comparative frequency of such enigmatical incidents makes us feel with Hamlet that:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

These evasive and abstruse events must be numbered among life's strange and striking coincidences; and yet they leave behind them an impression that, woven into the very texture of their being, there is something that lifts them above the level of mere coincidences.

(To be continued)

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Frank Boreham

Boreham on Coincidence (5)

This is the fifth in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coincidence, soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

With a number of cricket companions I was one Saturday afternoon watching the final football match of the winter. It was being played on the Melbourne Cricket Ground; but we ourselves were far less interested in the play that we were watching than in the Test Match that, in a few hours' time, was to be played at the Kennington Oval. It was the match on which the Ashes depended, and we were eagerly anticipating the ball-to-ball description to which we would be listening in the evening. During the half-time interval in the football, somebody suggested that, on the assumption that Australia batted first, we should each attempt to forecast the score at the close of the first day's play. A paper was passed round: each of us was to state a figure and initial it.

When the document fell into my hands, I noticed that the estimates of my predecessors ranged from 250 to 350 runs. I was just setting myself to frame some kind of conjecture when the absurdity of the whole thing broke upon me. We had no idea as to what the wicket was like, or the weather, or any of the conditions on which scoring depended. So, in the same impish and irresponsible mood in which I had feigned to count the sheep, I scribbled 475 and passed the paper on.

`Four hundred and seventy-five!' cried the man who had set us the grotesquely impossible task; `why, if Australia has four hundred and seventy-five runs on the board at the end of the first day's play, you'll be so excited that you'll announce hymn No. 475 instead of the proper hymn when you enter the pulpit tomorrow morning!'

To my sober judgement the figure seemed as fantastic as it did to his. But, believe it or not, 475 was the Australian score when stumps were drawn that night at the Oval; and, when I entered the vestry at Footscray next morning and the hymn list was handed to me, I discovered that the service was to commence with Glorious things of thee are spoken-No. 475!

(To be continued)

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Kennington Oval, where the runs were scored.

Boreham on Coincidence (4)

This is the fourth in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coincidence, soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

In 1936 my wife and I were occupying a room on the fourth floor of the Cumberland Hotel, facing the Marble Arch in Hyde Park, London. The Australian mail one morning brought a letter from our daughter.

`Do you know', she asked, `that Carl Fairfax is in London? I wonder if you will run across him!'

I smiled inwardly at the vast improbability, during the few days that remained to us, of our meeting this solitary Australian amidst the maze of London's millions. With the letter still in my hand I stepped out of the bedroom on to the lift. And the only person on the lift was Carl Fairfax!

(To be continued) .

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: The Cumberland Hotel, London base for Frank and Stella's fourth coincidence.

Boreham on Coincidence (3)

This is the third in a series by F W Boreham from his essay The Long Arm of Coincid-ence, soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

On a beautiful summer's evening in 1924 I was enjoying, with a party of congenial friends, a delightful drive across the Devonshire moors. On the far horizon we suddenly descried a puff of dust out of which, as we drew nearer, there emerged a man with a few sheep: it must have been market-day at a nearby moorland town. As soon as we could determine the nature of the objects that had created the cloud, a mischievous mood fell upon me.

`Ah,' I observed, casually, `here comes a man with seventeen sheep!'
`Seventeen!' exclaimed my companions in astonishment. `How on earth can you count them at this distance? It is difficult to see the sheep for the dust!'

We drove on, and, in due course, met the flock. I could scarcely believe my eyes when it became clear that the sheep numbered exactly seventeen. I carried off the situation with a fine assumption of visual and mathematical superiority, deriding my companions on their pitiable blindness. But within half an hour, to my discomfiture, we made out another, and much larger, mob of sheep.

`Well,' exclaimed my friend beside me, `you were very clever in counting the animals in the first flock: how many are there in this one?' It was a case of neck or nothing and I resolved to go down with all flags flying.

`Do you mean to say', I replied, `that you really cannot count those sheep? Why, man, it's as plain as a pikestaff that there are a hundred and nineteen of them!'

Shall I ever forget the speechless stupefaction that I struggled to conceal when, on meeting the sheep, we learned from the drover that they numbered a hundred and nineteen precisely?

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Sheep and shepherd in Dartmoor

Boreham on Coincidence (2)

This is the second in a series of instalments by F W Boreham from his essay, 'The Long Arm of Coincidence', soon to be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen
"Or take another case. I have lived, roughly, about twenty-five thousand days. On only one of those days have I been bitten by a dog; but on that memorable day I was bitten by two. I had set out to visit a friend who lived about three miles from my own home. As I turned into his street, an infuriated dog rushed out of an open gate and savagely attacked me, fastening his teeth into my leg. Somewhat shaken, I managed to reach my friend's house, where my wound was bathed and bandaged."

