Chapter XIII: What an Illiterate Boy Made of His Life

Just seven days before Christmas, 1851, a baby was born at Mansfield, Nottingham, England, named James Flanaghan, who was destined to have a pretty hard time of it for several years. The baby's father was Patrick Flanaghan, and, as his name would suggest, was Irish by nationality. When he was sober, Patrick Flanaghan was a good husband and father, but when he was drunk--which was pretty often--he acted like a beast. At the sound of his unsteady step on the stairs, his wife and children prepared for the worst. Often what little furniture there was in the Flanaghan home would be smashed to atoms in the fury of the man's drunken passion, and the mother and children would be driven out into the street, to wander around until some one had pity on them and took them in.

After a few years James went to work with his father at the task of pipe-making in a factory. His father was the kiln man, and was clever in the art of giving fixity to moulds of clay by a process of burning. James stood at the table modelling clay into tobacco pipes. It was hard work for the boy, and all he received was sixty cents a week. The father became dissatisfied with such small wages, and so James was taken out of the factory to work in a coal mine.

A lady, in whose class James sat at Sunday school, gave him a coat which was several sizes too large for him. His mother wept when she saw him; he looked so funny; but James was too young to worry over his appearance, and he was glad to have a coat to keep him warm.

The men with whom James worked down the mine, teased him or cursed him, according to their moods. They were rough men and often their language was vile. At meal times James munched his crust of bread and cheese, and heard tales which had been told in the saloon the night before.

Soon he was taken, along with other lads of his age, to the saloon. His sweet singing astonished and pleased the drunken men there. He sang songs which he had heard, and he attended theatres, and such was his memory that he could reproduce whole scenes that he had witnessed. For all this James received a good deal of praise, and especially from the saloon-keepers, who were glad to have any one who could attract men to their drinking places.

Through the influence of a Sunday-school worker, named Parker, James was induced to attend a religious service at a Methodist church. He sat very reverently through the service although it all seemed very strange to him, and much of it he did not understand. When at the close of the service a man took him by the hand and said: "God bless you, my brother," he was deeply touched, and his eyes filled up with tears. He was not accustomed to that kind of speech. It was the kindness of the people which led him back to that church again. Deep impressions for good were made on the young lad's mind, although he could not make up his mind what to do. He had a great many evil companions, and he knew it would be a difficult thing for him to break away from them; however, one Sunday morning as he sat in church, listening to an earnest sermon, he bowed his head, and gave himself to God. It was the turning-point in James Flanaghan's life.

He was at this time about sixteen years of age, but he had practically no education. He could not write his own name, nor even distinguish the letters of the alphabet. He had never been to school one day in his life, and practically all he knew was the vulgar sayings he had heard in the mine, and in the saloons. But he began to improve himself at once, and, big fellow though he was, he bought an alphabet and learned his letters thoroughly, and then he began the simplest kind of reading. Often when he came home from the mine, tired though he was, he sat up until past midnight trying to make up for lost years.

He tried hard and made good progress. As soon as he was able to read well enough to spell out the words, he committed to memory the One Hundred and Third Psalm. It took him quite a while to learn it all for he could only commit to memory a few verses at a time, but he succeeded, and this fine psalm filled his mind with beautiful thoughts during the hours he spent down the mine. Then soon afterwards when there was need for teachers in the Sunday School he offered his services. He was given the beginners' class at first, for he could neither read nor teach the lessons for older scholars, but as he advanced in knowledge he was promoted to other classes, and after a few years was actually made superintendent of the school.

There was a group of earnest men in that church, who, like Flanaghan, worked hard, but who on Sundays preached either in small churches and mission halls of the district, or in the open air. Soon he joined them, and although his first prayers and brief addresses in public were halting and a source of anxiety to him, he rapidly improved, and all the neighbouring churches were glad to have him preach in their pulpits. Miners who had known him for several years could not understand how he had become educated so quickly. They knew that he had never been a day at public school in his life and that even at sixteen he could neither read nor write. Yet now he could read whole chapters of the Bible in public, and could preach sermons that showed he had read many other books as well. He was still working fourteen hours a day in the mine, and his time for reading was strictly limited, but he never wasted a moment, and his perseverance and earnestness, together with his excellent memory, soon enabled him to preach as though he had attended school as other young men.

Soon after this he was asked to conduct some services at a village named Long Clawson. These services were so successful that he was engaged to conduct further services in that district for a period of six months. Of course, this meant giving up work in the coal mine, and moving elsewhere. The news quickly spread throughout the little town where he lived, and the people came to his house to wish him and his wife and children "God speed." His conversion, and the marvellous progress he had made in education were widely known, and all were deeply interested. He stood upon a chair, and the crowd gathered around. He told them again of his conversion, and after a few earnest words, bade them a tender farewell. All were deeply moved and there were few dry eyes.

