General William Booth
'William Booth started out from Nottingham largely self-educated, penniless, and practically friendless. He had one fixed idea. The whole of his effort and talent would be directed to the one purpose - saving the world. Like his predecesssor Wesley, he took the whole world as his parish. So well did he succeed, that before he died, his name was known in practically every country of that parish, and his followers numbered in millions. He began with nothing, had no money, no powerful friends, only his golden voice, his passion, and this vision of man reconciled to God.'
To Save the World
The evangelist halted outside The Blind Beggar Tavern up the Mile End Road, East London. He was a tall figure in a frock coat and wide-brimmed hat and his piercing grey eyes looked out from a pale face. Drawing a book from beneath his arm, he gave out the verse of a hymn and faces pressed against the pub's glass windows. 'There is a heaven in East London for everyone,' he cried, 'for everyone who will stop and think and look to Christ as a personal saviour.'
From the pub came a volley of jeers and oaths, followed by a rotten egg. The preacher paused, egg running down his cheek, prayed, and turned west towards Hammersmith and his lodgings. He made his way through savage fighting men, ragged match-sellers, orange-women, and Irish flower girls clad only in soiled petticoats with their bare feet covered in dirt; children with wolfish faces gobbling up decaying food left by the street market, or swaying blind drunk in tap-room doorways. He strode past crowded tenements and stinking alleys where life was a just a struggle; and the dark alleys near the docks where the sick and dying lay side by side on bare boards of fireless rooms under tattered scraps of blanket.
'A large muckheap what the rich grows their mushrooms on,' was how one pauper described East London. After thirteen years as a Methodist Circuit Minister, the preacher was no stranger to it. But as he walked home a conviction grew within him. Towards midnight when he arrived at his lodgings, he found his six children in bed. His wife, Catherine Booth, who worried over their precarious financial position, waited in the living room. Excitedly he burst out: 'Darling, I've found my destiny!' Convinced that the churches had failed the people, William Booth would set out to save the world. The year was 1865.
Son of a speculative builder, William Booth was born at 12 Notintone Place, a red-brick terrace house at Sneinton, Nottingham, in 1829. William was taken away from school at thirteen years of age and apprenticed to a pawnbroker when the Booth family plunged into poverty - a mortgage was called in.
These were hungry years when local stockingers were hard-hit by poor trading and the high price of bread caused riots. Under the three brass balls, the sight of desperate, hungry mothers pawning their weddings rings to feed their families became etched on William's memory.
Life for the Booth family didn't improve when his father died a year later and his mother and two sisters moved to a shop on Goosegate selling toys and tape, needles and cotton. At the age of fifteen William began to attend Wesley Chapel.
His conversion simply came at 11 o'clock one night in the streets of Nottingham while trudging home from a meeting. As he himself recorded, he saw with sudden clarity that he must renounce sin and atone to others for the wrongs he had done them. Kneeling at a bare table in the Broad Street Chapel, he vowed: 'God should have all there was of William Booth.'
Along with his friend, Will Sansom, son of a well-to-do lace manufacturer, he began to emulate his hero John Wesley who had preached in the open air to the downtrodden. His first sermon was outside the house that the pair rented in Kidd Street. Standing on a chair to sing and speak, he urged his listeners in where a room inside was the penitent room.
Noticing that the poorest and most degraded never came forward, William began to address open-air meetings in 'The Bottoms', Nottingham's cruellest slum that housed the outcasts of the Industrial Revolution.
One Sunday morning in 1846, William led his 'gang of slummers' - ragged and dirty converts from 'The Bottoms' - through the main entrance of the Wesley Chapel where they filed into the best seats for worship. They were soon banished to using the rear entrance and required to sit on obscure, backless, wooden benches behind the pulpit, out of sight of the congregation. Methodism had become respectable.
William had one astonishing conversion. 'Besom' Jack, a drunken broom-seller whose wife had been reduced to begging tea-leaves from neighbours, became one of his devoted followers.
With apprenticeship complete, almost friendless and penniless, equipped only with a bible, the nineteen-year-old William travelled to London. For a while he worked as a pawnbroker on weekdays and lay preached on a Sunday till a Methodist Reformer and boot maker, Edward Rabbits, heard him preach and liked it. After inviting him home to dinner, Rabbits offered him twenty shillings a week as an evangelist. Within months the Reformers offered him a circuit at Spalding.
