The Newman Few People Knew

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Parishioner Jean Johnson provides a reflection on St John Henry Newman’s remarkable life, revealing his deep faith, pastoral care and enduring influence as a priest, theologian and Doctor of the Church.

This month marks the first anniversary of St John Henry Newman being declared a Doctor of the Church. I was privileged to live in Edgbaston through all the stages, from his being declared Venerable to his canonisation. This meant that, over the years, I learned from both the Oratory Fathers and the many visiting speakers about some aspects of Newman that perhaps haven’t made it into many of the books about him.

When I first moved there, a young priest told me that he had spoken to a very old lady who had known Newman. The homilies and many talks over the years gave us privileged information. I met Joyce Sugg, who lived locally, several times and am also indebted to her book, Snapdragon in the Wall, along with information from Newman’s Friends by Meriol Trevor, for much of what follows.

Interestingly, in one book I found my notes from talks at the Official Beatification Conference. They include a comment on Newman as a Doctor of the Church: ‘We know this is the wish of all Popes since Pius XII.’ In fact, in our ignorance, we had hoped that when Pope Benedict came to our city for the beatification, he would also declare Newman a Doctor of the Church!

After his ordination in Rome, Newman went to Birmingham on Friday January 26, 1849, with several fellow priests to form an Oratory in the tradition of St Philip Neri. Their first base was in Alcester Street, a poor area near the city centre, in a former gin distillery. By February 2, they had a chapel, and the following week they began talks for children. Around 140 came every evening, even though they had been working from early morning until 7 or 8pm.

Newman remained in good spirits despite their hard work, ‘bugs in the confessionals, smells in the passages’ and his own poverty. At their first Christmas in Birmingham, they could not afford to pay an organist, so Newman played himself. He was so poor that he had been unable to buy new shoes or stockings for himself. The women of Birmingham thought him to be a saint, but he said: ‘I have no tendency to be a saint… Those who are at a distance have fee-fa-fum notions about me. It is enough for me to black the saints’ shoes… if St Philip uses blacking in heaven!’

Wherever he was, Newman spent time with children. On Sundays, he taught them their faith and Gregorian chant. In Littlemore, just outside Oxford, which was part of his Anglican parish, the children were well behaved but dirty. He wrote that he had lectured them ‘on the necessity of keeping their work clean, and set them to knit stockings with all their might’. By Easter, they had white pinafores, ‘set off prettily with pink bonnets’, which he had given them. When he preached his final sermon in the Anglican church at Littlemore, the children all wore new bonnets, Newman’s parting gift.

The Edgbaston Oratory opened in 1852. Soon afterwards, Newman was approached about founding a Catholic university in Ireland. He served as its Rector from 1854 to 1858. This project caused him much grief and required 56 crossings to Ireland in seven years, sometimes in appalling weather. Some of the Irish bishops were suspicious of Newman when he appointed clever young laymen as university lecturers. His aims seemed startlingly modern, such as including a science faculty and a school of medicine, which became a flourishing foundation.

From this time, one of his favourite diversions was visiting zoos, something he continued to do until he was well over 80. He wondered and speculated about the design of beasts and their curious ways. If you visit Dublin, it is worth visiting the University Church, which was also founded by Newman. It is centrally located and still very clearly continues his heritage.

Another feature of the busy 1850s was the opening of the Oratory School, adjacent to Edgbaston Oratory. This was intended for the sons of Catholics who were unwilling to send them to Anglican public schools. Newman examined the boys himself, adapted classical plays for their use and started a school orchestra, in which he played second fiddle.

In later years, the Oratory School moved to Woodcote, near Reading, where it still flourishes. The Edgbaston site became a grammar school. Even in 1987, it seemed as though many of the Catholic men in professional roles in the city had been educated at that school.

Alongside all this work, Newman also found time to write two novels. They may not be great literature, but they are enjoyable reads. Callista is about an African girl who found life by giving her life for Christ. Newman spent a great deal of time working with young people, but he also had time for all his parishioners and even went to nearby Bilston to help during a cholera epidemic.

Near the end of his life, he went on foot across the city to Cadbury’s chocolate factory to settle a dispute between Catholic employees and their Quaker bosses. He remembered the deceased, who were listed in a small anniversary book made by the mother of one of his friends. The names and dates of death of former parishioners, fellows of his Oxford college, Anglican and Catholic nuns, children, theologians and others are listed. All were remembered on their anniversaries. The last name is that of Frederick Rogers, who died less than a year before Newman’s death in August 1890.

This great theologian, priest and Doctor of the Church is, in many ways, an example to us.