For four years James Flanaghan did the work of an evangelist; making visits, varying from ten days to four weeks, at many places throughout the country. Whenever he could spare half an hour he spent it in reading. He knew that he had a great deal of ground to make up, and he never could make it up unless he worked hard. His careful reading soon showed in his sermons and addresses. Not only were his public speeches earnest, they were thoughtful, and people who had known him in other years considered his progress nothing short of a miracle.

Then he was appointed city missionary for the city of Nottingham. During the time he lived there James Flanaghan became widely known and greatly beloved. The services he conducted at the large mission hall were the most important gatherings he had ever addressed. The large building held two thousand people and quite often it was filled to overflowing. A brotherhood organization for men was established with over two thousand members, and the entire city of Nottingham was influenced for good. When the time came for him to leave the city, he carried away with him the good wishes of all.

In 1891, when he was forty years of age, James Flanaghan was made a minister of the Primitive Methodist Church. This was a somewhat unusual thing to do, as he had never been to college, nor taken any regular course of study, but his work had shown that he was a true and able servant of God and he would never disgrace the ministry, for his close study for more than twenty years had made him a well-educated man.

His first charge after ordination was at Trinity Street Church, London. Here he found a large church, almost empty, yet surrounded by a vast population of very poor people. His first Sunday was not an encouraging one. There were only thirty-six people at the morning service, and thirty-seven in the evening, but James Flanaghan had been facing difficulties all his life, and had become used to them. From the time when, as a baby he had been turned out into the streets with his poor mother, up to the time he stood in the big empty church at London, it had been a bitter, uphill struggle, but rough weather makes good sailors, and Flanaghan's heart was strong and brave.

The more he learned about the district around his church the more he realized the need for Christian work. There were scores of low-class drinking places, and the lodging-houses were little better than haunts for animals. There was one lodging house where thirteen murders had been committed, but the very wretchedness of the district made an appeal to Flanaghan's sympathy, and he worked harder than he had ever worked in his life; if that were possible. Soon the large building was filled. Fine, enthusiastic meetings were held during the week and hundreds of boys in that neighbourhood enjoyed their first games in the gymnasium of the church.

Soon the premises, which had seemed so large and empty at first, were far too small to hold all the people who were eager to attend. What was to be done? The people of the district certainly could not raise money to enlarge the premises, and so it was decided that Mr. Flanaghan should visit towns and cities outside of London during the week, and by lecturing and preaching raise sufficient money to build larger and better premises. In less than two years Mr. Flanaghan had raised the sum of twenty thousand dollars, which made it possible to begin work on the new buildings.

By this time the name of James Flanaghan had become known throughout England. Just the announcement on a billboard that "James Flanaghan is coming," was a sufficient advertisement to fill any church or hall. Under the magic spell of his eloquence people became generous in their gifts for the poor. Poor children brought their coppers to buy a new brick in the buildings. A man who was penniless put his watch and chain on the collection plate, while another man brought a hen and requested that it be sold, and the funds used as the speaker wished.

The new hall was formally opened on January 4th, 1900, and is known as St. George's Hall. It is a fine, well-equipped building, and from the day it was opened until the present time it has been a means of blessing to thousands of people in that crowded section of London, known as Bermondsey, where people live under conditions which, fortunately, are almost unknown in this land.

James Flanaghan's reputation spread overseas, and in 1908 he was invited to tour Australia and New Zealand. He received a great welcome in New Zealand by people of all denominations. Arrangements had been made for large meetings, but in most cases the churches and halls which had been engaged were much too small. No visitor to that land for many years so favourably impressed the people. Audiences were held spellbound by his eloquence. How few of those who so admired his culture and lofty thought realized that they were listening to a man who had never been to public school a day in his life, and who up to the time of his sixteenth birthday could neither read or write. Lord Plunkett, the Governor of New Zealand, greatly admired Mr. Flanaghan, and showed him much kindness. Sir J. C. Ward, the Prime Minister, made him an honoured guest of the Parliament, and wherever he went his fine bearing and culture made an excellent impression. When he left he received the thanks of all the Christian Churches. A similar welcome was extended to him in Australia, and there he was for some time the guest of Lord Chief Justice and Lady Way.

He returned to his work in England, and found time to write several books, which had a wide circulation and did much good. Such were the demands for his services that only a small percentage of the requests could be acceded to, but he led a busy life and exerted much influence for good.

In 1914 he was taken ill, and a year later he had to retire from active work. This was a great trial to one who so loved his work, but he gradually became weaker. He died on March 30th, 1918, and his passing was regretted by thousands throughout the world. Members of the British Parliament, mayors, aldermen and councillors of London and the provinces joined the bereaved family in the church and placed flowers upon his grave. All were glad to honour the memory of one who, though he had started life under heavy handicaps, had made his life one of blessing and usefulness to a vast number of people.