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Mais. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover-image.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1, h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -h1 -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: x-large; - font-weight: normal; - line-height: 1.6; -} - -.spaced -{ - line-height: 1.5; -} - -.space-above - -{ - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.small -{ - font-size: small; -} - -.big -{ - font-size: large; -} - -.ph2 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } - -.dropcap {float: left; width: .8em; font-size: 150%; line-height: 15%; margin-top: .51em;} - -span.dropcap { - padding-right: 3px; - font-size: 150%; - line-height: 15%; - width: .8em; - margin-top: .51em; - font-weight: bold; -} - -.pagebreak {page-break-after: always;} - -blockquote { - display: block; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-left: 40px; - margin-right: 40px; -} - -table.centered { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -td.chappage { text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} -td.chapinf { text-align: left; vertical-align: top; padding-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.covernote { - visibility: visible; - display: block; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poem { - margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; - text-align: left; -} - -.poem br {display: none;} - -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's A Schoolmaster's Diary, by Stuart Petre Brodie Mais - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: A Schoolmaster's Diary - Being Extracts from the Journal of Patrick Traherne, M.A., - Sometime Assistant Master at Radchester and Marlton. - -Author: Stuart Petre Brodie Mais - -Release Date: April 2, 2016 [EBook #51633] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SCHOOLMASTER'S DIARY *** - - - - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, MWS and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> -<img class="border" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;" src="images/cover-image.jpg" id="coverpage" width="550" height="755" alt="Cover for A Schoolmaster's Diary" /> -<div class="transnote covernote"> -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">The cover image was restored by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<h1 style="margin-top: 10em; margin-bottom: 10em;"> -A SCHOOLMASTER'S<br /> -DIARY</h1> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="0" style="max-width: 100%;" summary="VERSE"> - -<tr><td class="chapinf"><p> "<i>The man who looks at this view, for the first time, with<br /> -the naked eye, sees far more of it than the man who looks<br /> -at it for the hundredth time through smoked glasses.<br /> -Experience is the smoke on the glasses; it's the curse of<br /> -our profession. We are all much more efficient when<br /> -we're young than we ever are afterwards. Give me<br /> -the young and inexperienced man.</i>"—"The Lanchester<br /> -Tradition."</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/image1.jpg" width="400" height="567" alt="Title page for "A Schoolmaster's Diary!" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 15em; margin-bottom: 4em;">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT<br /> -THE COMPLETE PRESS<br /> -WEST NORWOOD<br /> -LONDON<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 14em; margin-bottom: 14em;">TO<br /> -<br /> -ELSPETH TRAHERNE<br /> -<br /> -WITHOUT WHOSE VALUABLE HELP I SHOULD<br /> -HAVE BEEN TOTALLY AT A LOSS WHAT TO<br /> -INCLUDE AND WHAT TO OMIT<br /> -<br /> -IN MEMORY OF<br /> -<br /> -PATRICK<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="8" style="max-width: 65%;" summary="CONTENTS"> -<tr><td class="chapinf"></td> <td class="chappage">PAGE</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"><a href="#INTRODUCTORY_MEMOIR">INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR</a></td> <td class="chappage">9</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf">THE DIARY:</td> <td class="chappage"></td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#I">I.</a> <span class="smcap">September 20 to December 31, 1909</span></td> <td class="chappage">21</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#II">II.</a> <span class="smcap">January 20 to April 3, 1910</span></td> <td class="chappage">37</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#III">III.</a> <span class="smcap">March 4 to July 31, 1910</span></td> <td class="chappage">54</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#IV">IV.</a> <span class="smcap">August 10 to September 15, 1910</span></td> <td class="chappage">72</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#V">V.</a> <span class="smcap">October 1, 1910, to January 15, 1911</span></td> <td class="chappage">92</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#VI">VI.</a> <span class="smcap">March 3 to May 4, 1911</span></td> <td class="chappage">107</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#VII">VII.</a> <span class="smcap">June 4 to August 1, 1911</span></td> <td class="chappage">124</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#VIII">VIII.</a> <span class="smcap">August 10 to September 26, 1911</span></td> <td class="chappage">145</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#IX">IX.</a> <span class="smcap">October 13, 1911, to January 19, 1912</span> </td> <td class="chappage">151</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#X">X.</a> <span class="smcap">February 23 to July 29, 1912</span></td> <td class="chappage">163</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XI">XI.</a> <span class="smcap">August 12 to December 20, 1912</span></td> <td class="chappage">180</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XII">XII.</a> <span class="smcap">December 31, 1912, to June 11, 1913</span></td> <td class="chappage">196</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XIII">XIII.</a> <span class="smcap">July 9 to September 19, 1913</span></td> <td class="chappage">211</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XIV">XIV.</a> <span class="smcap">October 4 to December 16, 1913</span></td> <td class="chappage">218</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XV">XV.</a> <span class="smcap">January 13 to July 24, 1914</span></td> <td class="chappage">232</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XVI">XVI.</a> <span class="smcap">September 17, 1914, to May 4, 1915</span></td> <td class="chappage">244</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XVII">XVII.</a> <span class="smcap">July 31, 1915, to April 3, 1916</span></td> <td class="chappage">256</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"> <a href="#XVIII">XVIII.</a> <span class="smcap">May 4, 1916, to April 3, 1917</span></td> <td class="chappage">270</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"><a href="#APPENDIX">APPENDIX</a></td> <td class="chappage">289</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"><a href="#PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE—MODERN SHELL: TO-DAY</a></td> <td class="chappage">291</td></tr> -<tr><td class="chapinf"><a href="#EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE—MODERN SHELL: TO-MORROW</a></td> <td class="chappage">307</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> - - -<h2><a name="INTRODUCTORY_MEMOIR" id="INTRODUCTORY_MEMOIR">INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Patrick Traherne</span>, only son of the Rev. Thomas -Traherne of North Darley Vicarage, Derbyshire, was -born on July 14, 1885. He was educated at Rugby and -New College, Oxford, and immediately upon leaving -the University he became a Public School master.</p> - -<p>I well remember my first meeting with him. It was -during my first term at Oxford. I had been reading -"Centuries of Meditations" and in particular this -passage, which I cannot refrain from quoting, because -to it I owe my friendship with Patrick:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"Your enjoyment of the world is never right till -every morning you wake in Heaven; see yourself in -your Father's Palace: and look upon the skies, the -earth, and the air, as Celestial Joys; you never enjoy -the world aright till the sea itself floweth in your -veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and -crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be -the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, -because men are in it who are every one sole heirs -as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and -delight in God as misers do in gold, and kings in -sceptres, you never enjoy the world. Till your -spirit filleth the whole world and the stars are your -jewels: till you are as familiar with the ways of God -in all ages as with your walk and table: till you love -men so as to desire their happiness with a thirst -equal to the zeal of your own, you never enjoy the -world. You never enjoy the world aright, till you so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -love the beauty of enjoying it that you are covetous -and earnest to persuade others to enjoy it. There is -so much blindness and ingratitude and damned folly -in it. The world is a mirror of infinite Beauty, yet -no man sees it. It is a Temple of Majesty, yet no -man regards it. It is the paradise of God, the place -of Angels and the Gate of Heaven."</p></blockquote> - -<p>I remember rushing, book in hand, late at night to -Stapleton's rooms (Stapleton was a school-friend of -mine, who had come up with me that term) and -reading it to him as one of the finest things I had ever -chanced upon. After I had finished I noticed that -he was not alone; sitting in a far corner, in the -depths of a 'Varsity chair, I now saw a fair-haired, -fresh-faced undergraduate whom I had not up till -that moment met. He broke in upon my enthusiastic -discovery. "I am glad you like that," he began. -"It is not very well known yet. The author of that -book, Thomas Traherne, was an ancestor of mine: -my name is Traherne too."</p> - -<p>Somehow from that evening I have always associated -Patrick with that glowing passage. We -became fast friends and for the four years we were -at Oxford, Stapleton, Traherne and I spent all our -spare time together. We were known, for some -obscure reason, as "The Three Musketeers."</p> - -<p>We were none of us brilliant scholars, but we were -deeply interested in the problems of life: we read a -good deal in a desultory sort of way, but our main -occupation was athletics. We all played football, -tennis, hockey, and cricket, and managed to put in -some time with the Beagles and on the track. On -Sundays we used to roam far and wide over the -country round Oxford: we were all lovers of Nature -and (I venture to think) in every way quite ordinary -undergraduates. Stapleton was taking orders, while -Traherne and I meant to be schoolmasters. We were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -jovial and irresponsible in those days and certainly -did not take ourselves seriously. We were not in the -habit of getting drunk, but we were certainly not less -rowdy than the majority of the men of our time: -we enjoyed life to the full. In the "vacs" we would -stay with one another in London in order to go the -round of the theatres, or we would set out on walking -tours through Wales or Devonshire.</p> - -<p>I met Traherne's people a good deal. They were -quite delightful, simple-minded folk, who took life as -it came and always managed to see the comic side of -everything. I know no house where peals upon peals -of laughter were so frequent as in that vicarage of -North Darley. Our four years at Oxford passed all -too quickly. The other two managed to get a second -class in their finals, I just scraped a third. We then -separated, swearing however that nothing should -really separate us. We wrote frequently and at great -length to one another and tried to meet whenever -possible. Gradually, however, we made new friends -and were seized with different interests and somehow -we became less regular in our correspondence and our -meetings. It was not that we had ceased to care for -each other, still less that "out of sight" was "out of -mind"—I have never loved any man as I loved -Traherne, but nevertheless we got out of touch.</p> - -<p>I settled down quite happily to my job at Winchborough -and became the stereotyped sort of plodding -schoolmaster, while Stapleton passed from one curacy -to another and finally had the good fortune to secure -a living near London. So time went on. Then -I began to notice Traherne's name in the papers. -He had entered on his career as a writer. He was -always indefatigable, though how he found time both -to teach and to write I don't know. First of all he -edited school books, then he wrote articles for the -educational papers; soon I saw his name attached to -critical papers in the magazines and reviews: he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -wrote middle-page articles for the daily press and -short stories. Later I saw the announcement of a -book by him, closely followed by another and then -a third.</p> - -<p>Naturally all this interested me a good deal. If he -would not write to me I still could follow his career -through his books.</p> - -<p>I must say, however, that I was slightly startled at -the attitude he adopted in his writings. When I knew -him he was the cheeriest and most modest of men. -From his writings the casual reader would imagine -him to be a red-hot fire-brand, launching out against -all the accepted codes by which we live. His method -was that of "cock-shying" at a lot of "Aunt Sallies." -He denounced everything, religion as at present -practised, education, root and branch, the current -codes of morality, the laws, politics—everything. -There was a frightful acerbity in his language. One -could detect the same boyish ardour which was the -finest thing about him if one looked carefully and -read between the lines, but his judgments were -amazingly ill-considered. He seemed to lose all -control of himself when he took up his pen. I wrote -to remonstrate but he rarely replied, and when he did -he would alternately change from a tone of humble -apology to one of insolent contempt. It was easy to -see that he was suffering from some appalling malady, -a restlessness which threatened to destroy all the good -that he was so anxious to do. At last the inevitable -climax came: in a piteous letter he wrote to tell me -that after eight years he had been ignominiously -turned out, and that his career as a schoolmaster was -at an end. From the language he used I feared lest -he might be contemplating suicide, but his wife (who -is one of the most charming women I have ever met -and to whom he owes more than even he will ever -realize) kept him from that.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, there seemed to be considerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -danger of his losing his reason. I went down to see -him: I never saw a man so altered: he was completely -broken. I sat up with him all through one -night while he told me the whole story. It appears -that he created enemies through his tactlessness -wherever he went. Boys on the whole I should say, -from what he said, understood him more or less, -his peers not at all. He was always discontented -with the average, always demanding an instant -millennium. The war crushed him, the wretched -estate of the poorer classes crushed him, the lack of -intelligence among the country people with whom -he lived crushed him, his colleagues' complacence -that "all was for the best in the best of all possible -worlds" crushed him. Poor devil, he must have -suffered frightfully. He seemed abnormally sensitive. -The least thing set him off: he always suspected that -he had no sympathizers: he consistently managed to -alienate those who really were trying their best to -help him.</p> - -<p>All through that night on which he poured out his -soul to me I saw exactly how impossible it was for -him to work in conjunction with any ordinary body -of schoolmasters. What they denounced as disloyalty -was with him honesty; he was so ferociously -energetic that he could never rest: he must have his -windmill to tilt against. There was no doubt that -he was finding his break with Public School life very -real tragedy. He was incapable of looking forward -to anything else. I did my best to console him, to -show him that life was only just beginning for him: -but he swept away all the crumbs of consolation -I produced and only just before I was leaving did -he suggest any way in which I could help him. "I -have besmirched my reputation," he said mournfully. -"I can't clear myself. Will you try?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I will, but how?" I replied.</p> - -<p>"Take these," he said, suddenly producing five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -stout volumes. "Here is my diary for the last -eight years. Go through it and select such passages -as you think fit and show the world exactly what -manner of man I was: 'Speak of me as I am: -nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice; -then must you speak of one that loved not wisely -but too well,' just the bare truth. Justice is what -I want, not charity."</p> - -<p>It was the least I could do ... and now for some -months I have been engaged upon this strange task. -Even now I am afraid I have failed. These diaries -were so incoherent, so much prominence was given -to irrelevant matter, so little to the thousand things I -wanted to know, but I have kept my promise, and -this book is the result. I wish he could have lived -to see it in the hands of the public who so misjudged -him.</p> - -<p>It is easy to see the tenets which Traherne held -most dear: he looked upon education as the saving -grace of a nation or an individual. The object of -education with him was to develop imagination and -sympathy, so that all men in the future should realize -the value of Truth and Beauty, and be tolerant of -other men's opinions. To this end he endeavoured -to make his boys realize the importance of making -the most of their brains: he rated the intellect -highest of all.</p> - -<p>He laid it down as a fundamental principle that -each boy should be encouraged to be strongly individual -and I don't think he quite realized the -dangers which individualism brings in its wake. He -hated tradition unless it could be proved that it -served some useful purpose: he was averse from all -forms of ceremonial. Consequently he set his face -against the cult of "Bloodism." He does not seem -in his diary at any rate to have dwelt on the humorous -side of his colleagues: there is very little description -of the vagaries of different masters, which I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -found so extraordinarily amusing among my own -acquaintances in usherdom.</p> - -<p>He laid immense stress on the teaching of English -and encouraged his boys to read omnivorously; by -this means alone, he said, could they be expected to -learn.</p> - -<p>Where he failed most of all was in his inability to -suffer fools gladly: he hated "sloppy" work either -in colleague or boy; if he had only kept his hatred -to himself, it might have been all right, but he was -too honest, too impetuous. He would blurt out his -natural feelings everywhere and expect everybody to -see his point of view at once. Considering all things -his colleagues were in some ways extremely long-suffering, -for he was so sensitive that out of sheer -nervousness and ineffectual anger he would show his -worst side and hide his better nature. He must have -seemed to those who only knew him superficially to -be one mass of contradictions.</p> - -<p>Take, for instance, his reading. He seems to have -read everything of any note that appeared during -these eight years, but his judgments on current -writers are ludicrous: he hails any new-comer as a -great genius, and yet at the same time he had a nice -and exact taste in English literature and in talking -could tell you just the strong and weak points of all -big writers. In his written criticism he seems to have -no standards at all. As he himself says, he was -like a motor-car without brakes. His motor-power -was very high, but he had no control over it: -consequently he was always running away with -himself and finishing up with incredible smashes -whenever he started out on a literary or educational -excursion.</p> - -<p>I have been going through his letters to me of late, -but I have not found any clue in them to the mania -which has led to his downfall. In the diary, on the -other hand, he lets himself go; the constant friction,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -the unrealized ideals find expression: on the surface, -in his letters to his friends, he was charmingly lighthearted -and humorous. One would never suspect -the <i>sæva indignatio</i> which was ultimately to be his -undoing, in anything but his published works.</p> - -<p>I never met a man who was so different in his -person from what you would expect after reading -his books. To meet him at a dinner-party in London, -to accompany him on a walking-tour, to play games -with him, you would never guess that he had a care -in the world. He seemed to enjoy life much in the -same way as his great ancestor, the mystic, did. He -was very devout, it is true, but his Christianity was -of the optimistic Chestertonian sort, a kind of prizefighter's -epicureanism, "Eat, drink, and be merry, -but for the Lord's sake be careful not to get flabby." -But suddenly, not so much in the holidays as in term -time, some luckless creature would quite innocently -introduce the topics of Socialism, Liberty, Religion, -Morals, or Education, and at once Patrick would flush -scarlet, stamp up and down his rooms and call down -fire from Heaven on every existing institution. I -never came across such an iconoclast. We who knew -him understood that his frenzy was simply the burning -ardour of the reformer who refuses to compromise: -he was convinced that certain ideals were right and -could not understand why the rest of mankind did -not immediately forsake their old gods when he -propagated his gospel of the new ones. Because he -attempted to treat the boys with whom he came into -contact as his intellectual equals, and never snubbed -them, never punished or rewarded them, he expected -every other master to employ the same -methods.</p> - -<p>"Show 'em," he would say, "that they've jolly well -got to work if they want to get anything out of life; -tell 'em that if they work to please a master, to avoid -the cane, to secure a trumpery prize, or for any other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -reason than that work is a good thing in itself, they -are committing an immoral and indecent act, and -then there's just a chance that the intellect may -grow. Not one boy in five hundred even uses ten -per cent. of his brain-cells: the average man or boy -has no idea of what real work means."</p> - -<p>He kept a most valuable notebook in which he -jotted down any views that commended themselves -to him out of all the books on education that -appeared.</p> - -<p>I loved Patrick more than any friend I have ever -had. I am a poor counsel for the defence for that -very reason. I am more likely to do harm to his -cause than good by lauding him in this way: my -duty is to let his diary tell its own tale. It is a -document over which I would fain dwell at great -length and explain to you, but that would only -serve to show that I feared your verdict. I send it -out to the world with much trepidation lest I should -even now have so hacked and curtailed it that it fails -to show Traherne in his true character, but I have -this at least to comfort me. There will be but few -of those who already belong to the noblest profession -in the world or who are shortly to join it who will -not derive help from the light it sheds on a most -difficult task.</p> - -<p>The schoolmaster of the new age needs all the -assistance he can get. Patrick Traherne destroyed -himself in discovering what he here gives to the world, -but the results of his discoveries may be more far-reaching -than he knew.</p> - -<p>He was one of those who are never happy unless -they are fighting; the end once attained he would -be lost. It may well be that the Stevensonian maxim -which was always so much in his mind carried him -through even at his last moments (he was killed in -the battle of Cambrai, December 3, 1917), "After -all to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -His failure may be a better augury than success -would have been, for in the end of all, have not the -world's failures been most frequently the world's -redeemers?</p> - -<p>I would add further that I cannot bring myself to -accede to all his dicta. Had he been permitted to live, -experience would have surely shown him that his -youthful judgments are not infrequently grossly unfair; -but I maintain that his theories are not necessarily -less interesting because they are, in many cases, -erroneous.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;">S. P. B. M.</p> - - -<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>The names both of people and places mentioned<br /> -in this book are entirely fictitious. Patrick<br /> -Traherne did not portray any specific Public<br /> -School or living person in his diary.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p style="margin-top: 3em; margin-left: 5em;"><big>THE BEGINNING (1909). P. T. quoting William Blake:</big></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>I will not cease from mental fight</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Till we have built Jerusalem</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>In England's green and pleasant land.