Arthur Bell
on the persecution
of his father
Robin McMillan
on a remarkable
pilgrimage to Scotland
Rev Leonard Bell
Sitting at the ‘Bar of the House’ in a packed General Assembly was an awesome experience for a 24-year-old. Even for one who’d stood for St Giles ward on Edinburgh Corporation 22 months earlier.
The famed moot of ministers, their faces perched atop ‘dog collars’, was all around and above us – many polished Presbyterians’ natural ‘tonsures’ reflected in the television lights. There was a great buzzing of voices full of expectation. We awaited the report of the convenor of the Church of Scotland’s publications committee.
The year was 1971 and PM Ted Heath had not yet crossed picks with the National Union of Mineworkers. There was no system of employment protection. I sat beside my father Leonard (a minister for 34 years), and my elder brother Mike (a young lawyer working in management consultancy at Pilkingtons). With us sat the bewigged ‘senior’ advocate Harry Keith QC, and ‘junior’ Bill Reid, an advocate friend of Mike who would become Sheriff in Glasgow and Dunfermline. Our QC was to end up as a Lord of Appeal in the House of Lords. Dad was recovering from a heart condition, brought on, as Kenneth Roy wrote (5 March) by the appalling pressure put on him by the Church of Scotland publications committee.
Old men in dog collars
Let me take you back. Leonard was a much loved parish minister in Brechin who preached twice each Sunday to packed pews. He’d then dash off to deliver his sermon again to a country parish nearby. His pre-war calling in Dumfries had quickly changed into wartime padre service in Orkney, followed by much warmer southern Italy. He’d then arrived in Brechin with the five-year-old Michael, and the heavily pregnant (Dr) Margaret, in mid 1946.
He had a great wit, an enjoyment of a dram, and a love of exploring remoter parts of Spain. He enjoyed poetry and studying military history. In the mid 1960s, now 52-years-old and a successful author and journalist as well as minister, he was approached by the apparatchiks from C of S HQ – 121 George Street. Would he allow his name to be submitted to the next General Assembly for appointment as editor of the C of S monthly Life and Work?
‘Not unless you allow me to change it considerably, and I need independent editorial control’, was the gist of the reply from this very surprised man.
Family discussion followed. He’d have to leave his Gardner Memorial parishioners and many friends. My mother would be forced to pack up her job as an ENT registrar in Stracathro Hospital. But I was already at school in Edinburgh and hoping to go to Edinburgh University, whilst Mike was then a trainee solicitor in the city. The time was right, we all felt, for dad’s skills to be seen by a wider audience, so it was off to the capital from the manse. ‘If you find me printing lots of photographs of old men in dog collars, just please shoot me!’, he instructed his sons.
A parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14)
The General Assembly approved his appointment and quickly Leonard set about changing what was a somewhat dated and dull magazine. To do this it needed money and ideas. He had the latter, but the former had to come from advertising, and few companies had wanted to show their wares in the dreich monthly. At that point I believe, the magazine had been losing the church what would be now £250k annually. That had to be changed, and only a lively, controversial, visually attractive publication could do it. Most parishes bought it in bulk from 121 to distribute to members. Often this consisted of a sluggishly reducing dusty pile in the church vestibule. Only a minority of church members bothered with a paid subscription.
Over the next five years, despite an unceasing slide in Kirk memberships and attendance, Life and Work circulation held firm. Over 200,000 copies went out monthly, letters poured in to the editor, and the advertisers duly appeared…with their revenues. Not a month passed without a Scotsman or Herald leader comment, or BBC feature on one of the controversial articles in the magazine. Church members even read it, as it was not a vehicle for deepest theological musings. Instead, editor dad filled it with the (then) many activities and sectors in which the C of S was involved – across Scotland and abroad. It was relevant, and amazingly, that made money.
Dad would often start writing at seven in the morning – the sound of his Adler typewriter just getting through the sleepy heads of two young men. Then he’d appear in his dressing gown carrying two cups of tea and puffing a foul-smelling Burmese cheroot between his lips.
The time (late 1970) had come to turn the magazine into a colour publication as costs were coming down, and the public demanded it. To begin with Leonard trawled through major advertisers like the banks, and sought agreements to ensure additional colour printing costs would be covered for 12 months at least. With financial support secured he went to the National Gallery of Scotland. Their most expensive purchase had just been made of a Botticelli painting of the Christ child and mother, and he wanted to launch colour in the Christmas edition with this painting on the cover.
Naturally he had told the publications committee of the move out of the dark ages into colour. Surely they would be pleased to catch up with other magazines, and continue the enjoyment and interaction with the church members? Surely they appreciated the £25,000 profits for Kirk coffers, an achieved financial turnaround that would be worth about half a million of our 2013 devalued money?
The magazine’s four sub-committee members expressed horror – not at the modernisation move, but at the proposed first colour cover. ‘That is not Christian, it is Catholic!’. Obstructions and delays followed, then in December father was suddenly called before the quartet. With no warning he was told his contract with the church was terminated as he’d served five years, and that was that. A shattered, suddenly much older man, phoned me to collect him from his office this dark December afternoon.
We drafted lists of prominent, active, likely General Assembly attendees to contact and lobby. We called personal friends within the church to explain what had happened. We started a press campaign by contacting Arthur Dawe, dad’s friend and editor of the Scots Magazine. Arthur ensured maximum press coverage of the story by giving his DC Thomson colleagues in the Sunday Post the front page scoop: ‘Kirk fires editor on Christmas Eve…in hospital!’.
Michael and I then issued a press release, and unsurprisingly, all the Scottish media followed up on Monday. So many church members had really been delighted with dad’s work that they bombarded 121 George Street, the Scottish press, and their own presbytery members with fury at this gross abuse.
