My local public secondary school happened to be a specialist music school. New students could sign up to learn an instrument from one of the teachers; for no cost. Of course, every Year 7 wanted to learn the saxophone, of which the school had about five. About 50 of my peers signed up for saxophone. The saxophone teacher herded us into a room and told us the bad news; the good news being that our parents could buy a saxophone for a cool $800. My parents didn’t see the good news.

Mum dragged her grant-aunt’s viola from the cupboard, and marched me to the office of Geoff Conrau, string teacher extraordinaire (Geoff is also an amazing magician, and a pyrotechnician). I was not happy about being relegated from the wailing glory of the saxophone. Bloody hell, it wasn’t even a violin! But Geoff is a skilled teacher, and I came to love the humble viola, and it’s dedicated genre of jokes.

The viola, compared to the violin, warms the heart with its timbre, and is the instrument closest to the human voice in pitch and tone. The slightly larger and fuller body of the viola gives it a fuller sound and its C-string is a joy to play. Composers like Dvorak, Mozart and Britten were all viola players, like the Australia composer/player Brett Dean and John Cale of the Velvet Underground.

As a half-decent viola player, I played in lots of orchestra and string ensembles over my high school years. Over time, the viola affected my personality, and I’ve reflected on this many times as I became involved in various movements and organisations (youth, Christian, political). The viola is now a symbol of how I seek to operate in movements and organisations.

Lesson 1: The viola supports others

The viola, particularly in a string ensemble, sits (literally often) between the violin and the cello. It provides the ‘centre’ to the music, the middle fiddle, without which the cellos succumb to growls and the violins to screechiness. When it stops playing, you realise it was there.

I’m not saying that I naturally support others, but playing the viola taught me the essential part of the supporter.In an orchestra, the brilliant violinist or flautist can take a bow at the finale, but without the violas (and other more humble instruments), they sound tinny, hollow, and lost. Similarly, in churches, community groups and movements, the charismatic leader gets the glory, but without those who play other parts, they’d fall flat on their face.

As a community leader, I can’t escape the upfront and public aspects of that role. But I try to find ways to support others in their leadership, by offering to help someone nut out an idea they have, or training people to lead, or simply offering to help out in someone else’s venture.

Lesson 2: It’s nice to be anonymous sometimes

For the out and out extravert, anonymity would be a curse, but the viola has shown me the joys of anonymity. In an orchestra, a viola has a chance to shine, but much of the time it is providing atmosphere and (as above) the ‘centre’ of the music. The viola player is not ‘on’ all the time. We are physically obscured between violins and cellos, and behind the conductor.

In contrast, the violinist is always on – as I observed them, it looked like they could never relax. They are often carrying the melody and the bulk of the sound. I could sit back sometimes and scrape back and forth on the one string while the violins exercised their tortuous brilliance.

Put me in a community, church or movement, and I love to have my voice heard (see below) as much as the next person and feel that sense of belonging that comes with recognition. But I also love to sit back and watch someone else rise up to take the lead.

Yuri Bashmet – Viola Legend

Lesson 3: It has its own beautiful voice; just listen

The viola’s sound is deeply affecting but, to the untrained ear unused to picking its sound, is often unheard or ignored. Because its pitch is moderate, it does not stand out among the powerful cellos and piercing violins. You need to listen to a viola solo, and then its voice shines through when listening in an ensemble, and you wonder how you missed it.

Here is the Guardian newspaper singing its praises:

The viola is the plangent heart of the string section. A modest instrument, it tends to cede glamour and virtuosity to the showier violin and cello. But that is deceptive: in a string quartet, the viola holds the music’s centre, often moving it through the most complex of harmonies, or expressing its most melancholy moods.The viola is the plangent heart of the string section. A modest instrument, it tends to cede glamour and virtuosity to the showier violin and cello.

This definitely applies to me, particularly early on as I worked out my distinctive voice, and realised it wasn’t overpowering and didn’t shout ‘look at me’ like the cello. The viola has helped me to look out for the voice of others whose pitch and tone don’t seem suited to the podium.