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> - - -<p style="margin-top: 3em; margin-left: 5em;"><big>THE END (1917). P. T. quoting T. W. H. Crosland:</big></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>If I should ever be in England's thought</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>After I die</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Say, "There were many things he might have bought</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And did not buy.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>"Unhonoured by his fellows he grew old</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And trod the path to hell</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>But there were many things he might have sold</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And did not sell."</i><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="I" id="I">I</a></h2> - - - -<p style="text-align: right;"><i>September 20, 1909</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is very strange and frightening: all the boys seem -to me to be grown men and I, a veritable minnow -in a sea of Tritons, but I suppose really they are quite -bovine and regard me much as cows regard human -beings—as their natural master. I wonder! I confess -I am in a panic about my ability to keep order. -On several nights in the "vac" I had nightmares of -classes of unruly boys refusing to obey me, shouting, -throwing things about and generally making nuisances -of themselves and a fool of me.</p> - -<p>My first impressions of Radchester are not very -comforting. It is like coming to a desert island to be -pitchforked out at a wayside station miles from -anywhere, with only the sea to the east, and flat -dike-lands to the west, north, and south. There are -no houses within sight. Certainly there is nothing -to distract one's attention from one's duty: outside -the lodge gates all is barren.</p> - -<p>The first thing for me to do is to furnish my rooms. -Alas, where am I to procure the means to do this?</p> - -<p>At present in my sitting-room there is nothing but -a frayed carpet, a few rickety chairs, a table, unstable -on its legs, and an enormous bookcase and -cupboard combined. My bedroom is ugly, bare and -damp, with no fireplace. Apparently they encourage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -us to be Spartan in our mode of living here. How -different from the Oxford of three months ago.</p> - -<p>I had a long talk with the Head Master to-night. -He is an imposing-looking man, a sound disciplinarian -I should imagine, one who gives no quarter. It is -hard to associate him with the priesthood. He has -less of the clergyman in him than any parson I have -ever met. He gave me many "tips" about my work -and laid stress in every other sentence about the -necessity of exercising firmness from the start. He -obviously looks upon me as willing, but lacking in -experience and scholarship. I appear to have been -selected rather on athletic than intellectual grounds. -My "Blue" has gained for me this important post -and I am evidently expected to play games daily. -Well, I shan't mind that; I cannot conceive how -men exist without daily exercise. Thank Heaven, -I'm not in an office. After all, £150 a year and my -"keep" is quite an adequate salary for a man of -twenty-four without encumbrances.</p> - -<p>There is something monastic about the life here: -only one other master except the Chief is married: -women are obviously not encouraged.</p> - -<p>The staff live for the most part in Common Room: -we breakfast and dine there, have lunch in the School -Dining Hall with the boys, and have tea in our own -rooms.</p> - -<p>I got my first impressions of my colleagues at dinner -to-night. Most of them were very hilarious and -good-humoured, full of talk about the Alps, Scotland, -Cornwall, cricket tours, golf, climbs, bathing, fishing -and every sort of outdoor pursuit in which they had -indulged during the last eight weeks. They were all -obviously glad to see each other and be back at work.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<p>Somehow they didn't strike me as being typical -"ushers" at all. Quite a dozen of them appear to -be men about my own age, healthy, jovial and without -a care. One or two of the older men look haggard -and wan, but then again others look like prosperous -gentlemen-farmers or country squires, hale, hearty, -well fed and contented.</p> - -<p>After dinner Hallows, who is games master (an old -captain of the Oxford "Rugger" team), asked me -to his rooms: some half-dozen of us sat there drinking -whisky and smoking until chapel-time. They were -all genial and friendly and we talked mainly about -historic incidents in bygone Inter-University matches.</p> - -<p>In chapel I saw the whole school for the first time. -I was exceedingly nervous and imagined myself to -be the cynosure of all eyes. I thought that they were -all taking stock of me and sizing me up. I must -remember to be strict from the very beginning. The -start is everything.</p> - - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 27, 1909</i></p> - -<p>I am gradually getting used to the routine. Certainly -the breaking of the ice was very trying. -Luckily I had prepared my lessons carefully before -I went into form, so I had plenty to say, which prevented -my extreme nervousness from being too -apparent, and I punished two boys heavily for talking -while I was trying to teach. On the whole most of -them appear to be tractable. What does amaze me -is their abysmal ignorance.</p> - -<p>For the first few days I was talking over their heads -the whole time. In mathematics I went too fast. -In English I took it for granted that they knew something -about the subject: I am gradually finding out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -that they know nothing. What is worse, only a very -few of them want to know anything. They exhaust -all their energies and keenness on games: they have -none left for work. It is looked upon as a gross breach -of good form to take anything but the most perfunctory -interest in class. I find that I am falling -into the most insidious of traps. I am picking -out favourites. There are two boys, Benbow and -Illingworth, both in my English set, who have shown -up essays quite outside the common: they care about -things: they read: they express a novel point of -view: they are rebels against tradition. I have -given them the run of my rooms and implored them -to borrow what books they like from my shelves -and to come to tea whenever they like.</p> - -<p>I am beginning to find that I prefer the company -of boys to that of my colleagues. Most of the staff -seem to have reached the limit of their learning when -they took their Finals. My Finals only served to -show me what an ignorant ass I am. Perhaps it's a -good thing to take a low class in "schools." At any -rate it leaves you under no false impression as to -your own level of intelligence and attainments.</p> - -<p>A week of this life has taught me quite a number -of useful things:</p> - -<p>(1) That it is quite easy to keep order. A number -of men here get persistently "ragged," but that -seems to me to be due to their lack of humour, their -uncertain temper, and their misunderstanding of the -boy mind.</p> - -<p>(2) I hate having to correct work at night. It is -merely a mechanical drudgery and does the boy no -good, for he does not strive to understand a mistake -unless you correct it while he is with you, and one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -would be far better employed reading. Correction -of exercises must have been instituted to prevent -masters from getting into mischief in their idle hours.</p> - -<p>(3) I dislike compulsory chapel. I like services -when I do not feel bound to go: they become merely -a meaningless jingle of words when one is forced to -attend when one is not in the mood.</p> - -<p>(4) I love playing "footer" with the House every -day. I have got to know already quite intimately a -number of boys whom I should have regarded as -wasters in form. This seems to me to prove that a -master should share so far as he can in every activity -in order to try to get at the point of view of the boys -from every angle. I have therefore joined the Corps, -the Debating Society and the Choir.</p> - -<p>(5) I object intensely to the mark system. It -inculcates selfishness, destroys any chance of getting -any co-operative spirit in a form, and is thoroughly -immoral. It tends to make boys work from a mercenary -motive: they think of nothing but rewards -and punishments: they even cheat when they get -the chance in order to rise to a high place in the -week's order. These orders bother me. Every -Saturday night we have to collect all sorts of marks -from other masters, scale and readjust them and -produce an order, which takes up about two hours -of valuable time. I don't mind giving up time -to any useful end, but I do resent doing so for a -senseless one.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>November 1909</i></p> - -<p>The monastic system is getting on my nerves. -I find myself longing to hear a baby crying, a girl -laughing, or any noises of the street. We are too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -much aloof from the outside world. I thought -reading would be a sufficient antidote. Most of my -colleagues don't read at all. They "haven't time." -Lately I have taken to going off to Scarborough on -Saturday evenings, treating myself to a good dinner -at the Regent (we are allowed no drinks in Common -Room except water: Hallows alone drinks seltzer), -and then going on to a show at the theatre or promenading -the Winter Gardens and watching the shop-girls -and men dance. These people have an irresistible -fascination for me. It is a wonderful relaxation to -chatter amiably to these girls and men, and hear -their point of view of life, so many poles apart from -that of the Radchester Common Room. From one -of these in particular, a very pretty girl of about -eighteen, with masses of corn-coloured hair and -violet eyes, a complexion like a Devon dairymaid -and a figure light as a fairy, I have learnt a -good deal of another side of life. Her name is -Vera Buckley: she works in a large milliner's shop. -We meet and dance together now every Saturday -night. At first when she learnt that I was a schoolmaster -at Radchester she was suspicious and cold, -but now we are firm friends and she talks unflaggingly -about her hopes and fears, her likes and dislikes. -She is a welcome change from the Tapers and Tadpoles -of Common Room, who argue interminably upon the -day's play and the moral defalcations of boys in their -respective houses and forms.</p> - -<p>I dined with the Head Master last night and found -myself quoting from a new book on education. Just -before I left, he took me aside and said, "The less -you read about education the better. All this new-fangled -talk about new ideas cuts at the very roots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -of the great tradition on which the Public Schools -were built up. I never engage a man who has taken -a diploma in the theory of education: he can never -keep order, he can't teach, he makes the boys rebel -against their lot and is altogether very dangerous. -I like your keenness and I think you have made a good -beginning, but I warn you now against thinking that -there is any reform needed, and suggest that you read -no more upon a subject which you are called upon -to practise, not to theorise about."</p> - -<p>I attempted a defence but he refused to listen. -Patting me gently on the back he said, quite kindly, -"When you are my age you'll see the truth of what -I've been telling you: youth is always in a great -hurry to bring about the millennium. It never -realizes that no millennium can be brought about by -merely destructive criticism. Remember that all -these writers are outside the profession and are -writing in total ignorance of the conditions under -which we labour."</p> - -<p>He succeeded in making me feel very arrogant, -very youthful, and very much of a fool.</p> - -<p>After all he has some right on his side. Boys do -understand the system of marks and of punishment -and I suppose the way of least resistance is the best. -Anyway it is far easier to make a boy work through -fear than it is through love of the work: to rouse -enthusiasm in the work itself is an exceedingly arduous -business. The difficulty is that I hate the idea of -caning a boy almost as much as some of the staff -relish it. They satisfy a sort of bestial lust by lashing -a small boy and hearing him yell. They would be -horrified at the suggestion, but I am certain that -this is true. One has only to watch a man's eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -when he gives an account of some of his more successful -efforts in this direction. On the other hand, -I firmly believe that there is a type of boy who can -understand no other form of treatment. I only wish -such types would not come under my jurisdiction.</p> - -<p>I find that I am becoming unpopular with Hallows. -One very wet afternoon I organized a paper-chase -which was an overwhelming success: about two -hundred boys turned out and we caught the hares -about four o'clock, after a very tricky run over a well-laid -course. Unfortunately every one was late for -"roll." By getting up this entertainment on a -"half" when there was nothing else to do I found -myself launched into about six rows.</p> - -<p>Apparently every boy has to pass the doctor before -he is allowed to run on a paper-chase; whips had not -been arranged for to see that the "laggers" did not -drop out <i>en route</i> and find solace in a cottage or -public-house; I had no list of starters to compare -with those who finished to see whether any runners -had died by the wayside, and, most flagrant of all, -I had upset "roll." I am afraid I shall never hear -the last of this. Hallows refuses to speak to me, -but most loudly and pointedly speaks of me in no -uncertain tone of voice whenever I enter Common -Room: the direct upshot is that paper-chases are to -be made compulsory on days when there are no -games, and a printed list of rules to this end has been -put up on the school board.</p> - -<p>I suspect that Hallows framed them, for they are -calculated to remove any innocent pleasure that any -boy might have derived from cross-country running -and implant in his heart an undying detestation of -this particular branch of exercise. I am afraid the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -truth is that Hallows is jealous: I had overstepped -my province in getting up this run. He is the -manager of all the school athletics and I had committed -an unforgivable offence in not asking his leave.</p> - -<p>I am beginning to see signs of mutual jealousy -everywhere. Each tutor criticizes every other -master's method of teaching, comparing it (adversely, -of course) with his own.</p> - -<p>House-masters resent any humane intercourse -between members of their houses and junior assistant -masters, though by the laws of common sense it would -seem obvious that the senior boys would prefer the -society of men only a little older than themselves -as likely to be more in sympathy with their ideas, -more helpful in their troubles than the elder members -of the staff whom they, quite rightly, place on an -unapproachable pedestal.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 1909</i></p> - -<p>Now that examinations are upon us I have been -attempting to revise my mathematical and English -work, with appalling results. My math. sets appear -to have learnt nothing: just a glimpse here and there -of an idea, all mixed up with the most amazing -nonsense. I must have gone too fast. Some of them -have certainly tried to work. Perhaps it is that -mathematics is not the Queen of Sciences, after all, -at any rate for the unformed mind. I know that in -my own school days I was successful at it owing to -a natural aptitude without understanding in the least -its practical usefulness.</p> - -<p>There are boys who go again and again over the -same ground, term after term, working out quadratic -equations, formidable and unwieldy algebraic fractions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -solving problems about triangles, parallelograms and -circles quite mechanically and perfectly without the -ghost of an idea as to what they all mean or what -bearing they have on practical life. They are, if -questioned, content to talk about "mental discipline" -and "the more odious a task is the better it is for -one's education" in a manner unbearably priggish -and foolish.</p> - -<p>If a boy can work out a hundred examples correct -to type, most of us seem to think that we are teaching -him something. On the contrary, I believe that the -only point in mathematical teaching is the training -of the mind to think logically and exactly, and to -detect all vague and shallow fallacies in argument or -writing.</p> - -<p>According to this theory the better a boy was at -mathematics the better he would be at English, -whereas the truth is that the able mathematician is -rarely able to express himself in writing at all, and -certainly is not remarkable for simplicity or direct -reasoning power in his essays. It never strikes us -that if a boy is capable of working out an intricate -equation he ought to be able to build up a paragraph -of carefully connected sentences, all sequent and -working to some definite solution or proof.</p> - -<p>I am coming to the conclusion that all true education -is a striving after Beauty, and what does not actively -pursue this end is a waste of effort.</p> - -<p>No sooner do I reach this idea than I begin to -wonder what can have induced our forefathers to -erect such a hideous structure as Radchester, in the -middle of so barren, ugly, and terrifying a country.</p> - -<p>Surely there can be no more depressing district in -England than the country round the school. On<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -Sundays I occasionally go for walks, but I never -return without being obsessed by the gloom and -drabness of it all. If I walk down the seashore I see -nothing but a bare waste of grey waters, relieved by -an interminable stretch of sand. There are no gorgeous -colourings on sea or land, such as we expect -from the sea and get in Devon and Cornwall. If I -go inland I have no alternative but to tramp over -muddy fields the grass of which is as colourless as the -sea, and the only variety to the monotony of the level -stretch is a wind-swept naked tree, wan and haggard -as an old tramp who has been buffeted by Nature -too long to care about his personal appearance: if -I take to the roads I am immediately led to contrast -the solitary deadness of these straight lanes, where -you know for miles exactly what is coming, with the -rich lanes of the south, with their high hedges, a riot -of colour and song, deviating romantically every few -yards, up and down, round and round, ever calling -you on to explore some gem which an all-provident -Nature has built for you just round the corner. -There are no mysteries to be explored in the vicinity -of Radchester unless you dive down a drain.</p> - -<p>It is not strange that the cult of Beauty is neglected -in such a place, for where is Beauty to be found? -The answer I find within my rooms: only in my books -and my few chosen friends among the boys can I rid -myself of the discontent which is so persistently -seething within me.</p> - -<p>Perhaps I should make an exception in the matter -of games; I love strenuous exercise but I object to -making football my God, as so many of my friends do. -The boys, at any rate in the presence of masters, talk -of little else. Their only other topic of conversation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -is the characters of their other masters, which is -insidious and delightful, but savouring too much of -disloyalty and scandal-mongering.</p> - -<p>One of the things I have enjoyed most this term -has been the O.T.C. All members of Common Room, -by an excellent rule here, have first to serve in the -ranks. I have got to know the boys in this House -infinitely better by mixing with them on parades and -field days as a private than I ever should have by any -other means: they seem to forget all sense of difference -and talk glibly and unconsciously about all -sorts of topics that normally would not crop up -between master and pupil. They no longer restrain -their language quite in the same way they do before -a master. I imagine that pretty vigorous swearing -is prevalent in all schools: it seems to add a picturesqueness -to their vocabulary which would be -entirely lacking otherwise, for a boy's paucity of -orthodox adjectives is astonishing. He is exactly on -a par with the farm labourer in this respect. He -swears simply because he has no other language to -fall back upon. It is not his fault so much as the -master's. So far as I can gather no subject seems to -be so badly mishandled as the mother tongue. The -average boy is expected to write Latin prose and is -caned for a false quantity in verses. He tries his -hand at original verse composition in both Latin and -Greek: no one thinks of asking him to write poetry -in English, and when he does he is looked upon as a -freak. It seems a most topsy-turvy system: he -spends at least one hour every day at Latin: to -English (of which he knows nothing) he devotes two -hours a week and during those two hours his masters -don't know what to teach him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<p>Some spend the time in parsing and analysing, -though what utilitarian benefits are to accrue hereafter -from these it would be hard to see. Others -"read a play of Shakespeare," which is a euphemism -for note-taking and note-learning, a philological -discourse or an exercise in repetition; others again -read out notes on the Mendelian theory, which they -call a skeleton, and require the form to clothe this -skeleton and reproduce it in the form of an essay.</p> - -<p>I find that all my English lessons this term have -been of the nature of tentative experiments. First -I read a play of Shakespeare very rapidly, allotting -parts to every member of the form. My first shock -was to discover that not one of them could read -aloud. They were afraid of their own voices: -they gabbled through their parts at top speed without -paying any attention to the punctuation or attempting -to express emotion. Then I decided to make them -come out and try to act the play with the books in -their hands. This was looked upon as a grave -departure from precedent and an opportunity for -"ragging." When I pointed out that there was -plenty of chance for a display of horse-play in the -crowd scenes in <i>Julius Cæsar</i> and <i>Coriolanus</i>, they -possessed themselves in patience until the time to -read these plays. Heavens! How they loved the -mob scenes. Here was something after their own -hearts. At last I had roused their interests. Most -of the comic scenes fell very flat and so did all the -more long-winded speeches, but once there was a -call for an uproar or a pageant they were as pleased -as Punch.</p> - -<p>I have now discovered that the only way to read -plays is to go straight ahead and disregard all difficult<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -passages and notes and get them amused and keen -to perform. Incidentally, it makes them far keener -if they are permitted to "dress" the part. In -<i>She Stoops to Conquer</i> and <i>The Knight of the Burning -Pestle</i> I had them all in shrieks of laughter. But -now, as I said, examinations are at hand and woe is -me. I'm afraid they won't be able to answer anything. -Perhaps their ideas of the characters may be -more sound than if they learnt them second-hand -from Mr. Verity, but they'll get badly "pipped" on -historical inaccuracies and difficult contexts.</p> - -<p>Then again, how am I to expect them suddenly to -produce an essay on "Town and Country," or "Conscription," -or "Capital Punishment" when I've -always given them <i>carte blanche</i> to write short stories, -or imaginary dialogues, or one-act plays or original -verses on any subject under heaven?</p> - -<p>I think I'm going to hate examinations. I wish -we could dispense with them altogether. Most of the -staff appear to revise all the work of the first two -months in the third month, and so get their pupils -thoroughly tired and stale of the tiny scrap of ground -they have covered and re-covered until they have -worn it threadbare.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 31, 1909</i></p> - -<p>When it came to the end of term I was amazingly -loath to leave Radchester. In spite of the ghastly -ugliness of the country, the bitter winds from which -there is no refuge, unsympathetic colleagues (somehow -I seem to have alienated most of the elder members -of Common Room) and the shattering of several of -my ideals, I cannot deny that I have enjoyed my -first term as a Public School master immensely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -I have not rid myself of my nervous fear lest my -forms should rise against me and "rag" me as they -"rag" poor old Pennyfeather and Dearden; I certainly -did not gain much kudos from the results of the -examinations, either in mathematics or in English; -many of the boys dislike my methods and do the -minimum of work necessary to evade punishment, -yet I have made a few firm friends; I have led a -healthy life, I have read a good many books, and -I am as keen as mustard to prove my ability to -teach.</p> - -<p>Benbow and Illingworth have each written to me -and I find that I treasure letters from boys above all -others. Where other men of my age fall in love with -girls I suppose I give my affections to those boys -who show promise in English and take advantage of -the seclusion of my rooms to come and pour out their -petty worries and ask for advice.</p> - -<p>I have been reading somewhere of late that it is a -dreadful thing for a man with any brains to live -always in the society of others less mature than -himself: he becomes didactic and in every way -obnoxious: I know that Charles Lamb was not alone -in flying from the presence of all schoolmasters: -there is a distinctly noticeable trait in us, as a profession, -which makes us want to teach and advise, -to lay down the law: it is a habit against which -I must most carefully guard.