'Every Dog is Allowed One Bite'
"An hour later I set out for home, and, almost within sight of it, was assailed by another dog and again bitten. Puzzled by the unwonted attention paid me that day by the canine tribe, I carefully examined everything about my person—my clothing, my walking-stick and the contents of my pockets. But everything was perfectly normal."

"People deeply versed in the mentality of dogs have suggested that the first attack had affected my nerve and that the second dog had sensed in me an attitude of apprehension and distrust which, awakening his resentment, laid me open to further victimization. I do not know. The plausible theory is sound or it is unsound. If it is sound, then the astonishing thing is that I have passed unbitten by every dog that I have since met. If it is unsound, then my brace of bites remain among life's inexplicable coincidences."

To be continued in the series of instalments on this web site entitled Boreham on Coincidence.

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Ferocious canine.

Boreham on Coincidence (1)

Just By Coincidence
Do you ever think much about the coincidences that have happened in your life?

F W Boreham wrote an article about some of the amazing coincidences that happened to him and said:

Commit Coincidence to Paper
“No person should think seriously of dying until they have committed to paper a list of the most striking and extraordinary coincidences that have come under their personal observation. I do not mean those of which he has read. As I have tried to demonstrate in A Reel of Rainbow, the stately coincidences of history are tremendously impressive and dramatic. But they are common property: anyone can collate them.”

Coincidental Capital
“In the course of each person’s personal pilgrimage, however, they encounter a few combinations of circumstances so arbitrary, so fortuitous and so bewildering as to be almost freakish. Were a novelist to weave them into the web of their romance, the reviewers would charge the novelist with having transgressed all the bounds of probability. The plot would be condemned as a flagrant outrage of the literary canons. Yet these things actually happened! If each person were to recall and record such surprising experiences whilst it is still in their power to do so, some very valuable and practical purposes would be served.”

Coincidence in the Carriage
“Let me crystallize my abstract doctrine into concrete example by a few instances of the kind of thing I have in mind. I will begin with my wedding day. We were married at Kaiapoi, New Zealand, early in the morning and caught that day's express for the south. A friend, knowing of our movements, sent a congratulatory telegram to the train. The guard handed it to me—opened!
`Very sorry, sir', he murmured, `but there's another young couple of the same name in the next carriage!'”

“In view of the fact that my name is not a particularly common one, an involuntary doubt sprang to my mind; but, later on, we met our namesakes, who were most profuse in their apologies.”

If you would like to read more of this article containing Boreham’s amazing coincidences and his reflections on them, these stories will be posted on this web site over the next few days.

This entire essay will be included in the forthcoming book, The Best Essays of F W Boreham.

Source: F W Boreham, ‘The Long Arm of Coincidence’, I Forgot to Say (London: The Epworth Press, 1939), 87-96.

Image: Train at the Dunedin Station, NZ

Boreham writes About Memorabilia

Refreshing the Memory
F W Boreham penned many thoughts about memorabilia as a means of helping people to remember the past. Judging by the number of references in his books, photographs were an important way by which Boreham’s memory was refreshed as they helped him to recall significant people,[1] historic places[2] and interesting occasions.[3]

Tuft of Clover
Boreham kept many natural mementoes in his books, on his mantelpiece and on his desk, including a tuft of clover from Bishop Selwyn’s graveyard in Lichfield, England.[4]

References reveal Boreham’s desire to practice the wearing of a sprig of green in his buttonhole on St Patrick’s Day to perpetuate the memory of one of his heroes,[5] his enjoyment of the patriotic symbolism of the wattle[6] and the celebration of mothers through the wearing of white flowers.[7]

Magic of the Past
In writing on ‘The magic of the past’, Boreham recorded the incident when the silver candlestick from the cabin of the Victory was presented by the British Admiralty to the HMAS Sydney in commemoration of her service in the Mediterranean Sea. Writing of this memento, Boreham said: “That candlestick represents a vital link with a glorious past. As long as it remains in the Sydney it will make every Australian sailor feel that the deathless spirit of Nelson still dominates the fleet and that every modern action is but a continuation of Trafalgar. It is an illustration of the way in which our grey Todays may be glorified by contact with our golden Yesterdays”.[8]

Weaving the Web
Following this example of an object perpetuating “the magic of the past”, Boreham concluded, “The high art of managing the years lies in gathering up all that was best in Yesterday and weaving it, with Today’s additions, into the web of Tomorrow”.[9]

Geoff Pound

Image: 'symbolism of the wattle.'