Lesson 4: Work with what you’re given

The last lesson I want to talk about is: working with what you’ve been given. I mean this in a leadership or membership sense. I didn’t like the idea of learning an instrument whose purpose was to hide. But it grew on me, and as I spent time with it, I grew to love it. We are all given gifts of leadership and membership, which express themselves in different ways. It’s tempting to look at the models of leadership that are lauded and applauded in church or community circles: it’s pretty clear that the preferred ideal is charismatic, extraverted and articulate.

If you’re not these things, or you feel like you’re gifts are ignored in favour of others, then it’s easy to feel inadequate. When you do, remember the viola.

Categories: Read All

Tagged: church, community, leadership, movement, viola

The mosque: Bendigonian political action options

Dave Fagg

Posted on September 28, 2015

Over the past couple of years, there has been a low-level debate over a planning permit for a mosque in Bendigo, which in recent times culminated in a protest cum street battle between the United Patriots Front, and No Room for Racism/Socialist Alternative. For ease of writing, let’s call the United Patriots Front ‘the UPF’ and those on the other side, ‘the Miscellaneous Groups Against UPF’ or MGAUPF. (This article in The Australian is the best summary I’ve read.)

The UPF plans another rally on October 10, and the MGAUPF plans to be there (for example, the Bendigo Action Coalition).

For concerned Bendigonians who want to stand for freedom of religion and against the targeting of Muslim people, what are the forms of political action that are available?

Option 1: Join the MGAUPF

The MGAUPF believes that allowing the UPF to hold their rallies unopposed allows the UPF to claim that their cause has local support in Bendigo, which in turn strengthens their hand in recruiting people to their nefarious cause. These are outcomes that the MGAUPF cannot abide. I think the MGAUPF’s argument has some weight; the UPF is an extreme organisation, whose tactics inevitably breed prejudice against Muslims, even while they claim that they are technically not ‘racist’ because ‘Islam is not a race’. We must let them know that their views are abhorrent.

However, while singing wildly different lyrics, both the UPF and the MGAUPF carry the same tune when it comes to political action. It’s all about bonding. In social capital language: you can bond with people who are like you; and you can build bridges to those who are different. The UPF and MGAUPF act in order to bond more strongly, and have little interest in bridging unless the other converts first.

Why? It would seem that the most effective way to counter extremism would be to persuade an extremist to come over to the side of light. However, both the UPF and MGAUPF is convinced that the members of the other group are incorrigible, and that they are engaged in a battle against an evil enemy. That’s not to say that they would turn away recruits, but that persuading their opponents, which would include understanding them, is not a motivator.

What is the motivator then? Bonding has the purpose of strengthening the group by narrowing the ‘radius of trust’. Group strength has positive outcomes for group members, such as a feeling of safety, knowledge that needs will be met and external threats vanquished. I think both the UPF and the MGAUPF are primarily motivated by the need to be part of such a strong group. There is nothing wrong with this, but bonding becomes unhealthy when groups are exclusionary. Could a member of the UPF turn up to a meeting of the MGAUPF and not be denigrated? ¹

The outcome of exclusionary bonding is perpetual battle. Staging a counter rally will strengthen the UPF’s sense of group strength, leading them to hold more rallies; the MGAUPF will feel morally strong in their opposition, and feel more equipped to oppose the UPF yet again. While I think that the UPF’s agenda must be opposed, counter rallies are not the only way.²

Option 2: Go positive

While perpetual battle strengthens tribes like the UPF and MGAUPF, it is poison to neighbourhoods. For neighbourhoods to thrive, the ‘radius of trust’ has to be widened, not narrowed. People must bridge the gap to their neighbour who is different to them. Bendigo is basically a ‘neighbourhood of neighbourhoods’; perpetual battle is anathema to its long-term health as a diverse community³.

I am interested in this point because I am writing this piece as a member of the Bendigo neighbourhood. I want that neighbourhood to thrive into the future, and a constant stream of pitched street protests will eventually force neighbours to choose sides between the UPF and MGAUPF. Not because they have to, but because that’s simply how it seems.

This fact, of being a neighbourhood member, is behind the ‘Believe in Bendigo’ campaign. This option involves emphasising values of diversity, inclusivity etc. ‘Go positive’ political action consists of events like festivals and picnics which embody the kind of community you desire. Going positive tells the UPF, by implication, that their denigration of Muslims is not welcome in Bendigo.