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, always being with crowds of -healthy youngsters certainly tends to keep a man -young: there are very few responsibilities, I am -catered for, I pay no rates or taxes, I have £150 -a year to spend on books, clothes, travel, and any -other incidental expenses I like: I have longer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -holidays than any other professional man: for four -months in the year I am free to do whatever I like.</p> - -<p>Of course I shall never be able to marry, never -have sons and daughters of my own. But then, as -I never see a girl of my own class at Radchester, -I am never likely to want to settle down to domestic -life. After all, instead of one wife and a few children, -I have three or four hundred children of the most -fascinating ages: I stand <i>in loco parentis</i> to countless -numbers.</p> - -<p>I don't feel that I want to become rich: I am willing -to forgo all the ordinary ambitions if I may have a -more or less free hand in education, and at last realize -my many ideals about the training of youth.</p> - -<p>It seemed unduly lonely at home during Christmas -week compared with the noisy cheeriness of school. -For the first time in my life I am beginning to feel -quite bored with life at Darley. I long for the games, -the chatter, my form, my books, yes, even for Common -Room, with an aching heart. I hope the rest of the -holidays will pass more quickly than these last ten -days. I take no pleasure in bridge-parties or tea-fights: -my only solace is to write reams of nonsense -to Illingworth and Benbow, and to read all that I can -lay my hands on which bears on the million or so -theories of education.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="II" id="II">II</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 20, 1910</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I suppose</span> it is an ineradicable trait in human nature -to want to be where one is not: when I was at home -I longed for Radchester: now that I am safely back -in my own rooms I miss the civilization of home, the -constant presence of the other sex, the beauties of -our moors and combes. This is really a very savage, -uncouth sort of place: at present we are snow-bound, -which seems to cut us off more than ever from -the outside world. I should hate to be ill here: -the school doctor is, I imagine, capable within limits, -but there is no chance of securing any kind of adequate -nursing or home comforts. We are in very truth a -colony of Spartans. I find that I am hankering after -the flesh-pots. I want to see Vera Buckley again. -I must write and fix up a dinner and a theatre with -her. I suppose if the Head Master found out I should -be ignominiously "sacked." Yet I can't see that -such conduct can really affect my status here. I don't -propose to have her to tea in my rooms. She amuses -me and I amuse her. She lives in a world poles apart -from the one in which I live: she is a wonderful -tonic after Common Room; her talk is all of gaiety -and the different sorts of men she meets, pretty frocks -and romance. By her side I feel amazingly old and -dull and careworn: she is really my sole link with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -the workaday world outside. There is no chance of -our friendship ripening into anything else: I fail to -see where the harm or the danger lies; we like one -another: we do each other good. As she so frequently -tells me, I am different from all the other "boys." -I don't make love to her or any nonsense of that sort; -she acts as a refining influence on me. After parting -from her I feel less of a boor, more of a man of the -world.</p> - -<p>I suppose in every profession there are points of -routine and minute details that have to be observed -that yet offend the new-comer's sensibilities, but I -doubt whether anything so utterly devoid of purpose or -so calculated to rub a man up the wrong way could ever -have been devised to compare with a masters' meeting.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of term we all assemble in Common -Room and the Head Master reads out a list of proposed -changes in the curriculum, which as a rule affect but -two men out of the thirty or forty gathered round the -table: the pros and cons of the changes are, however, -heatedly discussed by the parties concerned, while -the rest of us yawn and eat our heads off with boredom.</p> - -<p>If, however, I or any junior member of the staff -should have the effrontery to propose any alteration or -reform, a storm of abuse immediately bursts on our -heads and we are met with a final retort which is meant -to quash us for all time: "The existing system has been -in vogue for twenty-five years and no one has seen fit -to question it before: it has become hallowed with -the passing of time and it would be a sacrilege to -tamper with it now."</p> - -<p>Another feature of these meetings is the way in -which each head of a department fights for his own -hand. The choirmaster thinks of nothing but getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -more time for choir practice, the officer commanding -the corps strenuously tries to procure an extra five -minutes at each end for his parades, the gymnasium -expert urges the necessity of physical training in -school hours, the modern language master vainly -begs for less classics, the mathematicians for more -hours devoted to preparation, the games manager -for less school work for the teams, and so on.</p> - -<p>A stranger would guess (and he would not be far -wrong) at the end of one of these meetings that we -were all deadly enemies, each suspicious of the other -and certain in his own mind that he alone among the -many suppliants has been treated with great unfairness -and that the school is rapidly going to the dogs -because he has not obtained his request. The irony -of the situation is heightened by the fact that we -pray both before and after the meeting that we may -all work in complete harmony for the common good -of the boys, whereas in reality we are all as disunited -as any body of men could possibly be.</p> - -<p>One man will ardently support a motion solely to -irritate his dearest enemy, who will suffer if the proposal -is carried; another will just as strenuously -oppose it for no other reason than the fact that his -opponent might gain by it if it were carried. The -common good seems to be about the last argument -to carry weight. There are men here who never -speak to one another from year's end to year's end, -although they are forced to meet some twenty times -a day and even sit next to one another (we sit in -order of seniority) at meals. Hallows is, I fear, a -case in point. He refused to shake hands with me -when I came back this term and I know perfectly well -that he will not take my part if I ask him to "ginger"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -up any boy in his house who shirks his prepared -work.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>March 1, 1910</i></p> - -<p>A dreadful thing has happened. A boy in my form -called Chorlthwaite has been expelled for stealing. -He happens to have been in Hallows' house. He was -certainly a boy without any moral sense at all. -Twice I detected him in the act of "cooking" his -marks: the first time I talked to him privately and -gave him an imposition long enough (one would have -thought) to have brought the lesson home to him; -on the second occasion I went to see Hallows about it -and he as good as told me that it was my fault for -putting temptation in his way by making it possible -for the boy to do such a thing.</p> - -<p>"Trusting to a boy's honour?" he said with an -ugly laugh when I tried to explain, "you might just -as well trust a bookie with your purse: boys haven't -got such a thing. The only way to keep them out -of harm's way is never to trust them an inch, that's -my way and I've never had a failure yet."</p> - -<p>He is in a towering rage over this expulsion: he -has told the Head Master that the whole blame lies -on my shoulders, because I encouraged the boy to -come up to my rooms and ransack my cupboards for -chocolates and cakes. (I always allow all the boys -in my form to do this.) They are not overfed here -and several of them are too poor to be able to afford -to go often to the tuck-shop. The wind is apt to -give one a prodigious appetite, and most boys are -only too glad to avail themselves of my offer. I have -only just heard that Hallows issued an edict that no -boy in his house was to come to my rooms under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -any pretext except with a signed order from him. -Chorlthwaite revenged himself by helping himself -lavishly from the cupboards of Benson, the assistant -music master. It is all frightfully depressing. In my -Divinity lessons on Sundays and Mondays I have -always tried to put before my boys a rigid code of -moral ethics and I had hoped that I was meeting -with some success.</p> - -<p>I trusted them all in everything: I always make -a point of letting them give up their own marks and, -except in the case of Chorlthwaite, I have never -detected a boy in the act of cheating; neither have -I come across a single case of cribbing, but there -would be little point in that because a boy only cribs -through fear of punishment and I punish so rarely -that I have even been told by the Head Master that -I am unduly lax. Anyway the boy has gone and -I am abased and ashamed. I hope that this sort of -thing won't happen often or it will wreck all my -happiness. If my influence isn't good enough to keep -my boys straight it were better for me and for them -that I should become a street scavenger or a coal-heaver.</p> - -<p>All the same I am not sure that expulsion meets -the case. What is to happen to Chorlthwaite in the -future? Is he to be branded for life? He had the -elements of a Christian in him. I cannot think that -his power for evil was strong enough to make him -a bad influence over his fellows: their united good -influence, on the other hand, would, I should have -thought, in time have changed his perverted sense of -morality.</p> - -<p>Now I am fearful lest he should become callous -and bitter and continue to the end in the path which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -he at present treads. Punishment never yet acted -as a sufficient deterrent to any one who really wanted -to commit a crime.</p> - -<p>One of the minor things in life which infuriates me -about schoolmastering is this silly rule about smoking. -Every boy knows quite well that practically every -grown-up man smokes, and at home he sees not only -his father and elder brothers but also every man in -the street with a pipe, cigar or cigarette in his mouth, -and yet he is supposed to believe that his masters -(unnatural beings) never condescend to the vice. In -Common Room we may smoke and in the seclusion -of our own rooms when there is no chance of any boy -suddenly breaking in upon us ... but nowhere else. -We are expected to hide all traces of pipes, jars of -tobacco, or cigarette boxes before we admit any boy -into our presence. It is a laughable pretence, but -apt to be infernally annoying. It also strikes me as -being immoral: we give our consent to the universal -acting of a lie. What makes it worse is the fact that -most of the boys smoke secretly far more than is good -for them, solely from bravado.</p> - -<p>If only, as in some schools, all boys over sixteen -who have permission from home were allowed to -smoke at certain hours of the day, the difficulty -both for them and for us would be solved. It is -like the question of drink: in some schools boys are -given a glass of beer with their midday meal and -again at supper. This effectually removes any sort -of temptation to dive into the secret recesses of a bar -parlour and there drink deep and long, as is the -fashion among the bloods here.</p> - -<p>I found this out by accident last Sunday. About -four o'clock Jefferies, a brilliant scholar and athlete,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -came to my rooms, white as to the gills, and in a state -of nervous terror unfolded a tale over which I could -not help but gloat.</p> - -<p>Some half-dozen of the more "sporting" prefects -apparently have a habit of disappearing every Sunday -after lunch and walking four miles to an inn, where -they flirt with a fat and ugly barmaid (I have only -Jefferies' word for the "fat and ugly") and drink -until such time as they are expected back in their -houses. On this Sunday afternoon the place was -unfortunately raided by the police and Jefferies -(luckily without a school cap) was seized: he gave a -fictitious name and address and found that he was -expected to appear at the local Police Court to -answer the charge against him.</p> - -<p>Naturally the whole thing was bound to come out -and he would inevitably be expelled. The boy was -in a state of pitiable terror and wanted to know what -to do. As luck would have it, we did hit upon a -scheme before he left the room which left him a -loophole. He acted upon my suggestion, which was -a simple one, and as it turned out everything was -solved satisfactorily. He was fined heavily but did -not appear, and I had the immense joy to see the case -reported in the local weekly paper and read all unsuspectingly -by members of Common Room, who -never for one instant guessed that the George Holmes, -clerk, etc., who was fined for obtaining drinks after -hours, had any connexion with the noble and honourable -foundation of Radchester. I suppose I ought -not to have been a party to this nefarious scheme, -but Jefferies was far too valuable a member of the -school to lose. He certainly did not deserve to have -his career ruined for a foolish prank like this.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> - -<p>If this came out, I imagine that I should also be -thrown out into the streets: I wonder how much of -this hushing up goes on in all Public Schools.</p> - -<p>I remember that I took Dearden into my confidence -over the case of Jefferies. He is a dear, good soul: -why on earth he allows the boys to "rag" him as -they do I can't think, except that he's too gentle -and generous with every one.</p> - -<p>He has the next rooms to mine, and whenever I'm -out of cigarettes, or whisky, or cakes, I just raid his -cupboards. Heavens! that places me exactly on a -level with Chorlthwaite: it is true that I have asked -him to take whatever he wants whenever he likes -from my rooms, but my cupboards are usually bare -owing to the appetite of my own form. When I -told Dearden about Jefferies he laughed long and -loud: he has an infectious laugh, and his already -rubicund cheeks become purple with mirth. When -his noises had somewhat subsided, except for a few -intermittent guffaws that he seemed unable to -suppress, he replied:</p> - -<p>"Oh! I suppose we all behave like that really: -it's a rotten game turning King's Evidence. I caught -a fellow in this house with his arm round a flapper's -waist on the beach, kissing her with great energy -one night last summer term. It did me good to see -them. He thought he was safe for expulsion. As a -matter of fact I had him up and tried to lecture him, -but it was all I could do to keep a straight face. -What do you think his defence was? 'It's so jolly -monotonous here, sir, with this continual round of -work and games and corps and chapel, and never a -decent-looking girl for miles.' I couldn't resist -asking him how he unearthed so desirable a creature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -in a district which breeds little but sea-gulls and -mussels.</p> - -<p>"'I met her in a village about five miles away one -Sunday afternoon and ... well, she was as bored -with life as I was, so we agreed to walk to meet each -other down the beach every Thursday and Saturday -night: it meant two and a half miles each way for -each of us, sir. It was rather a sweat, but it was -worth it, just for the fun of the risk of being caught.' -I warned him to be careful in future: I hadn't even -the heart to make him promise never to see the girl -again; I'm a rotten bad schoolmaster."</p> - -<p>From this he went on to a heated disquisition on -the advantages of co-education.</p> - -<p>I'm in luck to have so delightful a companion as -Dearden next door to me. He is about ten years -senior to me and has had a chequered career. He -has been already at about half a dozen schools and -never given any great satisfaction. He is, I imagine, -too easy-going: he just drifts along idly; he likes -his game of bridge, his whisky, his nightly chatter, -and beyond that very little except good holidays. -Like most schoolmasters he is quite without ambition: -he looks forward to nothing better than his present -state. "I can conceive," he said once to me, -"nothing more delightful than my present life, if -only I were not so persistently 'ragged'; it does so -lower a fellow in his own esteem."</p> - -<p>I have been attending all the recent debates at the -School Debating Society: it is a very formal and rigid -body attended usually by some fifteen or twenty -persons, all very nervous and none of them able to -speak at all coherently or interestingly. Each time -I have attended I have said something, but I find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -I am as bad as the rest: there is an air about the -society which effectually prevents one from saying -what one means. I don't know what it is. The -debates are dull and mainly consist of long uncomfortable -pauses, during which no one dares even to -whisper, varied by grotesque attempts at humour -which make me want to cry.</p> - -<p>It seems to me that the power to state an argument -concisely, without stammering or hesitation and in an -interesting way, is a very necessary factor in our -educational equipment. I have, therefore, started -another private debating society, which meets in my -rooms every Saturday night, limited to boys whom -I take during the week. The bait of free food has -netted a prodigious catch. I rarely have less than -fifty: they lie about on the floor or prop themselves -up against the walls. The atmosphere after an hour -and a half is indescribable, but we certainly do debate. -Blood-feuds seem to spring from the results of our -arguments: tempers are really lost, and at times -I have imagined that they resort to physical tests to -prove the truth of their assertions as soon as they -get outside. At any rate I get them interested and -they certainly can talk—the difficulty is rather to -make them desist.</p> - -<p>We vary these debates with charades, mock trials, -and readings of plays ancient and modern. Occasionally -I read to them humorous extracts, for choice from -Saki, Stephen Leacock, or some of the older school -of comic writers.</p> - -<p>I find that I look forward to this more than to -anything else in the week: it unfortunately prevents -me from going in to see Vera, but somehow she and -I always seem to be able to hit upon mutually free<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -evenings whenever we like. I never allow a week to -pass without seeing her. She is my safety-valve: -she gives me a proper perspective. After I have -quarrelled violently with some colleague or taken -some mistake of mine too seriously, she acts as a -corrective and makes me see that Radchester is not, -as Common Room fondly imagines, the whole of the -world. I do not over-emphasize my importance to -the State when I have been with her: to her I am -just one of a crowd, very ordinary, fairly cheerful -and companionable, less flighty than if I were merely -"one of the boys," but not necessarily much more -precious on that account. England would not -materially suffer if Radchester were razed to the -ground to-night; Radchester's idea is that England -would cease to count if such a dire catastrophe were -within the bounds of possibility. Yes, it is very good -for me to see Vera weekly. I told her the story of -Dearden about the flapper, and she replied somewhat -to my astonishment, "Oh! you old goose. Why, -I've been out with heaps of Radchester boys. They -come into Scarborough quite often. Of course you -wouldn't see them: they're not quite such fools, -but I wouldn't mind betting that they've seen you -with me. Oh! don't get frightened. Boys aren't -likely to give you away: they understand only too -well. They probably think you're the only sensible -master on the staff for having the sense not to pretend -that you can do without girls. I think it's a mad -idea shutting up four or five hundred boys in a lonely -place like Radchester. I shouldn't be surprised at -the most horrible things happening there: it's -unnatural."</p> - -<p>"But, my dear child," I replied, "if you'd read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -any of the old books you'd realize how necessary it is, -if you want to work, to get as far away from distraction -as possible. Now what greater or more -charming distraction could there be than you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! get along, you old silly! You're always -pulling my leg. All the same I'm certain that nothing -but harm can come of separating the sexes in this -way."</p> - -<p>"Oh, then, you are like my friend Dearden, in -favour of co-education?"</p> - -<p>"What's that?"</p> - -<p>But I was not to be drawn into any argument. -When I'm out with Vera I'm out for lightness, -sweetness and gaiety: I want to forget school -altogether. I go back refreshed, revivified and with -new ideas. She is the finest pick-me-up I know. -She doesn't quote the classics at me. For that alone -I could hug her.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 3, 1910</i></p> - -<p>And here I am at the end of my second term. -Anything more terrifying than the way in which -time flits by here I cannot conceive. I made so many -good resolutions at the beginning of term and none -of them seems to have materialized. I am still going -too fast in mathematics, although I keep a strict -hold on myself all the time. I think the secret is -that I am more of a lecturer than a teacher. I find it -very hard indeed to repeat over and over again the -same formulæ, dinning them into thick heads day -after day for weeks on end without any variation. -I want to keep the boys interested. Some of them -make tremendous headway with me: others learn -nothing from me at all. In English it is otherwise:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -most people who come to me for this subject are -beginning to read, which is the best possible sign. -In the past they seem to have read nothing, not even -"The Arabian Nights," nor "The Canterbury Tales," -nor "Gulliver's Travels," nor any of the novels of -Thackeray, or Dickens, or the Brontës, nor any -poetry, nor essays nor plays. Now at least they do -search the library for books which I recommend.</p> - -<p>The school library is worse than useless. In -ecclesiastical history no library can compare with it, -but for the standard English classics one may search -in vain. Even if the book you want does by some -strange chance happen to be there, you are not -allowed to remove it unless you are in the Sixth -Form. When I remonstrated with the librarian (a -foolish thing to do: I have now made him my enemy -for life) all he could say was, "My dear man, these -rules have been in existence for generations: what -was good enough for our fathers is surely good enough -for us. Tell your boys to get these books from their -House libraries." I have lately been for a tour of -inspection round the House libraries. Edna Lyall, -Charlotte Yonge, Conan Doyle, George Birmingham, -H. A. Vachell, Harrison Ainsworth, Mark Twain, -Seton Merriman—yes, but no Swift, no Pope, no -Browning, no Thackeray, no Jane Austen, no Fielding, -no Johnson, no Milton, no Chaucer, no Keats, no -Shelley, no Meredith. Apparently the authorities -wish boys to imitate Ruskin and not descend to -libraries but to purchase for themselves the masterpieces -if they want to read them.</p> - -<p>Only the other day the Head Master posted a notice -on the school board urging the school to devote less -time to the perusal of sixpenny magazines and more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -to the reading of good, sound literature—very good -advice too—but it isn't every boy who can afford to -read the best authors, besides which the greatest -writers cannot be tackled without due preparation -and a sharpening of the wits: the average boy is -prejudiced against all the classics as being intolerably -dull. It never strikes him that these works were -written for our enjoyment, our solace in woe, our -constant companions in every mood.</p> - -<p>He prefers to talk about the form displayed during -the afternoon by his House captain in a school match, -or ruminate on his own shortcomings in a recent -House match.</p> - -<p>Games seem to me to lose half their charm when -they are taken so seriously that a boy contemplates -suicide because of his failure in a House match.</p> - -<p>I might give a hundred lectures in Big School on -any subject under Heaven and very few would -voluntarily attend, but if I suggest giving a few hints -on how to train for games there wouldn't be a vacant -seat. I am certain this making a fetish of games is -too much of a good thing. There is a limit even to -keenness. I love watching a fierce senior final -House match and all school matches. I love going -"all out" when I am playing any game, but I certainly -object to treating it as if it were a religious -ceremonial, or rather a display before my Supreme -Judge and that on my merits or demerits I shall -be saved or damned everlastingly.</p> - -<p>Quite the most enjoyable days of this term have -been those wild, wet, windy afternoons when I have -expended all my energies dashing up and down the -shore in that peculiar game, half rugger, half hockey, -which is only played at Radchester, but I don't go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -back to my rooms and weep if I play badly, or preen -myself like a peacock if by some lucky chance I give -an exhibition beyond the normal.