Evangelism Interview

H:   This is an interview with Elder Roy Brandstater for the California State University, Fullerton Oral History program by Maurice Hodgen at Elder Roy Brandstater’s home at 1115 Cedar Street, Redlands, on Sunday, 28th of June, 1976, at 11:00 a.m.

Let’s start off by talking about what led you to go to Avondale College in 1914.

B:   I went across to New South Wales, Australia, from Tasmania because my brother, Gordon, was at Avondale, and he was often urging me to come. I was only sixteen years of age then and I wanted to see him, and I wanted to break away from the old place where I was in a rut. I didn’t have a future yet, and I was worried about not having an education. I had only the primary education to sixth grade, and had finished that at about eleven, I think it was, and I was always hankering after more education. So I thought I’d go over to New South Wales. I went over by ship, landed in Sydney, New South Wales, left my trunk and things in a boarding house there in Market Street and got on the train to go up to Avondale College at Cooranbong. Gordon didn’t know I was coming.

I had a new bicycle that I was proud of because it was built for me personally. I used to do a bit of bike racing in those days in Hobart. I brought this new bike with me, and didn’t care where I got off the train, so I got off at Morisset.

I had quite an experience while travelling up, on the train. I played pea-under-the-walnut-shell. The fact is I played with a bunch of fellows who were out to get my money, and I was sure I could see that stupid pea under there. I knew it was there, and I thought I couldn’t lose anything if I said it was under that one. I bet him a few shillings it was under this one and that one. I didn’t have much, and by the time I got out of this pea business I had little of that left. Anyway, from Morisset I rode the bike to Avondale. The first time I’d seen Avondale was as I rode down the pathway of old Avondale in May, 1914.

H:   That’s about two or three miles from Morisset?

B:   Yes, about four miles from Morisset. When I arrived at the college, I met a young fellow in short pants. It was Ruben Shannon. He was one of the youngest boys there and looked to be about fifteen years of age. I asked if he knew someone by the name of Gordon Brandstater, He did and said, “Oh, yes, I know him. He’s working down in the food factory.” I went down to the factory, and there I met Gordon.

Was he pleased to see me! Well, I told him my position, and he said we should see the “Pro” next day. The “Pro” was the principal, you see, and that was George Teasdale. Teasdale said, “Well, your brother’s here, what about staying on? We’ll give you work in the factory.”

So I started work the next day, making boxes. We used to make our own boxes for the Granose breakfast cereal those days, nailing them together. I worked for fourpence an hour.

I started in studies right then also. Not long after that I started to work at soldering and Norm Jeffes taught me. That’s where I started in Avondale; that’s how I came to Avondale. I was very pleased to get into something where I was going on with some studies.

H:   Your interest was in getting some education, rather than a specific interest in the ministry?

B:   Oh yes, I didn’t know what I wanted to do; I had no clue. When I heard others speaking in the chapel–those young fellows getting up, and speaking in public, I just wondered how they did it. The last thing in the world I thought I’d ever be able to do was the ministry. It wasn’t until after several years that I decided what I wanted to do.

As a matter of fact, by that time I was thinking more seriously and more deeply. I read one day in the epistle of First John, “I write unto you young men because you are strong.” I thought well, I’m strong and I’m into it. And I accepted that: if the Lord had confidence in me and gave this strength, I was going to serve Him. I decided for the ministry on the basis of that as an experience of mine. Of course, we were always being spoken to in chapel by the missionaries coming back from the Pacific islands, telling us what was going on over there. You know, there was adventure in that. So I decided to study for the ministry, and that is where I started.

I spent seven months at Avondale and I saw I needed money for the next school year because I wasn’t earning enough there at fourpence an hour. I was brought up amongst the timber in Tasmania so I went to work out at Mullard’s, a sawmill out at Morisset. Even that didn’t give much in wages–seven shillings a day I think I was earning–and I couldn’t save very well. I would ride over to Avondale to see my pals and saw them getting on with their education while I wasn’t getting anywhere. I saw I was wasting time. If I took only a couple of studies and earned less I’d still be doing better because I’d at least be making progress in school. It worried me because the year was getting away from me. So I broke away from Mullard’s, saying, “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you any longer; I’m going back to school.” I went back, picked up some studies, and went on through the year. At the end of that year someone, I don’t know who, paid the bill for my year’s schooling. It was really wonderful to be helped that way.

The next vacation I went canvassing with Dick Felsch way up in Lismore in the Northern Rivers of New South Wales. I had a young lady friend at Avondale, and I earned enough by selling Christ’s Object Lessons, by E. G. White, to earn a scholarship for myself and one for her, too. That was something to accomplish. And somebody, I don’t know who it was, very generously helped me through the next year, too. At the college I worked on plumbing, in the powerhouse and in a sawmill. Tom Escreet, my brother and I set up a sawmill at Avondale to cut timber out of the bush on the property itself. We hauled it in with bullock teams for quite a while and then used a team of horses. A student came down from north Queensland to the college and could handle bullocks and horses too, but he wouldn’t handle horses with reins. He insisted on using a bullock whip when he drove the horses. We had a team of six young unbroken draft horses that he had to break. They were rough. I can see Horace Hancock, that was his name, even now breaking these horses. He did have several already broken and he put them with the others hauling logs but he put reins on none of them. And to see these six big draft horses, young things in tandem, was impressive. He’d bring them out to where we’d cut the timber in the bush with a team of fellows around helping us. Then Horace would haul the logs to the wagon, pull them onto the big wagon that he had and take them to the mill. It was interesting to watch him handle those horses with a bullock whip. I remember he got the wagon stuck once in a ditch near the girl’s hall. There it was with three big logs on and six horses pulling. All the teachers came along to have a look, and students too. There was a crowd around him and Horace sat down on the road. I can see him now. C. V. Bell came and looked at him. Reekie, the farm manager came, and said, “Go to the rein room and get the reins.” “Get the reins and you can drive them yourself; I won’t,” said Horace. “Go and get Dick,” he said. Dick was an old horse, well broken and a leader. “Dick’s crosseyed,” said Horace. “Go and get Daisy.” “Daisy’s staked,” said Horace. Daisy had injured a hoof on a stake in the ground. Horace just sat there. He’d been a bullockee and he handled things just like a bullockee. He sat there until people drifted away. Then up he got, cracked his whip, shouted at these horses to pull, and they hauled the wagon up and out. It was interesting to watch this fellow handle those bullocks.

H:   Was this on the road that curved around the campus?

B:   Yes, around past the girl’s hall.

H:   Around past the chapel?

B:   That’s right, and then right down, past the circle, and then to the powerhouse. You know where the powerhouse was? Not down where it was when you were at Avondale but down below the boy’s hall, three or four hundred yards down, behind the old boy’s hall.

H:   In front of it or behind it?

B:   Behind it, towards the creek. We had quite a big powerhouse with a big gas engine. I used to work that gas engine generating the power for the lights all through the village and over the campus. I used to get up at four o’clock in the morning to put on the lights.

H:   What else did you work at?

B:   Plumbing. Yes, plumbing and when I wasn’t plumbing I was in the sawmill. We worked at the sawmill while we had timber on the property and when we finished using that timber we used to buy the trees from the hills around. They’d come in with the bullock teams, teams and teams and teams of bullocks. With that we built a new timber factory, a factory office, quite a big building and lots of buildings near the water tower. There are a lot of wooden houses there and they were all built from timber from our mill. And nearly all the other wooden buildings you see near there.

H:   These were faculty homes?

B:   Yes, faculty homes and the buildings downhill from the girl’s hall itself. All those buildings were built with this timber that we cut at that mill.

H:   The barn?

B:   No, the barn was there already, as were quite a lot of the other buildings around.

H:   This is between 1914 and what year?

B:   I graduated in 1920 from the ministerial course. Oh, we did a lot of things, had a lot of fun and we enjoyed Avondale very much. I conducted the band there after Roy Anderson left. Of course, I played the cornet and Gordon did too. Gordon was a good player with a powerful lip, good at execution. I missed him very much when he graduated and went away because he was one of our solo cornetists. Roy Anderson came and he conducted the band while he was there. He was a good conductor, and led a good band. After he left it was handed to me.

It was around about that time, too, that I had a real conversion experience on my own. I turned twenty-one and I had a look at myself privately and alone. I studied myself, and thought about my life and heart. I saw the way to go. I remember that after the experience I was walking on air. I went to the band practice that night and everything went so beautifully, everything was good, and went so well. It was quite an experience. I think that confirmed my previous decision, but it was kind of a new experience for me. Of course, I didn’t look back, I went on in the decision.

I hated to leave Avondale. I was so happy there because I’d been wandering around before this time, undirected and undecided.

My parents had passed away. While I was at Avondale, working at Mullard’s mill, I got word that my father was ill out at Narrandra, in west New South Wales. I went to see him. He’d contracted typhoid while working at a mine. As a matter of fact, he was involved in finding gold there and he was offered quite a large sum for his claim. He should have sold it then and he’d have been a wealthy man. But he didn’t; he thought he’d wait and get more for it, but the boom went down and he lost it all. He was running the engines at a mine when he contracted typhoid. He seemed to be recovering but one Friday night two days after my arrival he had a heart attack and died. I buried him away out in Narrandra. That was a sad experience. Then I went back to the mill for some months, and after that I left there to go back to college.

I was involved in many things at the college. I was always interested in music, and social life, and had a lot to do with Roy Anderson there. We used to go out a lot together. I conducted meetings for young people and arranged concerts. You know, I got involved in so many things that I had to be careful not to neglect my studies. But I made it through to graduation.

Elder Edwin Butz came to the college at about graduation time to interview graduates. That was the way students were chosen for employment in those days. Butz knew my family from Tasmania, and me from when I was a kid. He came to me and said, “Roy, would you like to come to West Australia?” Well, I was thrilled. It was adventure to go to West Australia, and doubly so being in the ministry.

I remember staying in Melbourne on the way. It was camp meeting time, and Willard Staples from South Africa was working there then. He was in evangelistic work, just a young fellow like myself. We’d roomed together at Avondale and I stayed with him on the campground. We had a few days, perhaps a week there together. It was good fun. I remember J. W. Kent speaking one night, and his subject was the Sabbath. He was on top in those days, just a young fellow and he was preaching very well.

I arrived in West Australia and the first thing I did there was a camp meeting again, pitching tents on the show ground at Claremont.

H:   That was a routine, wasn’t it?

B:   That was, oh yes.

H:   Ministers pitched the camp.

B:   Always, yes. And the new appointees were thought of as raw recruits, you know, and would be worked hard. But I was young and athletic and always game for anything, including hard work. At this camp meeting Ellis Behrens, old Pastor Behrens who died a long time ago, was the superintendent.

I remember an interesting incident on this campground. During the camp meeting they had a sheaf throwing competition. For this there were two telephone poles, about twenty or thirty feet high, and on top of each there was bolted a flagpole that would go up another twelve or fifteen feet. And there was a rope through the top of each flagpole. The two poles were about twelve or fifteen feet apart, just like two big goal-posts, only these were very high and the two ropes were joined and could be raised and lowered. Men would throw sheafs in the air with a pitchfork and over this rope. And others would raise the rope higher and higher knowing how high the sheafs were thrown. It was quite exciting and was a real farmers’ competition. I remember, some of the lads on the ground were fooling around with these ropes, and undid the knots so that the ropes came out of the pulleys on the great, high poles. Well, people didn’t know what to do although some thought they’d get in a steeple jack to thread the ropes through the pulleys. I was athletic, and could climb and wasn’t afraid, so I said, “Okay, give it to me.” I thought I could do it. I climbed up the pole, right to the top, and began to doubt whether I could make it any further. And you know, to climb up a telephone pole is not easy. But when I was at the top of the pole it was swinging and swaying, and I looked up and had another fifteen feet to go up the flagpole. I didn’t know how strong that was. But I just gritted my teeth and I climbed to the top and put the rope in.

I was thankful to get down, and just lay almost exhausted on the ground. Then, would you believe it, they asked if I would do the other one. Well, I did it, and they rewarded me with the day off.

H:   This was at the campground?

B:   Yes.

H:   These would be wheat sheafs that were tossed?

B:   Wheat sheafs.