At one of the meetings of the Reformers he met and fell in love with Catherine Mumford. Deeply attached to the Methodist cause, she had already read the Bible several times and despite her delicate health was no shrinking violet. She believed in the equality of the sexes and unfailingly bolstered William at his times of despair. 'Never mind. Do not give way. God loves you. He will sustain you,' she would say. To Catherine, William was a man of destiny.
After eighteen months in charge of the Spalding circuit for the Reformers, William began studying under Dr. Cooke at the Methodist Connexion. So impressed was Dr. Cooke by William's love of mankind that the youngster was soon appointed London Circuit Superintendent.
William married Catherine (pictured right) in 1855, three years after their first meeting. The couple had no settled home for he became the New Connexion's travelling evangelist. Steaming up and down the country by train, they lived precariously on £2 a week, rearing a young not altogether healthy family of children that eventually totalled eight. Though an invalid herself, Catherine found time to look after them, bake the bread, and help at meetings. Without her, William later admitted, he could never have fulfilled his life's work.
At his whirlwind revival meetings, William was averaging over twenty converts a day. In 1857 the Connexion cut short Booth's travels and put him in charge of their Brighouse circuit in Yorkshire where the Booths battled to improve the lot of seven-year-old mill girls working a fourteen-hour day.
Two years later the Booths were moved to Gateshead. To Catherine Booth, the Devil was a personal opponent and at the Bethseda's Chapel, she herself began to preach. Many leading Methodists shook their heads at this revolutionary step and wanted to curb these independent Booths. With his wife's support, William soon broke with Methodist New Connexion.
At thirty-two years of age with a wife and four children to support, William Booth had hopeless prospects. 'All Britain is now open to you,' a fellow evangelist told him but soon the chapels of the New Connexion barred their doors to him. Undaunted, he hired secular buildings, even a circus tent, to which the lost and degraded could come. The Booths carried no dogma. All they wanted to do was to stand up in the market place and sound off the glory of the Lord. Catholic, Protestant, Buddhist or Mohammedan, it didn't matter - these were lost creatures who were in need of comfort and hope.
The greatest preacher since Wesley, Booth was a little flamboyant, a little melodramatic, but he roused thousands to repentance and hope. 'Religion,' he said, 'means loving God with all your heart and your neighbour as yourself.'
Catherine was also much in demand as a preacher and in March 1865 she led revival services in the smoky dockland parishes of East London. It was then that William began preaching at the Mile End Waste where every fifth shop was a gin-shop. With a Bible under his arm, he exhorted those outside the taverns to convert and it was here that his destiny was made plain to him - saving those souls the churches didn't want to know.
In this same year, the hymn 'Onward Christian Soldiers' was written.
Booth's income never topped £3 a week. Often his clothes were torn and bloody bandages would swathe his head where a stone or cudgel had struck. Despite the bitter uphill struggle, he gathered supporters, though some went off to pursue their own vision. A young medical student, Thomas Barnardo, who helped Booth at indoor meetings, departed to devote his life to the rescue of homeless children. 'You look after the children and I'll look after the adults,' was William's farewell salutation.
The Booth children often bore the brunt of the crusade. Bramwell, the eldest son, was derided as 'Holy Willie' at preparatory school and bullies banged him repeatedly against a tree 'to bang religion out of him.' He later became the business manager of what he and his father called 'The Concern'.
Wealthy philanthropists came to his rescue. Among the first was Samuel Morley, a Nottingham textile manufacturer, and the Booths opened their Christian Missions in East London. William recruited his first shock troops - reformed alcoholics known as the 'Hallelujahs' who were able to hold an audience spellbound. Typical was one man named 'Fiery Elijah' Cadman who had been converted from a drunkard. A small, sturdy man with short legs and a strident voice, he caused uproar wherever he went, ringing a town crier's bell before each inn, bawling: 'This is to give notice that 60,000 people are lost. Lost! Lost! Lost! Lost every year through accursed drink.'
Mammoth posters signed by Captain Cadman would presage his appearance:
THE HALLELUJAH ARMY,
FIGHTING FOR GOD!
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