[1] F W Boreham, The silver shadow (London: The Epworth Press, 1918), 214. This is a reference to a nurse who had figured in Boreham’s life story.
[2] F W Boreham, Mushrooms on the moor (London: The Epworth Press, 1915), 18. Boreham wrote of a photograph of Dundee, Scotland, which he visited while on pilgrimage to the birthplace of Robert Murray McCheyne.
[3] F W Boreham, A faggot of torches (London: The Epworth Press, 1926), 23. Boreham referred to a photograph of the village of Broadhembury , England, that reminded him of Augustus Toplady.
[4] F W Boreham, Cliffs of opal (London: The Epworth Press, 1948), 45.
[5] F W Boreham, The temple of topaz (London: The Epworth Press, 1928), 188.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 5 October 1929.
[7] Boreham, Mercury, 7 May 1955.
[8] Boreham, Mercury, 28 December 1940.
[9] Boreham, Mercury, 28 December 1940.

Boreham on the Salvation Army

What's the Point of the Church?
I was born at Tunbridge Wells in Kent. As I sat in the old church on Mount Ephraim, sometimes following the Liturgy, sometimes listening to the sermon, and sometimes dreaming of very different things, one problem perpetually assailed me.

I cherished for the Church and all its teachings a veneration that almost amounted to awe; yet one thing puzzled me: I could see no utility in it all. I used to wonder what end was served by it. It seemed so hopelessly remote from real life and from the pleasures and pursuits of the week.

I failed to detect any practical purpose in this aspect of things. I thought my father the very personification of everything that was upright, everything that was chivalrous, everything that was noble, unselfish and true; but it never occurred to me that there was any connexion between his inflexible integrity on the one hand and his attachment to the sanctuary on the other.

Trio of Experiences
I thought my mother the sweetest and most queenly woman of whom I had ever heard or read; but I never once imagined that her affection for these sacred and awful mysteries accounted in any measure for her charm. But, after a while, three things happened, and those three things threw a new light upon everything.

My father and mother passed through a profound and poignant spiritual experience that had its repercussions in my own soul: that was the first. I heard Mr. Moody preach to an enormous gathering in the open air: that was the second. And the Salvation Army—then a sensational novelty—came to our town: that was the third.

Surprised by Religion
The uniforms—especially of the women—greatly intrigued me. It happened that several men whom I had met in ordinary life figured among the Army's earliest converts in the town; and I was electrified when I beheld them figuring in this new role. As, hovering on the fringe of the crowd at their open-air gatherings on the Tunbridge Wells Common, I listened to the testimonies of these men, I tremendously admired their courage. Religion seemed bent upon surprising me: I had never dreamed that it might assume such a form as this.

I made my way to those intriguing meetings on the Common every Sunday afternoon. And when, shortly afterwards, the Skeleton Army appeared, the whole thing seemed to throb with sensation. I several times witnessed the clash of the two armies; heard the members of the Skeleton Army drown with their ribald songs and senseless shouts the voices of the Salvationists; and more than once gazed upon scenes of actual violence.

When I saw those, of both sexes, whose appeals had so affected me, bleeding from wounds inflicted by fists or sticks or stones, my whole soul was stirred within me. I realized that religion—the religion that had seemed to me unpractical—meant so much to these men and women that, for its sake, they were ready to bear any shame, endure any suffering, or die any death.

Prophetic Stance
A few years later, when the municipal authorities at Eastbourne took it into their heads that street-corner evangelism and preaching on the sands were inconsistent with the decorum of a fashionable seaside resort, and passed a by-law prohibiting open-air meetings in the town, General Booth sent his Salvationists in their thousands to the lovely Sussex watering-place with instructions to hold open-air meetings everywhere. The Sussex gaols were soon crowded to suffocation with prisoners in Army uniform, whilst the warders were half-deafened by the rollicking Army choruses. The authorities were at their wits' ends. Moved by a sympathy born of my boyish experiences at Tunbridge Wells, I hurried down to Eastbourne as soon as I could escape from the office in which I was employed in London, and spent with the Eastbourne Salvationists one of the most exciting week-ends of my life. The obnoxious by-law was, of course, shattered to smithereens.

Courageous Confession
At about this time the Salvation Army made upon my mind an impression of a very different kind. The town of Tunbridge Wells, which prided itself on its immaculate respectability, was shocked by a horrible and dastardly murder. The manager of a local saw mills had been done to death among his own stacks of timber. The hideous crime was, of course, the talk of the town. But the perpetrators had left no clue, and, in course of time, the sordid affair faded from the public consciousness.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, the Captain of the Salvation Army announced that two young fellows of about seventeen or eighteen had attended a service at his Barracks, had made a profession of conversion and had authorized him to report to the police that they were responsible for the murder at the saw mills.