The sharp reader may have perceived a downside of ‘go positive’ political action; it is also a bonding activity. Though it bonds through proactive connection rather than outright opposition, ‘going positive’ has little potential for bridging. However, I reckon it has a little more chance than the MGAUPF.

Another downside of ‘going positive’ is the effort it takes to pull off. The events need to be large, diverse and fun – that is quite hard to do. What if ignoring the UPF (which is essentially what this strategy does) does not work? The UPF may simply take the lack of explicit opposition as permission to keep using Bendigo as a base for their national campaign against Muslims. Will those who want to ‘go positive’ keep holding large community events for as long as the UPF hangs around?

Is there another way?

So, where things stand now: joining the MGAUPF is fine for an outsider but difficult for a member of the Bendigo neighbourhood, and may have the effect of emboldening the UPF. Going positive is more attractive for a neighbourhood, and less divisive, but is exhausting as an ongoing form of action.

Is there a way of getting the UPF to go away, and its sympathy in Bendigo to dry up? But which also makes Bendigo a healthier neighbourhood through bridging?

Categories: Faith, Read All

Tagged: believe in bendigo, mgaupf, mosque, political action, upf

Working with the dead

Dave Fagg

Posted on April 14, 2015

…The mind
is broken by the thousand
calling voices it is always too late
to answer, and that is why it yearns
for some hard task, lifelong, longer
than life, to concentrate it
and to make it whole.
(Wendell Berry, “This Day”, 1987: I)

In ‘Without weapon or tool‘, I wrote about ‘calling’ and ‘purpose’ as the two factors that define our distinctive ‘work’. Instead of being consumed with our role and the activities that describe it (the ‘thousand calling voices’), we can connect deeply with our work as something distinctively personal and purposeful.

There is a downside to this: our culture constantly pushes any personal thing to an individualist expression. This becomes all about MY calling, MY work, MY purpose in life. Sure, it’s better to be clear about your ‘work’ rather than your ‘career’, but there is something missing. The missing factor is our communion with those who have died, who have also shared in the work. Wendell Berry’s poem punches home 3 truths: work that satisfies as a calling is hard, it is longer than our life, and these combine to make life whole. I want to look at the ‘longer than life’ bit.

Calling contains a paradox: the work to which we are called is longer than our life yet that very fact makes our work whole. This paradox only rings true if (1) a human person is fundamentally and inescapably part of other people and (2) our work is such that it can be shared across time with those people who are now dead.

Is a person inescapably part of other people? This is the question that really grinds against the individualist culture of most Westerners. I would answer with a little ‘no’ and a big ‘yes’. No, I am a unique person, with a mind and soul and body that cannot be matched to any other. Yes, without others I would be literally nothing – there would be no ‘I’. Every dimension of my life is not just affected by, but bound to, others: what I eat, my thoughts, my feelings, my choice of job, spouse, home, whether to have children, what friends I am drawn to, and so on. It is common, when we think about these connections with others, to imagine living people. The farmer who grows the food that sustains us, the spouse that sleeps beside us. But dead people are people too.

Calling contains a paradox: the work to which we are called is longer than our life yet that very fact makes our work whole.

Can work be shared across time with others who have died? If we see our work as (say) ‘building a house’ then no, it cannot be shared across time. The house is completed and that is that (unless the builder unexpectedly dies). But if the builder sees their work as the good use of strength, materials and tools (rather than the product of a house), then yes, that work can be shared with those who have died. Good use of strength, materials and tools is work that has been attempted by many builders over centuries, never perfectly but always sincerely.

Another example is that of parenting. One of my ‘works’ is the good parenting of Shane. I cannot complete this work myself because my parenting is itself shaped by the parenting I received, and my parents by their parents, and so on back through the generations who have died yet share in the parenting of Shane.

Work that is worth anything recognises the communion we have with ‘the departed’ who did our work. That is why teachers revere past teachers, religious people the saints, gardeners the ‘heirloom’ seeds passed down over decades. We see in their work the contours of our own. •

Categories: Comment, Read All

Tagged: communion, sabbatical, work

Poverty and the image of God

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 14, 2016

The people of this neighbourhood are often referred to by terms such as ‘battlers’ or ‘the marginalised’, or ‘those experiencing disadvantage’; but in the biblical lexicon they are ‘the poor’. How do we make sense of the Bible’s teaching about ‘the poor’ in relation to the real people and the real places we encounter? Who are the poor? What defines the experience of poverty? Who are we in relation to the poor and who are we together?