</p> - -<p>This has been a better term than last, if only because -of the three new men on the staff, all of whom are -younger than I am. It was pleasant to watch them -first of all roundly chafe at the limitless number -of rules and restrictions placed upon us all, and -gradually succumb to the tradition and become unquestioning, -staunch adherents of a system against -which their better judgments first taught them to -rebel.</p> - -<p>One excitement of the last month has been the -visit of the Inspectors: they are due once every five -years and are supposed to be selected with scrupulous -care. They are fêted for a week and shown everything -at its most abnormal and best: it is no fair -test at all. For one whole week no boy dared to -"rag" even such a pitiable ass as Pennefeather, -lest the Head Master and Inspectors should suddenly -come in. Richards having carefully worked out an -admirable lesson on the Siege of Syracuse meticulously -went through it every hour with his form for the -whole period on the off-chance and, as luck would -have it, no Inspector came near him.</p> - -<p>I was not going to change my curriculum for any -of the old dodderers, and they called on me daily. -The English expert was a gentleman, and simply sat -down and took notes of my methods all the time -I was teaching, while the mathematical inspector did -all the work for me and told me how to teach factors, -without so much as worrying to ask how I got on -or watching me display my talents at all.</p> - -<p>These inspections are merely farcical. Their report<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -was one long succession of "very good," "brilliant," -"astonishingly capable," and so on.</p> - -<p>I have of late been worrying over the code of honour -that prevails among the boys. Apparently to cheat, -to lie, to give way to unnatural vice, to torture poor, -half-witted, feckless youngsters are venal offences, -hardly counting as offences at all, whereas to make a -friend of a master, to "cut" or "slack" during a -game, to work hard, are unforgivable and heinous -sins to be ruthlessly punished with the utmost -severity. Mixed up with the innocence and almost -angelic tenderness of some young boys there is a -strain of dirt, craft, and hollow insincerity that -appals me. I would give a good deal to know whence -these theories of life have their source. I am certain -that such things are not inherent in the boy-nature: -it is a fungus-growth that is become part and parcel -of the Public School spirit, the tares growing up with -the wheat, and no one has the courage to try to -exterminate them.</p> - -<p>I am always priding myself upon the fact that -none of my boys ever "crib," but last week I discovered -a boy writing out a theorem in geometry -from a fair copy which he had brought in with him. -He knew that I always walked round and round the -room (I make it a practice never to sit down in a -classroom) and counted on my mistaking the fair -copy at his side for one of the propositions which he -had already written out. I could find it in my heart -to wish that all propositions were deleted from the -mathematical syllabus. If we were always to invent -new exercises this temptation would be removed.</p> - -<p>I am glad to be going away to-morrow: I want to -think out all these myriad problems of education:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -I am very tired and rather depressed at the result of -all my efforts. I have worked hard this term and -yet I have a feeling in my bones that most of my -keenness is wasted: I am almost a butterfly on a -wheel. The system is going to be too strong for me. -I have a lurking suspicion that schoolmastering is -not a man's job at all. It only really appeals to -humdrum invertebrates who can live in an entirely -unreal atmosphere, who like being placed on a pedestal -and held up as models of all the more insipid virtues -and who can lay down the law and see that it is -obeyed to the last letter.</p> - -<p>In no profession is the danger of thinking too much -so obvious: any one possessed of an introspective or -imaginative temperament is quite out of place in a -Public School. Every day by reading I find that I am -enlarging my mind and getting to know all sorts of -interesting things, but most of them are not for the -ears of babes and sucklings, and so I am compelled -to lead two quite different lives and am become a -sort of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.</p> - -<p>What I do hate about the end of the term is the -fact that to-morrow night I shall no longer be able -to hear the merry shouts of the boys in the House -Room below or the careless chatter of hundreds -coming out of chapel or school: there will be no -more games; but I have one consolation. I am not, -as I did at Christmas, going to a lonely home. Illingworth -is coming with me on a walking tour through -Devon. I am looking forward to that very much -indeed.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="III" id="III">III</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 4, 1910</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I am</span> glad to be back again, but I never enjoyed -any holiday in all my life as I enjoyed the one just -finished. Illingworth and I took a train to Bideford -on the first day of the holidays and put up in the hotel -where Kingsley wrote "Westward Ho!" The difference -between that old, bizarre, mediæval sleepy town -and Radchester is impossible to believe. We spent -our first evening talking to old sailors on the quay, and -it did not require much imagination to take us back -to the brave days of Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>It was an idyllic holiday: we never had any -definite end in view: when we felt hungry, regardless -of the time, we would just go in to the nearest cottage -and fill ourselves up with junkets and fruits and cream -and then lazily stroll on, regardless of rights of way, -over fields, through dense woods, by rabbit-warrens -and carefully guarded preserves. Often we had to -run from farmers, gamekeepers and their dogs, which -added a good deal to the enjoyment: it just gave the -extra spice of danger which we wanted. Once we -got cut off by the tide and had to row over to -Clovelly, where we put up for the night in a white-washed -cottage, which smelt so sweetly of lavender -and thyme, and was altogether so delectable with -its spotlessly clean "flags" and old oak panelling,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -that we swore that if we ever got rich we would retire -there and live as hermits, with a vast library to -console us for the loss of the outside world. One day -we bought a couple of rucksacks and set our faces -towards Hartland Point and tramped all round the -coast until we got to Bude. We took several days -over this, because neither Illingworth nor I could ever -help turning aside to explore any lane which looked -promising. We found so many wonderful old Tudor -manor-houses and cheery farm-houses that we could -never tear ourselves away before we had called and -been given leave to explore to our heart's content. -Alone, I should never have dared to ask for so strange -a courtesy, but Illingworth is one of those boys who -no sooner sees than he must possess, a trait that he -must have inherited, for his father is one of the most -famous and successful cotton men in Manchester. -In the end we arrived at Chagford. I don't quite -know why, except that Illingworth liked the sound of -the name. We got there by way of Okehampton and -Sticklepath.</p> - -<p>He had become very interested in John Trevena's -novels, "A Pixy in Petticoats," and "Arminel of the -West," which he unearthed from my shelves at school, -and when he heard that we were in the neighbourhood -of the scenes therein depicted, nothing would content -him but that we should see for ourselves whether the -people were as delightful or the scenery so wonderful -as Trevena had made them out to be; so we tramped -round the fringe of Dartmoor and put up at the first -house we saw that appealed to us on the outskirts of -Chagford.</p> - -<p>Looking back on it now I can honestly say that in -this sweet village, nestling under the shadow of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -great moor, I found my ideal home: no other place -has ever given me, from the first moment I saw it -in the distance, quite the same sense of security and -home. We were welcomed at Fernworthy View as -if we were prodigal sons returned home at last.</p> - -<p>We had a wonderfully capacious sitting-room with -a piano, which we thumped on every night, singing -ribald songs, "Buffalo Gals," "The Mulligan Guards," -and the latest musical comedy bits with Betty and -Thomasin, the two daughters of the house who waited -on us. Before we had been there three days we had -made friends with the parson, the doctor, one or two -hunting men and all the villagers. We used to go -and gossip in the pubs, over the counter at the shops, -and up by the village pump opposite the church, -where the majority of the yokels used to collect in -the evening to discuss the doings of the day: we -learnt a good deal of local scandal, accounts of the -day's sport with the hounds, or fishing or shooting. -Wherever we went we seemed to make friends.</p> - -<p>And then by day, when the villagers were at work, -we used to go out on to the moor and follow the -Wallabrook, trying to trace each part of the stream -to its source.</p> - -<p>The moor always has an amazing effect upon me. -I know that Eden Phillpotts and John Trevena -talk a good deal about the malicious spirit of the -great monoliths and the permanence of the stone, -making even more futile by contrast the efforts of -puny and transient man, but I find Dartmoor infinitely -consoling. Here at Radchester I certainly do -feel a malign influence in the ugliness of the flat lands -and the hideous waste of sand and grey water, but -there is a richness about the moor that makes Nature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -there seem much more the Eternal Mother and -Generous Giver, sympathizer at any rate with strong -and lusty youth. Grandeur and beauty in scenery -surely can never do anything but elevate and purify -the spirit of man. I am never happier than when -I have scaled the top of one of these Tors and can -turn north, south, east, and west and see no living -soul. The wind sweeps through me, the sun shines -for me alone, all the blue of the heavens is mine. -I am nearer to the elemental things than at any other -time in my life. I am no longer introspective, -dwelling on human imperfections; I am just filled to -the brim with thankfulness, and opening my arms -wide I feel that I am about to be taken into the -embraces of my Lord Himself: He is never so near -as He is on these Mounts of Transfiguration: for all -hills tend to transfigure not only God but man. As -he rises farther from the valley in body, so does his -soul expand. Young Illingworth and I found that -we could talk of things on the moor that we should -never have dreamt of discussing elsewhere. After -a long and arduous climb, just to throw oneself down -on the heather and gaze languidly, in sweet and utter -content, up into the sky! How remote and unreal -Radchester and all it stands for seemed at such -moments, how small and ridiculously inept the -quarrels and troubles that loom so large in Common -Room; these hills certainly sweep away any malice -that one may feel, or grudge that one may bear -against one's fellow-men. Like St. Peter I never -want to come down from these heights: I want to -live in that rarefied atmosphere always, but the workaday -world calls and we have to descend again into -the fray.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<p>Betty and Thomasin, as an alternative to the -noises on the piano, used to get us to go into the -kitchen and read aloud to them till bedtime stories -out of "The Arabian Nights."</p> - -<p>As an alternative to the moor there was always -the Teign, in which river we used to paddle and bathe -and shoot at fish with a horrible old revolver which -Illingworth had been prevailed upon to buy from a -poacher. Another of our sources of pleasure was an -old disused mill, a survival of the eighteenth century. -Illingworth found a chain by which we could be -hauled up from floor to floor by a system of pulleys -on the fifth floor: he never tired of this particular -form of amusement, and on really wet days we used -to spend hours pulling one another up and down like -sacks of wheat.</p> - -<p>Alas, it was all too soon over: the weeks sped by -like wildfire and yesterday was a day of sad partings -from many firm and fast friends among the moor-folk. -At any rate we have promised to go back. -It seems incredible to think that it was only yesterday -... and here I am making out my scheme of work -for the term, paying last term's accounts, getting -ready to renew my feud with Hallows, full of determination -like poor old Perrin in that school-story of -Hugh Walpole's that this term shall be better. -I really will not go so fast in mathematics, I will -instil my own sense of morality in my boys, I will do -something to alter the ridiculous codes which govern -their mode of conduct. At any rate to-night I feel -amazingly strong and healthy, and I am as fit for -the fray physically as a man can be.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>June 10, 1910</i></p> - -<p>I suppose each individual master unconsciously -draws to him a peculiar type of boy. I begin to think -that the pariah finds himself especially attracted -to me.</p> - -<p>There have been two horrible rows this term, one -during the first week when I was fresh from the -healthy wilds of Dartmoor, full of vigour to instil -my high ideals into the minds of all who came into -contact with me.</p> - -<p>Immorality appears to be all-prevalent; some of -the finest boys in the school had to leave at a moment's -notice, among them Illingworth. Even now, a -month after the event, I can scarcely credit it. I -cannot believe that it is the small boys' fault. Jefferies -came up to say good-bye and appeared to be -heart-broken: yet he was the most flagrant offender -of them all. I felt quite unable to cope with the -disaster at all. I didn't know what to say to him. -I tried to elicit from him what it was that first of all -started boys off in this hideous vice, and I think he -tried his best to give me a rational answer.</p> - -<p>"I suppose with me, sir," he began, "it was pure -boredom. Life here seemed so narrow; there was no -possibility of an outlet for the emotions. We are so -narrowly confined, so closely watched, so driven and -looked after every hour of every day: the routine is -killing to the imagination. Then comes along a good-looking -small boy; a longing comes over one to make -a friend of him, but the school rules most stringently -forbid that, so we are driven to secrecy and secrecy -breeds vicious ideas. We can't meet openly: we -have to think out lonely and unlikely places: then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -human nature asserts itself and the rest follows -only too quickly."</p> - -<p>"But surely," I interposed, "surely the thought -of your own honour, if not of the physical ills that -are bound to follow, act as a deterrent? Sermons -and house-master's warnings and so on must have -some effect."</p> - -<p>"None, I'm afraid, sir, when it comes to the point; -the attraction proves too strong and the added spice -of danger, as in the case of those Sundays in the -public-houses, is a tremendous incentive. The sin -seems to lie, not in the action, but in being found out. -There are heaps and heaps of fellows who have left -here loaded with honours, thought by all of you to -be paragons of virtue, veritable Sir Galahads, who -in reality are infinitely worse than any of us who are -now being sacked. You don't cleanse your Augean -stable by firing out a score or so of unfortunate -wretches every year as a horrible warning to the rest. -Immorality is not like a fire which can be stamped -out; if there is any certain method it lies in gentle -handling and weaning us gradually from impure -thoughts to higher things. I know that you are -awfully sick with me and I feel a rotten swine to you, -as if I had betrayed a trust, but you came too late -for us; probably you'll do more for the new kids. -It can only be done by catching us before we are -bored and making us really interested in literature, -music, art—something with Beauty in it which is -not compulsory. I know the prevalent opinion is -that those who are interested in art are the worst -of all: the truth is quite the reverse, the worst -offenders are the unimaginative beefy bloods. There -seems to be a lurking suspicion in the average schoolmaster's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -mind that all beauty is effeminate, if not -actively immoral. I believe in reality that immorality -is as much due to the suspicious and not -too clean minds of our masters as to any other agency.</p> - -<p>"We are never directly spoken to on the matter. -If a house-master does talk about it he blushes and -stammers and talks about sex as if it were in itself -foul. He makes a quite innocent youngster begin -to take a delight in these hidden things. The truth -is that they ought not to be hidden at all. Once -people begin to talk openly and discuss without false -shame all these matters, this vice will disappear, -not before. I've got to suffer, so there's no point in -my making excuses, but you, sir, if you are really -keen on getting rid of this evil, remember that the -only way to do it is to get hold of boys and interest -them in life. Give them something to occupy their -minds, so that there is no empty corner of their souls -swept and garnished ready for the occupation of the -spirit of evil."</p> - -<p>It is altogether horrible; all my best friends have -gone, the very boys that I had trusted most and -loved most. I cannot imagine evil of young Illingworth -after our month together on Dartmoor. I dare -swear no evil thought once crossed his mind the -whole time we were together. I am certain in my -inmost mind that this vice is not an essential part -of life as some writers try to make out; I do not -believe that youth must pass through this stage of -adolescence and that it would be uncanny if he did -not give way to his natural feelings.</p> - -<p>I believe one reason for our failure here to cope -with this dire disease is the lack of feminine society. -I wonder how co-education schools stand in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -matter. I believe the natural throwing of boys into -the constant society of girls would result in a total -elimination of all foulness, whether of thought or -deed.</p> - -<p>One of the most disgusting things in all my life -here is the uncleanness of so many boys' minds. -I hate the idea of a Bowdlerized Shakespeare, for -instance, and yet when I come across a passage that -could possibly be construed in a dirty way, I find -my boys sniggering, loving the innuendo: it is then -that I want to make the reading of Rabelais compulsory: -that would cure them. I have never -passed occasions like this without bursting forth into -a vehement tirade against the clod-like state of a -mind that can find matter for jesting in such things.</p> - -<p>It is the secrecy that ruins everything. If, for -instance, I were openly to proclaim my friendship -for Vera Buckley, whom I still see weekly, I should -be suspected at once of having seduced her. Just -as it is imagined that no older boy can make a friend -of a younger boy without having some ulterior, -filthy motive, so no man can be seen with a shop-girl -(or any girl for the matter of that) without giving -rise to scandalous suggestions as to his attitude -towards her.</p> - -<p>I wish some members of Common Room could be -privileged to hear the sort of conversation that -passes between Vera and myself. She is something -of a philosopher, and her outlook on life, which is -eminently cheery and healthy, does me a world of -good when I am depressed. I talk over with her all -my schemes for educational reform and she is intensely -sympathetic and alive. She offers a vast -number of amazingly good suggestions: one of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -most frequent points is that I should try to teach -my boys not to divide all her sex into two quite -separate divisions, (1) their mothers, sisters, and girls -whom they meet at dances, parties and games, to -whom they are studiously courteous and chivalrous, -and (2) the rest, shop-girls and others, whom they -ogle in the streets, take out for walks, kiss and fondle -and treat as instruments for their own pleasures, to -be discarded at will as soon as they tire of them.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 4, 1910</i></p> - -<p>The golden days of summer are fast slipping by -and I do little else but bathe, play cricket, and read -in my spare time.</p> - -<p>Most of the boys hate having to play cricket every -afternoon of the term and chafe exceedingly at the -tediousness of "half-holidays," when they are -expected to stay out at their games for four and a -half hours. The more sensible take out rugs and books, -and bask in the sun until they are called upon to field, -but the temptation to go off and bathe must be -pretty strong when you can hear the waves softly -lapping on the beach below, calling you to come and -cool yourself in the water. There is a most absurd -rule here that only school prefects may bathe in the -sea: the rest of the school has to content itself with -the covered-in baths at stated and only too rare -intervals.</p> - -<p>These rules seem to me to be the ruin of the school: -long summer afternoons ought to be given up to -freedom and jollity. Boys should be encouraged to -go as far away as possible for picnics, bicycle rides, -and walks, to keep themselves fresh, instead of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -"roll-calls" are held at ridiculously close intervals; -not more than two hours are ever allowed to pass -without assembling the whole school to answer their -names. The place seems to be run on the basis of -"Out of sight, up to mischief." Every one suspects -everybody else.</p> - -<p>The Common Room garden, which is the only -place in the whole neighbourhood where one can see -flowers growing, possesses one tennis-court; the -rivalry to secure it for a game among those who like -tennis is comic to watch. Intense hatred is bred if -any one dares to use it more frequently than any one -else. If any of the junior members of the staff try -to get a game among themselves they are taunted -with a lack of loyalty and duty. It is the young -man's privilege to keep an eye on the games, to -umpire at cricket and see that fellows don't "slack."</p> - -<p>Luckily for me, I much prefer the society of the -boys, and I play or umpire every day. Equally -luckily I am tremendously keen on fielding and I -thoroughly enjoy every game I play, so long as I am -not expected to take it too seriously. But I certainly -sympathize with those unfortunates who hate the -game and yet are compelled to waste all these -precious afternoons chasing after a ball, not caring -in the least who wins or loses or how badly or well -they play.</p> - -<p>Quite a number of boys have told me that they -would infinitely prefer that there were no "half-holidays." -The hours in school pass so much quicker. -If only the surrounding country were passably -interesting and we could get up excursions to explore -woods or churches, it would to some extent solve -the difficulty, but though it is less depressing here in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -the summer than in the winter, there is no beauty -anywhere, nothing to call one away from the eternal -round of cricket.</p> - -<p>The only break is Speech Day, a most amazing -ceremony which gives one furiously to think. We -had an Archbishop and several famous men of the -day to talk to us this year, but the sole business of -the affair seemed to be to feed the parents as lavishly -as possible and to laud ourselves up to the skies. -The only criterion of success, to judge from the Head -Master's speech, was the number of Higher Certificates -gained in the annual examination. He obviously -makes a fetish of this; he publishes it in all the -papers and recurs to it at constant intervals, in -sermons, at masters' meetings and at dinner-parties. -Apparently we stand or fall by this one qualification. -Anything further from the true end and aim of -education it would be hard to imagine. For this -one day of speeches and lunch the whole place is -transformed: it becomes almost civilized, a part of -the world that we know outside. There are motor-cars, -pretty, smartly dressed girls with their mothers, -and proud fathers full of malapropos comments, -and—most important of all—no compulsory cricket. -For one whole day we get a chance to breathe, to -look round and talk, and at night if a boy is lucky -he may even dine with his people at their hotel in -Scarborough.</p> - -<p>It need scarcely be said how flat the rest of the term -seems after this great day, so eagerly looked forward to, -so long in coming, so quickly over when it does arrive.</p> - -<p>I think I derived most of my joy from comparing -the garb of my colleagues on this day with their -ordinary, every-day habiliments.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>I suppose no class of men dresses more shabbily -than the schoolmaster; as he is so abominably -underpaid that is not to be wondered at. What is -a matter for comment is the extraordinary costume -he dons on gala occasions.