They were arrested, tried, convicted and hanged. In their last moments they testified to the joyous reality of the gracious experience that had come to them at the penitent form. And I remember feeling that the religious impressions that could lead to so courageous a confession and to so dreadful a death must be of a particularly powerful and penetrating kind.

Enjoyable Fellowship
Since those days I have myself spent sixty years preaching the everlasting gospel; and, in every part of the world, I have enjoyed the most beautiful fellowship with officers and members of the Salvation Army.

And in all my travels I was seldom more deeply moved than when Mrs. General Carpenter told me that Commissioner T. Henry Howard, old General Booth's right-hand man during the early campaigns of the Army, died clasping my own Bunch of Everlasti ngs.

Salvo Stories
May I, whilst in this vein, pay a grateful tribute to the value of the Army literature? I love the choice little biographies in The Warrior's Library, lives of men like Jean Oberlin, George Fox, Peter Cartwright, Francis of Assisi and the rest. It was with immense enjoyment, and to my permanent enrichment, that I first read the biographies of the great Salvationists—Catherine Booth, William Booth, Commissioner Howard, Staff Captain Kate Lee, and the rest. The stately records of these flaming spirits are beautifully written.

Harold Begbie, Commissioner Booth-Tucker, Mrs. General Carpenter, and others have produced works that deserve to be treasured as part of the Church's choicest board. The story that they tell—the story of the rise and progress of the Salvation Army, and the story of the deathless spirits that served and suffered under its flag—is full of pathos, full of heroism, full of true chivalry, full of consecrated nobleness. More recently I have studied with great enjoyment and profit The Father of Salvation Army Music, Campaigning in Captivity, and other of the works of Lieut. Colonel Arch. R. Wiggins. They are all very moving.

Consuming Passion
As one lays aside these inspiring volumes, it stands out crystal clear that the pioneers and pathfinders of the Salvation Army not only displayed in their own persons a consuming passion for the souls of people, but that, to the incalculable gain of the world at large, they infused that sacred intensity into the experience of all the Churches.

F W Boreham, ‘The Salvation Army’, Arrows of Desire (London: The Epworth Press, 1951), 130-133.

Image: Salvoes on the Street

Boreham on Architecture

Eloquent Stones
In 1924, Frank Boreham wrote an editorial entitled ‘Crumbling stones’, in which he considered the stones that were part of an architect’s design in an old building.[1] In this article, Boreham expressed his anxiety about old buildings that were crumbling and stimulated support for their preservation as they represented “stones [that] seem alive with the eloquence of tradition”.

Asserting their value as means by which history is preserved and presented, Boreham said, “The monuments of architecture are often the only record of the life and hopes of nations that have had their day and have ceased to be”.[2] These views about the moral power of architecture upon people are reminiscent of assertions made by John Ruskin who regarded architecture as “a vital index of a nation’s values” and “a means of enriching the nation’s values”.[3]

Impressing the Mind
In another editorial nearly two decades later, Boreham made a further claim for historic buildings to be prized. He averred: “The mind of man is more impressed by architectural than by natural grandeur ... [and] the reverence that we feel for our stateliest buildings can be attributed to our inveterate but curious habit of associating events with the places at which they happened. We transfer our esteem for a certain person to the spot that he habitually frequented or to the house in which he lived”.[4]

Value of the Cathedral
Of special note are the many articles Boreham wrote about St Paul’s Cathedral in London, its architect Sir Christopher Wren and its history. In 1925, Boreham boldly called Australian readers to give funds to “save the cathedral” believing “it is part of the priceless heritage of every British citizen” (he viewed a resident in Tasmania as “both a Tasmanian and a Briton”) and that this was the business of the whole Empire.[5] The cathedral in relation to Britain’s history, he argued, “is not only a part, and an important part; it is in itself an impressive and monumental expression and presentment. It is an epic of empire in noblest architecture”.[6]

Geoff Pound

Image: St Paul's "an epic of empire..."


[1] Boreham, Mercury, 19 January 1924.
[2] Boreham, Mercury, 19 January 1924.
[3] John Ruskin, The genius of John Ruskin: Selections from his writings ed. John D Rosenberg (George Allen & Unwin Ltd, 1963), 121-122.
[4] Boreham, Mercury, 22 March 1941; Age, 30 August 1947.
[5] Boreham, Mercury, 24 January 1925.
[6] Boreham, Mercury, 24 January 1925.