John Watson was born on the last day of the year 1832 at Ireshope Burn amongst the hills of Weardale, County Durham. Its sons and daughters always lovingly speak of it as "The Dale", to them there is no other dale. We must remember that we are back in the days before the railway ran through the valley, long before those days, as the railway is quite a modern addition to the countryside.

To a visitor from the Southern Counties the Dale may seem bleak and bare, but before long its beauty is felt; its very austerity is part of its greatest charm. Stone-walls form the dividing lines between the fields and add to the grey aspect of the scene. Its chief asset is the river Wear. The bed of the river is made up of rough pebbles, with here and there a huge boulder in mid-stream. Natural stepping-stones abound, and nothing more delightful can be imagined than to spend a morning perched on these boulders with a book for companion. The quiet gurgling of the stream over its pebbly bed is soothing and too gentle to be obtrusive. On either bank of the river in the near distance are the hills.

Such is the aspect of the Dale in Summer. My Father used to thrill us with tales of the storms which swept through it in Winter; of times when the snow lay deep everywhere, cut off the hamlet from its neighbours and swirled into great drifts through which it was impossible to pass. The quiet river, transformed into a raging torrent, would rush down the hills, sweeping all before it. Great gales would tear howling through the valley of the Wear and make the wee bairns, asleep in the rough stone cottages, stir uneasily in their sleep and nestle more closely to each other. His children never tired of hearing of a great snow storm which lasted many days and caused much want and distress in the Dale. Neighbours from homes on the slopes of the hills came to the help of the dwellers in the cottage on the banks of the stream. The excitement of being "dug out", the snow being level with the second story windows, was a story of which his little daughters never tired.

We must also think back to the times when the visit of the lonely packman tramping over the hills with his pack on his back was an exciting event, and provided conversation for days. On many a hedge and patch the family's spinning was laid out to bleach in the sunshine, John's Mother and Grandmother doing notable work in this direction. These were the days when the weekly paper was a luxury, several families sharing in its cost, as it was passed round from house to house and most carefully and exhaustively read. The sermons preached in the little Methodist chapel were a real event in the life of the people, and were being discussed and re-discussed until the following Sunday provided further topics for discussion. The times were prosperous, the tin and lead mines were at their best, and the miners were, along with the men who tilled the soil, a hard-headed, virile race.

My Father sprang from Methodist stock on both sides. His family had been connected with Methodism since its introduction into Weardale. His great-grandfather, Stephen Watson, had entertained John Wesley. John himself, grown an old man, would sometimes turn to a passage in Wesley's Journal which reads thus:- "I rode over the great mountain into Weardale, but I found not my old host: good Stephen Watson was removed to Abraham's bosom." (Volume IV. Page 287, Everyman Edition).

His Father had been an acceptable local preacher with the Methodists until the Reform Agitation when he took the side of the Reformers. The family had for many generations been a wholesome element in the life of the Dale. Born into an atmosphere and countryside so favourable for the development of a strong, self-reliant character, it would have been strange, with such "forbears", if John's development had not been along these lines. He was the first-born child of his parents, Ralph and Jane Watson. In rather quick succession six other children came to the house on the burn side. Ralph was a good kindly man and his children always spoke of him with affectionate respect. By his early death his family was deprived of an excellent father, and John was forced to take up responsibilities at an early age. The affection which existed between John and his Mother was one of the great guiding forces of his life. I remember her as an old woman nearing eighty. She had a certain quiet dignity all her own, a charming smile and a touch of humour which was wholly delightful. Her maiden name was Harrison, and she was a member of a family well known and respected in the Dale. Some of her brothers and sisters were educated in Newcastle, and one brother had, for many years, a flourishing business in Grey Street.

One of the sisters returned to Wearhead and opened a school which John attended. This Aunt Phoebe Harrison was a woman of culture and refinement, but with a certain fastidiousness of manner which her lively young nephews and nieces found hard to bear. Although John was as active and unruly as any of them he found great favour in his aunt's eyes on account of his studious habits, and his desire to learn. Owing to her persistent care he never spoke the dialect of the countryside. She laid great stress on "manners" and would often reprove her country nephews and nieces. But beneath her precise ways there was a heart of gold, and no doubt John owed much of his gentle courtesy of manner to her training.

It was to his Mother, however, that John owed most. Her mind was keen and alert and the love of books her son possessed had, no doubt, its origin in her. Her educational advantages had been of the slightest, but her schooling days never came to an end. Always striving after fresh knowledge, she enjoyed and criticised books which to most women of her age and circumstances were totally unknown. Her own lot was small and circumscribed, but of the future of her children she "dreamt dreams and saw visions". Early widowed, her sorrows were many and her work hard, but her joy in living was real and intense, and this bright and ardent spirit she bequeathed in greater or less degree to all her children. Ralph Watson had had a few fields which he cultivated; he had also had a flourishing cobbler's business. He employed over thirty men at one time. The shop was an intellectual centre of the village: here the weekly paper was read aloud; politics and theology and other subjects were keenly discussed and we can picture young John drinking it all in. At a very early age he began to have an interest in books, and there are tales told of his great love of reading. Between eight and ten he read such solid works as Rollin's Ancient History. Any stray coppers he received were saved up so that he might add to his library. These savings were jealously guarded until he visited his Uncle's home in Newcastle; then came the long anticipated delight of spending them at one or other of the secondhand book-seller's shops. In his later years he would recall some of these purchases with considerable amusement, telling, with a twinkle in his eye, of one of Richardson's books with a virtuous sub-title, which passed the home censors on this account, otherwise, he evidently thought it would have been banned. All was grist to his mill, biography, fiction and theological works were eagerly devoured.

He had, however, such a keen interest in the people amongst whom he lived that, with all his absorption in books, he did not become merely a bookworm, but soon realised that the study of human character is the most interesting study of all. As his brain developed so did his body; and he became a tall, fine-looking boy with a face which was so full of charm that it instantly caught attention and attracted all with whom he came in contact. He worked hard at his trade, but the boy's heart was not in it; to him it was only a means by which he could provide comforts for the Mother he adored and for his younger brothers and sisters.

Those who broke away from the parent Methodist church in Weardale did not become a distinct sect, some went back to the Wesleyans and others joined the Primitive Methodists. Ralph Watson had not joined the Primitive Methodist Church though he often worshipped there. John and his Mother became Members, the rest of the family returned after a few months to the Wesleyan body.

While John was in a state of indecision he attended a service held on a Saturday night in High House Wesleyan Chapel and resolved that if anyone asked him to return he would do so. No invitation was given to him, so on the following day he joined the Primitive Church at Wearhead. He was then fifteen years but a year passed before he experienced in fullest measure the pardoning love of God, and gave himself unreservedly into his keeping. Of him it might have been said:-

"I did not think, I did not strive, The deep peace burnt my me alive, The bolted door had broken in, I knew that I had done with sin. I knew that Christ had given me birth, To brother all the sons of earth, And every bird and every beast Should share the crumbs broke at the feast." "The Everlasting Mercy", Masefield

A little later came another landmark in his spiritual history. After reading Caughey's Letters, he sought earnestly to be filled with the blessing of perfect love and had the assurance that God had answered his prayer, and though occasionally this experience was clouded, it was never for long, and when nearing the end of his long pilgrimage he could still look back to that day as one of the most momentous in his life.