I was asked to work with H. C. Harker after the camp meeting. H. C. Barker was a very dedicated man and a good evangelist. He was simple in his presentation, quite a good speaker but he was very direct. He used to win quite a lot of souls. I was his off-sider, his assistant and in this role I used to sing for him and offer prayer in his meetings and help generally. He and I had a good time together but there was just one difficulty. There was a policy in all the Conferences that anyone coming into the ministry had to spend the first six months selling religious books. That was mandatory. Well, I’d already done three months during the college vacation and even though I was given credit for that I had still another three months to finish the six. To do this I worked each afternoon with Pastor Harker, and I would go canvassing each morning. I didn’t like this, starting out canvassing everyday just for the morning and having to stop. You know its all right if you go on canvassing all day everyday; it can get into your blood. But breaking new ground everyday is hard. I did it for some weeks, and then I said to the brethren at the Conference office, “Look, I’ve had enough of this. How about letting me do my three months canvassing without interruptions, so I can get it off my mind?” They said, “All right, go down to Katanning and Narrogin, and do it.” I did, and sold Bible Readings for the Home Circle for three months there and had a good time. I took the cornet with me and joined the local brass band. I didn’t spare the money but enjoyed myself, staying at a hotel and getting to know the people.

H:   That was a good experience.

B:   Yes, I came back to Perth with that accomplished and got into evangelism, and was happy.

H:   This was tent evangelism with Pastor Harker?

B:   It was almost all tent evangelism in those days. Sometimes we couldn’t pitch a tent in certain places, then we’d take a hall. I remember in this instance we rented a hall in a suburb of Perth. The Rogers family joined the church at that time, lovely family. We had results wherever we went with these tents or whatever it was.

H:   How long would a mission effort like this last?

B:   At least six months. Generally speaking, however, it would last as long as you could hold a congregation. This was always the big thing: you had to keep your congregation. If you didn’t have anyone to preach to there was no use in keeping the tent up. And remember that we didn’t have a big church following as is true now. Lots of the places you went to there would be no Adventist church and we’d be dependent on “outside” congregations for attendance. When you went into evangelism you had to study ways and means of presenting your message in an attractive way so that people would want to come back to hear what was happening the next night; you had to hold your congregation. We learned to do this by devising interesting ways of presenting our subjects. We’d use charts and whatever else we had to attract and hold interest. That’s the way we carried on, and that’s how my wife heard the message in Kalgoorlie from Elder Gordon Robinson.

From there in Perth working in Pastor Harker’s evangelistic programs I was sent to Albany down in the south of West Australia to assist Pastor Robinson. I’ll never forget Pastor Gordon Robinson. He was a very good tenor singer and would sing the tenor solos for cantatas at public gatherings. Gordon was also a good speaker, always very clear in his presentation. He won a lot of souls through his work as an evangelist. He wasn’t as sophisticated as perhaps some evangelists today, not by a long way, but he was very direct and people couldn’t miss the meaning when he preached. That’s all that mattered. When he and John Trimm arrived at Albany in West Australia, they pitched the tent right next to a big Presbyterian church where the Reverend Crowe was the minister. Well, in his preaching Pastor Robinson really stirred up that town, and the interested people poured into the tent. It was filled to overflowing and out on the footpaths people were standing listening. This was where Reverend Crowe was battling to keep his congregation. He hadn’t much of a congregation at the best of times, although he had been the chairman of the local church district–I’ve forgotten what term they use for their local Conference president. Understandably he opposed us very strongly, and in an interesting way. When Pastor Robinson would put up a sign announcing, say, the second coming of Christ as his sermon topic, Crowe would have a similar sign put up. He’d repeat every subject we announced. When I arrived there, I remember, it was on a Wednesday and Gordon Robinson’s sign said, “Where are the Dead?” Right outside the Presbyterian church another sign said, “Where are the Dead?”

Pastor Robinson said to me, “Roy, would you go and hear what the Reverend Crowe has to say tonight? He’s reviewing our subject.” I was interested, and went. Crowe had quite a congregation by then because people would go from the tent after hearing Robinson to hear what Crowe had to say that night on the same subject. I’ll never forget that meeting. Crowe didn’t know who I was, so he didn’t care, and said anything he wanted to say. I was a stranger; that’s why Pastor Robinson sent me. Crowe gave a loose presentation on the state of the dead and talked around the subject quite a lot so that you didn’t know what he was getting at. He ended by saying, “Well, we don’t know where the dead are. Any questions?” A man stood up, and what he did amazed me. He opened the Bible at First Thessalonians 4:13 and said, “What do you make of this text, Mr. Crowe? ‘I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep.'” That knocked Crowe. He didn’t know how to answer that one because he had just said that nobody knows where the dead are, and the Bible said otherwise. It broke up the meeting, and apparently the congregation wasn’t satisfied. Later Crowe called a meeting of all the ministers of Albany and together they took the town hall for a public meeting scheduled after the Sunday night services. Many people went and they filled the town hall. When the meeting ended in the tent, many went from there. Gordon Robinson was there too.

Crowe spoke, and he had some of E. G. White’s books. He’d quote from one; then he’d throw it down on the floor. Then he’d give another quotation and throw another book down on the floor. He seemed to be quite excited. After that he asked for questions. Brother Robinson asked one question saying: “Mr. Crowe, do you believe that God created the world in six days?” He knew he had Crowe on this because if Crowe said, “No,” the people would say that he didn’t believe the Bible, and if he said, “Yes,” then Robinson would lead him to questions on the Sabbath, you see. Crowe didn’t answer the question but said, “I have my own ideas about that.” He wouldn’t answer. A lot of people joined the Adventists at Albany and built an Adventist church there. That’s the way evangelism was carried on in those days. You’d be sent into a town where there were no Adventists anywhere near, and you’d open up the work.

H:   Was there often this kind of opposition?

B:   Yes, there was often opposition. It depended a great deal on how the other churches lost their congregations. I didn’t meet much opposition in my experience. Oh, once or twice fellows would challenge me. I remember at Merredin that a Church of Christ leader wanted a discussion with me. He brought someone else along with him and he proposed a discussion on Ellen G. White. I met him on that basis, using as my argument what the Bible said about “the testimony of Jesus” and “the spirit of prophecy” and such texts, saying that the commandments and the testimony of Jesus go together. I argued that belief in the Ten Commandments should go with belief in the gift of prophecy. I said, “You believe that God spoke through His prophets of old, and He said he would speak to them again. We believe that he has a messenger speaking to the remnant church. Where’s your prophet? Can you show me where you have this? If you don’t have this gift then you don’t have the remnant church.” He seemed to be stumped by that argument and he let me alone after that.

H:   Was this a public discussion?

B:   No; although a number of people came, it wasn’t in a public hall. We had a little opposition; well, often we’d have opposition, but not in my experience. I’d avoid it. Rather, I tried to keep a good spirit of harmony with the churches if I could and think I managed to get along pretty well.

H:   Now we’re talking about the twenties, about Merredin and Albany and your work with Pastor Harker. This is all in the twenties?

B:   Yes. I was talking about Merredin a while ago; that was 1928. It was the year before that when I’d been working with Brother Robinson and some of the others. I hadn’t been doing very much myself except helping because others wanted someone to sing for them. Being an assistant so long led me to say to the local Conference president, “Now look, I’ve been around with other men and its been good too, but I’ve just about had enough. I think I can carry responsibility on my own. Let me loose. I don’t want any special privileges or advantages. Send me where you like, but I’d like to get out on my own.” They had a committee meeting and asked me to go to Merredin, probably the last place I wanted to go because I’d been canvassing up that way collecting for missions. Each year they had sent me up this railway line right to Kalgoorlie. I’d be several weeks travelling there, collecting donations for missions in the towns all along the way. There were no Adventists anywhere near. And I remember thinking how hard it would be to go into these wheat belt towns, and just by myself introduce the Adventist message. I wondered who was going to evangelize these people. And the Conference Committee asked me to go there! So we went, my wife and babe, Rhona, then was just one year old. We took a house. I looked at the town and studied it. I thought it was no use doing my work in a corner, no use just going from house to house with tracts. I took the town hall. There was a bit of a mess in the world somewhere, I’ve forgotten where, but it had made headlines. I put a big sign across the front of the town hall proclaiming “What’s Wrong with the World?” My wife painted my signs, and she did them very well in those days too. The meetings began and the people came. We’d take Rhona with us to the meetings putting her into a sleeping carriage in the front row of seats. My wife would hand out the hymnbooks at the door, she’d play the piano for the singing and my solos and she’d take up the offering. We had a pretty good congregation there, I remember.

H:   How big a town was Merredin?

B:   I should say Merredin would then be probably about two or three thousand people, something like that. I used to walk around the town everyday with the handbills advertising the meeting and give them to the people. I spent the better part of the week doing that. As well as this the proprietor of the only newspaper, he was also the local magistrate, and came to the meetings, gave me plenty of column space, as much as I wanted. I really took advantage of this and it helped me no end. People read what I wrote and in the meetings I had a consistent congregation of about fifty. That was pretty good for a town of that kind with no Adventist congregation to support us.

We had Sabbath School meetings of just ourselves, my wife, myself and the baby. People came and interest grew. We baptized eighteen people out of that series. The Willis family joined the church then. They didn’t come to the town hall so much because they were living some twelve miles out, and in those days they didn’t have a car.

I used to hire a car and drive out. In Merredin we obtained from the government a block of land next to that on which our house stood.

The Adventist church and parsonage now stand there together.

H:   That was a major event in your life.

B:   Oh, yes.

H:   It was your first solo effort.

B:   Yes, on my own.[1] I used to have to go out visiting as pastor and evangelist. I didn’t have a motor car of my own in those days but would hire an Essex from a garage when I wanted to drive to the country. It wasn’t very costly, I think it was only fivepence a mile. I had to go out about thirty miles to a place called Muntadgin Rocks where there were people interested in the message. A big hill of rocks and on top of that hill there was a water tower that held rain water. They would reticulate this water to the farmlands around about. It was quite a project. The fellow looking after all this was really interested in the Bible and he almost joined the church, but not quite, unfortunately. I drove through Nukarni to this place and I put up a little notice on a meeting hall buried in amongst some trees in Nukarni, just a little wood hall. I thought that someone might see the notice and because I was coming by there I might as well have a meeting. So I put up a little notice, arranged for the hall and planned to have a meeting on Sunday afternoon if anyone came. A lady came along, a Mrs. Willis and her twelve year old son, Kitchener. I told them what I was going to preach about in future meetings, and she was quite interested. She said, “Look, I have quite a family, there are ten over there at home with the father. Its quite a big family. Bill, one son, is the leading footballer of the district, and he’s quite an athlete, quite popular. I have other sons coming along and you might be able to encourage and help them, they’re just that age. But remember, we don’t intend to be Seventh- day Adventists.” She gave me that very definite statement and wanted to impress that upon me. I understood, and began to visit them and to study the Bible with them. I studied with them week after week and after some months had studied the major prophecies and about the second coming of Christ. All this was so new to these people living way out there that it was all very interesting to them, and I won the confidence of this family. I was almost living with them, and often stayed with them overnight because it was a long way to drive out, and next day I would help them on the farm, perhaps get on a plow with them or something like that. The time came in the studies when I should present the doctrine of the Sabbath, because I’d given them the doctrines of the sanctuary and the Ten Commandments. Now it was time to talk about the fourth commandment. I told them that we should have a look at the teaching that the seventh day is the Sabbath. I suggested they bring their neighbors in, which they did, and together filled the big farmhouse. They were quite a good congregation. This was on a Sunday night that I spoke about the Sabbath. I was anxious about it because I’d been going out there a long time, and I wanted to see these people accept doctrine and practice of the Sabbath. I prepared my subject and presented it as best I could, leaving few questions to be answered. I finished my presentation, made an appeal to them saying, “Well now, there it is. This is what the Lord expects. There is the seventh-day Sabbath and you can’t make the first day the seventh, or the seventh equal the first by any kind of arithmetic. It’s not me talking, it’s the Bible talking, it’s God talking to you. What are you going to do about it?” And Mrs. Willis stood up, a tall lady and in a very definite voice she said, “Well, I think we’ll all keep the Sabbath.” And the old man stood up and said, “No, we won’t. We’ll leave it as it is. You can’t change the whole blankety world.” The atmosphere was a bit thick for a moment, but I didn’t press them for unity or a decision that night. The next week I talked about the change of the Sabbath from the seventh to the first day of the week and other features of the Sabbath that we usually deal with. I followed with “The Seal of God”, and “The Mark of the Beast”, and made that doctrine pretty strong.

We did those days. Pastor Harker taught me how to make a powerful appeal, you know, and I did. The result was they all decided to keep the Sabbath, all, that is, except the old man, but he did too, later, before he died.

H:   The husband or the grandfather?

B:   The husband. Now the Willis family, of course, is well known. They have one boy in India and there’s a daughter who is the wife of Athol Tolhurst, the president of the North New South Wales Conference.

H:   I think there was a Willis from the West at Avondale when I was there.

B:   Yes, there would be. That’s a family that is very well known and they are all in the church still. We are very pleased about that. When I went back there two years ago, Mrs. Willis was still living. She’s not now. She said, “If there was anyone I wanted to see before I died it was you.” She threw her arms around me. That was way back, and experiences like that are certainly one of the most satisfying joys in evangelism. Its hard work, hard work but very satisfying when you see these people come to Christ, and you can see them develop and their children in the church. You can say to yourself, “That’s where it all started.”

