Source/Author: By Trevor Hancock

In October Anne and I, together with our baby daughter, set sail for Sarawak before going to work amongst the Iban people who live upriver in the “Longhouses”, and people said to us “Why do you want to go?” or “Why are you leaving England? Don’t you like it?” Others seem to think that we are deserting them. “Why do you have to go overseas to do Missionary work?”

The reason is a simple one. National Service sent me to Singapore when I was eighteen. We went by air, stopping in several different countries. We stayed overnight in Calcutta and were housed in the Great Eastern Hotel. We ate our chicken dinner to soothing music. Attentive India waiters hovered in the background ready to do whatever they were asked. “This”, I thought, “is the way to live”, and Miss Eartha Kitt’s song about wanting to be a millionaire, which was high in the Top Twenty scale at the time, seemed to be very appropriate.

After dinner some of us decided to take a walk and enjoy the sights of the city. Outside the Hotel we found lots and lots of little boys — the sort of boys we send to Junior Schools here. These were the shoe shine boys and they are waiting for us.

As soon as a foot was set down upon the pavement, it was pounced upon by these same boys who proceeded to cover it with polish. A mad scramble developed between these Cherry Blossom agents to find a vacant piece of foot. We fled whilst our shoes remained intact.

But there was no escape. As I turned a corner I was waylaid by a little girl who could have been no more than eleven or twelve. She was carrying a baby which she waved in front of me. It looked like a dirty bundle of rags, but it was alive. She said the baby was hers and that neither of them had had anything to eat all day.

The currency regulations and my A.C.2’s pay between them had left me almost as destitute as the girl. Seeing that her story was having no effect upon me, she then tried to sell me the baby. I moved on quickly only to be halted by another of the hungry little boys who asked me politely if I would like him to take me to his sister,who he assured me was very clean.

By now it was dark, and as we retreated we found that the road was the only place to walk on. The pavements were all occupied by sleeping people. These people have no homes, no money, no possessions. The only thing that belongs to them is life itself, and very often that expires during the night.

Next morning we saw a Corporation Dust Cart stop. The driver dismounted — went over to one of the sleeping bodies. With hardly any effort he picked it up and dumped it unceremoniously on his cart and drove away. It was the last long sleep of another miserable beggar.

This experience left its mark on me. Never before had I realised that life could be so cruel. I tried to discuss what I had seen with some of the older men on the flight, but the only answer I got was, “Don’t you worry about these people, Son, they’re only wags — they’re used to that kind of thing — they’ve never known anything better. It’s their own fault for not being born British.” I suppose this kind of answer would satisfy some, but it left me cold.

In Singapore a Church group invited me to go with them to the local leper colony. I was warned before I went that it was not a pleasant experience. The people we had most to do with there were the children, but first I was introduced to some of the adult members of the community.

One of the first men I met was “Bertie”. He was a cheerful Chinese who helped to run the Sunday School. To meet him for the first time was not exactly a delight. His face was distorted and scarred. His hands were twisted and buckled, and some of his toes were missing. He was an advanced case of leprosy. We shook hands and I had to brace myself to do it. Later on I was to realise what a strong Christian faith he had. Never once did I hear him complain. His scarred face was beautified by an ever ready smile for the children he so lovingly rounded up each Sunday.

He was helped by another Chinese known to us as “Bessie”. She was cast in the same mould, and between them they did a great deal for me. They showed me that Faith is not a luxury that you can afford to undulge in if things go right, but that it is in fact the whole of life — in whatever state you find yourself.

How different were these people from the pathetic beggars I had seen in Calcutta. I realised then what a difference the Christian faith makes.

A mild interest in a different way of life was turned into a passion for compassion. The work in the leper colony was followed up by regular visits to a Mental Hospital and a Childrens’ Orthopaedic Hospital. As I met and worked with other Christians of varying nationalities and colours I developed a sense of call to the Ministry.

That was a long time ago, but the vision remains, and as the time drew near to leave home shores it became clearer and clearer, and I longed by the grace if God to serve Him. That is why I was joyful as the boat sailed.

Methodist Message
January 1964
Vol. 58 No. 1