</p> - -<p>Grey frock-coats with black trousers and a straw -hat, dark morning coat with brown boots and a -bowler—there is no end to the grotesqueness of the -combination of ill-assorted garments. We look like -a lot of master grocers tricked out for an annual -convention. After all, clothes are not a very important -part of life, but it does somehow emphasize -our aloofness from the workaday world to appear -clad like Rip Van Winkles once a year. Our -gaucherie when we are called upon to talk to our -visitors would make even a shop-walker wince. We -seem to have lost the art of conversation: our -tongues are rusty; we have no commonplaces, we -cannot even hand round tea or food without falling -over one another. We feel all the time that these -parents are laughing at our awkwardness, that the -girls have labelled us all as old fossils, bloodless, -not unlike harmless lunatics: their brothers will -certainly not tend to remove that impression when -asked.</p> - -<p>Altogether I felt ashamed of my profession for the -whole of that day. I would willingly forget it.</p> - -<p>I have been wondering lately whether I am not -wasting such talents as I have at Radchester. I -certainly do not want to stay here for ever with no -prospect of ever earning more than £300 a year, and -yet there is no denying that on the whole I love the -place and that I feel an insidious temptation to take -root here. Just by way of experiment I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -answered a few advertisements to see if I have any -chance of getting anything else.</p> - -<p>One man wanted me to act as secretary to a firm -of motor manufacturers, but that seems to be tame -and dull compared with this.</p> - -<p>The Board of Education have offered me a post -as Junior Inspector of Board Schools in Essex, but -I dislike the smell of board schools and constant -travelling up and down the county does not appeal -to me at all. The most tempting offer has come from -India, to take over the job of Professor of English -at a native university. I dallied with that idea for -some time, but my people were against it, so I reluctantly -refused it. The pay was good and the life -would certainly be interesting, besides which I should -then be able to gratify my desire to travel. The East -is always calling me, ever since I first began to read -Conrad. But should I find an Illingworth or a -Benbow among the natives? I imagine the contingency -to be a remote one. On the other hand, -I should broaden my mind and come into contact -with men and women with ideas as different as -possible from those current here.</p> - -<p>One result of my tentative efforts to leave has been -a sort of restlessness which has made me buy guidebooks -to all sorts of places. Illingworth and I had -arranged to spend the summer holidays at Chagford, -but now that he is gone I am likely to be at a loose -end and I don't know where to go. I've thought of -the Highlands, the Lakes, Ireland, Cornwall and -Wales: I cannot make up my mind. I find that -I want a companion and there is no one in Common -Room with whom I should care to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 31, 1910</i></p> - -<p>Now that I have come to the end of my first year -as a Public School master, I am trying to take stock -of the situation. I have learnt a good deal since -last September and I certainly am devoted to my job. -I have not yet got over my initial nervousness. I -still have nightmares of my boys getting out of hand -and yet I have had no great difficulty in keeping -order. I certainly don't like taking prep. or looking -after "Hall" while three hundred and fifty boys eat, -but I can cope with any number of boys up to forty -and keep them at work. During the last week I have -been invigilating and correcting examination work: -my boys have not done particularly well in mathematics. -Apparently I still go too fast or else I am -unable to explain adequately. Compared with my -English work I find mathematics uncommonly dull. -In English I have got some really good results. -Some boys have written short stories, others plays, -others verses, many of which show originality, good -sense, and a capacity for expression which I certainly -did not get last year. I have interested them, too, -in reading: they borrow all my books, new and old. -I read extracts from all sorts of authors in form and -try to whet their appetites for more. I only wish that -instead of a paltry two hours a week I could inveigle -the Head to give me an hour a day. All the other -English masters here confine themselves to analysis, -parsing, précis, and one play of Shakespeare per year. -I have run through (lightly) the whole course of English -Literature in the last three terms and some boys have -specialized on drama, others on ballads, others on fiction -and a few on poetry, each following his own bent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> - -<p>I wonder why this all-important subject has been -so neglected. That it has is evident from the silly -letters most boys write and the twaddle that gets -into the school magazine. Why any one pays sixpence -for the monthly <i>Radcastrian</i> passes my comprehension. -It consists of a facetious all too brief -Editorial, badly strung together, followed by pages -of description of games which interest no one except -the players, and them only if they receive honourable -mention, a sentimental piece of artificial versifying, -a list of elevens and fifteens, promotions, colourless -reports of debates and lectures, and a few letters of -abuse. I'd guarantee to turn out a better journal -from the weekly output of my form. The worst of it -is that the average boy is interested in nothing at all, -there is nothing that he wants to read about. So -a tradition springs up that a school magazine shall -be solely a chronicle of games.</p> - -<p>I am now in the middle of writing reports. I -wonder why it is that as soon as we are confronted -by one of these queer documents all powers of -criticism and expression desert us, and we, one and -all, descend to a jargon which is quite meaningless. -I find myself filling about a hundred of these slips -with such idiotic remarks as "Industry adequate," -"Painstaking," "Very fair but could work harder," -"Lacks concentration," "Very weak but tries," -"Neat and hard-working," and so on. When they -are filled up they are about as much good as a guide -to parents as when they are untouched. No one -could possibly gauge a boy's merit or progress from -these things. They remind me of marks, which as a -criterion of a boy's terminal success are as bad a test -as could be devised. I always feel that I am being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -paid £150 a year simply to do this sort of hack work, -to fill up reports and to make out a weekly order -for my form. All the rest of my work I give willingly -without payment.</p> - -<p>The first part of my summer holiday has been -decided for me. To-morrow morning we leave for -Salisbury Plain, where we are to camp out for ten -days. To that I am looking forward immensely. -Sharing a tent with seven boys in this house should -bring me closer to them than ever and I ought to be -able to learn something valuable about that most -elusive and tricky thing, a boy's mind.</p> - -<p>They are never quite natural in the presence of a -master; perhaps they'll forget that I am one at -Tidworth.</p> - -<p>Our O.C. here is a strange fellow. I like him -very much, but his views on life are diametrically -opposed to my own. He is as hard as nails and is a -twentieth-century Stoic. He despises all beautiful -things; his bookshelves are lined with Kipling and -guides to military strategy and tactics. He lives in -and for the Corps. He is never happy unless he is -in uniform. Like myself he is a mathematician, but -he makes all his work as military as possible. Day -and night he evolves schemes for field-days, outpost, -advanced guard and other exercises; he is an expert -scout, signaller, and drill-master. He demands the -utmost punctilio in matters of ceremonial on parade: -he coaches individually each boy who shoots on the -range; he spends most of his holidays in barracks -or on Army manœuvres as a lieutenant in the -Special Reserve. He is one of the few men I know -who is convinced that we are shortly to embark on -a colossal European war, and naturally all the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -of Common Room laugh at him. He really is rather -absurd, yet I cannot help but love him, he is so -splendidly sure of himself. His is one of the rooms -to which I feel any inclination to go when I feel -lonely. He sits up to all hours of the night drawing -maps and working out military problems from old -examination papers, but he is always eager and ready -for an argument. His principal bone of contention -with me is that I don't "ginger up" the boys -enough. He is a firm believer in the rod; he canes -nearly all the boys in his House weekly, just to keep -them up to the mark and himself in training. He -detests my theories that boys should be taught in -comfortable rooms with good pictures on the walls -and æsthetic colours to delight their senses. He is -one of those men who is suspicious of all Art as -tending towards the immoral. They say he is -admirable in camp, and that all the other Public -School officers stand in awe of him because he knows -his job so much better than they do. He certainly -is unlike any other schoolmaster whom I have ever -known. There is a sort of Straffordian "thoroughness" -about him which makes him an idol in the sight -of the boys who, to give them their due, certainly do -bestow all their hero-worship on the Nietzschean -superman when they find him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="IV" id="IV">IV</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 10, 1910</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I am</span> back in Chagford again after ten of the best -days I can remember. Camp was one continuous -round of sheer joy. The weather was good: they -gave us plenty of work to do; I learnt an immense -amount of soldiering and I have become quite as -keen as any of them.</p> - -<p>O'Connor, our O.C., has recommended me for a -commission and I go into barracks at the Depot in -Exeter next week. I had no idea that life under -canvas could be so good. To be woken after a -dreamless sleep at five on a perfect summer morning, -to open the tent-flaps and look out on the gorgeous -woods of the Pennings and then to dash up and have -an icy shower-bath before first parade, to come in to -breakfast with an appetite as keen as that of a baby, -to spend the greater part of the day in the open air, -washing up, cleaning the tent and my uniform, or -running about as a scout searching for information, -to shout rowdy songs in company with a couple of -thousand other spirits as healthy and care-free as -oneself, to gossip in the lines as the light gradually -dwindles away at night, and last of all to be sung -to sleep by the bugle's "last post" and "lights out," -in short to live as man should live, in a sort of half-savage, -wholly healthy way like this is one delirious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -dream. I loved every minute of it. Would that it -could have continued for a hundred instead of ten -days. The boys in my tent treated me exactly as -one of themselves. I was ordered about by my -section commander just like any other private; in -fact, I was privileged enough to be taken by everybody -just as a private, as if there were no Radchester -and this was all. It was just one glorious "rag": -the fight for food and drink as orderly of the day, -the hustle to get everything cleared up in time for -parade, the deadly funk lest one's buttons should -not pass muster at the inspection, the fear lest one -should do the wrong thing in close order drill on -parade, and so bring ridicule down on the school or -oneself from the tyrannical sergeants who bullied us -into shape, everything was thoroughly good and -I loved it.</p> - -<p>It is very quiet and tame at Chagford after that -strenuous time, but I have never before realized how -precious a thing a hot bath was, or clean sheets and -a comfortable bed, and entire liberty with regard to -the way in which one spends one's day. Chagford is -becoming my home, my refuge from the world. -Betty and Thomasin even came as far as Moretonhampstead -in the motor-bus to meet me. I could -have hugged them both for this. They were disappointed -not to see Illingworth and it was hard to -account for his absence. I said that he had gone to -Switzerland to complete his education. I miss him -even more here than I did at school. We sang all -the old songs to-night and I read some more stories -out of "The Arabian Nights." It is hard to imagine -that three months have passed since I was last here. -The village, they tell me, is crowded: all the summer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -visitors are now here. I don't like to hear that—I -am jealous of my find. I don't like hordes of -Londoners prying into my favourite nooks. I shall -find banana-skins and orange-pips on the Wallabrook -to-morrow, and probably the way to Cranmere will -be indicated by a long succession of paper bags and -bits of discarded bun.</p> - -<p>I wish I could describe the fascination of the moor. -As soon as I got to Exeter I saw the blue hills in the -distance with their quaint, craggy tors, and my heart -leaped within me. I wanted to get out of the train -and run to greet them. By the time that we had -climbed out of Newton to Bovey I was racing from -side to side of the carriage to glut my eyes with the -rich sights which met my eye wherever I looked, the -white-washed cottages, the prosperous farms, the -rookeries, the rock-strewn streams, the thick woods, -the riot of many-coloured flowers, the red loam and -real green fields—how different these from the poor -parched pastures of Radchester; the square squat -church towers, the tapering spires, the big mansions -of the squirearchy, the slow plodding farm labourers -in the winding lanes, the myriad animals squatting, -running, flying, chasing and being chased; everything -spoke to me of home and then at last at Moretonhampstead -to be met by such dear creatures as -Betty and Thomasin: my cup of happiness was -indeed full.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 21, 1910</i></p> - -<p>I am to go back to Chagford as soon as I have -finished my military training here in order to coach -young Willoughby (whose brother was at New College -with me last year) for Woolwich. He said that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -didn't mind where he went and so he fell in at once -with my suggestion of Chagford. I am not altogether -liking life in barracks after my wild and free week at -Chagford. There I got up when I liked, ordered -what I liked for meals, was waited on hand and foot -by Betty and Thomasin, lazed by the side of the -Teign and bathed at frequent intervals in a deep pool -which nobody knew of, far from all inquisitive eyes, -and trapesed about the moor to my heart's content -every day. I took a heap of books but except in the -kitchen at nights, when I read aloud, I never had any -temptation to open them. After the strenuous life -of camp I was only too glad of the opportunity to -meander and gossip. Life seems to move very -slowly in these Devon villages. No one seems to -have been married or to have died since I was last -here: the same girls serve in the same shops, the -same men occupy the same seats in the bar parlour -at "The Half-Moon" and "The Goat and Boy"; -the only change is the influx of visitors attired in -immaculate flannels, who get excited because their -copy of the <i>Times</i> "was not sent up at the usual -time to-day."</p> - -<p>Thank Heaven, I've only got to endure ten days -more of this: I am not overfond of the officers. They -resent my presence, I think, because I am not a <i>pukka</i> -soldier: I never could be—I have not O'Connor's -temperament. There is such an amazing amount of -ritual and ceremony about the mess. There's not -much to do except to drink and read the papers, -and "get up" the parts of the "rifle," which bore me. -The Sergeant-Major has taken me under his wing -and given me tips preparatory to my exam., but -I'm not so grateful as I ought to be. Every morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -I go out on first parade, usually in a parlous funk -about my clothes. Do I wear a sword or not? -Whom exactly am I expected to salute? What are -my duties? Everything is hazy: there is nothing -definite laid down and frequently I loiter about -all the morning only to find that I am not wanted. -Most of the senior officers seem to spend their time -filling up papers in the orderly room. In the afternoons -they go off and play tennis or fish, and I am -left to my own devices until dinner, which meal -I am expected to attend. I have explored the city, -which is an attractive one. The inhabitants are -sleepy, but extraordinarily healthy-looking and -rubicund of hue: the girls almost uncannily pretty.</p> - -<p>Betty and Thomasin came in from Chagford for -the day yesterday at my invitation and I took them -out to lunch and tea, and we had a rare good time -together. They are very anxious for my release and -complain that Fernworthy View is very dull without -me. Whether that be true or no, all blessings be -upon their sweet heads for saying so.</p> - -<p>I have had letters from heaps of Radcastrians who -were in camp with me, declaring that they find home -very slow and boring after the ecstatic days in camp.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 15, 1910</i></p> - -<p>I passed my exam. all right at Exeter and very -glad I was to shake the dust of the barracks square -from my feet and once more to get back to my -beloved Chagford.</p> - -<p>Willoughby is a Wykehamist, who is trying to -get into "The Shop" in November. His mathematics -are sound but his English is lamentable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -He seems to have read nothing except, quaintly -enough, Norwegian sagas: he is always quoting -"Burnt Njal." I find him excellent company: -and he has ravished the hearts of most of the girls -who are staying here. It is much gayer than it was -when I was last here; we have had three gorgeous -dances. I wish I did not feel such a fool at these -shows. Radchester has unfitted me for all these -society gatherings. I feel abominably out of it; -it is so long since I used to dance regularly. I get -in a paralytic fear lest I should tread on my partners' -toes. I imagine that I am wooden, gawky and stiff, -in spite of my partner's eulogies on my ease and -lightness.</p> - -<p>We play tennis, golf and cricket a good deal and -even got up some amateur theatricals, in which -I took the part of Myngs in a Pepys play. These -people are as different as possible from the north-country -manufacturers. None of them have much -money, but they all possess honoured names and an -intense pride of birth: Cruwys, Polwhele, Chichester, -Acland, Trefusis, or Champernowne. I wish we -boasted such names at Radchester. They are all -exceedingly kind to me. I feel thoroughly happy -and at ease when I am gossiping with the villagers -or running about on the moor with Willoughby, who -is very slack about walking, and always wants to hire a -car; he has heaps of money and is certainly lavish with -it. He flirts outrageously with all the girls he comes -across, but he is healthy and altogether lovable.</p> - -<p>We work all the mornings and sometimes at night. -I don't think there is much doubt about his getting in. -He is beginning to take quite an interest in his -English work and constantly bewails the fact that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -he never discovered at school what a delightful -subject it is. He is interested in all sides of life -and like Illingworth is afraid of nothing. If he wants -to get into conversation with any one he just does it, -whereas, however much I wanted to, I should always -hold back through fear, what of I don't quite know.</p> - -<p>I have tried to set down on paper exactly how -this country affects me, but I cannot do it. I envy -Eden Phillpotts and Trevena more than I can say. -I look for romance in the faces of the passers-by and -try to weave stories about the villagers but they all -fail to materialize. I cannot make any of them live -in my pages; they are all dolls. I haven't really -been taught to observe properly. Willoughby comes -back from a garden-party and can conjure up an -exact picture of all the old frumps, the parsons, the -retired civilians, their lovely daughters ... every one. -He knows the colour of their eyes and hair, peculiarities -of their hands and bodies, the material of -which their clothes are made, together with their -colour and shape.</p> - -<p>I talk to a girl for an hour, find her captivating, -come home, essay to describe her and fail entirely. -I can't even remember whether she is dark or fair, -what sort of frock she wore, what was the colour of -her eyes, or whether her features are regular or not. -I suppose I don't look at people enough. I simply -daren't. I can't scrutinize: I wish I could overcome -this bashfulness. All the time I keep on thinking -what a fool all these people must imagine me to be. -But all the same there are one or two types here -who interest me a good deal. The captain of the -cricket team is a retired colonel of an Indian regiment, -an old M.C.C. man who lives for the game and curses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -us roundly when we fail to come up to his expectations. -When we win he praises us extravagantly, -when we lose his language becomes positively -Oriental. He never misses an opportunity of net-practice -and requires us to be equally keen. His one -aim in life is to go through a season without losing -a single match. In August he always invites the -most famous cricketers he knows to come and stay -with him, but they do not always come off on these -tricky wickets and he gets much more furious with -them if they fail than he does with us.</p> - -<p>The doctor is another good type: he is very -handsome and beloved of every one. He bears his -honours lightly so long as every one gives in to him, -but he sulks like any two-year-old child if he is -crossed in any way. He likes to keep himself -surrounded by pretty girls and as there is no dearth -of them he has a good time.</p> - -<p>One of the best points about Chagford is the way -in which every one collects at different houses without -any special invitation. I find that the Chagford -people have done me no end of good. They've -laughed me out of a good deal of my awkwardness. -Though I am much slower at making friends than -Willoughby, I have ceased to regard all mankind as -hostile to me.</p> - -<p>The parson here has become a great pal of mine. -He is young, extraordinarily well-read, athletic, and -madly keen about his work. It is a treat, by way of -a change, to leave the roysterers and sit smoking in -his study and talk about books and education and -social problems. His life is full to the brim with that -happiness which comes from service. It seems to me -an ideal existence to try to keep the vision splendid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -before the eyes of these moor-folk, to comfort them -in their distress.... I have often thought of taking -Orders. I don't quite know what keeps me back. -I can conceive no finer life than that led by the -preacher. Of all men in history I think I should -like to have been John Wesley. At home nothing -delights me so much as taking my father's Bible -Classes or preaching to his Sunday afternoon congregations -from the lectern. I've read the Thirty-nine -Articles again lately: I don't like the thought of -swearing my allegiance to them, but there are heaps -of parsons who do excellent work without regarding -a great many of them. I like visiting the cottagers -and for the most part they seem to like me. I know -that at home they all expect me "to go into the -Church," as they call it, in the end. The difficulty -is about the call. Is the Church my vocation? -One thing I would not do and that is to take Orders -solely with a view to preferment at school.... No, -I could not become a parson unless I felt a clear call -and it is that call that I am so uncertain of. I don't -like separating myself from my fellow-men by -wearing a sombre garb. I believe that it is possible -to fulfil one's life-mission quite as well by remaining -among the laity. Certainly points of ecclesiastical -etiquette give rise to no wild enthusiasms or hatred in -my breast. I was educated as a High Churchman -and I like incense and vestments, good music and -ritual, but I am quite happy with the Evangelicals. -I could never get so tempestuously wrathful about -minor points of doctrine as that flamboyant, truculent -paper that represents the Catholic Anglican party -does. I attend Wesleyan chapels and Roman Catholic -churches and from all of them I derive some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -measure of comfort. I have been reading the lessons -in church here for the last few Sundays.</p> - -<p>Willoughby always laughs at my church-going; -like most of the visitors he never enters a place of -worship. I see no reason why any man should unless -he feels the need of it. I do. He doesn't, and -there's an end of it. The psalms and collects and -hymns uplift me and the sermons I look forward to -more than anything in the week. There is always -some strain of philosophy in sermons which appeals -to me. I certainly dislike chapel at school, solely -because it is compulsory. The sermons, too, there -are curiously uneven. Most of the parsons on the -staff are good, conscientious Christians, but some are -devoted to dogma and others to moral conduct, and -they tend to separate these two features of religion -absolutely, which I am certain is a mistake.</p> - -<p>It is like our Divinity lessons: one has to test -whether a boy has done his preparation by asking all -sorts of silly questions, while all the time one is longing -to preach, to point out the inspiration, to expound -the Bible as a complete guide to life. It is very -difficult to reconcile the two. My best Divinity -scholars are certainly my least reliable boys as regards -Christian practice.