Living through history

Last week I mentioned that my Dad had died. Yesterday his funeral was held in the Transitional Cathedral here in Christchurch. All was lovely and wonderful about that and for that we his family are very appreciative of the many people who made it all possible - thank you!

Of course we had a hand in a number of things ourselves, including four tributes by one of his two surviving brothers, myself, a grandson and one of my brothers. Me focusing on Dad's contribution to church life and my brother focusing on what it meant to be a child of our father.

I thought I would share a few thoughts about Dad and his life, not all of them covered by those tributes.

Dad [Brian Carrell] was born in 1933 in Lincoln Road, Christchurch. The same year, incidentally, that the Carmelite nunnery was built further down Lincoln Road (you can see "1933" on its fence!)

In his household, along with his parents, were his widowed grandfather (who owned the house) and his great grandfather - William Rowe. William was born in 1839 (England) and died in 1936. He was a soldier in the Crimean War. He would have held Dad on his knee, and in the past couple of years Dad has held three of his great grandchildren on his knee ... the years back to 1840 (a significant date in NZ history) do not seem so far back when you put it like that in terms of generational cross over!

At the present time in NZ we bewail aspects of a changing society, and this includes loss of a sense of community, and anger at lack of access to decent housing. Some laments about this state of affairs include nostalgia for a past in NZ when things were better.

But were they?

I recall Dad telling me about two pastoral experiences when he was Vicar of St. Matthew's, Dunedin (1965-71).

One was the saddest funeral he ever took: the deceased, the undertaker, and himself. The deceased had been a "patient" of Cherry Farm (a psychiatric hospital near Dunedin), who had experienced some kind of (in the language of former times) nervous breakdown and his family had had him committed to hospital. He never left and, clearly, the family had not kept in touch. Not quite community values (or family values) to be nostalgic for! 

And, treatment of mentally ill people back in the days when he would have gone to hospital (1920s/30s), involved hospitalization as first resort rather than last, as it is these days. Perhaps these days are better than the "old days."

Another story was visiting someone in a house which was part of a very poor area in Dunedin, not far from where we lived (in the vicarage amidst middle class splendour). Recall that Dunedin is a city resplendent with wonderful, solid, prestigious buildings and splendid brick and mortar houses, due to the glory days of the gold rushes in central Otago. Not all shared in the wealth which gold generated!

On this visit, Dad went through the front door and his foot broke through the rotten floorboards of the hallway. Thankfully, in my recollection, later, this set of derelict houses was demolished and new and better housing built. But, as we (rightly) wish for better access to quality housing in NZ today, let's work on what we can do now and not waste time on nostalgia for what may never have been the case, that once upon a time, everyone had a chance to live in a decent house.

Final memory, also of Dunedin days. I mentioned in my tribute that Dad was chair of the organising committee for the 1969 Billy Graham Crusade, held at Carisbrook, Dunedin. What I didn't mention is that I can recall every word that Billy Graham spoke to me and my brothers when Dad introduced us to him.

"God bless you."

There you have it - this week's post!