Chapter 1
Childhood: 1949 to 1966
The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day.
John Milton
The blond, curly haired two-year-old sat in his high chair with his family at the table.
“Ross, do you want to go to Hong Kong to live?” asked his dad, who had just received news that his new job would be in the British colony attached to the Chinese mainland.
“Eat my custard first,” the toddler replied, with a thoughtful look on his face. Ross apparently started when he was young to think about priorities and attention to the important things in life. Many of his adult friends note that intentionality was a strength when they knew him, and this family anecdote indicates that it began early.
Ross Oliver Langmead was born on 13 August 1949, in the Albury Base Hospital in New South Wales, Australia. His parents were living at that time just over the state border in Wodonga, Victoria, where they were serving as the local Salvation Army officers. His mum always maintained that the doctor who delivered Ross was drunk. There are eight congratulatory telegrams from family and friends, including one from his uncle and aunt that read: “Delighted to hear of Lois Oliver’s safe arrival.” Communications were not always totally reliable in those days.
Jeanette was two when her baby brother became the center of attention. She remembers trying to get help from their mum when she wanted to do the actions to a song on the wireless, but realized that her mother was distracted with a baby in her arms. The complex patterns of sibling relationships had begun to be woven in a family that would grow to include six children.
Ross was the first son born to Jean Mary Walker and Oliver Leslie Langmead; he was given his father’s name as a middle name, and the name “Ross” came from his mother’s side and her Scottish heritage. His siblings later sometimes called him “Ross the boss.” Of the six siblings in the Langmead family, Ross was the only child who had the fair-haired Walker looks in a family of dark hair and eyes.
After his birth, Ross was in hospital for several weeks, failing to thrive. As an infant, he was said to be sickly and was lactose-intolerant. He was often unwell, and in his early months once became so ill that Jean feared he may not recover in the cold, damp house that never seemed to feel warm in winter. She sent a message for Oliver to come home from the youth camp that he was leading, and he asked everyone at the camp to pray. Within hours, Ross made a dramatic recovery and grew to be a strong, healthy child.
Oliver and Jean both came from Salvationist families, having met each other through Jean’s older brother, Wilbur. Oliver was the middle son of Roy Langmead and Elizabeth Violet Potts, who married in 1915; three weeks later, Roy enlisted and went out with the Australian 29th Battalion to serve on the Western Front in France. Somehow surviving the worst twenty-four hours in Australian military history in Fromelles, he was taken prisoner for the next three years before he and Violet were reunited. Three boys were born in rapid succession, but Grandad was never the same after privation, gassing, and trauma. Like many returned servicemen, he rarely spoke to the family about his experiences.
(Elizabeth) Violet was the eldest of nine children, including seven brothers, of whom four enlisted and who also returned safely from war. She was thirty-eight when Oliver was born, and she raised their sons with discipline and high expectations. Oliver was an outstanding student who was dux of Balwyn Central School but was forced to decline the scholarship he was awarded to continue, and instead started work as an estimator to help the family survive the Great Depression.
Jean was born to missionary parents in Beijing in June 1922. The second child and elder daughter of George and Jessie Walker, she lived her entire childhood in China, with a short stint in India when conditions were too dangerous in China. Her parents spent all their married lives as Salvation Army officers, and Jean was very influenced by the years spent in China (many at boarding school), her separation from her parents when they were interned by the Japanese for three years, and their lifelong Christian service. When Jean returned to Australia on her own at the age of eighteen, she trained as a nurse and midwife, and was actively involved at the Dulwich Hill Corps in Sydney, which had been founded by her father.
As Oliver’s parents also had a strong Salvationist background, originally in Healesville in the mountains and later at the Canterbury Corps in Melbourne, there was a strong alignment of purpose and values for Ross’s parents when they met. They were engaged at the end of the war and married in May 1946. As they emerged from the Depression and World War II, the young couple had their hopes and lives ahead of them and were committed to serving God and other people. Entering the Salvation Army Training College in Melbourne brought a challenging test for them as there was no provision for children to live in the college. So, Oliver and Jean were forced to farm out their beloved one-year-old daughter to friends and relatives for the year of training, and only saw Jeanette on weekends.