</p> - -<p>I wish I knew where the solution lies. I am -tempted always to let the exact knowledge go and -preach from a text whenever I go in to class. The -object of education is to fit a boy for life, so that he -may learn to conduct himself honourably and valiantly -wherever he goes. Does our present system -succeed in doing this? If not, it is a very serious -shortcoming. What we want is much more Christian -doctrine taught—it ought to pervade every lesson.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -There is still far too great a tendency to regard -Sundays, chapels, and the Divinity lessons as something -quite outside the ordinary things of life: boys -are not made to perceive that their whole life is a -religion and that where there is no religion there is -no life, and that to try to live according to one code -of ethics on Sundays and an entirely opposite one -all the rest of the week is simply to kill either the -spiritual or the material.</p> - -<p>During these holidays I have devised several new -schemes for next term: I don't know how many of -them I shall bring to fruition. I've been reading a -good many books on school life lately, but they all -seem to me to lack something, I don't quite know -what it is. Most novelists at one time or another -try their hand at a Public School novel—but I expect -that the next generation will smile at our present -efforts, just as we do at "Eric, or Little by Little."</p> - -<p>H. A. Vachell in "The Hill" wrote a most readable -novel and certainly portrayed that amazingly sentimental -side that is really very prominent in the -human boy. He hates and loves whole-heartedly. -Other men and boys become the whitest of heroes -and the blackest of villains in his eyes. But beyond -this there was nothing of truth to life in what was an -exceedingly successful book.</p> - -<p>Arnold Lunn in his counterblast to this, "The -Harrovians," dwelt too distinctly on the reverse side -of the picture, on the more drab side of life at school. -He is certainly truer in his descriptions but somehow -he missed the soul: "The Harrovians" and "The -Hill" are both like Academy pictures.</p> - -<p>I don't know if the real Public School novel will -ever be written: I don't quite know if it can. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -the first place, to make it both readable and true, -you must take an exceptional boy like Denis Yorke -in St. John Lucas's "The First Round," or those -immortal scamps in "Stalky and Co."</p> - -<p>The average boy's life is too humdrum to make -material for a book: of course a good journalist could -make an excellent chapter out of an account of a -house or school match. Most novelists are quite bad -at this journeyman sort of writing. Modern writers -are trying different tactics. The popular way at -present is to focus the reader's attention on Common -Room. Boys are dull compared with men; their -conversations inept; all the normal plots round -which novels spin i.e. love-making, are out of place -in a boy's life, so clever Hugh Walpole in "Mr. -Perrin and Mr. Traill" has approached nearer than -any one else in presenting at once a readable, exciting -and true picture of a certain sort of school. Certainly -there are men on the Radchester staff who might -have walked straight out of the pages of this remarkable -novel. Anything truer than that sordid, lurid -picture of the petty jealousies that exist between -grown man and man at a school has never been written.</p> - -<p>"But surely," said the parson here to me the other -night, while we were discussing this, "no two cultivated -men of the world would be at daggers drawn -simply over a ridiculous umbrella."</p> - -<p>"That's just the hideousness of it all," I replied. -"Men do behave in that incomprehensible way at -schools. They are like naughty children: you'd -never believe that they are graduates, picked men, -both intellectually and physically. You'd never -believe how spiteful and inhuman men can be to -one another until you've lived with them in a school.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -I suppose we see too much of one another. I cannot -believe that all schools are like Radchester, but -certainly Hugh Walpole must have suffered at one -not unlike it."</p> - -<p>I have had a great many talks about education -with the parson while I have been here: he is very -keen on raising the age-limit to sixteen in elementary -schools. At present he says that the education they -get is of no use to them. There are heaps of boys -and girls of eighteen and nineteen in Chagford who -can neither read nor write, although they were taught -to do both when they were children: as soon as they -go on to the farms they find that these accomplishments -are not marketable, and so they forget them -in an incredibly short space of time. Apparently, -too, the standard of morality in village life is deplorably -low. When the youths attend church it is, -only too frequently, so that they may ogle the girls: -the church makes a good rendezvous. Neither -drunkenness nor immorality have decreased with the -spread of education, nor are the people any more -thrifty or ambitious.</p> - -<p>The farmers are as ignorant as they were before the -Corn Laws were repealed. Altogether he draws a -lurid, hopeless picture of the country yokel.</p> - -<p>There must be at bottom a wonderfully fine instinct -at the heart of every Englishman for, however bad -the system of education may be, and that it is bad -from the highest to lowest I am becoming surer -every day, he still makes a good thing of life.</p> - -<p>The Public School product is a fine specimen of a -man: he is strictly honest in all his dealings, he will -never turn his back on a "pal," he is capable of -handling men with sympathy, he can adapt himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -at short shrift to almost any circumstance: if only -he could be prevailed upon not to despise learning -and beauty no other type of man could touch him.</p> - -<p>I have lately been trying to understand more of -foreign countries through their fiction, particularly -Russia. Years ago I read and loved Tolstoi's -"Resurrection"; last week I tried to get through -"Anna Karenin" and failed. I can't explain quite -why, unless it is that Dostoievsky has supplanted him -in my estimation. I never read any one in the least -like Dostoievsky. I think "The Brothers Karamazov" -is the greatest novel I ever read. No man rises from -it with exactly the same outlook on life which he had -when he sat down to it. Dostoievsky seemed in -that book to be on the point of discovering all that -hurt and puzzled us about the world: every now and -then we seem to get a glimpse millions of years ahead -into a timeless, limitless space where truth and beauty -at last prevail, and misery and suffering are no more. -Everything that he writes seems to turn on this word -"suffering." Light, not salvation, comes to man -through his capacity to suffer. The characters in -"The Brothers Karamazov" are not human beings -at all: they are disembodied spirits with an amazing -power of self-analysis: this gloomy introspectiveness -is the chief feature of all Russian writing. They -seem to know so much more than we do about the -actions of the human heart: their sympathy with -humanity is deeper than ours: we are too apt to -dismiss from our thoughts what we do not immediately -understand—the more complex a man's -character the more we shun him, but the Russian -seeks to disintegrate it and account for his contradictory -traits: how Iago must appeal to the Russian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -mind. They appear to be a nation of Hamlets. -Those that are not are Lucifers.</p> - -<p>I am not pleased with the German mind. There is, -in their plays at any rate, an awful playing with fire. -Nietzsche paralyses me—this will to power would be -frightful if it were ever given full play. The present -effect of their refined system of education seems to -drive the flower of their youth to suicide. English -stupidity is better than German kultur if that is -what love of learning leads to. There must be some -middle way.</p> - -<p>It is a relief to turn to American fiction. All the -world seems to be passing through a stage of transition -much as it did in the days of the Romantic -Revival.</p> - -<p>Then all Europe was bothered about the Brotherhood -of Man and the Return to Nature; nowadays -we are casting off all the conventions of our fathers -and pressing towards the rights of the individual to -be a law unto himself.</p> - -<p>In "Jean Christophe" Romain Rolland seems to -be expressing on the Continent what Wells, Bennett, -J. D. Beresford, Gilbert Cannan and others are trying -to express here, that the young man of to-day is not -content to accept religion, or the codes of morality -or conduct which his father believed in and acted -upon. The new age asks the right to discover a fresh -religion for itself and to live according to the light of -its own reason. The hero of the modern novel, if -hero he can be called, is feckless and unsteady: like -Dostoievsky he is continually on the look-out for -what is round the corner. He prefers misery to -happiness, for out of intense misery and unhappiness -he learns to harden himself, in Hugh Walpole's words,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -by this means alone can he come to real adequate -manhood and subdue fear and hypocrisy.</p> - -<p>The most outstanding characteristic of the new -school of hero is his selfishness: he thinks of no one -but himself. It does not matter very much that he -should be unhappy: he deserves to be and he almost -seems to delight in being so, but unfortunately he -brings every one else with whom he comes into -contact into a like state—his womenfolk, his parents, -are left heart-broken while he continues on his wild -way, Mazeppa-like, riding rough-shod over old-established -prejudices, subverting the minds of the -young, overturning traditions and setting up new gods -only to desert them in their turn.</p> - -<p>I certainly prefer this new generation to the decadents -of the nineties; at least we are spared artificiality, -idle philandering, and that delicate languor of -lilies and harping on vice as a desirable thing. Our -new heroes are never dirty-minded though they -frequently perform rotten things. If only they -would not think so much they might be quite decent -beings.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately all these supermen lack the one great -essential of all true men, they have no glimmer of -humour in their composition. They are so deadly in -earnest to find out the meaning of life that they have -no time to turn aside and browse in the pastures -which Aristophanes, Shakespeare, Charles Lamb and -Dickens so enjoyed; the comic spirit seems to be -dead in us.</p> - -<p>They leave jesting to the music-hall artiste—they -have no room for laughter in their scheme of existence. -This is where the great American short-story writer -scores so heavily. He is incurably romantic and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -alive and alert: he is interested in all humanity and -like all sympathetic observers of erring mankind, -he can afford to laugh not at but with them at the -absurdity of things.</p> - -<p>I find in J. M. Synge the best epitome of this age. -He has a superb intellect (most of the young writers -are prodigiously clever), his style is clear, simple, -forcible and exact, and he tears up all our old ideas -by the roots. In "The Playboy of the Western -World" he has offended his own people of Ireland -for all time. They cannot understand the universality -of the theme. He did not write his play to show how -excellent a thing it is to be a parricide, though incidentally -he does carry on the Shavian idea that sons -owe no duty to their parents—they did not ask to -be born. What he did set out to do was to show -how the feckless, unappreciated lout may realize -that he has a soul, and how easily he stands alone -without love of women or any other sentimental prop -when he has found it. Stanley Houghton is another -exponent of the twentieth-century philosophy. -"Hindle Wakes" merely shows that the new theories -of life have spread not only to the other sex, but to -mill-girls and shop-girls. Fanny was willing to spend -a week-end in the society of a man simply for enjoyment, -and refused to bind herself to him for the rest -of her life just to satisfy an effete convention. What -she wanted and meant to have was freedom: she -was well able to take care of herself; she was earning -a good wage and had become self-supporting. Her -parents might turn her out; she was not, on that -account, like the forsaken mistress of the nineties, -therefore bound to go on the streets. She could live -her life in her own way, beholden to no man.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>We are passing through grave and strenuous times -and it is quite obvious that we shall have to adapt -ourselves to new conditions: "new truths make ancient -good uncouth."</p> - -<p>We have come a long way from the sentimental, -the artificial, the Restoration attitude to life. In -the new age men and women are coming to work side -by side, are beginning to understand one another -better and do not contemplate seductions or marriage -whenever they meet.</p> - -<p>What are our schools doing to prepare their pupils -for this new world? Nothing at all so far as I can see. -Masters do not trouble to read the very obvious signs -in the sky. At girls' schools I am told the same old -methods of stringent secrecy about everything that -matters are carried out. The girl of to-day leaves -school with an outlook on life formed on an incomplete -acquaintance with the world of Jane Austen. There -has been no gradual unfolding of the new ideas—what -an awakening lies before some of the wives of -the next generation. But boys are in no happier case. -They are being brought up to believe that they will -go out into a world exactly similar to that in which -their fathers lived. Theirs too will be a troublous -time before they learn the lesson. I don't quite see -how the problem is to be tackled. It is scarcely -possible to give readings from all the modern novelists -to schoolboys: the outspokenness of this new writing -is frightening even to adult minds.</p> - -<p>What we want is more knowledge; the zeal of the -present day is for facts. We want the truth at all -costs: we don't mind how much it hurts. We are -not like the men who have to create a God if there -isn't one, we are able to bear anything except shams<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -and lies; we recognize one aristocracy only, the -aristocracy of intellect and truth.</p> - -<p>As an honest man I feel that I ought to resign my -post at Radchester after reading these moderns, -because I am paid to go on retailing hypocritical -untruths to my boys. Having caught me out in one -falsification they will be suspicious of me altogether. -I wonder how much Illingworth and Jefferies already -look on me as a charlatan—but then, according to -my lights I was proclaiming my faith ... and now, -well I find it hard to put down how I stand with -regard to the new school of thought. After all, these -men are all experimentalists, they are in the position -of men who are testing the scaffolding of a house: -they say our edifice is insecure, that our props are -rotten, that the architects who built our house of life -were jerry-builders, but how do we know that these -men are any better? I am so afraid of offending the -susceptibilities of one of my charges that I dare tell -them nothing, but on the other hand, surely it were -better for them to be guided now than to be flung -without a guide into the maelstrom of conflicting -public opinion when they leave school.</p> - -<p>If only some of my colleagues had read these new -writers it would be so much more helpful. But all -books since Dickens and Thackeray are taboo at -school as new-fangled and hence ephemeral. The -attitude to life of the mid-Victorians is the attitude -we ourselves are expected not only to adopt for -ourselves but to teach. No wonder we are looked -upon as hopeless old fogies by our boys as soon as -they leave us.</p> - -<p>The old idea that fiction was written as Fielding -wrote it, solely for our amusement and not at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -for our instruction, appears still to prevail pretty well -everywhere, so that even the most omnivorous -readers here in Chagford do not take the new men -seriously; they think that they are trying to shock -and startle us but have no sort of propagandist -theory at the back of their minds. It is the same -with the theatre. People resent the thought that -they might learn something of value by listening to -a play: they go to the theatre to be amused, not to -be preached at, consequently they miss the point -of quite half the plays they see. They are very good -lessons for every one except ourselves, but <i>we</i> never -need correction.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="V" id="V">V</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>October 1, 1910</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I have</span> joined the <i>Times</i> Book Club. I find that -I cannot get along without a constant supply of new -books. I want to keep abreast of modern thought -at all costs. I don't see why, because I am condemned -to teach Descartes and Pythagoras, I should -deny myself Henry James or Bourget. I find that -standard works are not enough. There are times -when Pope palls on me, when Dickens and Thackeray -ask to be given a rest. At such times I want to read -some of the new school, the men who have broken -away from the old traditions and carved out a new -world. Perhaps if I were not in such a deadly fear -of getting into a groove I should not pin my faith so -largely to these very restless and rather morbid young -men, but a schoolmaster seems to be expected to -stifle any growth that a nation might be showing -signs of, to prevent youth from essaying out of the -beaten tracks into the many virgin jungles that -surround life.</p> - -<p>This term so far is going fairly smoothly. We -have a new German master who gets unmercifully -"ragged"; O'Connor looks upon him with extreme -suspicion. He thinks that the German Government -have sent him here purposely to spy out this part -of the country. A more harmless fellow than Koenig<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -it would be hard to find. O'Connor really is a -prodigious ass. In the first place the man is very -nervous: he has no idea of keeping order. Boys have -a habit of entering his classroom by the window; -they also burn bonfires in his waste-paper basket; -they bring mice into form and chase them all over -the room; they cheer when any boy gets good marks -and hiss when any one fails to score. Altogether his -sets derive a considerable amount of amusement from -him and we in Common Room profess to be shocked -but are in reality secretly pleased to think how -infinitely superior we are to him. Nothing gives a -man self-confidence so quickly as to see another one -making a havoc of his job.</p> - -<p>Benson is also getting "ragged," not so much by the -boys as by some of the younger members of the staff. -Last term we started a club which meets nightly in -his rooms and "rouses the welkin with a succession -of catches." We drink whisky and consume vast -quantities of fruit and cake, while he plays to us on -the piano or violin and we shout snatches from the -latest musical comedy.</p> - -<p>Benson's forte lies in the subject of boys' smoking. -He is certain that boys use the music-rooms to smoke -in. To encourage him in this idea, several of us have -lately dropped cigarette ends in different parts of the -building; these he discovers, picks up and treasures, -revealing them to us later. He has a wonderful -scheme (which he thinks is his own but which in -reality we have put him up to) by which he means -to catch the miscreants red-handed.</p> - -<p>Half of the club are to sit in darkness and silence -in one room, the other half in another: we are all to -listen until we hear the boys come in, and at a given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -signal dash out upon them from two directions and -so catch them.</p> - -<p>Jackson and I have been deputed by the others to -dress up and do the smoking; we are to get out of -the window after smoking two or three cheap cigarettes -one night and then be chased up and down the shore. -That is, Benson will do the chasing, the others will -slip back in the dark to consume whisky and wait for -his return. He will then be told and the sight of his -face ought to be good to see.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>October 24, 1910</i></p> - -<p>We have brought off the rag: it didn't turn out as -we expected. Both Jackson and I elaborated the jest. -I was produced in a (pretended) faint, covered with -mud and bleeding at the nose, after a supposed fight -with one of the boys, who "in the end got away by -pushing me into a pond." I put so much realism -into this that Benson was quite concerned about me. -I felt an awful pig and so seriously did Benson take it -that we did not feel that we could let him know the -truth of the matter.</p> - -<p>I have been restless again of late and to cure myself -have taken to going into Scarborough and roaming -round the streets at night. I find this an excellent -remedy. I love watching crowds, especially a seaside -crowd. They are so obviously out to enjoy life -once work for the day is over. They are hail-fellow-well-met -with everybody. I don't know why I get -so fascinated with the life of the streets: no one else -at Radchester ever thinks of any other strata of -society than his own.</p> - -<p>I want to probe the drama of life: each lighted -window conjures up some vision of domestic comedy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -or tragedy to me. I want to know. I want to play -eavesdropper to whisperers in the dark: I scent -romance at every corner of the street. Partly I -attribute this to reading O. Henry's short stories. -"We live <i>by</i> habits, but <i>for</i> adventure" would seem -to be the foundation of his belief about life. The -skirts of Romance are always swishing past us; -we just hear faintly the sound of her tread, we see -dimly the sheen of her garments, but we are so -bolstered up and surrounded by convention that we -dare not give chase, much as we should like to. So -Romance for us, as O. Henry says, comes to mean a -mere matter of a marriage or two, a few old letters, -and a ball programme stuffed away in a drawer—the -memory of one scent-laden evening, and for the -rest, our existence consists of a lifelong feud with a -steam radiator.</p> - -<p>I find that my boys love these American short -stories, with their quaint extravagances of language, -their three-fold surprise upon surprise, their outspokenness -and world-wide sympathies with every -sort of man and woman, from train-robber to shop-girl -and man about town to murderer and convict.</p> - -<p>I have been reading lately Edmund Holmes's book -on "What Is and What Might Be." He seems to -express the ideals of education better than any one -I have ever read: yet no one on the staff does more -than sneer or laugh at him as an idealist and an -impracticable dreamer. I like particularly his six -instinctive desires of youth. Every child, he says, -wants passionately (1) to talk and listen, (2) to act -(in the dramatic sense), (3) to draw, paint, and model, -(4) to dance and sing, (5) to know the why of things, -and (6) to construct things. To develop all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -six instincts he declares is the true aim of all real -education.</p> - -<p>How little do we care how well or badly a boy talks, -reads, acts, sings, reasons or constructs. If we were -to model ourselves on a right system we should pay -as much attention to the development of a boy's -æsthetic as to his physical side.</p> - -<p>As it is we distrust music, painting, acting and -reading as effeminate and degrading. We look on the -cult of the beautiful as in some degree immoral: -O'Connor's theory of Spartan ugliness, of working -always in a room as bare as a barracks, unrelieved by -colours or comfortable surroundings, is looked on as -the ideal method of training youth. Subjects are -taught just in so far as they are distasteful: the fact -that one can work hard at anything just because it -is interesting is regarded as impossible. If one begins -to argue you are countered by the shibboleth of -"mental discipline," which is supposed to be the final -word on any topic of controversy. If grammar grind -provides a mental discipline, grammar grind must -therefore be invaluable, quite apart from its utilitarian -aspect. Consequently boys are taught many things -which serve no useful purpose and lead nowhere -simply because it is good for them to have to perform -arduous, pointless tasks without asking the "why" -of them, in direct contravention of Mr. Holmes's -theory. The fact that beautiful natural surroundings -connote that the mind also assimilates a beauty of -demeanour is entirely lost sight of, or flatly contradicted. -I should like to impose upon our leading -educationists of the old regime one task which they -would find distasteful—a very severe "mental discipline" -and hence very good for them—I mean a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -compulsory reading of Mr. Holmes's book: it would -do them a world of good.</p> - -<p>I find that my greatest joy in life these days is -having boys to tea. However much one may mix -with them in games, in hall, in form, in debating -societies and elsewhere, one somehow misses the -personal relationship, whereas at these tea-parties -boys are altogether natural and throw off the protective -mask they usually wear before masters.