James W. C. Fegan, the Boys’ Friend, was born April 17, 1852, and brought up in a Christian home in Southampton, England. In 1865 the family moved to London, and on his thirtieth birthday James entered the City of London School, where he won high approval. In 1869, on leaving school, he entered a commercial office in the city, but did not care for city life. His intention was to finish with the smoke and din of London as early as possible, and retire to the country, where he could go in for outdoor life and healthful sports which he loved. But God had a nobler future in store for him.
Destined to rescue others, he must first be rescued “from the power of Satan to God” and this is how it took place, given in his own words:
I opened my Bible at the Epistle to the Romans, and…read on…till I came to the twenty-first verse of the third chapter. There God revealed to me how the supreme need of my life that night—fitness for His holy presence—was met in a righteousness of His own providing, apart from the law, “unto all,” and “upon all them that believe.” That moment the light of God’s salvation flashed into my heart. I looked to His dear Son as my Sin-bearer. I trusted God’s Word that His righteousness was upon me, a believing sinner. I knew it, because I saw God said it. I lay down that night in “peace with God.”
He found his life work in the rescue of poor boys. In 1872, he opened his first Boys’ Home with one boy, and by the year 1874 the work had so grown that he was obliged to leave business altogether to devote himself entirely to rescue and evangelistic work. Here is a personal account of one night’s adventure.
After rescuing a street urchin named Willie, he confided to me that in two large yards, in which a number of railway vans were drawn up for the night, a lot of boys used to sleep; but they had been frightened out of one yard through a ferocious yard-dog, and had been disturbed, and kicked, and cuffed by a fresh watchman, who had not yet fallen into the easygoing laissez-faire habits of his class in the other yard, so that the most venturesome only had just begun to make it their sleeping place again.
The next night, in company with one of my boys in uniform, I was surveying this latter yard with its boarded fence, perhaps eight feet high, when a policeman on his beat sauntered up and asked if he could be of any service.
When I told him my quest, he pooh-poohed the idea that any boys could be sleeping there. “Watchman always about, sir. Besides, fence too high. Couldn’t get in, sir.”
However, I felt confidence in my young informant’s word, so I said, “Well, we can soon settle the point. If you don’t mind stooping down, constable, I’ll put my handkerchief on your coat not to dirty it, step on your back, and be over the fence in a jiffy.”
He smiled good-humoredly, and, bending down, said, “All right, sir. Over you go!”
From the top of the fence I could step easily to the floor of one of the vans, which almost filled the yard. Presently I could hear the heavy breathing of some boys sleeping under a tarpaulin, and every now and then the convulsive gasping for breath of others not so well protected, as they shuddered with cold in their slumbers.
I carefully woke up the first boy I discovered, so as not to disturb the others and, gently assuring him of my friendly intentions, led him…to the…fence. I had to whistle to the constable, and whisper, “Halloa! Look out, constable, here’s one,” as I gently dropped my quarry into his hands.
I was soon back with another, and another—till the constable was guarding eleven, ranged with official precision, when I dropped over the fence—without having caught a glimpse of the zealous watchman.
“Eleven of ‘em, sir,” said the constable. “Well, I’m blowed! What next?”….
Very soon I had chartered a four-wheeler—eight boys inside, three on the roof. My boy and I sat with the driver. It was a raw night, and I was cold and weary after having had a busy day’s work, followed by a preaching engagement afterwards—but I preferred the outside!
This was a most encouraging haul, and after I had got eight of these boys settled down in the Home, and had restored three of them to their relations, I fixed upon a night to explore the other yard, and took with me my superintendent, and, at his urgent request, my protege, Willie.
Looking around for suitable country premises, a building was suggested at Stony Stratford. It had been designed as a school for the sons of gentlemen, and built at a cost of £40,000. The school was a failure, the insurance company had foreclosed on the estate, and the buildings were derelict. A offer of £4500 was made, and against all expectation, it was accepted, the purchase being made in 1900.
In this orphanage, boys from the age of eight to fourteen were housed and educated. They would go on to a training farm at Goudhurst. There they were trained in every branch of agriculture and then sent to the Receiving Home in Toronto to be placed on farms in Canada.
Mr. Fegan’s work was not only philanthropic, it was evangelistic. He always had before him, not only the care of the body, but the salvation of the soul, and many will bless God for having been brought in touch with the gospel of Jesus Christ by the efforts of James W. C. Fegan.
During the summer of 1880, Mr. Fegan took some of his boys for a camping holiday. During that outing, before returning to London, they visited the estate of Charles Darwin, who lived nearby, and sang hymns in front of the house. Mr. Darwin expressed his sympathy with the philanthropic work being done, and gave each of the boys sixpence, evoking ringing cheers as they departed.
Services were also held in the district in a tent, and when it became too late for tent services, Mr. Fegan asked Mr. Darwin if he would lend him the Reading Room which he had established for the villagers, but was rarely used.
Darwin lent it with pleasure, and, emboldened by his first success, Fegan wrote again, asking if he might have it for a week’s gospel mission. He received the following answer from the naturalist:
Dear Mr. Fegan, You ought not to have to write to me for permission to use the Reading Room. You have far more right to it than we have, for your services have done more for the village in a few months than all our efforts for many years. We have never been able to reclaim a drunkard but through your services I do not know that there is a drunkard left in the village. Now may I have the pleasure of handing the Reading Room over to you? Perhaps, if we should want it some night for a special purpose, you will be good enough to let us use it. Yours sincerely, Charles Darwin
The transfer was made, and in that Reading Room, renamed “The Gospel Room,” services were held continuously for more than half a century.
Mr. Fegan has left the following memoranda:
The services I held were attended sometimes by members of the Darwin family, and regularly by members of their household. Indeed, when I had a Mission in Downe, the Darwin family were considerate enough to alter their dinner hour so that their household might attend—but this was characteristic of all who served them. At the services, Parslow, the old family butler, whose name is mentioned both by Huxley and Wallace, was converted to God and brought into church membership, also Mrs. Sales, the housekeeper, was brought into the light, and others.
In Emma Darwin: a Century of Family Letters, 1792-1896, edited by her daughter, Mrs. Litchfield, there is a letter written to her daughter from Downe in February, 1881, in which there is a sentence and a footnote referring to the village blacksmith, a great character.
Hurrah for Mr. Fegan! Old M. was a notable old drunkard, in the village of Downe, converted through Mr. Fegan, 1881.
Fegan passed away on December 9, 1925, at his home in Blantyre Lodge, Kent, at the age of 73. But for his strength of character and determination of will, he never could have accomplished what he did. Yet he had a heart full of kindness and sympathy which won for him not only the esteem but the affection of the thousand of boys to whom he acted the part of guide, counselor, and friend.
—T. R., from Chief Men Among the Brethren, pp. 187-192