Categories: Faith, Read All

Religion, Spirituality and the Sacred

Dave Fagg

Posted on November 5, 2015

Hi all, I am currently writing a chapter for a book on spirituality and youth work. Here is a section of my chapter on how to understand religion, spirituality and the sacred, and what a definition of these realities might be when discussing them in relation to youth work. The academically minded may be frustrated that I haven’t provided full references – there are some suggestions for further reading at the end.

Secularism constructs ‘religion’ as a private endeavour:

In the West ‘we see “religion” as a coherent system of obligatory beliefs, institutions and rituals, centring on a supernatural God, whose practice is essentially private and hermetically sealed off from all “secular” activities’. In other cultures and through the ages the idea of religion has never been reduced to beliefs and practices separated off from the rest of life. (Pickard)

A definition of religion

Seeking to avoid privatized definitions of ‘religion’, I follow Schneiders, who distinguishes three interrelated elements. One, religion is the “fundamental life stance of the person who believes in transcendent reality, however designated”. Two, “a spiritual tradition” which is a “characteristic way of understanding and living in the presence of the numinous”. Examples would be Buddhism, Christianity, or Zoroastrianism. Three, religion refers to “a religion or institutionalized formulation of a particular spiritual tradition”. We think of Roman Catholicism or Sunni Islam. These particular forms are incredibly complex, requiring particular beliefs, rules, debates, cultural systems and rituals for their maintenance. Schneider argues that this last element is what most casual observers mean when they say ‘religion’.

Categories: Faith, Read All, youth

Tagged: Faith-Based, religion, sacred, secular, secularism, spirituality, youth ministry, youth work

Why Write?

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 24, 2015

Why write at all? Why not just take the best thoughts of others (and they are better than mine), and put them to work in the world of practice with young people? Is it not hubris to think that my particular arrangement of words has anything to add? Especially when the world is drowning in words that add nothing except more confusion, more surface thinking, more self-satisfied thinking.

Categories: Read All

Tagged: embodiment, thinking, writing

Work, Money and Faith…or “Why you should consider giving me money”

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 12, 2015

I need money for my life. Most of us do, in the absence of a fully functioning bartering system which, though I would love it, is someone else’s vocation. My family and I generally get by financially. We work, and I get paid for my regular job with Praxis. Also, the government chips in with family payments. My extended family is often generous and I do some casual teaching when it’s needed.

Most of you, dear readers, also need money. You get this somehow. However, I would bargain that most of you don’t need to justify your work theologically to get it. You do the work, or apply for the required amount of jobs, and the money goes into your bank account and quickly out again.

Later in this post I am going to ask you for money. This post is my tortuous explanation. If being asked for money is OK with you, read this to find out why I am asking you. If it offends you…well, maybe you should still read it.

What is ‘raising support’?

I started theologising for my supper when I worked for YFC Australia as a youth research officer. I had to ‘raise support’, which meant asking friends, family and other people to donate money to cover my wage. This filled me with apprehension. Though I had worked for a church before, where my wage was donated by church members, I never had to ask for the money directly. This was different.

I wrote a letter which explained my role with YFC and asked directly for cold hard cash. It wasn’t easy. I also made phone calls to people I knew, asking them for money. This was even harder. These days I am more comfortable about asking people for money, but not much more.

These days, about half of my wage is still covered by individuals who give both large and small amounts. This money creates time. Time for me to do Christian community work in Long Gully. And after all this time, these supporters still think what Kylie and I do in Long Gully is worthwhile enough to support financially. This experience is humbling, and I often doubt that what I’m doing is worth their support, but they don’t (and for a picture of what Kylie and I do in Long Gully, you can sign up for my newsletter).

Tent-making as an alternative

There’s a long tradition in Christianity, and probably in all religions, of giving money to cover the costs of causes we believe in, and paying people to do this. To put it in common parlance, it’s a voluntary and personal version of the tax system, which is compulsory and impersonal. Some Christians traditions make such donations mandatory, using a ‘theology of the tithe’ to justify this. I’m not a fan of making it mandatory, but I am a fan of giving a portion of your income to causes that need it. I can hear you saying “He would say that wouldn’t he?!”, and it’s true I have a vested interest. So let me bash you with a (little) Bible.