</p> - -<p>I like to see them pottering about the room, picking -books from the shelves, looking at photographs in -albums, arguing frenziedly among themselves quite -regardless of me, with unrestrained freedom of diction.</p> - -<p>Some of the younger ones of course simply regard -my rooms as a refuge, a place where it is possible to -keep warm in front of a fire, instead of having to sit -on the hot-water pipes in the passages, a tuck-shop -where one doesn't have to pay and where "bloods" -don't come and turn you out of the good seats.</p> - -<p>But several who come solely for food stay frequently -to talk and unburden themselves of their troubles. -It is then that I begin to think that after all there -may be some chance of my doing good work as a -schoolmaster. I cannot rid myself of the feeling -that most of my time here is wasted. I cannot -pretend that my mathematical teaching is really -successful. Apparently good mathematical tutors are -extremely rare: all through the school the standard -here is lamentable. We keep on trying new methods -and new textbooks, but with very little result. We -can secure a dozen good classical scholarships at the -University every year, whereas one mathematical -exhibition every three years is considered extremely -good. Mathematics, like English, is better taught<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -at the grammar and secondary schools than at the -Public Schools. I suppose they get more capable -teachers at schools which are directly responsible to -the Board of Education. I cannot believe that the -material they work with is better. Of course, one -reason why the secondary schools score so heavily in -science and mathematical scholarships is because boys -educated at these places know that they will have to -depend entirely upon their own efforts to secure a -living, whereas the Public School boy usually knows -that if he fails entirely to make good there still -remains some sinecure or other which he will be able -to obtain through his family's influence. This and -the fact that he will be rich anyhow combine to make -him careless about taking every advantage of improving -his mind while he is at school. To do any -work which isn't definitely required is to call down -upon a boy's head from his friends insult and abuse. -The principle of "work for work's sake" is unknown -to them: incentives of all sorts have to be provided, -the honour of the House, the sporting tendencies of -the master who takes them, the possibility of a prize, -the fear of punishment, any and every device is -employed except the right one.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 21, 1910</i></p> - -<p>I have had my fill of refereeing in House matches -this term. Nothing is so calculated to bring one -into bad odour with a House or with other members -of Common Room. I only do it because they never -can get any one else. One strives to be scrupulously -fair, and the result is that the whole game devolves -into a series of whistles and free kicks. The excitement -of playing in a House match causes quite the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -majority of boys to forget that they are merely -playing a game: they try to do everything in their -power to secure the advantage, however alien to the -spirit of the game. They are told before they go on -to the field that unless they lose their tempers and -fight from the very beginning they will not do themselves -justice, which in itself is counsel of a most -doubtful kind; they certainly act up to instructions. -Every decision the referee gives is construed as a -direct piece of favouritism, and conversation and -argument run high on a doubtful try for weeks after -the event.</p> - -<p>Another thing that I have come up against this -term is the dignity of the prefects.</p> - -<p>As one grows older one forgets the awe in which -these mighty men are held by the school, mighty, -that is, if they have been elected for their physical -prowess: they are of no account if they are prefects -merely because of their intellectual attainments. -I have been trying quietly to counteract this state of -things by being peculiarly courteous and dignified -in my treatment of the scholars and rather hail-fellow-well-met -with the "games bloods." They -are certainly obtuse, but they quite quickly saw -through this. Of course a "games blood" takes -infinitely higher rank than any assistant master under -thirty, in fact than all of us except the House-masters: -he resents being patronized by such an upstart, for -instance, as myself. Consequently, by my action in -this matter I have let myself in for a feud which may -last for years. I have deeply offended the real -rulers of the school.</p> - -<p>It came about owing to the fact that I have -several prefects (elected solely for their "beefiness")<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -in my low mathematical sets. They never do any -work and altogether set a rotten example to the -others. Of late I have been punishing these boys -very heavily, to the great astonishment of themselves -and no little enjoyment of the other boys. One of -these giants complained to Hallows, his House-master, -who came to me in a towering rage and told me that -I was subverting the whole of the Public School -tradition, lowering the dignity of the prefects and—Heaven -knows what besides.</p> - -<p>"How the blazes are these fellows going to keep -order when the rest of the school see that a young -new master can defy them at will and set them -punishments which degrade them in the sight of their -own fags?"</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't it be a good idea," I replied, "if prefects -were not elected until they had risen high enough in -the school not to have 'fags' in their forms? After -all, one of the reasons for coming to school is to work, -though we seem to do our best to gloss over that -inconvenient fact."</p> - -<p>I have had a series of visits lately from Stapleton, -who was at Oxford with me: he has been appointed -curate at Todsdale, an enormous mining town, and -the life there is nearly killing him. The eternal -squalor and dreariness of the life, the pettiness of the -routine at the Clergy House, the lack of any intellectual -or æsthetic interests all bid fair to send him out of -his mind.</p> - -<p>He usually comes over on a motor-bicycle on Thursday -afternoons, and pours out all his troubles as we -walk up and down the seashore: he reads to me his -sermons, he gives me graphic accounts of the quarrels -about ceremonial and duty that occur daily over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -meals in the Clergy House, of some of the hovels he -has to visit, of his opponents among the laity and -so on. He seems to be getting mixed up with some -mill-girl in a way I can't quite understand: it sounds -as if her people were trying their hardest to secure -him as a husband for their daughter: perhaps they -know that he has considerable private means, for the -average curate is not much of a catch in the eyes -of the north-country factory worker: he has no -prospects.</p> - -<p>I must say I admire Stapleton's courage and -devotion to duty in cutting himself off from the -beauties of the south, from all decent society, and -all chance of meeting a girl of his own status: it must -be a terrible life for him, for his senses are not blunted. -He sits and mopes, thinking over old days when he -too lived in Arcadia.</p> - -<p>I don't think that I could ever settle down in the -north. I like the bustle and the sense of importance -that possesses the money-makers in Leeds, but I -object to the absence of sun, of the sleepy happiness of -the south; the crude dialect, rasping and hard, seems -typical of the people here. They seem to have no -time to devote to anything which does not actually -increase their income, they pride themselves on their -parsimony and yet they are strangely inconsistent.</p> - -<p>I have just got back from a House supper, a quaint -terminal affair held by the House which wins the -Senior Athletic Cup for the term: how different -these tame, nervous affairs are from the full-blooded, -riotous orgies of Oxford days. It appears that it is -necessary to get a man drunk before you can really -put him at his ease at a big gathering. The much-watered -claret-cup which passes for strong drink at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -these school-shows is pitiable enough, but it is typical -of the spirit of the whole thing. Most of the principals -concerned are in a state of pitiable terror because of -the speeches which they are expected to make at the -conclusion of the feast. Conversation is tedious and -conducted in undertones; there are frequent dead -silences; House-masters work unflaggingly to put -people at their ease, but every one feels conscious of -his clothes and his neighbour's criticisms. We are -all afraid of saying the wrong thing or of omitting to -praise some one who coached the team or played -well: every time some name is left out which ought -to have been included, some one asked to sing who -breaks down, some one to speak who only succeeds -in stammering out platitudes.</p> - -<p>And yet if there ever was a man calculated to put -people at their ease, it is the House-master in whose -house I live. Heatherington is one of the finest men -I have ever met: he represents the high-water mark -in schoolmasters.</p> - -<p>He is an excellent scholar, bred in the best traditions -of Eton and Christ Church, of good family, hard as -nails physically, a double Blue, a prominent mountaineer, -a born humorist, well-to-do, whose one great -aim in life is to make and keep his House famous for -sportsmen, scholars and gentlemen. He knows his -boys through and through and makes friends with all -of them: every one in the place is devoted to him. -He belongs to no clique in the Common Room, but -preserves the best traditions of the Englishman in -his own life and in that of his boys. Yet even he -cannot attain the unattainable: he cannot make a -House supper "go." The only people who enjoy -themselves to the full are the fags: they have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -responsibility, they simply eat and drink and applaud. -For the rest of us it is one long agony.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>Christmas, 1910</i></p> - -<p>As usual I have come home for Christmas: as usual -I miss Radchester and my boys more than I can say. -There is nothing to do here except visit the villagers, -go for walks with my mother, and write letters.</p> - -<p>I like the villagers best at our Christmas dances. -They are more natural then, and sing and talk and play -games and dance with utter abandon: they no longer -suspect one of ulterior, hidden motives. They extend -the right hand of fellowship and we all give ourselves -up to whole-hearted enjoyment. They are all, young -and old, content to be as children, innocent and -friendly, actuated by no other motive than the giving -and taking of pleasure. Would that they were always -like this.</p> - -<p>I have been getting up debates in the village -institute this Christmas, and I have been surprised at -the high level of intelligence displayed and the sincerity -of the oratory of the few who speak. They were -diffident at first, but soon warmed up as they got -interested and we have always roused considerable -warmth of feeling before we have finished the evening's -entertainment.</p> - -<p>What does distress me about village life is the -education. I am almost certain that no education -at all would be better than the present half-and-half -system. To take away a boy or girl from school at -thirteen or fourteen is criminal: children at that age -have just been trained to want to know—and they -are then taken away and the labour of years all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -undone by being pushed into mills, on to farms, or -behind counters, where nothing but mechanical -obedience and servility are required. They forget to -read, they forget how to write, they have no interest -in the things of the mind. It amazes me that they -grow up at all with anything but animal instincts. -Education in England, so far as the majority of the -children go, is useless and will continue to be so until -it is made compulsory that no boy or girl shall leave -school before the age of sixteen or seventeen. You -can't do much with mindless louts of eighteen with -one hour's Bible lesson a week. If any one disbelieves -this, let him try to coach a dozen villagers in -amateur theatricals: I've tried it and I know. They -are simply blocks of wood once you put them on a -platform. The average Public School boy of fifteen -is quite at home on the stage: your yokel of any age -is simply stiff and lifeless, unable to be anybody but -himself, charcoal his face never so deeply.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 15, 1911</i></p> - -<p>I have had a gay fortnight in the Potteries, staying -with the Pasleys. Young Pasley is in Heatherington's -house and in my form; his father is a tile manufacturer -and fabulously wealthy. I found the whole -family lovable. They live in a large house in the -middle of grimy Hanley. They are real sons of the -soil and proud of it. The father and mother speak -broad Staffordshire, the three girls and the two boys -as the result of Public School education are ultra-refined -and are inclined to bully their parents, who, -however, hold the whip-hand. They have high tea -instead of dinner; they sit down soberly in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -evening to hear Adela (who is fresh home from -Dresden and is engaged to the local curate) play the -violin. At ten Mrs. Pasley rises with, "Well, lads, -it's time for bye-bye: I'll be sayin' good neet to you, -Mester."</p> - -<p>They delight in showing me over the warehouses. -They love every inch of their hideous streets and -proudly point out the excellence of their schools, -their public baths, their shops and theatres; every -one knows every one else. They almost bow the knee -at the name of Wedgwood, they unaffectedly despise -London. They know that the hub of the universe -is to be found in the Five Towns. The exact income -of every visitor to the house is known and talked -about almost to the exclusion of every other topic. -They read nothing at all; they genially regard me as -a fool for wasting my brains at "school-teaching," -as they call it, but they are genial and hospitable. -Looking back on it, my visit seems to have been a -long succession of feeding fowls, dancing, shopping, -and looking at priceless china in the making.</p> - -<p>I had one or two long talks with father Pasley on -the subject of Public School education: he is not -quite certain that he is getting his money's worth at -Radchester.</p> - -<p>"That lad of mine is not squeezing all he might -out of yon school: I don't like throwing a hundred -and twenty quid a year into the sea. You've got -antique methods of learning a lad mathematics at -your place, Mester, and I don't hold with ignorance; -classics and such fal-lals is all right for parsons and -the likes of you, but my lad's not going to be a parson -nor a school-teacher neether: he's going into t' -business and he knows it: he's going to have to earn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -his brass, same as I did mine. I don't believe in a lad -being brought up soft with the notion as 'ow he's -going to have a mint o' money at his fingers' ends to -play the fool with. Pasley and Son's a firm as wants -men as 'ev got some grit to 'em: I sends my boy to -school to get grit—learn 'im that, Mester, and let -the rest go."</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="VI" id="VI">VI</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>March 3, 1911</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">These</span> Easter terms, short as they are, are a big -strain on the nervous system: no sooner do we get -back to work than some luckless youth spreads -measles, chicken-pox, scarlet fever or some other -malady through the school, and we have to teach -depleted forms, drill depleted companies and play -House games with half our side away. I find that -my favourite illness is influenza. I usually manage -to keep a sort of running cold all through the winter -months, which develops periodically into that vile -sickness; it is then that I get pessimistic. I feel -intolerably lonely and uncomfortable, and sigh for -the sunny south and warmth and cosy fires and more -humane companionship. The doctor here is a dear, -but rather rough and ready in his methods. He -hasn't the time to waste his hours on individual cases, -neither is he exactly an expert. It is dreadful to lie -in bed and hear the tramp of feet down the cloisters, -the bells ringing for chapel, hall and school and not -be in it.</p> - -<p>One is forgotten almost at once by every one. -People simply haven't the time to sit at a bedside -even if they wanted to, and I long for conversation -and a cheery laugh on these occasions. School is all -right so long as one keeps fit, but once fall out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -race and it is a veritable hell. My last bout of "flu" -has left my nerves in a thoroughly disordered condition: -I feel almost suicidal at times. I get very -restless. I long to create in writing: of late I have -been trying, without any great success, in all sorts of -directions, verse, short stories, plays, articles—even -a novel. Everything I submit to publishers comes -back after I have endured agonies of anticipation in -waiting. Something is wrong. Yet I feel convinced -that I have it in me to write. I can only let myself -go in this diary: here I don't have to think of -publishers or editors. I write just to please myself. -That is what so delights me in reading Pepys. He -just rattles on with no thought of an audience, -absolutely unselfconscious. I look on this diary as a -secret companion to whom I can confide all my troubles -and joys: my hatred of Hallows, my love for the -boys, my theories on education, the good days of the -holidays, books I have read—anything and everything -that interests me.</p> - -<p>I am quietly amassing a library. I only wish that -I could rely on borrowers to return the books I lend -them. It is not the slightest good my going into -form and advising boys to read Lamb and Browning -and Dickens and Thackeray unless I can provide the -books for them. The House libraries are under-equipped, -the school library is only accessible to the -Sixth Form. But boys have no consciences in the -matter of returning books: they prefer to cut the -fly-leaf out and substitute their own names in some -cases! Still my job is to instil a love for the old -and new masters of literature by whatever means, -and to do this I suppose I must not grudge an -impoverished library.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> - -<p>One thing that annoys me is the fact that I cannot -share all my treasures with the boys. Most modern -writing is too strong wine for adolescents. I wish -Common Room did not also imagine that it is too -strong meat for their innocent minds. It seems to me -that the man who refuses to try to keep abreast of -all the modern thought has no right to be a schoolmaster -at all. What in the world is the use of living -solely on a diet of the <i>Times</i> and the <i>Spectator</i>? -I advocated the <i>New Statesman</i> for the reading-room -and was promptly howled down. Apparently the -idea that a man can look on both sides of a question -is looked on here as preposterous. What the <i>Spectator</i> -says is looked upon as a final judgment in all things. -The middle articles of that quite estimable paper are -read aloud as examples of perfect modern English -style to boys in the top forms, and they are incited -to ape it assiduously.</p> - -<p>Occasionally, on Sunday mornings, a progressive -young master will read a little "In Memoriam" or -"A Death in the Desert" to his form as a variant to -ordinary Divinity, but he does so tremblingly lest -authority should hear of it and rebuke him.</p> - -<p>One of our men preaching last Sunday even ventured -to read an extract from "Romola," in the -pulpit, but apologized profoundly for so doing and -damned poor George Eliot with faint praise by saying, -"She was not a bad woman."</p> - -<p>There have been a number of feuds in Common -Room lately which have reminded me of the umbrella -episode in "Mr. Perrin and Mr. Traill."</p> - -<p>Young Rowntree who joined us this term has a -brother in the army who happens to be stationed -close by: he had him over to dinner one night last<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -week and brought in some "fizz" to liven things up -a bit. He sits, of course, at the bottom of the junior -table, not very far from me. Not wishing to appear -niggardly to the rest of us he brought in three bottles -in order to pass them round to those who sat near him. -We had a quite riotous orgie and for the first time -since I have been at Radchester the junior table quite -drowned the senior both in laughter and conversation.</p> - -<p>It really was funny to watch the white drawn faces -of the water drinkers of the top table, with the one -syphon of seltzer as relief, while we, upstarts of a -new age, were regaling ourselves with Pommery. -There was a fearful row about it afterwards. Rowntree -was written to by half the staff (who had not -tasted the champagne) about the etiquette with -regard to visitors. It was only by courtesy of the -senior members that junior masters were allowed to -invite visitors at all: it was taken for granted that -if such a privilege were extended juniors would not -abuse it by drinking anything but water. There was -a battle royal. Rowntree is young enough not to -give in without a struggle: during the last week he -has taken in a bottle of some sort to dinner every -night. He is the kind of man who won't be kept -longer than a term. He "rags" his form and incites -them to "rag" him and everybody else. He refuses -to take Radchester seriously: he walks across the -prefect's lawn (an unpardonable offence for a master), -he walks about arm-in-arm with the boys in his form -if he likes them; he swears quite openly and fluently -in Common Room, he takes away the papers so that -he can read them comfortably in his own room and -forgets to return them, he even smokes cigars in the -masters' reading-room. The old men can do nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -with him: he is impervious to black looks and -misunderstands rebukes. He cuts every other chapel -and usually forgets to take "prep." or "roll." On -"halves" he always goes away, sometimes as far -afield as Leeds or York on his motor-bicycle, and does -not arrive home till two or three the next morning. -He wears bright ties, silk socks, soft collars, and very -well-fitting light clothes, totally regardless of the -convention which demands black from boy and -master alike. He is a very disturbing factor in -Common Room and every one is moving Heaven and -Earth to have him "sacked." What worries me about -him is his ability: he writes with considerable success. -He confessed to me one day that he only meant to -stay one term: "I want copy for a novel I have in -my mind—these old fossils with their moth-eaten, -stereotyped conservatism give me a grand field. -I guess this is just the best Public School in the -country for my purpose, but my hat, I shouldn't -care to have to stick at it for a year. It's funny to -think that you all were alive once as undergraduates."</p> - -<p>He read a chapter or two of his book to me the -other day: he's got the spirit of the place exactly. -I wish I had his gift. He sees everything and has the -power of sifting his evidence with wonderful accuracy: -he misses nothing.</p> - -<p>Since he came I have given up my Sunday walks -with Renton, who talks of nothing but dyspepsia -and his own powers of teaching, and have accompanied -Rowntree on some of his excursions on his motor-bicycle. -We lunch in Scarborough and get into -conversation with week-enders. Rowntree looks on -all humanity as "copy," and is without any sense of -modesty. He picks up loungers in hotel bars, girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -behind counters, girls on the pier, tramps, hotel -porters, "nuts" in the hotel lounge and all sorts of -unexpected people. He always gets some fantastic -story out of them: he is as good a story-teller as -George Borrow and just as great a liar. His imagination -combined with his experience make him a rare -raconteur. He doesn't buy many books, but he is -not averse from borrowing mine. I only regret that -I can never get them back; he is quite shameless in -the matter of purloining literature: he takes books -out of the school library without "entering them" and -soon begins to think that they really belong to him. -He reminds me a good deal of a boy called Senhouse -who is also unable to bow the knee in the house of -Rimmon; he conforms to none of the school regulations -and how he has escaped expulsion up to now -beats me. At present he is raising for himself untold -trouble by making friends with a small boy called -Gillman in Hallows' house. He is desperately fond -of this child, and waxes quite sentimental over him -to me. There is no harm in either of them, and they -are as open as the day in their relations with one -another: they wait for each other after chapel, hall, -and school. They go for long walks together, they -contrive to sit together at school lectures and in prep. -Hallows and Heatherington have each lectured both -of them, and Hallows has caned Gillman frequently, -but they refuse to give up the friendship.... -Common Room is as usual in a frenzy over it and -I have been reported to the Head Master for aiding -and abetting them in their scandalous defiance of -rules by having them to tea together in my rooms.