‘Surely’, we thought, ‘if father was appointed by the General Assembly, then only they had the power to dismiss him’. The old man chipped in as he got better, keen now to ‘fight the good fight’. There was much supportive mail each morning from strangers and friends alike, and tens of phone calls daily urged him not to submit quietly. All this bucked him up and his spirits rose. With the knowledge that dad had a big support, Michael started consulting his legal friends. Dad had a very small balance in his bank account, but an excellent (old fashioned!) bank manager.
A solicitor friend of Michael’s, Hamish Wilson, talked to advocate Bill Reid. They believed the argument that only the General Assembly had power to dismiss was probably correct, but thought a senior QC’s advice should be sought. How could Leonard pay for all this? Particularly if the case had to be taken further to the Court of Session? Well, the public like to slag off lawyers (sometimes deservedly), but these mens’ abhorrence at such injustice by the Church of Scotland was such that they decided this would be a ‘pro bono’ case. Not the ‘no win, no fee’ situation seen often today. Forty-four years on, I still remember their kindness to father.
Meanwhile the church was taken aback at the fury of the press and public. As no employment tribunal system was in place, the church was perceived to be making a good man destitute…for no crime. Leonard Bell had not run off with a Sunday school superintendent or any other ‘inappropriate behaviour’ in today’s PC world, and he’d even done a fine job for the Kirk. And so we went to the Mound and the 1971 General Assembly to ask the ‘Fathers and Brethren’ to reinstate Leonard. Also they should confirm the contract that the publications committee’s magazine sub-committee had unilaterally and disgracefully torn up.
McCartney was rising to present his report when an emergency motion was put to turn off the television lights, and to prevent live reporting of the debate. He proceeded with a catalogue of the committee’s work, then came to the contentious issue of Life and Work.
An elder, a Col Norman Warnock of Elie who had given father huge support, rose and moved that a petition on behalf of Leonard Bell be heard. The assembly growled its agreement and lots of foot stamping went on. Now when one of the most gifted of advocates makes a case it is always worth listening. Harry Keith was a very persuasive QC, and the growl of support for the beleaguered editor turned into loud boos and ‘shame on you’ calls when McCartney tried to justify the ‘junta’s’ action. He said that they had legal advice from the church’s procurator, Bertie Grieve QC. The future Lord Grieve rose and denied that his advice meant they had power to break Leonard Bell’s contract. Oops!
Many members (including past moderators like George MacLeod) rose to speak, but not a voice was heard in the convener’s support. Motions were put and carried that Leonard Bell be immediately restored to the editorial chair. A show of hands gave McCartney and chums around a dozen votes, whilst over 1,300 showed, roared, and stamped their support for my father. McCartney then announced his immediate resignation – only to be greeted by 1,300 minsters and elders cheering – his only ones of the day.
The shame continues…
The day was won. Father was surrounded by people wanting to shake his hand and wish him well. The setting up of an inquiry into the sad saga was announced, and the Bell family (with legal team) headed for father’s favourite Doric Tavern for lunch. Despite his wearying battles father was determined to return to his office the next day. He had missed about five months, and he had lots of planning to do. Such as the colour Christmas edition with the Botticelli masterpiece on the cover.
During the subsequent months father’s health was not good. He attended the inquiry but Harry Keith was now on the bench and couldn’t appear. Instead a particularly able young QC, Kemp Davidson, appeared with him. Later Lord Davidson, Kemp was himself a minister’s son, and he too offered his services ‘pro bono’. Naturally the inquiry came up with a ‘mistakes have been made’, ‘lessons must be learned’ result, but Leonard was exonerated from any culpability. He threw himself into his work, and that autumn both Mike and I got married. Two moderators and a future cardinal took the services.
At last in December Life and Work went into colour, with that painting gracing the issue. Our maternal granny aged 85 fell running for a bus (true, nobody had shoved her), and died that Christmas. It didn’t seem a lucky time of year for us. Dad had received many invitations to speak to congregations and church guilds about his work, and decided to do a tour of those in Highland churches in early spring 1972. We would go as a family for part of the trip. We’d bury granny’s ashes beside her parents, and deceased daughter Jessie, in Cromarty.
As we gathered in a graveyard beside the ruined Gaelic Chapel the sun was shining brilliantly off both the firth and the snowy tops further north. Father conducted a small service for us all and I can still hear his rich powerful voice, rolling and commanding, reading from Revelations: ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end’.
As my wife Susan and I walked back from the hillside churchyard with father I felt a deep, indefinable, concern. Father was unwell during the night, but mother said we should head south. By the time we had reached the manse in Trinity, Leonard Bell was dead.
‘Well Leonard,’ Andrew Herron had said to father on meeting him in 121 George Street. ‘You may have won a victory, but it will be a Pyrrhic one’.
She was demented…what could she do? She would resume medical work and she really wanted to go back to Brechin and so many true friends. By chance one of the many Brechin churches had just closed and the congregation was selling its manse. (Today 121 would sell it, and keep the money.) Mother ascertained that she could get a mortgage from the C of S, and made an offer that, although not the highest, the congregation accepted. It was next door to the manse in which I had been born and raised. Her idea was to split the large early Victorian house into two flats, keeping one and selling the other to help fund the purchase. Just as the deeds were about to be signed… yes you’ve guessed it: the Church of Scotland withdrew its offer of mortgage help. The £4.81 a week was her lot. Thankfully other lenders were not so duplicitous, and helped her out.
Maggie Bell practised medicine into her 70s (she’d graduated at 21), and never again entered a church other than as a wedding guest. Her beloved Leonard had died, as his doctors told us, ‘of a broken heart’. Killed by the kirk.
SR is having a short break over Easter and will return
on Tuesday 9 April