H:   Did you find that your studies at Avondale had made you ready for your work In the West?

B:   The studies at Avondale gave me a background. I took Bible Doctrines, for instance, from Pastor Robert Hare, F. L. Sharp also gave a very fine, logical presentation of the doctrines. We had to learn these doctrines well. We’d fake examinations in which we were allowed to have our Bibles and would be asked to present a Bible study, on paper, on the doctrine of the state of the dead, for instance, or any other doctrine. That gave me a good basis for my own presentation of the church doctrines.

When you get out of college you feel green from inexperience. Before you go out to study the church doctrines from the Bible with interested people you prepare your subject well. You study it so you know the Bible thoroughly on that subject, and in this way you build up your knowledge. It takes quite a while and you’ve got to study.

You study all the morning and you are out giving Bible studies in the afternoon. If you’re preaching and managing an evangelistic mission you’ve got to do your homework for that, just as anyone giving Bible studies has to do theirs. If you don’t do your homework, the people know it. When you run these tent missions you can’t neglect preparation and expect to preach well at night. If you don’t know your subject, you’re not interesting. You can’t just turn from one text to another in scripture and follow a slip of paper. You have to have the necessary knowledge and provide a background to fill in details to make it interesting enough for people to listen. That is all part of the work.

H:   Do you remember any other academic subjects that were particularly useful in preparing you for the kind of work you went to? For instance, did you get practice at preaching while you were at Avondale?

B:   Very little at Avondale, and I think that was a weakness: they didn’t give us enough practice in preaching. They should have done that. They gave us courses in Advanced Bible, Ministerial Methods, and all that kind of thing but they didn’t give us enough practice in preaching. When we got out we just had to find our feet and prepare our stuff. I think that the training course wasn’t full enough in that respect and I know I felt my lack when I graduated. I felt I wanted to learn more. It would have been wonderful if we had had a seminary to go to. That would have been helpful because in college we were only touching preaching on the fringes.

When I got out of college one of my earliest experiences before I was married was being sent down to Manjimup in the southwest, the big-timber country. This was after I left Pastor Harker. There in a place called Springdale was a family, the Giblets. They are well-known as pioneers of the Adventist work and had joined under Pallant and some of those very early preachers. The Clarks also were a well-known family in that area. I was sent down there to do evangelistic work amongst the group settlers. I was a young fellow without any ties and the Conference thought, “Well, he’s uncommitted and free.” The West Australian government brought out thousands of emigrants from England after World War I, in particular. These settlers opened up the country down in the southwest. The government settled these people in groups of twenty families. They would give each family one hundred and fifty acres of land. But, you see, all this country was covered by big timber. There was heavy rainfall all through this area. The government had a few specially selected Australian men, whom they used as group foremen. They would clear a piece of land, enough among the trees to take twenty galvanized-iron shacks, just temporary things. The iron on these shacks was to be used later for the roofs of permanent houses. It was a well thought-out-plan. When the people arrived from England, from living in London, where they hadn’t seen a cow or a horse, they were brought from Perth by truck and moved into these iron shacks. Sometimes one family was packed in with a half a dozen children. Twenty shacks made up a group and there were hundreds of groups. You wouldn’t believe it. All through that country for many, many miles there were group settlers and more group settlers. It was a tremendous scheme. We sent out from the Conference office and from the churches thousands upon thousands of “Signs of the Times”, flooding the new settlers in this area with this magazine. The Conference people decided that they had spent so much money sending “Signs”, that it was time to send someone to work amongst these people.

I was the one sent. It was a challenge, I boarded with Clarks in Manjimup and although I had no means of transport Lewen Clark had a sulky and an old horse. I decided that was the answer and told him so. I took my cornet with me and my Bible, having already made arrangements to go to hold meetings at a big timber mill a little beyond the group I’d chosen.

These mills were each really large communities themselves with probably a hundred houses. Each mill would have a community hall free to any minister in turn. I made the necessary arrangements with the Church of England minister in Manjimup, saying “I want to hold some meetings in Number One Mill.” He said, “That’s frightful”. I said, “Well, now I’ve made arrangements, and I’ll be there next Sunday night to take my turn.”

H:   What problem did he see?

B:   Oh, he didn’t want Seventh-day Adventists to go there to preach. By that time I had a horse of my own and went out on horseback. I’d go there each Sunday evening, arriving at about five o’clock or a little later. There I’d stand, on the steps of the hall with all the hundred or so houses below, and I’d begin to play on the cornet.

The meeting was already announced by a public notice. When they heard the cornet the people would come up the hill and they’d fill that hall. Then I’d preach to them. It was really a good arrangement. The trouble was I hardly knew how to cope with the success. So many came. Probably if I had had somebody to help me we together could have developed and kept the interest beyond just preaching. But I always had a good congregation.

Before this time, I went out first to group settlements with Lewen Clark on the sulky. The first group was twelve miles out of Manjimup, that was group number one hundred and thirty-five. All the shacks were placed around a huge Jarrah tree. Beyond the huts for miles was heavy forest country. I stood under the big tree, took my cornet and played some tunes. People put their heads out of the doors all around. From one shack a fellow came out with a cornet in his hand. He came and stood beside me, saying, “I can play too.” I pulled out a hymnbook, and we played together. He had a good lip and we were playing together quite nicely. Children came and stood around, as they usually do. I told them that I would have a meeting there each Sunday afternoon, telling them to bring seats. They didn’t have any factory-made furniture, just rough stools that they made out of the bush timber. I’d arrive each week, pull out my cornet, and I’d play tunes. They’d all come out bringing their stools. I had a congregation ready made. There were no other Sunday meetings or services so I preached there for months. Some of the people joined the church, too. The man who started to play with me came into Manjimup to be my solo cornetist in the local band which I had been invited to conduct. He had been an officer in the British Army in India. He and his family joined the church, incidently. Their name was Noble, and they lived up to the name. Dynamite was used to shatter the logs after felling. You can imagine the problems of blasting and getting rid of this huge amount of hardwood timber. It was a sin the way this timber was blasted, and cleared away, and burned. The practice was to fell the trees, bore a hole into the stump or into the trees, load the hole with jelignite and run for your life after lighting the fuse. The explosion would shatter the logs. The timber would dry out for a while and then be burned. That’s the way they had of getting rid of it. One family stacked their jelignite in an old portable colonial oven out of the weather and probably forgot it was there. This was later, when the houses were built. In winter they put the colonial oven where the stove was, in the house, and lit the fire, apparently forgetting about the jelignite. The thing exploded, blowing the house to smithereens. The man and his wife were blown to pieces too. That was a bad one. Group settlement went very nicely, but I don’t know what’s happened to them now. Settlers cleared the land and sowed clover for pasture. The government gave each family a cow or two. It was quite a good arrangement.

At Manjimup there was no Adventist church but we were meeting nearby in a Springvale home where the pioneers first heard of Adventism in western Australia. I thought we ought to have a church and that we should build it. The members said, “Oh, we’ve been meeting here at Springvale for twenty-two years, since the message first came to us. We can meet here until the Lord comes; it won’t be long.” I said, “More disgrace to you. I think we ought to have a church.” By this time I hired a hall for services on the Sabbath and there were more people attending all the time.

We already had a piece of land in the heart of the town given to us by the government. I preached to them pretty strongly on Sabbath on the need for a church and made an appeal to them. None of us had much money; I hadn’t much because I was getting only about four pounds a week then. But I said, “I’ll give five pounds toward the church. Would anyone else like to give five or ten pounds?” Someone else gave five pounds and another also gave. Soon we had a hundred pounds promised and written on the chalkboard towards the cost of the church. That was a lot of money from a little group. Our Brother Scott from thirty miles away down the Seventh-day Road said, “I haven’t any money but I’ve got plenty of timber on my property. You can have it. Its all standing up in the trees, but you can have it.” We started from there. Scott wanted to build a new house and he said, “What about rigging up a sawmill? Then we’ll cut the timber, enough for a church and my new house.” We did that. Brother Escreet worked with us. He had retired from Avondale and had come to be with his daughter, Rose, who had married Tom Scott of the old family down on the Seventh- day Road. That road was officially named the Seventh-day Road because of the Adventists there. We had a Fordson tractor to drive the saw, and rigged up a bench and we cut enough timber there in the bush. Jack Scott dragged it up by bullock team thirty miles to the church site in Manjimup, and there it lay. There were some stumps on the church property that had to be blasted out too, so I got some jelignite to do the job. I put the stuff in some of the stumps and it worked well but I put a little too much in one and she went off. Boom! Half the stump flew away in the air and some of it came down through a roof nearby. Fortunately it wasn’t such a big piece but it did make a hole in the roof of that house. Luckily, we got out of that without any trouble. We cleared the land of stumps and then there was no one to build a church. There was a builder in Pemberton, thirty or forty miles away. He was an Adventist and said he’d come but when we needed him he couldn’t come. So, desperate at last, from seeing all the timber lying there and no building going on, I went to a contractor in town to ask him if he would build for us. He couldn’t; he didn’t have the time. I asked him to show me the moves to make so that I could built it myself with what other help I could get. He agreed, came out to the site, helped me mark it out. We measured it out together. I put down the foundation blocks, laid the bearers and the joists, all by myself. Then I framed the walls and asked Fred Fairall and one or two other members to come to help me raise the walls. We lifted them into place, plumbed them and added the roof. I was handy with the plumbing in those days, and with no trouble I made the water tank. Those who could gave a hand every now and then. We built our own baptismal font, bricked out by the Fairalls. We had an extra room on the back. Brother Escreet came and helped us make our own seats. We built that church with the hundred pounds that we had in hand. It was the first Seventh-day Adventist Church in that area and was free of debt.

H:   And that was the first major piece of building that you had done.

B:   Yes, I had been working with my uncle somewhat but not very much. He was a contractor at Morisset, you know. I had helped him and had learned to handle tools. But that was my first major church building job.

H:   All for a hundred pounds.

B:   All for a hundred pounds. Yes. It was sixty feet long and twenty-five feet wide. Its a good size. I believe they have a new church down there now.

H:   Is the old one still standing?

B:   I don’t know. I haven’t been back there since then.

That was an interesting experience. It was while I was there that I got married. I had met my girlfriend up in Kalgoorlie. When I worked with Brother Robinson in Albany he and I were very close. I was at his home one morning when he had a letter from Kalgoorlie. It had in it a picture of a girl sitting in a wheel barrow and a nice letter also from a girl whom he’d contacted when he was doing evangelistic work. He had raised up the Kalgoorlie church and the Boulder City church and I was even then appointed to go to Kalgoorlie to take care of these same churches. As he read the letter he said, “When you get to Kalgoorlie, meet this girl. She’s interested still in the Adventist message.” I went and I started an evangelistic mission in Boulder City, four miles from Kalgoorlie. This girl and a friend came to the meetings. She renewed her interest in the doctrines, and I picked up an interest in her too, a little later.

H:   She was interested in the message and the messenger.

B:   Maybe, yes. She was working in a law office at that time, carrying considerable responsibility there. When she decided to keep the Sabbath there was no work available in Kalgoorlie for her, so she went to Perth and sold our religious books. That was a bit hard. But she did well. After working at canvassing for a while she was offered work in the Conference office as a stenographer. While she was there we decided to get married. Our first home was in Manjimup When I built the church.

H:   And then the Merredin experience followed that?

B:   Yes, about a year later.

H:   This is probably a good place for us to stop this first interview.

* * * * * * * *

H:   This is the second interview with Elder Roy Brandstater by Maurice Hodgen at Elder Roy Brandstater’s home at 1115 Cedar Street, Redlands, on June 30, 1976.

We were talking in the first interview about Manjimup, building the church and so forth. Just by way of orientation, when did you leave West Australia?

B:   1930.

H:   I think I’d like to spend more time talking about the West. Then we can move on to your next experience which was in New South Wales.

B:   I have been thinking about my early experiences as a minister working with other evangelists and about going later to Manjimup.

I went over to West Australia in early 1921 and the first work that I did for the West Australia Conference was on the campground pitching camp. Following that, I remember Pastor Butz saying, “Roy, would you like to take some meetings, to preach? We’ll put you on the preaching plan.” Well I supposed I could do it. C. H. Watson gave me a bit of courage about preaching when I was at Avondale in a ministeral class. He was visiting the college at the time as president of the Union Conference, and we thought a lot of him. He was a very inspiring speaker, not over fluent but always had a message and was very dedicated. He came to our class to tell us stories about his early days in the ministry and at Avondale. It was all very interesting. He said that when he was asked to preach his first sermon he wasn’t able to sleep for three nights. (laughter) I reckoned that if he hadn’t slept for three nights I could get at least a couple of nights sleep.

