The Fruitful Mother and the Forgotten Son: The Story of William Clowes and the Rise of Hull as the Centre of the Primitive Methodist Movement

Abstract

Martin Batstone is a Methodist minister who lives in Hull and has deep roots in that city. His book has the twin foci of Primitive Methodism in the city and the role of founder William Clowes in the development of the denomination, and it brings to light interesting material on both subjects.One of the great strengths of the book is the local knowledge of Hull that the author brings to bear. The photographs of chapels and the same sites today bear witness to a lost world where Primitive Methodism, belying its humble roots, made bold architectural statements which, particularly in the case of the 1,400-capacity Clowes Memorial Chapel, once dominated the streetscape. Batstone challenges some myths about Clowes's time in the city, not least his place of residence illustrated erroneously in H. B. Kendall's magisterial but sometimes inaccurate History of the Primitive Methodist Church (c.1906). The material on Hull engenders a hope that Batstone might return to the subject to explore it at greater length. It would have been interesting to read, for example, his view of why Hull was the one place in Britain to sustain Continuing Primitive Methodist congregations after Methodist Union in 1932.With regard to Clowes, the book includes some fascinating descriptions retrieved from The Primitive Methodist Magazine and deserving of a wider audience once again. Of particular interest are the moving descriptions of Clowes a month before his death, and of his final hours (87–8). His preaching voice was intriguingly described by Colin McKechnie as being ‘more like the scream of an eagle than anything I could think of’ (101), and the preaching in question dismissed as having ‘little unity or logical cohesion’. The useful inclusion of Clowes's only known surviving sermon, taken from John Davidson's Life of the Venerable William Clowes (1854), allows readers to make up their own minds about the structural merit of his style, if not the pitch of his voice!While it would be very unfair to describe Batstone's book as having ‘little unity or logical cohesion’, the structure of the book does prove at times to be a hindrance as much as a help, especially to those not familiar with the outline of Clowes's life. A thematic approach makes the timeline of events difficult to follow at times, not least with Clowes's home life. The referencing of Clowes's first spouse Hannah only as ‘his wife’ for all but her initial mention in the story (14) means that she can easily be confused with Clowes's second wife, Eleanor, in subsequent chapters. A timeline of Clowes's life would have helped to provide a chronological framework alongside the thematic structure.The implication of the title of the book does need to be further expanded by Batstone. Was the Hull Primitive Methodist Circuit a ‘Fruitful Mother’ to Clowes or to the wider denomination, and in either case how? It is also arguable that, thanks to the many extant Primitive Methodist centenary plates and the unstinting work of the Englesea Brook Primitive Methodist Museum among other things, Clowes is actually much less of a ‘Forgotten Son’ than some other significant but neglected nineteenth-century Methodist leaders. Alexander Kilham, the founder of the Methodist New Connexion, for example, is perhaps more worthy of the adjective ‘forgotten’.As another expert in Hull Primitive Methodism, Stephen Hatcher, reminds us in his foreword to the book, no full biography of William Clowes has been published since John T. Wilkinson's in 1951. Batstone's book is not comparable in scope to Wilkinson's, and its twin foci may leave a reader wanting more about both subjects at times. Nevertheless, it contains much interesting detail in a very readable format which allows Batstone's enthusiasm for his subject and his city to shine through. It will hopefully be a valuable starting place from which a new generation might discover more about an inspirational Methodist leader and evangelist. Batstone reminds us (88) that the Hull Home Branch West Circuit in March 1851 contained the poignant minute: ‘That Bro Clowes’ name come off the plan he having been removed to a station in the bright world'. No Methodist itinerant preacher could wish for a finer epitaph.