The apostle Paul, had something to say about this. He funded his work through making tents, which became the shorthand for doing paying work to fund other stuff you think is important but which doesn’t pay easily (‘tent-making’). That he didn’t ask people for donations was a source of pride, and there a is convincing argument that Paul valued his tent-making on the same level as his apostolic work. Yet he also didn’t begrudge others getting paid for their apostolic work, even though he did not choose this path himself. See 1 Corinthians 9 for his lengthiest treatment of this topic.

What is ‘Christian work’?

So, while I am theologically OK with the idea of people giving money to cover my wage, I think it has a major danger. That is: when we donate money to ‘Christian work’ we create a class of people who are ‘Christian workers’.

These are usually pastors, thinkers, missionaries of various kinds, community workers, theologians, and stuff that generally doesn’t fit the priorities of our society and so doesn’t receive funding from the state. I believe in the necessity of this work (again, I would say that wouldn’t I?!), but their work is not more important or more urgent than any other Christian’s work, whether that be paid or unpaid.

In effect, all work done by Christians is ‘Christian work’. Of course, we can critique that work and ask Is this work like Jesus? but that can and should be applied to any Christian’s work. It should be applied as much to a pastor’s parenting as to his work of teaching the Bible.

I resolve this dilemma by ignoring it mainly. But when I look squarely at it, I live with it by making sure that I encourage Christians (and anyone really) in their work when I see that it reflects the life of Jesus. Their work is as significant as mine.

As well as people who give us money, there are a bunch of people who wholeheartedly support us through praying for us, telling others good stuff about what we do and checking in on us – this kind of support gives me courage that money can’t buy…so I try to keep that in my mind.

Give me money anyhow

Given how conflicted I am about this, you’d be surprised that anyone gives me money at all. And that is actually a problem for me right now. I’m not that good at ‘raising support’! I’m in the position of needing to look for other paying work (‘tent-making’) in order to create time for what I do in Long Gully, which will obviously decrease the time I have for things in Long Gully.

So, if you’d like to financially support what Kylie and I do in Long Gully and Bendigo, you can donate through Give Now, and sign up for a newsletter here. We would appreciate it immensely.

It took me a while to write those last two paragraphs. Hopefully this blog post explains why.

Categories: Faith, Read All, youth

Tagged: finance, money, seeds bendigo, support, theology of work

The Sacred Roots of Youth Work

Dave Fagg

Posted on September 15, 2015

Hi all – I am currently writing a chapter on spirituality and youth work for a book which is coming out next year sometime. I’ll put a few excerpts from my chapter up as I go. Some of relates to the work I do with the Praxis Network. There’s a bunch of academic references which don’t have hyperlinks…too much bother – sorry about that 🙂

There are plenty of good reasons to remain in conversation with youth work’s past, none so pressing as the need to avoid the mistreatment of children and young people, often in the pursuit of the young person’s ‘best interest’. For example, the child migration policies championed by Thomas Barnardo which dislocated so many young people from culture and family.

Closer to home, there have been two recent inquiries into the abuse of children and young people within institutions such as churches, schools, associations, clubs and government organisations: these have continually revealed lax standards of care, ignorance of the needs of young people, abuse of whistle-blowers and inadequate implementation of policy designed to protect young people.[2] Add to this the growing awareness of the trauma of the ‘Stolen Generation’ and there is ample reason, simply to avoid abuse, for continuing honest historical conversation. In addition, we find unconscious ‘frames of mind’ in some sacred-shaped youth work of the past, that we would wise to avoid. A focus on the ‘rescue’ of young people from poverty was rife, as was an evasion of the structural causes of injustice.

More positively, history functions as inspiration and sage through practices and personalities that, though bound by time, nonetheless contain gems of practice wisdom and thinking for which we are poorer in our ignorance.