When I started on the preaching plan, being sent to preach Sabbath sermons at various churches, I must have been pretty primitive as a speaker. After working with Pastor Harold Harker, and he was a delightful man–a dedicated man and a good evangelist–I was asked to go to Gordon Robinson in Albany. I mentioned this before. After being with him for quite a while, I was asked to go to Kalgoorlie in 1923 and 24. Next I went to Manjimup down in the southwest. It is pretty hot in Kalgoorlie. The summers are very hot and dusty, with choking dust storms. I supposed the brethren thought I had spent enough time in that. I was a young fellow on my own when they sent me down to the other end of the state where it was raining so much of the time. There I had no transport excepting by horseback. I bought a very fine black mare, a show horse. She was a lovely creature, and couldn’t stand the whip. You just had to give her a little bit of a dig with your heels, and she’d be off like a rocket.

They sent Albert Markey to help me because I developed quite an interest there, more than I could handle alone. Later another was sent as a helper, Ramsey Millen. Albert and I bached together in a new little house that I’d rented, and we had a real good time and we had as much as we could do. He had a light draft horse, quite different from mine, only two years old and not long broken in. Albert used to ride this thing, and I had my black mare and was pretty proud of her. We went together to the group settlements. There were no graded roads, just wagon tracks and sheets of standing water in the ruts. One day we were riding out to give a Bible study, dressed in our rubber coats and leggings to keep us dry in this wet rain forest. Albert was a very nice fellow, a steady going chap, and a good young minister. He would have done very well in the ministry. But he was full of devilment too, at the same time. This day I was riding just a little ahead of him. He had to whack his horse to have it keep up with mine, and he knew that my horse couldn’t stand the stick. He came up behind, and whacked my horse on the rump. She had a very beautiful clean coat and a thin skin. This hit gave her the scare of her life. She nearly jumped from under me and bolted through the water for probably a hundred yards or more, (laughter) Albert’s horse bolted too. He wondered what had happened because he was just behind me and he got all the water my horse kicked up. By the time we were out of it we were half drowned even though we had our overcoats on. We laughed, but we were in a frightful mess, (laughter)

In 1926 I married Frances Eastwood, and built the Manjimup church.

Next, after we attended the annual summer camp I worked with Brother E. E. Roenfelt for a short time in Perth. He was doing city evangelism and wanted me there as his singing evangelist. I met a man called Wilby at the meetings there and visited him. He was a nice, young carpenter not long married and they were such a nice couple. I studied the Bible with them and they joined the church. They were from England, and went back to England later. You know, I’ve been in touch with that family ever since. He was the elder of the South End Adventist church in London for many, many years. Every time I go to London and he knows, he has me go to South End, he gathers members from the other churches and I spend the day there. In 1951, and when I was there in 1967, and again in 1973, the same thing happened. We had such a good time. He had a very nice family and one of his boys is in the church work in Ireland now.

We were in Perth; from Perth I went to Merredin. That was after I asked the president to allow me to do evangelistic work on my own, the experience which I’ve already spoken about.

At Merredin I had a little brush with a conference president. I didn’t get married as they expected at that time and as I thought I might have done. I had gone back to Avondale to be married, but I didn’t, for private reasons. But the president there in New South Wales was a bit involved in this too, and when he came across to West Australia to be president he was determined to get rid of me for one reason or another. I had it all straightened out with the previous West Australia Conference president and with the Union Conference, and thought it was cleared up. C. H. Watson came across to attend the camp meeting and I met Watson and talked to him about it, too. But the newcomer had already arranged with someone to take my place and I was going to be dismissed. I didn’t worry too much about this happening but I discovered that he was going to put me in my place one way or another. Later, when I was running the mission in Merredin with a good interest and everything was going well, he wrote and said I was not to come to the annual camp meeting in Perth. I was told to stay and do my job. I sent down Frances, my wife, and Rhona, who was just one year old. Frances read my annual report at the camp meeting. I felt badly about this because I was isolated up there, not seeing any fellow workers or any other Adventists. I had looked forward to the pleasure of going to camp. But he wouldn’t let me go. We got over that when he came up and saw how well my work was going. He was rather surprised and said, ”I didn’t know you had anything like this going.” That was the only brush I had with him. I got along very well other than that, and very well with him afterwards too.

When I finished with Merredin, we went down to Perth and worked a little while there. E. G. Whittaker was now the president. I said to Brother Whittaker, “I’ve been here in West Australia for ten years. I’ve enjoyed my work here but I think it would be a good thing for me to get out of this place and have a taste of some other. This is my first experience and maybe if I went to another state, it would do me good.” He went across Australia to the annual Union Conference meetings at the end of the year. They would make all kinds of appointments of workers and we could always expect changes. He came back to tell me I’d been appointed to North New South Wales.

I went East, and arrived at camp time. E. H. Gilliard was the president of the Conference in North New South Wales and I met him in Sydney. By this time I had two children, Rhona, and Bernard, who was born while I was in Merredin. First thing, as usual, was camp meeting. That meant pitching tents and taking charge of the choir, which always seemed to be my camp meeting job in those days. I had to find the members for the choir but we had a good choir and a good camp at Pelaw Main which is a suburb of Kurri Kurri. This was during the Depression and we were in the coal fields. There had been strikes, lots of strikes. At this time, however, the owners locked the workers out so that there was no work in the mines. And consequently people were around everywhere. The camp meeting was crowded as a result. People had nowhere else to go. The big tent pitched in the center of this place brought everyone in. There were often nearly as many sitting and standing around the outside during meetings as there were inside. We had very fine talent for the camp meeting from right there in the district. For example, they had the finest male choir in the state. And there was a very fine pianist, a lovely Adventist, Mrs. Palmer. Her daughter, Claire Palmer, is married to someone at Avondale now. Later, when I was in Bathurst in evangelism, Claire sent me a telegram, “Will you marry me?” (laughter) Indeed, I was delighted to perform the ceremony. Mrs. Palmer was well known as a talented teacher of singing and piano. She told me there was a professional singer then in town and asked whether I would like to have her sing for the camp meeting. Mrs. Palmer recommended her, knowing that she sang in the theaters for J. C. Williamson, the impressario, and saying that she was “one of the top in the state.” I said, “Wonderful, have her come.” So Myra Roderick came. That Sunday night W. G. Turner was speaking, the tent was packed and hundreds were outside. I conducted the choir from a raised box because they were seated up fairly high above the ground. I led Myra Roderick to the box where she stood and I sat down in front nearby. Myra began to sing Little’s “Abide With Me”. She began and sang beautifully but half way through she forgot the words and began repeating herself a little. I noticed that, and that she started to sway and looked nervous for some reason or other. I rose and went over to her and as I arrived at the box she collapsed in my arms and I carried her out of the tent. That was quite dramatic. I met another singer there while I was getting petrol for my little old motor bike. The fellow pulling the pump said, “I’ll sing for you , if you like, over there.” I said, “Yes, I’ll see what we can work into the program.” I asked Mrs. Palmer whether the fellow, Thomas, at the petrol pump could sing. She replied, I remember, “Is he a good singer? He’s a beautiful tenor. Get him.” He came, and sang the “Star of Bethlehem” and you have never heard anything so glorious. The best musical talent I ever had was in that town.

The Conference Committee asked me to stay behind to run a series of meetings that would pick up the interest aroused by the camp meeting. That was quite common in those days, and it seemed to fall my lot to follow the camp meeting with an evangelistic mission. So many people had come during camp meeting that when that was over the bottom seemed to fall out of the whole thing. All that remained was our big, three pole tent which we now pitched right beside the road. We did this while pulling down the other tents because our meetings began almost immediately, I was worried that few people would come. In my concern I bought up the whole front page of the local paper for advertising. Not too many came the first night. But we kept up our advertising and visited interested people.

At this time I discovered the value of making and using projected photographic slides. This helped greatly. Doctor McMahon helped finance it. He gave me fifteen pounds and I bought an old half-plate camera. I went up to Harrington’s, the photographers in Newcastle, and asked them to teach me to make slides of professional quality. They agreed, and I went there for instruction. I bought all my material there and when I came back made all my own slides, and used them to good effect. We held our congregation; people kept coming and we built up the attendance. I held meetings every night excepting Friday and Saturday. That was unusual because more often we had meetings on Sunday and Wednesday nights only. But now the interest became really heavy and we had to work hard to handle it. To help, Ray Bullas was given me as an assistant by the president. He was a young fellow with a babe about a year old. The president said, “Roy, “I’m giving you Ray Bullas, but this is his last chance. If he doesn’t make it as a church worker this time he’s out.” But I discovered Ray was a good worker, a good student and a good preacher. After some months I said to the president, “I don’t know what you mean by saying this boy is not doing so well, this is his last opportunity. He is the best boy I’ve had,” What made the difference, I think, was that I used to have Ray preach at one meeting every week and he just lapped this up. He liked it; that was because he prepared well. Besides this young fellow, however, I had old Elder Steed and then as the work became even heavier I used to have Brother Salton come from Newcastle and Brother W. H. Pascoe, the pastor at Avondale. Preparing all these meetings and doing the visiting was so heavy that I couldn’t cope with it all without help. The mission went very nicely and we had a good baptism after about six months. We took the candidates to Avondale and had a baptism there. I still have a picture of the groups, twenty in the first baptism and nearly as many in the second. Muriel Howe was baptized then, you’ve heard of her. Pastor Gilliard conducted the baptism because I wasn’t ordained then. Among those baptized there was a family, the Stewart family that I’ll never forget. Old Mr. Stewart was quite upset because it was Christmas time, and he had won a prize in a raffle. He said, “This is the only time I ever won anything in my life and because the prize is a sucking pig I can’t use it!” (laughter) He was newly a vegetarian. Oh, he was quite a fellow. Mr. Bain attended the meetings also. Bain was a very fine, handsome fellow, a blond Scotchman with a lovely little wife. He was squarely built. I can see him now, coming into the tent, with his little baby on his shoulder. He looked at me during the meeting in a cross angle way and didn’t know what to make of it all; but he listened. Others told me that he was interested in Communism. He came the next night and the next, bringing his wife. He kept coming. Ray Bullas visited and studied with him, and to make a long story short he eventually joined the church. His big personal problem was smoking. He had a big pipe and was notorious because of it. He worked at the big mine, Richmond Main, and as his fellows saw him coming to ride the train they knew Adam would come with this pipe and fill the carriage with smoke. “Here comes Adam with his chimney pot,” they’d say. (laughter) It affected his health and his doctor advised Adam to give it up. Adam was said to have replied “Ha, not on your life, I’m not giving that up. Even if I die I’ll have my pipe first.” This was his attitude. But when the gospel came to him he accepted it, and gave up the pipe. The doctrine of tithing was a difficult thing because so many were on the dole in the depression, getting only five shillings a week, and food stamps of some kind. When I preached on tithing, Adam said to me, “What about this tithing? How can I pay tithe on five shillings a week?” I said, “I don’t know. I can only tell you what the Lord says here. We pay a tithe on our increase.” “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’d better do it, on five shillings a week. How much is that?” He came back after a few weeks, saying, “What do you know? I’ve paid tithe, and I’ve got a job, and I’ve been out of work for six months.” He never looked back after that; that was a remarkable thing.

From Pelaw Main we moved our tent after six or eight months over to Kurri Kurri and were fortunate enough to be allowed to pitch right in the heart of the town near a rotunda, on a corner where two roads come to an apex. It was unbelievable. The tent dominated everything. There was a near tragedy as we were pitching that tent. We had the three poles up by the afternoon and school children were milling around the place. Someone, somewhere, let a rope go on the last pole and this big pole came down like a tree falling, and just mised one of the children who was roaming around there. We were very thankful; that was nearly a tragedy. But, of course, these things happen you know; you’ve got to be careful all the time. We had a good run in that mission because new Adventist members came from Pelaw Main and others came from Kurri Kurri to give us a good steady crowd.

One night when I was preaching at Kurri Kurri I heard a scuffle outside the tent. The tent was full, I was preaching, and Ray as looking after the tent outside. I wondered what was going on, and curious, I stopped to ask Mr. Bain to see what was happening outside. He went out. What happened I discovered later, was that some boys had come to the tent and climbed up to enjoy the fun of sliding down. Ray was there waiting when they arrived at the end of their slide and he then introduced his bootmaker to their tailor, (laughter) The kids went home and one told his father that Ray kicked him in the stomach or something like that. The father, quite a big fellow, came to the tent. He was the leading tailor in the town. He came, didn’t argue the point with Ray at all, just made a swing at him with his fist. Ray ducked, swung back and caught the fellow a real beauty apparently. And that ended it. The father went    home, but came back later and apologized to Ray.   It ended up all right. (laughter) That was the first fight I’d ever known at an evangelist’s tent.