Thus, the two years spent at the Wodonga Corps after graduating from college were happy ones for the Langmead family. They were reunited with Jeanette, and then the births of Ross and of Leslie soon after in 1950 made them a family unit at last. Jean, however, suffered a miscarriage between Ross’s and Leslie’s births, so one can only surmise that it wasn’t all easy for her. Their conditions were poor, to say the least. Army officers at that time lived on an extremely low stipend and both husband and wife were expected to work without much recognition of the need for days off or down time. With three children under five, there was no time for relaxing.
Just after Leslie was born, in January 1950, the Langmeads were appointed to move to another country corps, this time in Yea, Victoria. With a preschooler, a toddler, and a newborn baby, family life and work was demanding. Adding to that, the living accommodation was in the back half of the Army hall, meaning that there was no escape from the job. The weather in Yea is notoriously damp and foggy, and Jean told stories of a tiny home festooned with wet diapers that never dried, three children under five, and a job that she was expected to share with Oliver. The noise from the brass band playing on the other side of the wall would sometimes wake the babies. Only sixteen months apart, Ross and Les began to grow and play together, and the diapers just kept coming.
Oliver and Jean had always been interested in working overseas, especially because of Jean’s Chinese upbringing. The Chinese Communist Party, however, had emerged and driven the Nationalist Party off the mainland to Taiwan in 1949, and China was effectively closed to missionary endeavors. Knowing of their interest in working in Asia, the Army had asked Captain and Mrs. Langmead, while they were in Wodonga, if they would be open to going to Indonesia instead. They agreed to that idea but had heard nothing more until the letter arrived one morning in Yea. In typical Salvo style, it was not a request: “Re: your work in Hong Kong,” began the official letter. They had their marching orders, and as soon as Ross finished his custard, they began the big move that would shape their family life for the next five years. At least Hong Kong was attached to China’s mainland and was as close as they could be.
As they prepared for the sea voyage that would take them to a distant continent for the next five years, all Oliver and Jean knew was that they would oversee a children’s home. Barely thirty years old, they had no specific qualifications for what turned out to be an enormous task, and they did not speak a word of Cantonese. Jean spoke Mandarin fluently from her childhood but would have to start afresh to master the dialect of southern China. They ordered white summer Salvationist uniforms and began to pack up their minimal belongings into steamer trunks. Oliver painted all the trunks green, added padlocks, and numbered them; some of them are still in use today. While these were being freighted to Sydney, the family began its farewell tour, beginning with Oliver’s family in Melbourne.
Those were the days before air travel, and overseas missionary appointments were generally for at least five years. Sea voyages were lengthy, although they provided a welcome buffer between leaving home and arriving in a new location, job, and culture. All communication for these years apart would be by sea-mail or telegram—no emails, no phone calls, no Zoom or Skype—and this separation from family in Australia was sacrificial for everybody. Adults parted with elderly parents and children would grow up without their grandparents. Roy and Violet hugged the family tightly at Spencer Street and Oliver’s brother came specially from Western Australia to see them off; Jeanette, Ross, and Leslie had no idea how emotionally fraught the occasion was. They were excited about a night train trip on the Spirit of Progress to Sydney for the next and final farewells with Jean’s family.
When the wide-gauge, luxurious, air-conditioned train crossed the state border and arrived in Albury in the middle of the night, all passengers had to transfer to a new train, as New South Wales had a narrower, standard gauge. Salvo friends from the Wodonga Corps were waiting at midnight in the dark on the station with an Army flag and thermos flasks of hot drinks to share in the brief changeover. As the faithful friends sang and waved the flag, the children were carried half asleep to their seats on the next train that would take them to Sydney.
From Sydney, the family traveled on north to Newcastle where Jean’s parents were the Divisional Commanders for the Salvation Army in that region. This stay with the family was documented with some lovely family photos; they were to be the last taken with Pa Walker. Jean would not see her father again on this earth and Ross would grow up without memory of the amazing, courageous George Walker.
The Walker family all gathered at the wharf for the departure of the family on the ship. The adults were quiet, subdued at the thought of the imminent separation. The three children raced up the gangway, around the decks, and in and out of their adjoining cabins. Before the days of air travel, departures took hours, yet nothing seemed important enough to talk about in the waiting. Eventually the boarding signal sounded, and the last embraces began. When the loving family stopped hugging him, Ross was the one who led the charge up the swinging gangway and the family of five secured their place on the deck where they could see their farewell group on the wharf.
Then it was time to throw down the colored streamers for the peo...