In the last episode, the journey continued as the missionary arrived in Kuching, the heart of the mission in Sarawak, where the bishop resided and the Mill Hill Missionaries had established schools and a vibrant community. After mingling with priests and witnessing the bustling life of the station, he set out alone for Miri, flying over the vast rainforest to a remote airstrip. Welcomed by Bishop Galvin and the parish priest, the episode explored the structure of mission lands, the process of ecclesiastical advancement, and the personal connections that shaped the missionary’s path, setting the stage for new challenges and discoveries in the Vicariate of Miri.
I was now in Miri. I found it to be a simple little town on the coast. By this time, it was the administrative headquarters of the Fourth Division of Sarawak, which stretched deep into the interior to Indonesian Borneo. It was also the headquarters of Sarawak Shell but, with the oilfield offices and housing all located well outside the town, there was little to suggest that it was the source of vast wealth. The bazaar formed a rectangle bordered on one side by the wharf area and on the north side by the main street, which was fringed with palm trees, travellers’ palms, bougainvillea, frangipani, and flame of the forest. The aroma was unforgettable. On this street were all the government offices; every department was here, and a short walk enabled a person to complete the most intricate business in a variety of offices in no time at all.
Behind these buildings lay the mission house and church. One can imagine how easily the fathers were able to get their business done with government offices. Next door to the fathers’ house were the mission primary and secondary schools, and further back was a huge Chinese-medium primary. It was the custom in mission schools to stop around one o’clock, whereas the Chinese schools opened in the afternoon to accommodate their larger curricula. The fathers who were engaged in school work and also those doing pastoral work had the habit of a short nap in the afternoon. As a visitor, I was expected to observe this, but with the oppressive heat and the loud chanting of the Chinese children doing their times-table, I found it just impossible. In fact, in all my time in Borneo, I never got into this habit of sleeping in the afternoon. I usually found that most people are very resistant to being disturbed and that, being both conscious and conscientious, I would answer the telephone or the door, even though frequently I was not the one in demand.
The church, dedicated to St. Joseph, our Mill Hill patron, was in keeping with all the neighbouring buildings—made of timber, with bilian atap roof. It was well over 50 years old when I first saw it. The first mission in this area was in Marudi, a settlement on the Baram River, further inland. The Brooke administration had its headquarters there to keep an eye on the restive tribes of the Kenyahs, Kayans, and Ibans. With the discovery of oil on the coast by Shell, everything moved there. The church and mission dated from this time, 1912. The great pioneer missionary was Fr Henry Jansen, by all accounts a very austere and apostolic man. Even with the increasing demands of the invasion of oil workers from all over Sarawak, North Borneo, and Singapore into Miri, he still continued his care for Marudi and all the longhouses on the river. And this in the days before outboard engines.
It was not, however, one of those wonderful success stories. He met resistance from the “bomohs” or priests, who intimidated the longhouses into refusing him basic hospitality. During this time, a fundamentalist group from Australia called the Borneo Evangelical Mission arrived, bringing greater wealth and resources. They too brought him many problems. As is so common in foreign missionary history, his success came not long after his death. The area in which he laboured is today the diocese of Miri. His old church was demolished to make way for a new cathedral in 1972. Today, the first local-born bishop of the diocese is the son of his old cook.
The mission house was a very simple timber building, in keeping with the church and the schools. It formed three sides of a rectangle, with a verandah. It was elevated about four feet above ground in order to escape the floods during the monsoon, but this area in fact seemed to house all the stray dogs in town. When the noise was too great at night, the parish priest had a gun, but it was only a deterrent—no one ever remembers seeing any dead bodies in the morning. The local authority had on their payroll an Iban who could put the fear of death in all the strays, and when he was in town, peace from that quarter reigned. He used a blow pipe.
At one end of the house was a dining room, and at the other end, was a sitting room. The rooms were small and monastic, furnished with the bare essentials, which included a ceiling fan—a great luxury. Into this house, which was not at all spacious, were crowded the bishop and his secretary, the parish priest and his two assistants, with a constant stream of visiting priests from the interior who had varying business to see to in town: the bishop, the doctor, the education people. Few of the visitors prolonged their visit unduly, preferring the simple comforts of their own house back in the interior. I can imagine the great feeling of relief when the bishop and his secretary moved out to their own newly built house the next year.
Prepare to journey deeper into the heart of Borneo, where every day brings new wonders and unexpected challenges. In the next episode, follow the missionary as they venture beyond familiar shores, encountering new cultures, breathtaking landscapes, and the legendary Iban longhouses. With the monsoon rains pounding and the river calling, the adventure promises unforgettable encounters, linguistic surprises, and a glimpse into the spirit of a land known as “the land below the wind.” Don’t miss the next chapter—where discovery and transformation await just beyond the horizon.