At Kurri Kurri we had to rebuild the church. The little church there had been neglected, it hadn’t been painted for years and was in a real mess. I wouldn’t take the new members to the church until we did something about it. So we had Sabbath services in the tent quite a long time until we rebuilt the church and built in a baptismal font. Then it was filled with people, nicely filled. That was quite a successful mission. A Mrs. Butterworth, and Mrs. Palmer were two church members who gave a great deal of help to that series of meetings.

H:   As Bible Workers?

B:   They didn’t have any lady Bible workers then.

While I was running the mission in Kurri Kurri I also engaged the hall at Heddon Greta, about two miles away. We used to take the bus; I didn’t have other transport then. We’d ride the bus out and we’d have to walk home. So I took my charts to the hall and left them there. I had a big chart on the prophecy about the two thousand three hundred days which Frances painted for me. It was twenty feet long and had all the dates illuminated. I had the switches on the desk and every time I made a point on a prophetic date, I’d throw a switch and it would light up the chart. It was very effective, in fact it was the most effective chart I had, and eased my worry about this subject. You can easily lose your congregation on the two thousand three hundred days prophecy, it can be stale and too complicated. I took this chart to Heddon Greta and my trumpet too, and our books in big carrying bags. We left them there overnight at the hall because we would come back in the bus next day to pick them up. There was a good attendance in that hall, too, almost full. One night the hall burned down. The milkman came to my house one morning and said, “Did you hear about Heddon Greta hall last night? It burned down.” “Oh, no,” I thought: “My cornet.” I’d sent to America for that Conn trumpet, and it drained me of finance to buy it, with its gold plated bell. I loved that trumpet and I lost it, just melted away. The books were gone and the chart was gone too. That was a bad show.

We moved on from there to Weston, another town not very far away, perhaps a couple of miles from Kurri Kurri. These towns were very close, near the mines. We pitched the tent easily because now we had quite an army of Adventist men who could help us. For the first Sunday night we’d advertised well but there was a terrific storm on the previous Saturday evening. It blew the tent to ribbons almost. When I came to look Sunday morning, the piano was sticking out through the torn canvas, things were all wet; you never saw such a mess. Even the poles were down. Oh, it was a bad storm, the worst I’d seen. What were we going to do? I rallied the men around, we got some needles and canvas and all got to work sewing strips and patches into this tent until we got the thing sewn together, and hauled it up. We had a meeting that night but very few people came. There was only one family with their two or three men, another man by the name of Martin, and a bunch of children. This worried me because I wasn’t used to small attendances. To attract more I thought I had to get out some startling advertising and soak the district with it. We had to wake them up somehow. The next Sunday night people came. We had a good attendance. You know, this man who came first, and Martin, and a number of others, all related in some way, joined the church. They were working in mines those days but one young fellow later became a minister. He has passed away since.

After Weston, Ray Bullas went elsewhere and I was sent on to Cessnock. This is another year now; we were heavily involved. It was a busy time for us.

Our next Conference camp meeting was held in Cessnock, and we were to follow up the camp meeting with an evangelistic series. We followed also an evangelist from South Africa, Van Eck. He had stirred the people of Cessnock. He was a most unusual fellow, a good speaker but besides that he spoke in tongues and had the whole town ranting. He used to speak on the street corners gathering lots of people around him because he’d do gymnastic tricks. He’d stand on his head or he’d stand on his hands on the table and on the platform. People liked a show, I didn’t see this but was told that while he was standing at the street corner on a box, people would sometimes throw tomatoes or eggs at him. Someone threw an egg at him and he caught it. He was quite clever; he caught the egg, he knocked a hole in it, sucked it empty and threw the shell back! He was very, very popular with the town around him. When he had a baptism in what they called the fighting ring, a big stadium, he rigged up a baptismal font and had half the town there. Some wag got in and put permangenate of potash in the water and made it all red. (laughter) He was ready with the quip that the people would be baptized in the blood of Christ. But I had to meet this. He himself came over to my mission sometimes when he didn’t have a meeting and listened to me. It was just over the way from where he’d taken a big empty garage and turned it into a temple.

We started in, and Brother Ben Cormack was the speaker. He was a remarkable character with a beautiful mellow voice. He was older than I was. He was experienced, and a good evangelist but a bit disorganized. For instance, when I was asked to work at Cessnock with Brother Cormack, with him as the senior man I didn’t mind because I knew he was a good man and I thought it was good for me to get experience with him. But he didn’t arrive for two or three weeks. Earlier, at the camp meeting he said, “Oh, you can go over Brother Brandstater; you go ahead and get things going.”

Then I didn’t see him for two weeks! He was a very disarming fellow. He was so popular amongst the people where he was preaching that the Conference presidents felt they couldn’t control him closely enough. They had tried previously to get rid of him some way but I don’t know why they should do that because he was a very valuable man in some respects. In other respects he’d drive you mad. But his good points far outbalanced any little odd ways he had about him. People just loved this fellow. He had such a lovely personality and he wouldn’t criticize anyone. It didn’t seem to matter what others thought of him, he always had a good word for people. He was really something, an unusual character. But for all this, there I was, left to start the mission. We had to pitch the tent down in the heart of the town after getting permission. I did all of this with the help of Bill Rippon, a boy about sixteen or seventeen, as a tent master, and I was given Marian Hay who was at the “Signs” for so many years. She had then come out of college. We, and Brother Cormack made up the team.

H:   Let me interrupt just here. I’m about to run out of tape and need to change the reel.

You were in second command?

B:   Yes. But I had to arrange the whole beginning and the advertising. From appearances you would have thought I was running the show. And I did, for the first three weeks, even doing all the speaking at the three meetings each week. At last Cormack came to what was by this time quite a good-sized congregation, and quite an interested one too. Ben was a single man, never married and had no ties. He always had a lot of girl friends; they’d chase him because he was handsome and a very nice-mannered fellow and an eligible bachelor.

This was to be his downfall, actually. Even that first night he came, Sunday night, he saw there at the meeting a mother with beautiful daughter. When he went to the door to shake hands he talked to this girl, her sister and her mother but hardly gave attention to anyone else at all. It really annoyed me because I wanted him to get involved with all the people. But later I said to him, “If you can bring those people into the church, okay you go ahead, I’ll look after the others.” I felt I just had to take it in my own hands, and did.

He depended largely on his own native ability for success in preaching. He had previously run many missions and done so successfully too, but this time he hadn’t organized, and seemed hardly to know where he was going. I lived next door to the tent and Ben would come in before a week night meeting, for instance, and not know what he wanted to preach on that night. He’d come and glance in Bible Readings for the Home Circle, to check up on a few subjects, and with that as preparation he’d go in to preach. It just wasn’t good enough. I said to him on one occasion, “Ben, I’ve advertised you to speak about the Sabbath. I know you can preach it and thrill us with it. Now go home and do some study.” This was Sunday morning and he had come to my place to talk as he often did. He took my advice and went and really thrilled us that night with his preaching. He was really good when he prepared his subject well. We had some very nice people join us there, and had to rebuild the Cessnock church to accommodate them. Ben left because he was sent elsewhere, to another church, and I was left to carry on the congregation with the other two who were helping me.

I wasn’t satisfied to preach only in Cessnock, I was reaching out. I did something that as I look back on it I wonder why. I booked the theaters all through the coal fields, at Weston and another town and at Bellbird, arranging for meetings in three or four theaters. I had slides about Adventist missions in the Pacific and film from A. G. Stewart, who had been to the Pacific islands and had come back with movies on the “Maneaters in Malakula”, a thrilling story of cannibals and Christianity. He had used thirty-five mm film and it was highly entertaining when put with my slides. I had a really interesting program, as good as a picture show, I thought. I was able to advertise well and filled the theaters, each for only one night, of course. With these meetings I made quite a bit of money for evangelism and at the same time interested people in our foreign missions. Such a big crowd came to Bellbird that I thought I’d continue meetings there and booked the hall. The people came. Nearly everyone in town came, I think, and filled this theater again. I’d advertised well on archaeology and this was novel because other evangelists had not worried about archaeology to interest audiences. I had a huge sign put up on the front of the theater, as good as any of the signs made for movies. I had such a crowd, there must have been a thousand, perhaps more than a thousand people there, but the trouble was that, whether because of youth or ignorance, I didn’t know what to do with them all. If I’d had more experience perhaps we’d have had a great harvest. I kept attracting that crowd there on Sunday nights for quite a few weeks but I simply couldn’t handle it beyond that. Its all very well to run these programs but you don’t get anywhere unless you can handle the situation. I didn’t know what to do with them to get interested people identified and to start Bible studies that could lead to conversions. There was no one to help me, and no one to give me an idea of what to do.

The meeting at Cessnock was quite successful too. One particular family I might mention, perhaps. A man came in one evening wearing a leather coat. I can see him coming into the tent now, a Wednesday night meeting, which were always smaller than the Sunday night meetings. He looked at me in a half-cynical way, but came again and brought his wife. The next time he brought his boy of about fifteen with him. And together they listened, and kept coming. I became acquainted with them, went to the house and studied the Bible with them. Finally the family all joined the Adventist Church, the parents and three sons. Frank, one son, was a bright boy of fifteen. It was during the Depression, and he’d left school just a little before completing high school, and while attending the meetings was caring for his grandfather’s chickens. I said to him: “There’s no future in that. You ought to get back to school. You’ve got to do something with your life rather than mess around here. You are capable enough of doing it.” He agreed and went back to school that year and finished very well. Later he said to me, “I’ve finished school. What do you think I ought to do now?” I suggested he go to Avondale to spend a year or so, expecting that he’d probably find his feet and make some decisions about what he wanted to do. He went down to Avondale for twelve months, and he came back to camp meeting and asked again what he should do. I asked him the same question, and he said, “I’d like to do medicine but there’s no hope of doing medicine.” I encouraged him, saying, “If you want it badly enough, I guess you can do it.” W. G. Turner, the Union Conference president agreed that if he could get through the first year of the medical course the Conference would help him financially in the later years. His father was just a Rawleigh’s traveler, selling patent medicines, but agreed to stand by him the best he could. I had a letter from Frank later when I was appointed somewhere else, telling me he was doing first year medicine. I’d baptized Frank by this time, and I was later working in Sydney. Frank went through with flying colors and met Jean Hellestrand. She did medicine too and the two young doctors were married. They sent for me, and I married them in Sydney. That was very nice. That tray that I brought in with our drinks was the tray they gave me as a gift when they were married. Frank and Jean have been faithful Adventists, and their son is now a doctor too. Quite a family.

You know, you do evangelistic work, and can look back after all these years and see just what happens. Just a few incidents of that kind do help you appreciate all the work. From Cessnock I went to Maitland. It seemed to be my lot to follow up these annual camp meetings every time with evangelistic meetings. We pitched the tent this time on a big parcel of land in East Maitland. My wife was in the hospital at this time; she’d lost her baby because she was very active, and she was always having a lot of people in and doing a lot of unnecessary work. It was just too bad. We pitched the evangelistic tent right opposite where the camp meeting had been, and Len Dyason was my tent master. And we had quite a nice little run there. A sobering thing happened one night. A fellow came into the tent after the meeting and slept there all night. He was a real tramp of a fellow. When we came there the next morning he looked as though he’d been drinking something, and was disheveled from lying in one of the seats all night. He said he knew me; he’d been at Avondale years before, and he’d just gone to pieces since then.

But after running this mission in East Maitland I took the Maitland town hall. It had been renovated at great expense and had really been made into a very beautiful hall. I booked it first of all for Sunday nights. I attracted a crowd there. One Sunday night I had invited A. W. Anderson, Pastor Roy Anderson’s father, to speak because he had just been in the Holy Land and was preparing material for a book published as From Turmoil to Peace. He had many slides on Palestine and must have drawn fifteen hundred people at least that night.

We kept the meetings going in the main hall for quite a while, until it was too expensive for our income. We moved next door to a fairly big hall, though smaller, called the Supper Room. That seated five or six hundred. That was filled consistently until I came to the sermon on “The State of the Dead”. For some reason or another I lost my congregation, not all of them, but I lost most of the people. Oh, my. I’d never had that happen although I knew it could happen on the state of the dead if the evangelist is not careful in the way he presents it. If you didn’t keep your congregation, you’d have no one to preach to, and of course, there’d be no results in people baptized.

