Toc H and Tubby Clayton

Almost exactly three years ago a friend and I  decided  to visit the war graves of northern France and Belgium.  We had both lost uncles in the Great War.  We decided to base ourselves in the beautiful medieval  town of Ypres, fondly known as Wipers by many thousands of British soldiers.  This town, almost totally destroyed in the war, has been painstakingly rebuilt and the ancient cloth hall in the main square is a marvellous piece of architecture.


The land towards the  east of Ypres is an area that has seen more bloodshed and vicious fighting than almost an area on the  planet.  Wherever you travel you are met with neat and tidy British cemeteries,  with row after row  of simple white tombstones edged carefully with flowers.  It is a quietly moving experience to travel to the town that epitomises the senseless slaughter of 1917, the small Flemish town of Passiondale, the very name of which seems to evoke profoundly sad memories.  (I was told, however, that the word has no associations with the Latin word, passio, to suffer).  I remember sitting quietly drinking coffee is a small cafe in the main square,  thinking about the savage fighting that led to its capture during the Third Battle of Ypres in 1917. It all seemed so unreal. 


We left Ypres for a day and travelled to the market town of  Poperinge.  We wanted to pay a visit to Talbot House.  It was here that Rev. Tubby Clayton (1885-1972) exercised a profound ministry to the troops. He and another British officer bought a large town house near the centre and opened it as a place of rest and refreshment to the  thousands of British troops who were billeted nearby. It was a remarkable place where troops could rest, read, think and pray in a peaceful atmosphere.  It was probably the  only place on the Western Front where all notions of rank were ignored and men could mix and socialise in total freedom.  
Probably the most important room in the building was the chapel, which was built in the former storage area for hops at the top of the house.  A carpenters bench was the altar, which is still there today.  Though Clayton was a High Anglican he welcomed men of all denominations or none.  The services were often packed with men sitting on the stairs leading to the loft.  Clayton knew that many who attended would die within a few weeks. Many sought him out and made their peace with God.  
There was an amazing atmosphere of peace and friendship in the house and garden.

The chapel as it is today.

The garden where war-weary men could forget the war for a while.

No pessimism, an amazing statement to make in 1917!




There is a story about Tubby Clayton that I find very moving.  One day he was on the battlefield and he arranged a simple communion service right in the midst of the fighting.  As the men knelt in prayer a large shell exploded overhead.  These shells were very lethal, because their casings would disintegrate into thousands of pieces of shrapnel.  When they lifted their heads they noticed that the surrounding  trees and bushes were shredded but the grass and bushes next to them were unscathed.


After the war many wanted to retain the fellowship and friendships they had experienced in the war.  The Toc H movement came into being.


In researching the life of this remarkable man I came across a simple poem that he wrote towards the end of his life, a sort of plea for mercy at the resurrection. I found it a very moving poem,


Lord Jesu, redeemer,
Wilt wake an old dreamer?
Of workers the weakest,
Of liegemen the least,
Of fainthearts the faithless,
Of saints' scars the scatheless,
Wilt robe in redemption a fool for thy feast?