As we noted, Praxis students desire to integrate their passionately held the sacred with youth work practice. Such integration was a historical reality in the early days of youth work. Though there were non-sacred antecedents to youth work, like the Youth Communist League, most had explicitly Christian inspiration. In fact, Clyne argues that youth work can only be truly understood if this history is accepted and its influence tracked:

The surviving Christian virtues of hope, emancipation, beneficence and justice within the youth work discourse give sufficient space to suggest that youth work’s foundational Christian language still infuses the discourse. The ‘ghost of the divine’ continues to shape the youth work story. (Clyne, 2015, p. 23)

The sacred roots of youth work are well documented, particularly in relation to Christianity: we will look at two examples of historical practice that translated into modern youth work, as well as three youth work pioneers.

a. Practice: Ragged Schools

In the wake of the industrial revolution, as rural-urban migration increased, youth work pioneers responded to the social misery of the cities through Ragged Schools. Mostly lay evangelical[3] activists gathered children and young people off the streets, to protect them from harm and to educate them.

The ragged schools planted the seed of ‘informal education’ that drives much of modern youth work, particularly in the UK. The youth worker gathers groups of young people who need assistance and empowerment and works with them in a coach-like manner. Mark Smith says:

Historically, youth work did not develop to simply ‘keep people off the streets’, or to provide amusement. As we have seen, a lot of the early clubs grew out of Sunday schools and ragged schools…This interest in learning – often of the most informal kind – was augmented by a concern for the general welfare of young people.

b. Practice: Associations

Associations aimed to instill Christian character and disciplines in young people. The Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), begun by George Williams, aimed to help young adult Christians stand fast against the temptations of the metropolis. Another association was the Children’s Special Service Mission (CSSM) that spawned Scripture Union, a parachurch movement[4], which spread quickly across the globe with its method of daily Bible readings and camps. Of the surviving associations, some have kept their Christian identity though diversified its expression (e.g. Scripture Union). Others, like the YMCA, have lost their identity as a self-consciously Christian organisation.

The legacy of the associations lies in their specific targeting of young people as a demographic category, and using social connections as the ‘glue’ with which to pursue their aims. Such ‘relational’ youth work with young people is widespread now (Rodd & Stuart, 2009). Though the form these took (eg. bible study etc) is anachronistic within modern youth work, at the time this was a genuine innovation. (eg Josiah Speirs). Less positively in the view of radical youth work was the a strong tendency to ‘drift’ to the middle-class.

c. Pioneers: Thomas Barnardo

In the wake of the Industrial Revolution, Thomas Barnardo trod the grimy streets of England when the post-war welfare system was a sparkle in the eyes of social democrats. There was no safety net to whom citizens could subcontract neighbourly love. People in need were helped by their neighbours or they were not. Although a grim situation, it produced some remarkable people, of which Barnardo was one. Preparing to be a missionary to China, he gained a scholarship from the Young Mens Christian Association (YMCA) to study in London, where he faced the poverty of children on the streets. He decided to make England his focus. He was a controversial figure, lauded for his rescues of street children from a life of hard labour and destitution, but later pilloried for his advocacy of child migration.

His legacy to modern youth work can be seen in the foster care system. Barnardo recognised that homeless young people should be cared for, not in institutions, but in families or places that approximated families. In addition, he could provide some useful lessons for organisations struggling with the current funding cutbacks for youth work, as he was a philanthropic activist.

Categories: Faith, Read All, youth

Tagged: barnardo, cardijn, History, montagu, sacred, spirituality, youth work

Playing viola for the cause

Dave Fagg

Posted on September 30, 2015

Lesson 1: The viola supports others

Lesson 2: It’s nice to be anonymous sometimes

Lesson 3: It has its own beautiful voice; just listen

Lesson 4: Work with what you’re given

The mosque: Bendigonian political action options

Dave Fagg

Posted on September 28, 2015

Option 1: Join the MGAUPF

Option 2: Go positive

Is there another way?

Working with the dead

Dave Fagg

Posted on April 14, 2015

Calling contains a paradox: the work to which we are called is longer than our life yet that very fact makes our work whole.

Poverty and the image of God

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 14, 2016

Religion, Spirituality and the Sacred

Dave Fagg

Posted on November 5, 2015

A definition of religion

Why Write?

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 24, 2015

Work, Money and Faith…or “Why you should consider giving me money”

Dave Fagg

Posted on October 12, 2015

What is ‘raising support’?

Tent-making as an alternative

What is ‘Christian work’?

Give me money anyhow

The Sacred Roots of Youth Work

Dave Fagg

Posted on September 15, 2015

a. Practice: Ragged Schools

b. Practice: Associations

c. Pioneers: Thomas Barnardo