There were one or two other interesting experiences I had. I was to speak on Nebuchadnezzar’s dream of Daniel, chapter two. In the Supper Room we had to erect our own platform each week. This was done on the Sunday morning while I studied at home, and Len attended to it with help from someone else. I’d arrived early in the afternoon to put up my big Nebuchadnezzar image. This figure was in separate sections, the head, the chest and the legs and the body part, all made so that the thing would collapse when I hit it. I’d used it at camp meeting where I had it in a large frame and a simulated rock came down from the top of the tent on a wire at a given signal to strike the image on the feet, whereupon it would collapse. But here, in the Supper Room, I couldn’t do that but rather planned to hit it with my hand. On this occasion I had this plywood Nebuchadnezzar image standing up, facing the congregation, and resting its feet on one of the planks of the platform we had erected that day. The hall was full, so full that a group of boys was sitting along the front not far from the speakers stand. Len and I went onto the rostrum, sang our opening hymn, and then knelt to pray. And as Len stepped forward onto the plank where Nebuchadnezzar was, it shook, and trembled, and the whole image collapsed around us. The head fell off and hit a boy in the face and knocked a tooth out. (laughter) I gave him a half-crown as compensation. There was a snicker, and a hullabaloo in the congregation, and it took some time to get the people settled down again.

In that same room I had advertised a lecture on archaeology. I had lots of slides and they were always popular. I had read up everything that the archaeologists were doing, and they were doing great things in those days. That was the time that Sir Flinders Petrie was in Palestine and Leonard Wooley in Ur of the Chaldees; both were publishing excellent pictures of their work. I had my darkroom set up to make copies and I’d have the latest pictures on the screen. Frances colored them very well, as professionally as any that I ever saw. This would attract a congregation and hold them. Well, I was ready for a full night on archaeology. I had my thousand watt slide projector for the old glass slides. The hall attendant was a fussy, nervous fellow. He picked up the projector power cord, plugged it into the wrong kind of power outlet and blew my globe, the only suitable globe I had. That wrecked the whole thing. I was so disappointed. I was all prepared and the congregation was waiting but I had to change my subject, to something else altogether, perhaps the “Origin of Evil”, or something like that. Fortunately they came back the next night for the slides, and stayed with me until “The State of      the Dead.” I had a lady Bible worker there with me at this time, too. The results were not as good as I thought they might have been for the attendance we had. We should have baptized fifty or sixty at least but baptized only twenty-five. There should have been more. Perhaps that was because Maitland was a very churchy town, and people came from other churches to the meetings. My treatment of the “State of the Dead” was something that didn’t fit their ideas at all, and I didn’t present it perhaps as carefully as I might have; and perhaps, because it was Easter, they went back to their own churches. From Maitland I was asked to go to Newcastle. We had the conference camp meeting in Newcastle, and I was left to follow the camp meeting at Newcastle, as usual. I started and had this tent evangelism series going quite nicely, and I was quite happy with its progress. Albert McCauley was helping me. He and his wife, who was my Bible worker, both were with me. Paddy Needham joined the church at Newcastle and, you know, he’s an evangelist now in South Australia and has done very well. And Cecil Griffin, he was an older man, was working with me also because I had a large number of people interested. While I was about getting ready in the morning for a Sunday night meeting the Conference president came to me to say, “I want you to go up to Tamworth tonight, and preach about spiritualism. Ben Cormack is up there with a big tent and a big crowd of interested people but he’s out. He has lost his credentials.” That wasn’t a very happy situation. I had to drive about two hundred miles and preach to Ben’s congregation. I knew how popular Ben was, and I liked Ben. He was a lovely personality and was still in the town. Len was there helping him. Whether I liked it or not, I had to go so as to be there that night, and preach on spiritism although I hadn’t done the work of preparation that I might have done. I loaded everything I could take with me, and went because I had to take not only that meeting but carry the whole series from then on. Ben had a big tent, and had it full, too, as he always did. I knew that I’d be unpopular following Ben, and I would have all I could do to hold that congregation. We carried on there at Tamworth, a very fine city, and eventually had a nice little baptism. I stayed until toward the end of the year when C. J. Reynolds, another pastor, was sent to take over.

At Tamworth, Len Dyason and I began to broadcast on radio. He had a nice tenor voice, and we used to sing duets. We called ourselves Paul and Silas. With another couple of fellows, not Adventists, we made a quartet party up and sang on the radio. We used a dialog form: I’d give a little talk and then use a question and answer sequence. Len would question and I would answer and in that way we’d go through all our church doctrines. It didn’t cost anything for any of the broadcasts but it lasted only as long as we were in Tamworth. When I left the broadcasts stopped.

After Tamworth, we went to Sydney. I opened an evangelistic series at Strathfield. After Strathfield, on to Ashfieid, and all through the suburbs of Sydney. While I was conducting meetings at Drumoyne in 1938 the president came to ask me to go and open evangelistic meetings in Woolongong. I didn’t want to go there particularly because the place was a pleasure resort with very few Adventists, just one or two families meeting in a little Rechabite hall that we had to clear of cigarettes and beer bottles every time we used it. Sabbath mornings there were just a few people there. I was sure that I’d have to use a tent for evangelism. I put in an application to the City Council to pitch a tent at a place that I’d selected. They refused my application, probably because they were not used to tent evangelism, and because of civic pride. I couldn’t pitch my tent and I was rather surprised. My response was that I visited each alderman and told him what we were doing, that the tent would be attractive and not spoil the look of the town by any means. I explained the whole program to them. Each one said he hadn’t any objection, and each one suggested that I put in an application again. I did, and this time they granted permission for the tent for a month. I had to reapply every month and did so, successfully. This became quite an interesting series of meetings because the war was just beginning and we were in for big things. Titles of sermons reflected the times. Hitler was marching on Moscow; using this event one of the titles I used for advertising a meeting was “The March on Moscow–Can Hitler Be Halted.” Another one was “Legs of Iron; The Gun Thunders of Prophecy.” This was the type of thing I’d think of. My most successful one was “Japan and Pig Iron.” It was at this time that Robert Menzies, the Prime Minister, was selling pig iron to Japan, and we believed that Japan would probably shoot this stuff back at us. The old iron bedsteads and other scrap iron was put up in fifty gallon drums for Japan. I saw stacks of it for loading from the wharf at Port Kembla. where there were huge steel works making the pig iron. The shipping facilities were there, and I’d seen the iron on the wharf, ready to be loaded and shipped. Japan wanted everything she could get. People worried about this; the average person often said, “We’ll have these bedsteads coming back to us again in the form of bombs.” It turned out to be true. I advertised the subject, “Japan and Pig Iron” and invited the aider- men all to come. I had the town orchestra there and one of the leading singers of the town. The place was packed, and the meeting was a success. As a result of meetings like this we had a good interest there.

A lady came to me one evening and said, “Mr. Brandstater, if you need any financial help to build a church here in Woolongong I think I could help you.” She wasn’t an Adventist and came with her daughter. I thanked her, of course, for the offer, saying, “As a matter of fact, we do want a piece of land and we do need help with finance to buy the land.” We selected the piece of land, which would cost us three hundred pounds. She lent me the money on a promise to pay her in six months. I told the people what we had done, because we wanted this piece of land which was so desirable and scarce. We were able to pay her back. I had given her the first repayment, and another when she came to my home one day to tell me that she’d donate the balance. Later she came with her daughter named Jewel, to give her rings and jewelry to the church. That was a wonderful help toward building the Woolongong church. Nobody seemed to have very much money in those days; they were difficult times. We didn’t want the old stereo-typed, regular style of Adventist church with a little porch stuck on the front. I thought a church like that wasn’t suitable in a place like Woolongong. Because of this I said to the church building committeemen, “We don’t have an architect amongst us, but some of you men are builders. Go and draw up something. Each one draw something that you think we’d like. Don’t worry about the price; be guided by what you think we’d like. They came back to another meeting with all kinds of designs. It was interesting. One member, Brother Podmore, had an especially promising front for the church. It was different; modern. I encouraged him to develop those lines further because they could make an impressive front for the church. He developed his ideas, and we worked as a committee on those lines until We were satisfied. A young fellow new to the church drew the plans of what was to become the Woolongong church. We had what we wanted, on paper but we didn’t have the money and I couldn’t see any prospect of the money. I’d go home from these committee meetings, and really worry. I remember being with Brother Hardy one night. He was a good carpenter, and was my right-hand man in this project. We were talking at my home, and decided we couldn’t afford the church we wanted. I felt that about the worst thing in the world I could do to the congregation was to saddle them with something that they couldn’t afford. But he said, “I think, Roy, we can fix this. We can bring this down in price. On these big steel principals, I’ll mark them out, we’ll buy the steel and have an engineer come to weld them together for us.” That’s what happened. He marked them out on a big concrete floor and all the welder had to do was just to weld them together. We saved a lot that way. A lot of things like this happened to us. We built that big church for twelve hundred and fifty pounds. A friend in Sydney, Albert Penrose, was in the glass business. He gave us the glass and made the beautiful glass windows for us. A man who joined the church about this time was an electrician and he did all the electrical work for us, free of charge. Another friend, Arthur Shannon, had tile works in Sydney; he gave us the tiles for the building. The Union Conference president expressed the opinion that it was the nicest church that we had in Australia at that time. Its out of date now but it was modern for those days. I have several photographs that were taken on the day the church was dedicated. I have one picture that shows Bernard, my son, carrying bricks and some of the tiles. We all worked on it, you know.

When we finished our evangelistic meetings in Woolongong, we had just a little over a hundred members in the church. I had moved the tent several times in the city, having a series of meetings in each place. Then we conducted meetings at several towns up the coast. One lady who joined, she was over seventy years of age, and she wanted to be baptized in the ocean. I agreed. One fresh morning we went to the ocean, and even though it was blowy and big waves were coming onto the beach, I baptized her at a place called Winoona. We had had a big windstorm there that blew our tent to ribbons. We moved into an empty shop and when we fixed it up for the meetings it served quite well.

The next location for our tent was six miles away at Therule. While I was there, Jim Lawson came and took over the meetings that I had begun and I was sent to work in Bathurst as an evangelist. Lawson had been invited to go to Bathurst, but there was no house for him and he didn’t seem to want to go. The president was talking to me about this and I said, “I’ve been to Bathurst and think that’s a good town. I wouldn’t mind going there.” But there were no houses, so we lived on the public camp ground in a tent borrowed from the Conference. Housing was very difficult, the war was on, and building was very slow. I couldn’t start evangelistic meetings while living in a tent with my family; that was hopeless. But I carried on with the pastoral work of caring for the church members. A very faithful member, and he was the elder of the church, Brother Les Richardson, was a builder. He offered to build if I had the land to build on.

I borrowed some money, fifty pounds as a matter of fact, from the conference to buy a block of land. My wife went to work at Edgels canning factory, canning asparagus and that kind of thing to help pay back the money. The property was on the slope of a hill near the top. We moved the tent from the campground, pitched it on the new property and I helped Brother Richardson build this house of concrete bricks. A nice little house it was, too.

That was the first bit of real estate I ever owned. I remember thinking that that was a start. I could possibly go from there and at least say I owned something. Otherwise I’d be living from hand to mouth all the time, waiting for the next paycheck to come in. Bathurst was a cold place in winter, so cold that we had water freeze in the kerosene-tin containers in the tent. We were living in this same tent. We heated the tent in winter with coal, charcoal or coke fires. It was rough living but we were happy; we enjoyed ourselves.

Bernard went to the high school just over the way, and so did Rhona; Murray went to another school. They were all doing well in school. Bernard topped every exam they had at that high school. He really got remarkable marks, the highest possible in everything and was written up in the paper.

H:   Maybe that’s what living in a tent will do for you.

B:   Well, yes. During his third year, I think it was, someone asked him how he managed to succeed so well. He said, “Well, I opened my Bible before I came to the examinations and read in James where it says, “If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God.” Some of the kids said that gave him an unfair advantage over them!

H:   Maybe we can stop here.

B:   As a matter of fact, it’s a good time to break because from here I went into departmental work in South Australia.

* * * * * * * *

H:   This is the third interview with Elder Roy Brandstater by Maurice Hodgen at Elder Roy Brandstater‘s home at 1115 Cedar Street, Redlands, on July 4, 1976.

B:   You’ll want to know something about the evangelistic program of those days.

H:   Yes, about evangelistic programs, and about the day-to-day experience of being an evangelist.

