Page 92 - moondani kyema
P. 92
ndani kyema, My Story - Ray Moore 92
problems with him. It wasn’t long before he became an outcast of South African
society also. He remembers that he had taken to breaking into women’s bedrooms,
not to molest the women, but to get their perfume and drink it for its alcoholic base.
Now here he was in Australia, at his best helping other drunks and no-hopers to get
by each day, and at his worst, being picked up out of the gutters of Melbourne.
While I was there he spent some months holding down a job, but perhaps inevitably,
he fell off the wagon and was back under Jim Collett’s wing again.
Sundays were special days. We would start a bit later, but we would often get up to
300 men in for the Sunday breakfast. I don’t think this was because the food was
any better, but because there were a number of men who were living near the border
line and found it harder to cope at the weekends. We would also often have church
groups come in and conduct a small service with plenty of music. The men were
encouraged to pick favourite hymns. They tended to pick the more sentimental
hymns such as “Where is my wandering boy tonight”.
The police often detoured down these lanes to see what flotsam and jetsam of life
were to be found there. On one occasion, Bev came and spent the day with me, and
I was left to lock up when we had finished in the evening. I asked Bev to go out the
front door while I turned the lights out and made my way around to the garage and
got the AJS out. That left her standing in this undesirable part of town, on her own,
in the dark. And it was at this precise moment that a couple of foot cops decided
come down the lane to see what was what. The beam of their torch caught Bev full
on and they asked her what she thought she was doing here. Trying to explain that
her “boyfriend” was just getting his bike out to take her home, she felt that she was
digging herself deeper with every word. Fortunately I confirmed her story, by
appearing with my bike. But it still took a bit of talking to convince them that we were
innocent.
It was a very valuable year for me as it gave me experience in how best to help
needy people and also to treat everyone with an equal dose of love. I could not have
had a better model than Jim Collett and I will always be grateful to him for his
understanding. The year had also been a clarifying one for me.
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problems with him. It wasn’t long before he became an outcast of South African
society also. He remembers that he had taken to breaking into women’s bedrooms,
not to molest the women, but to get their perfume and drink it for its alcoholic base.
Now here he was in Australia, at his best helping other drunks and no-hopers to get
by each day, and at his worst, being picked up out of the gutters of Melbourne.
While I was there he spent some months holding down a job, but perhaps inevitably,
he fell off the wagon and was back under Jim Collett’s wing again.
Sundays were special days. We would start a bit later, but we would often get up to
300 men in for the Sunday breakfast. I don’t think this was because the food was
any better, but because there were a number of men who were living near the border
line and found it harder to cope at the weekends. We would also often have church
groups come in and conduct a small service with plenty of music. The men were
encouraged to pick favourite hymns. They tended to pick the more sentimental
hymns such as “Where is my wandering boy tonight”.
The police often detoured down these lanes to see what flotsam and jetsam of life
were to be found there. On one occasion, Bev came and spent the day with me, and
I was left to lock up when we had finished in the evening. I asked Bev to go out the
front door while I turned the lights out and made my way around to the garage and
got the AJS out. That left her standing in this undesirable part of town, on her own,
in the dark. And it was at this precise moment that a couple of foot cops decided
come down the lane to see what was what. The beam of their torch caught Bev full
on and they asked her what she thought she was doing here. Trying to explain that
her “boyfriend” was just getting his bike out to take her home, she felt that she was
digging herself deeper with every word. Fortunately I confirmed her story, by
appearing with my bike. But it still took a bit of talking to convince them that we were
innocent.
It was a very valuable year for me as it gave me experience in how best to help
needy people and also to treat everyone with an equal dose of love. I could not have
had a better model than Jim Collett and I will always be grateful to him for his
understanding. The year had also been a clarifying one for me.
Return to Table of Contents