B:   When you were appointed to do evangelism in a particular town the first thing to do was to get a house to live in. Next you must look over the town to see whether you were going to use a tent or a hall for the meetings. The tent was rather favored those days because you could have as many meetings as you wished through the week at no more cost except for lighting. The tent was also a place to hold workers meetings and, very important, you had a safe place to keep your equipment and always had it set up ready for the next meeting. For example, I had a big, thousand watt projector set up on a stand in the tent. It was always there, and was never moved. An associate was instructed always to have a slide in the projector because I had the tent electrically wired right to the desk. While preaching on any subject if I wanted to illustrate it, I had only to throw a switch and the picture was on the screen and the tent lights went out. For example, if I was talking about the signs of Christ’s coming I could illustrate them on the screen, one after the other, and not lose the congregation’s attention. But when you’re speaking in a hall you depend on fixed wiring and must turn the lights off and some way or another turn them on again, and usually you break the thread of attention between you and the congregation. I had a lot of musical solos I’d sing because I’d been advised by George Teasdale, “Roy, use your voice, preach with your voice.” If I was preaching on the signs of Christ’s coming from the twenty-fourth chapter of Matthew, I’d illustrate these signs on the screen, have the pianist always there, waiting before the last slide. I’d just throw the switch and burst into song. Those were the advantages of the tent; you could do what you liked with it. The tent was an advertisement in itself, that was another advantage. People saw it when they walked or drove down the street; no one missed seeing the tent. You could put advertising up outside the tent on a large billboard and it was attractive and prominent.

There were certain disadvantages in the tent. There was a risk from the weather, but that usually wasn’t bad. I’ve kept up a tent for just on twelve months, through the cold winter. We’d heat the tent up with coke fires and we used to advertise “Warm Tent.” People would come along and be comfortable. There was quite a disadvantage in that there was a lot of manual work attached to pitching the tent. By the time you’d finished pitching your tent you were often physically worn out. It’d take us a week to get ready for the first Sunday night meetings. You begin by having to clear the ground, then you pitch your tent and you make it look neat and tidy outside, put in the furnishings and the electricity. Lots to do. It was usual to preach each Sabbath, somewhere or other, and that took time for preparation.

These tents we used were usually forty foot circles and we would put in a couple of splices. We used a three pole tent, and would have two splices of eighteen feet each. These tents held several hundred people. There was more to it than just pitching the tent. We’d need permission from the city to pitch a big tent like ours.

Attracting people required advertising. You had to be careful not to waste a lot on advertising. We did use the newspapers; we’d put up billboards on a main road into the town. We’d use the theaters, having them use our advertising slides during intermissions. We put posters in shop windows and such places. Handbills were a most common thing. They were useful where there was a church group, but with few Adventists to help, you had to do it yourself. That meant a lot of walking, all over the town taking a handbill to each house. That was common, we thought we’d walk our feet off with those handbills. But we did it because we thought they were very important. We could have them printed just as we wanted, quite startling. Part of advertising was writing up your subject for the newspaper. You tried to get friendly with a newspaperman; you’d take your material to him and, if you were fortunate, he’d open his columns to you. This was, of course, a tremendous help.

I remember that in the mission in Kurri Kurri we had several columns in the paper every week. I would write up my subject at least once a week, and it would fill a column or more. This would also stimulate discussion in the paper. Someone would write in to oppose what you’ve been saying. For instance, I remember a big discussion developed on the subject of biological evolution. I was busy with the preaching and other things, and Doctor McMahon took up the cudgels for me against others who were writing in the newspaper. The columns were full. The newspaper editor said that correspondence sold more papers for them than anything for years. (laughter) It was good for his newspaper and for us because people were interested and would wait for the newspaper to see the next round of letters.

In beginning in a new town we were anxious to start out on the right foot, to attract the attention of the people. I did this by trying to build on the interest of the peoples’ minds at the moment. I always looked for social or political issues. Some others in more recent years have used interest in health as an approach and some, archaeology. Some, like George Burnside, begin by advertising widely all over the town: “Heaven.” I didn’t think it would work, but it did, apparently; there were more people interested in heaven than you’d think. He succeeded in South New Zealand and in South Australia with this. It was surprising to me that people came to hear where heaven was and what it was all about. I never tried that. I would take the issues of the day. For instance I advertised the “March on Moscow,” when Hitler was marching on Moscow and everyone was anxious about it. That was the current topic in those dramatic war years, and we could capitalize on the conditions in the world at that time. There was no effort needed to find subjects. Those were great times for speaking on these prophecies.

You decide on your subject, then you’ve got to do your reading, because if you don’t do your homework you can’t speak. You’ve got to speak freely, without any hesitation because those people have to come back again. You prepare your subject as interestingly as possible, collect all the facts you can because you know that there’s a lot depending on you that first night. It was easy to get them there the first night if you’d advertised well. But if you didn’t give them what they wanted, or what they expected, they wouldn’t be back.

Every series of meetings had its own special interest. I was holding some home meetings in a group settlement in the West. I could get into homes without any trouble at all and friends would come in as well. One family had eleven sons–the father called it his cricket team. They were all grown fellows and they lived away out in the timber country. I had to ride out on horseback over fifteen miles every Sunday morning for a meeting in his house. He was an old Scottish preacher who had brought his family to Australia. He was interested and knew his Bible well too. When I was preaching to them about the signs of Christ’s coming, he was very interested in the prophecies. He stopped me to say, “Young man, I’d like to say something. Do you believe what you’re saying?” I said I did and had not ridden twelve or thirteen miles on horseback to tell him something that wasn’t true. I said, “This is absolutely true; this is what God says.” He said, “You ought to have a firebrand behind you.” (laughter) I took it pretty well and said, “Right, I believe it too. We all ought to have a firebrand, all of us, you know.” When people catch the spirit of the prophecies they see their importance and they get excited about them too.

1. W. Spicer told us as ministers, when he was in Australia, that in London with J. N. Loughborough where there were no Adventists he and Loughborough used to meet with the Seventh-day Baptists on Sabbath. Later they began tent meetings and after a few months presented the doctrine of the Sabbath and held Sabbath meetings in their own tent. Their congregation was three or four times as large as that of the Seventh-day Baptist church. The Baptist people were amazed. They said, “Here, you’ve been preaching for just a few months and here you have all these people. How did you do it? How did you convince them to keep the Sabbath?” They had been preaching there for many years and had attracted only a little handful of people. Spicer made the point that it was the Bible prophecies that were so convincing to people, and it wasn’t difficult to lead them to the important subject of the Sabbath which was closely tied in with the prophecies. Spicer maintained, of course, that hearing prophetic subjects preached was what made people Seventh-day Adventists.

Another thing I ought to mention about our evangelistic program was when you get the people there you’re a perfect stranger to them.

The problem then is a way to win their confidence and find a way of getting close to them for Bible study. Our method of evangelism was not like some have, with a few meetings, and an emotional appeal, and baptism the same night. That’s out as far as we’re concerned. We wanted to educate the people so we present a subject, a startling subject relating prophecy to the matters of the day; then we prepare a written resume of the topic, ready before the close of the presentation. At the close you say to the people, “Perhaps you would like a resume of tonight’s address. I’m sure you would. Put your name and address on the card, so we can either post or deliver them to you.” This was a good way to meet the people in their homes. I used this and would get about a hundred names the first night. We would go to the home and soon would have lots of questions to answer about details of the subject that we had presented. The questions would lead to Bible study and it wasn’t long before we’d have our evenings and afternoons, and sometimes mornings, filled. So that’s why the evangelist needed a team; he simply couldn’t do it alone.

We would have our team workers’ meetings every Monday morning. There we’d distribute names gathered the night before. During that week workers from the team visited these people and reported back. That way the evangelist could know what kind of an interest was developing. I was very particular about this and the worker who didn’t do his visiting wasn’t regarded as very fruitful. I expected my workers to make their visits because if they didn’t I was losing these interested people.

Then, the evangelist had to write for the newspaper, reporting the past meeting and telling enough about the next week’s meeting to stimulate interest.

Above all, of course, you had to keep the people coming. You did that by visiting and by your attractive subjects and presentation. It happened in some tent missions that there would be three or four meetings, and then no more. I always felt it possible that my meetings might close this way but, fortunately never had that experience. The prophecies would bring a congregation for a half a dozen meetings. But you’d plan ahead to move from these to subjects directly related to Adventist doctrines. “Daniel, Chapter Two,” “The Eastern Question,” “Armageddon,” and “Seven Trumpets;” these were standard topics of prophecy.

I used archaeology quite often but not as my opening subject. I made it attractive, as a pictorial subject and it always went very well. I read reports by Leonard Wooley and any of the men who were digging in those days. The magazines published very interesting stuff. That was really the best time in archaeology research that we’ve ever had, I think. In addition to those about archaeology, I had over a thousand slides, made by myself, on every subject I used. I had a lot of equipment in those days and kept myself poor buying charts or having them made. The financial burden of buying these things was eased when I began to use money from the offerings given in the tent, and they were good offerings. This was quite ethical but I was slow in getting started on it. The Conference never put me on a budget. I commented on this but was told something like, “No, we don’t worry about you, Brother Brandstater; spend what you like.” I was always careful that we didn’t overspend or advertise unnecessarily because I know that I could easily waste a lot of money on advertising.

The prophecies as preaching subjects lead naturally to the second coming of Christ. There was no difficulty making a connection there. I’d relate Daniel, chapter two to the Anglo-Saxons, saying that we were part of that and so we’re part of Daniel, chapter two. They would have to doubt their own existence to doubt that. You know, I’d make it pretty powerful: they couldn’t get away from the obvious as I presented it. Current events were very useful as an introduction to Bible truths. Perhaps there’d be a strike down at Port Kembla. That would allow me to bring in the labor question, quoting, “Go to now ye rich men, weep and howl,” from James, in the New Testament. I remember I spoke on “Germany and Jews” when that problem was active. That subject always drew a large congregation. I was well prepared with facts because the German Consul in Sydney had given me a lot of information. Before 1933, he said that if Hitler was elected the Jews would have to go. He sent me a lot of stuff on Jewish activity and their control of Germany–the University, the theaters, the banks and newspapers–saying that Jews practically owned everything. He explained that during World War I when the Germans were away fighting and shedding their blood, the Eastern Jews took advantage of the collapse of the German mark and they bought up everything they could buy and in that way they had control in the time of Hitler. I remember I used all this information, although I didn’t favor the Germans any more than I did the Jews. But I used the argument that he used, and it was a Biblical quotation at least, that “they nourished their hearts in the day of slaughter.” And I’d quote from James also: “Go to now you rich men, weep and howl for the miseries that have come upon you,” saying that was applicable to all the wealthy Jews at that time. These were the things done to keep your congregation and make the sermons relevant to the days in which we lived.

Following the presentation of the topic, “The Meaning of the Second Coming,” you work in the “Signs of the Times;” next, “The Millennium” came in naturally; then the “Origin of Evil” would fall into place. Next, “Why Did Christ Come?”, followed by the actual “Events of the Second Advent.” Linked with this then I’d discuss the doctrine of “The Sanctuary,” never advertised as such but as “The Eight Hundred Fifty Million Pound Temple of Solomon.” I had a big picture of Solomon’s temple on my advertising, along with the temple, and would emphasize such aspects as the origin of the temple and the meaning of its furniture and services. I’d have all the Masons come to this meeting because of their interest in Solomon’s temple. It was an easy subject to lose your congregation on, as you could also when preaching on the prophecy of “The 2300 Days.” Using “The Problem of Crime” as a starter I would talk on the law and on to “The Ten Commandments” with no trouble at all. After the law in general, the fourth commandment was the next thing to consider. For that I’d advertise “How to Go to Heaven For the Weekend.” Then came the Sunday issue and “Six-Six-Six, Who Was This Mystic Man?” I’d try to get a natural sequence of subjects that followed each other easily.

The midweek subjects might be such topics as “The Two Laws,” “The Covenants,” or “The State of the Dead.” Sometimes I’d speak on “The State of the Dead” on a Sunday night. Weeknights would also include “Spiritism;” my associates would preach weeknights and they would take questions such as “Soul and Spirit,” “Is Hell Hot?”. “Questions Answered”, “The Holy Spirit,” “The Unpardonable Sin,” “Revelation,” “Baptism,” and “Spirit of Prophecy” would come late in the series. I preached them all in open tent; there were no private sessions. I didn’t ever put on “The Spirit of Prophecy” as a Sunday night sermon. I’d select subjects very carefully for a Sunday because that’s when most people would come. “Healthful Living” and “Tithing” would be successful on a Sunday night.

In Kurri Kurri I had perhaps the most interesting time with the subject, “Baptism.” The actual baptism service was held in Avondale, you remember. We reported that in the paper having several columns of it. A lively discussion began and people were writing back and forth for weeks and weeks on baptism. I still keep a part of that correspondence. It’s by a very well educated individual who didn’t give his name but did give the derivation of the word and the history of baptism, and just overwhelmed readers with the facts and meaning of baptism. He evidently believed in baptism. And in just one sizeable paragraph pretty well closed the discussion. We would always work toward that baptism. The meetings would begin and after a few weeks we’d add a weekly Bible study group where, on Sabbath afternoon, we’d have a class preparing the people for baptism. The big event of the series was baptism. What a wonderful thrill to have a baptism service from those meetings where there had been no Adventists but then, afterwards, there was a company of fellow believers.

In our series of talks, especially toward the end of the baptismal class we would spend a lot of time on the “Three Angels Messages” from Revelation and on the origin of the Adventist church too. I had about a hundred slides on the history of the Adventist message; it was quite inspiring to those about to join the church to see what was going on among Adventists around the world. I rather liked to call it “Around the World with the Everlasting Gospel” and would give a review of the origins and growth of the denomination, all illustrated by about a hundred slides.

Evangelism was a very adventurous kind of a life, always. You’d be moving about from one place to another and usually stay not more than a year. Sometimes we would stay a little longer, especially if I built a church for the new believers. Not like the brief series these days.

I used to dream about how wonderful it would be to just go into a place, present the Advent message to the congregation and let some-one else take responsibility afterwards. I could always get a congregation, and I could keep that congregation. I never had a dead mission and I’d always have a baptism and finish up well. But then came the hard work of holding those people in the church and building your church and doing all the pastoral work. Now an evangelist has a wonderful time. He goes to a church already waiting and he has all the support he wants. He has to advertise and preach to the people and, of course, keep them coming. I think evangelism today in that way is comparatively easy.

Later in my career there was the idea of big evangelism, say the style of Roy Anderson and men like Knox from the United States. They were great evangelists and they really went for it in a big way, advertising and spending enormous amounts of money.

I never attempted anything big. Sometimes I’d take the town hall, but I never regarded it as anything very big. The town halls would seat fifteen hundred or a couple of thousand people, but you’d only hold meetings there for a few weeks. Then you’d go to a lesser hall for the rest of the meetings. But when these other evangelists took the City Hall in Brisbane, for example, it was a big responsibility. They’d have all the workers in the Conference around them and they had a responsibility to keep that thing going.

While I was in Bathurst with Claude Judd, Eric House and Miss Grolimund it happened that toward the end of the year there was a Conference meeting in Sydney. I had a phone call from Eric Johanssen, who was president of South New Zealand. He wanted me to go to South New Zealand for city evangelism, in Christchurch. He was very insistent. But the same day practically, Walter Scragg called from Sydney to ask me if I’d come to his Conference and take departmental work with young people and so on. I had to weigh these two things: I liked evangelism, I liked the adventure of it, and my heart was in it. But I felt that it was for young men, even though I was only forty and thought I had plenty of years still. But I’d been at it about twenty years and thought perhaps it would do me good to get into departmental work, to have a change. I accepted Walter Scragg’s invitation and became Conference secretary for the Missionary Voluntary department, Home Missions, and Sabbath School in South Australia. I told Walter at the time that I didn’t want to leave evangelism behind altogether, but thought that it would do me good.

Of course, we had a wonderful time in South Australia, as you know. That’s another story.

I just wish I could have my years as an evangelist all over again when I see evangelists now. I’m just like an old war horse. With teachers like yourself, you have your congregation ready made, but still have to answer to a bell. You are really regimented. We were too, but we made our own program and didn’t have to answer a bell.

H:   And you enjoyed that?

B:   Yes, I enjoyed that freedom after so many years doing that, you see. And from the start I thought that was the life for me. And it was good.

Another thing, too. An evangelist must keep himself in good spiritual tone or else he can’t preach to others. You preach every sermon to yourself or you can’t preach it to other people. It soon comes through if you don’t believe quite what you’re preaching. I felt like Paul at times: “Woe is me if I preach not the gospel.” They were happy days, busy days, they were full days. The family was growing up and I had them around me too. They were helpful in their own way; they all did a little part. The children distributed handbills and my wife played the piano for me most of the time. She was a good pianist. When we were in South Australia in departmental work then Rhona, my daughter, had become a good pianist and my wife left it all behind.

The Woolongong experience was interesting for several reasons. We had difficulty in arranging for the tent at first but that changed. Then I shifted the tent two or three times and the Council was very good. Every time I applied they granted permission. Carl Gall had a commercial laundry there in Woolongong. We couldn’t find a house there at first, and I knew that I had to get started before the summer season in November because in the summertime the beautiful beaches are more interesting to people than going to religious meetings. I had to get my congregation interested before that time, I knew that. We lived in a tent but I took a room in town in Gall’s home, and there I did all my study.

Its always an anxious time for the evangelist after a meeting when the congregation’s gone. I’d go back to the room and Carl would come in bringing a hot drink. “Well, are you satisfied?” he’d say. I’d reply, “I think we’ve done our best and certainly the tent was full. It was good.” And the next week he’d come again: “What do you think? Are you satisfied?” Week after week this was his question. “Well, are you satisfied?” (laughter)

I wanted a canvasser around that district in addition to my other good helpers. The fellow the Conference sent me was aggressive, and he was an extremist. He went selling religious books, and he did well canvassing, but for some reason or other he began to go to homes and give them Righteousness By Faith and Early Writings. Soon he was doing some damage, upsetting interested people by his presentations. I asked the Conference to take the fellow out of my district, I couldn’t take him because he put people off. This is no good when you have people newly interested. And the Conference is watching, putting their money into it and giving you a team. I always felt responsible and wanted to see success.

Do you have any other questions?

H:   Were there any evangelists that were models or heroes or patterns for you?

B:   That’s interesting. There is very little that we ourselves really create. In order to prepare subjects I read what other evangelists were doing. For instance I used to get the American “Signs of the Times” because Alonzo Baker and F. D. Nichol were then editors and this was the time, 1925, of the published debate on evolution. This was a popular issue and Nichol’s presentation of evolution was superb. I copied that because I knew that I had something authoritative. I would read up enough so that I looked and sounded like an authority. After that I wasn’t a bit afraid to talk on evolution because I had the facts behind me. There were other evangelists and I’d get ideas where I could. For instance, Alonzo Baker wrote Hope of the World at that time. He was a good writer and that is a good book, and for those days it was one of the best. I used some of his language, and I took points from it. I thought his approach to issues was particularly good: it was modern, it was right and I valued that very much. Ford, a leading evangelist at that time, presented his subject clearly and logically in the “Signs of the Times.” I would take points from his writing. Carlyle B. Haynes’ book on Satan, dealing with the Origin of Evil, for instance gave a good presentation. Books of that kind helped me. There were no outstanding evangelists in Australia at the time. I started out with Pastor Harker but I couldn’t follow his style; I had to be myself. And then Gordon Robinson. He helped me in some presentations, too. Well, these men all had an influence. I worked with some men, too, who showed me the way not to do it!

In my earlier days, an oratorical style was the thing one worked for. J. W. Kent, for instance, studied dramatics to help his evangelism. He made a special point of dramatic presentation and still does. It drives people a bit mad now! But he was always regarded as a top evangelist, absolutely.

I stepped out of departmental work in South Australia one year to work again in evangelism with J. W. Kent in the town hall in Adelaide. But while Kent was a good speaker, he wasn’t a good organizer. Our camp meeting was in early March, and a couple of weeks later Kent was supposed to open in the town hall. We were waiting for him to arrive because I knew I had something on my hands. I can see him coming up the camp ground now, swinging a newspaper. I said, “My, am I glad to see you! Now tell me, I’ve got to advertise your subject. What is your subject?” Oh, he had no idea in the world; he didn’t have a clue as to what he was going to talk about. He said, “I wish I was ten years younger!” I remember his saying that. But he didn’t know then what his subject was. I had to give him his subject. A Baptist evangelist, Appleby, was running a mission in the Tivoli theater and he had the people around him. He’d captured Adelaide. And we’d come along with Kent. I advertised Kent as the Great Australian Evangelist and I put the announcements in the trains, everywhere, using his picture printed as though he was bursting through a map of Australia. His subject was Russia and the title, “So Little Time.” We had the town hall packed from floor to ceiling. It was great. But he depended too much upon his native ability and because of this he didn’t do his homework at that time, so he disappointed me. The next night there was about half as many in the congregation. He had a good congregation and he lost it. Oh, I felt badly because I’d boosted him so much. After the next week there were not too many people, a fair congregation, but not nearly as many as before. So I worked up another title for him, and advertised this title all around, and the people came back again. I told J. W. that the advertising was big and that he’d better do his homework. He did and he thrilled us, absolutely thrilled our souls. Oh, yes, he had the people by the ears, and he kept his congregation on Sundays, and on the weeknights, too. The people packed into a smaller hall. He’d hold a congregation. We baptized about sixty out of that series.

Outstanding men like that were few and far between, because not too many men could handle the big congregation. You need to have plenty of confidence, know what you are doing, of course, and you have to have a good team to work with you. And in a series like that in Adelaide we had a good choir and the support of all the Adventist churches in the city to give a crowd. Others seeing people there are more likely to join in also.

We had Joe Harvey start an evangelistic series in the town hall in Adelaide. He had a big first night congregation, the second night he had a lot smaller, the third night very few and about the fourth night there was just a few down front. We had to close up.

H:   You used the radio when you were in Bathurst and earlier in the coal fields. Can you say some more about that as an evangelistic tool?

B:   Yes, I didn’t find that so helpful. People would say, “Oh, we heard you on the radio,” but I don’t know that it helped us much in our evangelism. These stations were not powerful even though they were the leading stations in Bathurst and Tamworth. I think there was little interest that developed out of radio. When you have a powerful station such as Vanderman has, hundreds of thousands, even millions of people hear a program, and you must get a percentage of interest, and its not a big percentage. But we enjoyed it. It was interesting doing it and a lot of work preparing. The war years were on and all broadcasting was censored. I was talking once on something semi-political and the one fellow in charge of the program, an excitable sort, thought I was getting too political and cut me off. We had a quartet, Les Richardson, Eric House, Claude and myself. We had quite a nice little program. During the months we were holding evangelistic services there we were expected to preach at churches nearby–Lithgow, Blainey, Orange.

1. W. Kent had been to Bathurst years before, in fact he was the one that started the Adventist church in that city. And that’s where he had a big public debate with a man named Reverend Oakley, a Church of England man. The Kent-Oakley debate was especially interesting to both because Oakley had debated with A. W. Anderson, an Adventist, years before and I think rather gave Anderson a bad time of it. Everyone’s not fitted for debating, you know. But I believe that J. W. Kent was superb at it and in debate he embarrassed Oakley no end. I think I still have a copy of that debate which I did not hear but know that Kent was very good. Strange how some men just go looking for the pleasure of debate. I remember when I was at Newcastle that I had Cecil Griffin working with me. Once when we were on the camp ground–Cecil was a great fellow for debating and was an evangelist–we were talking about debate and his readiness for it when he said, “I have a debate on Sunday night. If you’d like you can come with me.” I said, “Okay, I’ll come to see what’s going on,” It was against a Christodelphian man and there were a number of his fellow believers also there. Cecil sat up on the end of the table when he went in. He had earlier told me, “Always dominate the situation. Sit at the end of the table and, you know, take the situation over.” In this debate he let the fellow talk himself out on the topic, the Sabbath. The Christodelphian’s idea was that the Sabbath was done away with when Christ came. At that time, they believed, the Ten Commandments were really made obsolete but later they were reinstated again, but the Sabbath was left out of the reinstatement. Its rather an illogical sort of an argument, but they made their points and said the Sabbath was not to be kept and because it was not referred to in the New Testament it was not the day to observe as Sabbath. I can see Cecil’s response still. He said, “You say that the seventh-day Sabbath is not mentioned in the New Testament as such?” “No, its not,” he said. “You really believe that, don’t you,” said Cecil. “Yes,” he said. Cecil was driving him into a corner, making him overstate himself. He made him say it so emphatically that he was on the point of convincing the whole room of people that it was not there in the Bible. Then Cecil turned to Hebrews, chapter four, and identified the seventh-day Sabbath there and that just knocked the bottom out of the argument; and in rounding on him that way Cecil made him feel small. I didn’t think you’d gain much by debates like that. But that was the way he’d debate. He was always ready to argue the point with anyone on anything at all.

H:   You yourself were never in a debate of this kind?

B:   No, I always avoided them, I didn’t think it was necessary. I’d present the message as it was. I was never called upon to debate as a matter of fact; it was never necessary for me to be involved in a public debate. Those days there was quite a bit of it done. There’s not so much of recent years; people avoid it because well, it doesn’t engender the best of feelings. Sometimes, of course, it does win people to the Advent message as, for example when Gordon Robinson had several debates of a smaller type, and got good results out of them by winning interested hearers. But it makes the other party feel badly and you can’t both win the debate.

H:   This is probably a good place to end the interview. Its getting a bit late and I notice that the tape is about to run out. So we’ll stop here for now, I think.

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[1] This is clarified on pages 13, 16 and 18 which show that previously he had been in charge in Kalgoorlie, W.A. and Manjimup, W.A.