</p> - -<p>In my defence I mentioned that boys came and -went just as they pleased in my rooms and that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -couldn't very well prohibit any one of them at any -special time. I also pointed out that I failed to see -where the harm lay in this particular case of Damon -and Pythias, that such a friendship might well be -the saving of Senhouse, who is naturally inclined to -be wild and restless. Like Rowntree, he has a habit -of cutting chapel, prep., school, games, and everything -that is compulsory, whenever he feels like it. He -always takes his punishments without a murmur, -but he likes to feel that he can escape from the -routine when it bears on him too harshly: there is no -speck of harm in his composition, any more than -there is in Rowntree, but no one here could ever -understand the point of view of either of them. -Meanwhile the storm rages and Gillman and Senhouse -continue to meet, while Hallows grinds his teeth in -impotent anger. All the same the iron system will -prevail in the end, routine always has the last word: -they will both be expelled for continued disobedience -of school rules, though nothing criminal can be proved -against them. A boy's love for another boy is a -pretty strong thing: it can withstand ridicule, -punishment, and any weapon that authority can -bring to bear against it in the case of such a faithful -pair as these two. I cannot see what useful purpose -can be served by these iron rules, which allow of no -exceptions; that, normally speaking, it is better for -boys not to make friends outside their own Houses, -and not to encourage friendships in which there is -any disparity of age is perhaps open to question, but -at any rate strong arguments can be adduced in -support of it—but when it comes to a piece of wanton -cruelty like this, the whole business becomes silly. -I have aired this opinion in Common Room to the no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -little indignation of all the staff. It is a relief to get -back to the seclusion of my room and my books after -all the riots, alarums and excursions of these school -rows. I wish we could learn to pull together instead -of squabbling like a pack of gutter children. I -suppose I ought to keep quiet myself if I wished this -consummation so devoutly, but I cannot stand by -and see all my ideals smashed without remonstrating.</p> - -<p>It is a mistake to herd thirty or forty men together -for meals and companionship for three months on -end: we ought to have our lives sweetened by -marriage. Yet I suppose that married life would -take off the edge of our keenness for our work: we -should have domestic interests which would prevent -us from devoting ourselves whole-heartedly to our -work. Sometimes I find myself dreaming and pining -for the life-companionship of some girl who would -understand me and soothe my ruffled senses after a -Common Room fight. Yet I suppose marriage fetters -one: the married man is bound hand and foot, and -can no longer set out on great adventures. He has -given hostages to fortune and must be content to play -for safety for the rest of his life. I can't see myself -doing that. I want to be free as the air, free to play -games, free to say what I like and risk being "sacked" -if I offend. Yet I wonder sometimes, like Charles -Lamb, what my children would be like. It would be -splendid to perpetuate my name, to see another -generation carrying on the work I have begun. -There are so many changes to be wrought in education. -We live in an age of pioneers: we are no longer content -merely to accept the traditions of our fathers. We -want to better their methods and results: we learn -by the mistakes of our forbears. The Head Master<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -hates this view. His idea is that only through -experience can a man really teach, therefore we should -accept the tenets which our elders hold and abide -faithfully by them.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 3, 1911</i></p> - -<p>I have been of late reading numbers of books on -education. The days of Thring and Arnold are over; -instead of two textbooks on the theory, there are now -two hundred or two thousand. Every day sees some -new thesis appear hot from the press. People are -beginning to take an interest in what is, after all, the -most important department in the State. In all of -these books I find the same points raised. As at -present practised, education does not teach the younger -generation to love the beautiful or the intellectual: -without such a love all education is worth nothing. -How to attain these affections is the next question. -One man advocates the abolition of examinations, -another the substitution of any method rather than -that of rewards and punishments, another sees -salvation in the teaching of English literature, geography -and history, to the exclusion of the classics, -and the cutting down of mathematics—but somehow -I can't make much of these books on theory. I make -marginal notes, underline passages, copy out good -advice and I try to put what I believe to be practicable -into practice, but on the whole I am left somewhat -cold. I am on the search for a rich mine and, although -I often feel that I am near it, I never quite succeed -in doing more than unearthing one precious morsel -of ore. In some ways the Head Master was right -when he told me to read no books on education. He -was right because I find nothing really new there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -I am told to foster a boy's imagination: I spend all -my time in trying to do this, and should do so even -if I had read nothing whatever about education.</p> - -<p>Only on Sunday nights, after a peculiarly good -sermon and inspiring hymns, can one at all reach the -mood in which it is possible to discuss quite openly -with boys exactly what education means to you and -ought to mean to them. Instead of rushing out of -chapel and fighting for places at the sideboard in -Common Room over the chicken and salmon, I go -to my rooms and talk quietly to such boys as can get -leave to come then. Most House-masters refuse to -let their boys come to my rooms at all during lock-up. -They think my influence is quite definitely pernicious -and immoral. In other words I try to develop the -imagination.</p> - -<p>I have made friends during the last two or three -weeks with Copplestone, who is a House-master of a -very religious turn of mind. He dislikes corporal -punishment and is hence looked upon as anæmic -both by his boys and his colleagues. He reads -(quaintly enough) nothing but Arnold Bennett. I go -up to his rooms and talk by the hour about "The -Old Wives' Tale," "Clayhanger," and "Hilda -Lessways": he is rather a pitiable sort of man: -he feels that he owes his allegiance to the old school, -and yet he feels that we represent the humanitarian -side of education. He is like Sir Thomas More, torn -between his reason and emotion: like Sir Thomas -More he is going to suffer for his ill-timed birth. -Had he been born ten years earlier he would have -been a whole-hearted upholder of <i>l'ancien régime</i>. -Had he been born ten years later he would have been -one of us and not cared a rap about the old men or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -tradition. His only course is to resign and become -a village priest: he would be admirable with old -ladies, and the younger members of his congregation -would approve of him because of his love for Arnold -Bennett. Here he behaves like Shelley's mother, -alternately petting and spoiling his boys, punishing -them out of all proportion to their offence at one -moment, only to let them off and feed them extravagantly -the next. The result is that no boy can -tell what he is going to do. He is quite unreliable: -he allows himself to be hopelessly "ragged" for two -days and then flares up and half kills a quite inoffensive -youngster who happens to cough.</p> - -<p>I feel really sorry for him, for no one cares for him. -He has successfully fallen between two stools and -become despised by both the great opposing forces -on the staff. He is neither new nor old, hot nor -cold, and exactly fulfils that horrible prophecy of -Ezekiel about being spewed out of the mouth of all -parties.</p> - -<p>Thank Heaven this term is over. I haven't learnt -much more about my job: I have had some illusions -shattered: I have luckily made a few more friends, -but boys are queer—one is apt to offend them without -in the least knowing why. I shouldn't care to spend -my time, like Smithson, who lives for nothing but to -curry favour with every boy he meets: he's as bad -as the type of boy who always "sucks up" to masters, -the very worst sort of creature. Smithson "treats" -them all lavishly: he makes fun of the weaklings and -the unpopular, he "toadies" to the prefects and -generally makes a damned fool of himself. He -doesn't see, poor devil, that popularity, like Fortune, -is a fickle jade, and only pursues those who take no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -notice of her at all. Good God! Fancy becoming -a schoolmaster in order to be popular!</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 4, 1911</i></p> - -<p>This has been one of the best Easter holidays I can -remember. Stapleton managed to get a month's -sick leave from his curacy and we set off for Oxford -and the Cotswolds, to try to regain something of the -irresponsible gaiety of Oxford days. I had no idea -how hateful the country round Radchester was until -I got back to the City of Spires. It seemed impossible -to believe that only two years ago I had still to take -my Finals, that I was disporting myself on the upper -river and the Cher, lazily enjoying all the sweets of -life and now—well, I felt about a hundred years old -at the end of last term. There was no beauty or -interest anywhere or in anything, and then Stapleton -wired for me—and since then life has been one all -too short ecstasy. We stayed in Oxford just long -enough to buy tobacco, a few books and some clothes, -and then set out on foot to go over again some of the -country we had learnt to love so well as undergraduates. -Rucksacks on back, we climbed Cumnor -Hill on a glorious spring morning and made our way -down to Bablock Hythe and then kept along by the -river for the rest of the day: we strolled languidly and -talked rabidly about our scholastic and church experiences, -our disappointments and successes. The -air cleared our minds: we evolved great schemes of -new schools and new religions, undefiled by effete -traditions. Gradually the beauty of the meadows -and the old-world villages made us forget our worries -and we gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -time. We travelled without map or guide and just -wandered at will. When we saw an inn that we liked -we stayed there, and ate and drank ourselves drowsy. -At night-time, when the bar-parlours were closed -and we had reluctantly to say good night to the -labourers who came in and gave their views on world-politics, -we used to read for a little, and then to a -ten hours' sleep.</p> - -<p>I had taken the "Note Books of Samuel Butler" -as my pocket companion for this journey, and I never -took a book which served its purpose so well. In -compact paragraphs the philosopher sums up with -amazing shrewdness, humour and insight into the -human mind all that he discovered to be interesting -or worth repeating. The "Note Books" are crammed -with the cream of his thinking on every sort of subject, -science, music, literature, religion, architecture, sheep-farming, -authorship—everything that could possibly -appeal to any thinking man. It is an invaluable book -to argue about. Butler at least clears the brain -more than any writer except Swift. He scatters -pedagogy and all cant and humbug to the winds: -just as the air of the Cotswolds scatters all thoughts -of Radchester from one's mind, so does Samuel Butler -fill it with new ideas and fresh weapons of thought.</p> - -<p>Stapleton and I kept on discovering old Tudor -houses with moats, and churches containing carved -screens and tombs of Crusading Knights. We stayed -for three days at an old mill at Tredington on the -Fosse Way, miles from any town or station, and -there heard the farmers sing all the old Gloucestershire -folk-songs in the Wheatsheaf Inn.</p> - -<p>This has been a wonderful holiday for me. I -wonder how many men become schoolmasters simply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -in order to be able to have such good holidays. It is -a great temptation to a man who cares nothing for -education: he can submit to the routine all the better -if he is indifferent and has no ideals. All he has to do -is to sit tight for three months at a time; he is -certainly not bound to exert himself very severely -by the letter of his contract. Then come these -golden weeks of lovely spring when he may disport -himself as Stapleton and I have done, prying into -unknown nooks and crannies of mediæval England, -lazily wandering by hedgerow and riverside, gossiping -over gates to farmers, reading to his heart's content -on sunny beach or secluded meadow by day, or in -the ingle-nook by night. He has no cares, no worries: -his salary will pay for all these jaunts so long as he -steers clear of London and big hotels. If the truth -were told, I think that the reason why a number of -men enter the profession is no more than the lure of -possessing freedom for a quarter of their lives.</p> - -<p>I wonder if this is how old "Jumbo" Stockton -became a master. He is a most lovable fellow and -quite content with life. He is associated with none -of the school activities; he plays no games except -golf; he is not in the corps (very few members of -Common Room are); he never entertains boys in his -rooms; he does very little work and is always ready -for a chat or a walk at any hour of the day or night. -He just purrs contentedly like a cat and rambles on -about Vacs. that he has spent in the Ardennes or -the Pyrenees, yachting round the coast of Scotland -or caravaning in the New Forest. His one business -in life seems to be the holidays; his rooms are filled -with Baedekers, "Highways and Byways," and -guides to every place under the sun. Of educational<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -reform or ideals, in other words, of shop he never -talks. Most of us talk of nothing else. Common -Room conversation gets dreadfully oppressive at -times owing to the continued debates about rules and -the characters of endless boys. Stockton never enters -into these controversies, consequently he is never at -daggers drawn with any of us. We all affect to -despise him, but secretly we are rather envious of his -detachment. He seems quite popular with the boys, -he finds that it pays to adopt a strict demeanour; -his work is never shirked and he rarely has to punish -any one. I sometimes wonder whether he does not -feel a sudden pang when one of his old associates at -Oxford comes to the front after years of struggling -at the Bar, in politics, or the Church, and leaves him -behind in the race of life. Yet I have never met a -more contented man. He doesn't regard teaching -as anything but a sinecure: his main occupation in -life is travel. He is rather like a city clerk who goes -up to his office every day solely in order to earn -enough to take a holiday. The difference lies in the -fact that Stockton gets his reward three times a year, -the clerk only once; the master gets three months, -the clerk (with luck) three weeks.</p> - -<p>I suppose that I may regard myself as exactly the -opposite of Stockton in every way. I live for my -work: he lives for his holidays. When the term is -over I love to get away principally because Radchester -would be intolerable once the boys were gone, secondly -because I want to fill myself up with new ideas, to -develop my theory that the cult of beauty and imagination -is the whole duty of the schoolmaster. I rarely -forget the school in the holidays. All the time that -I am exploring new scenes I am storing up memories<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -which I hope to use in my work. All my talks with -Stapleton during these last few weeks have been so -much sifting of matter which I want to get clear -before I start on a new term.</p> - -<p>The difficulty is that so few of the men in Common -Room think it necessary to do more than prepare -the textbooks they propose to read with their forms, -while I read up all I can on social problems. I strive -to discover new methods of interesting boys in the -conditions of life outside school. In so doing I am -frequently attacked on the ground that I am making -them restless and dissatisfied with their narrow round -at school. I am not certain that restlessness is a thing -to be condemned: unless you are discontented with -abuses you will never stir a finger to reform them, -and unless a boy leaves school firmly convinced that -it is his duty to leave the world better than he found -it, education means nothing.</p> - -<p>Stapleton has gone back to work reinvigorated, -fully determined to bear with the many thorns in his -flesh, in the shape of irritating curates, the dead -weight of indifference to religion, morality, or high -ideals in the bulk of his parishioners, with notes for -a dozen sermons in his head, and a healthy conviction -that in spite of temporary setbacks the world really -is progressing.</p> - -<p>I return to Radchester determined to alter for the -better the code of morality of the school, to make -boys see that work is not a disgraceful thing to be -avoided whenever possible, but the only means by -which any one can equip himself to fight the battle -of life: I return determined to live at peace with -my colleagues so far as it is possible, to be more -sociable and less critical, to dwell more insistently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -upon the things that matter, and to try to wean away -my boys from spending themselves upon unworthy -objects, to foster a love for all that is pure and good -and holy and to appreciate the millions of manifestations -of Beauty that nature displays even at Radchester -for our spiritual delectation.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>June 4, 1911</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">We've</span> been back a month and many things have -happened since I last wrote in my diary.</p> - -<p>In the first place Marshall has gone. I am much -too near the event to be able to judge of it sanely -and I can't write of it at length. He was always -antagonistic to me. I can't say I liked him but I -tried never to show my aversion. He was repulsive -in every way, but his sermons were good: he was a -good disciplinarian and teacher. Boys in his form -were at any rate thoroughly taught. In mine they -fail because I always attempt too much. I envied -him his gifts a good deal.</p> - -<p>The reason of my quarrel with him was Daventry. -Daventry is in his House and in my form and is the -most astonishing youth I have yet come across. He -has a fertile brain and his sole object in life is "to do -every one down": he will probably end in prison or -Park Lane. He is quite unscrupulous (I have already -found him rummaging among my letters and this -diary to find out things about masters and boys): -he finds me useful just at present, because he can -sponge on me for food and books: he reads and -eats omnivorously. He has decided gifts and is safe -for a good scholarship at Oxford unless he gets sacked -first, which is exceedingly likely. Somehow he has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -the trick of getting out of all the scrapes he finds -himself in: he has the power of making people -believe him, even after he has deceived them before. -He haunts my rooms night and day. Marshall -resented this and forbade him to come except on -business. He immediately invented business by -writing verses and essays, which he produced for my -inspection at the rate of about two a day.</p> - -<p>After all it hurt me to be told by Marshall that -my influence on the boy was bad. I am afraid -Daventry is bad through and through, but I'm going -to make a big effort to cast out the devils in him -before he leaves. There are signs of grace certainly: -he is very emotional and is passionately fond of -reading and music. I have lately bought a gramophone, -and any records that he wants to hear I buy -for him at once; consequently, I find him in my -rooms when I come in from games with a rapt expression -on his face, having spent the entire afternoon -by himself, giving himself up to the joy of hearing -good music. He cuts games with impunity—if there -is any likelihood of trouble he forges a "leave"; -he is disconcertingly open with me in these things. -Having put me in a difficult position by relying on me -not to give him away, he divulges one scheme after -another for outwitting authority. That he needs -very careful handling I naturally see, but why Marshall -should have taken it for granted that I only do the -boy harm I don't know. Anyway, Marshall did his -best to prevent my seeing Daventry at all. That -naturally only piqued the boy to try to circumvent -him in every possible way. Things came to such a -pass that I had to let Marshall know that he was -driving the boy to extremities which he might regret.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -It was rather silly of me. He rated me loudly before -all Common Room for interfering in another man's -business. He then launched into a diatribe against -the uppishness and "infallibility" of the junior -masters, and declared that the school was quickly -being ruined by the new blood. He ranted at some -length and for a wonder I kept silent and listened to -it all without comment.</p> - -<p>And now this awful thing has happened. Daventry -kept away from me when I told him that there was -no other course open. He went about threatening -vengeance on Marshall, and even started writing to -me by post. He was badly "hipped" at being -deprived of music and books and food. I don't -believe he cares a tuppenny curse about me.... -Then came that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday morning -when I found him in my rooms after breakfast with -a small, untidy fag in tow. They both looked as -though they had been condemned to the guillotine.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Daventry," I began, "what on earth are -you doing here? Don't you know——" He cut -me short.</p> - -<p>"Erskine has something very important to say to -you, sir," he broke in, in a voice I scarcely recognized -as his.</p> - -<p>"All right; fire away, my son," I replied. "Get -it off your chest, whatever it is—all the same I don't -quite see what Daventry is doing."</p> - -<p>"He—he made me come, sir," said Erskine.</p> - -<p>He then told his story. It was so revolting that -I first refused to believe it; I thought it was some -damnable scheme of Daventry's, got up to ruin his -House-master—I nearly kicked both of them downstairs -without hearing them to a finish. Instead of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -which I went straight to the Head and took them with -me.</p> - -<p>Marshall went on Tuesday. Every one believes -that he is seriously ill: after this term they will give -out that he has retired. I have lately wondered -whether I ought not to have gone to see him and -told him that I knew: couldn't it have been possible -to keep him on at his post? Never again shall I move -a finger towards the undoing of any man, however -much an enemy of mine he may be. All Marshall's -interest in life was bound up in Radchester. I am -daily assaulted by fears lest he should commit -suicide: his blood will be on my head if he does.</p> - -<p>Expulsion is no cure either in man or boy. It's a -frightful confession of our own weakness. It's our -fault that Marshall went wrong: Common Room -ought to have sweetened his life so that such malpractices -would have been impossible to him; instead -of that the ugliness and pettiness of the life he led -there, the miserable lack of real friendliness all -combined to undo him. There are men here who -can extract sweetness from their life. What could -be finer than the devotion of Patterson to Northcote? -Both these men have been on the staff for years. -Neither would accept any job, however lucrative, -unless he could take the other with him. They live -in each other's pockets: they are as close as man and -wife: their friendship is strong enough to survive -any momentary difference of opinion. They discuss -their methods of education, the boys they take, the -games they play, the books they read—everything -together. They spend all their holidays in each -other's company and it is impossible to know the one -without the other. Neither of them would be capable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -of a mean action—they are a beacon-light to all the -rest of us.</p> - -<p>I wonder if I shall stay on here interminably -friendless, and soured like most of the others. It's -a rotten prospect. Now of course the boys keep me -fresh, but as the years roll on I shall become more -and more unfitted for any other profession and get -further away by reason of my age from sympathizing -with the youth of the time. Yet there are some -men, Heatherington is one of them, who keep perennially -young: they carry their boyishness with them -to the grave. They can understand youth's difficulties -as well at sixty-one as at twenty-one. I wish I knew -the secret of this.</p> - -<p>At present I can play games and take an active -part in Corps work and so keep in touch with most -of the boys I want to know, but when I am no longer -able to do these things I shall lose touch with a -generation that knows not Joseph and become -despised like old "Soap-Suds," who thirty years ago -was the hero of the school owing to his athletic -prowess. I suppose the secret is that games ought -not to count for so much as they do. No boy despises -Heatherington, yet he can't play "Rugger" any -more. Privately among themselves, of course, the -boys "rag" his peculiarities, but they stand in fear -of him and quake inwardly as they hear his footsteps -coming down the passage, and old boys can testify -how deep their love for him is.</p> - -<p>I suppose one of the few rewards of the schoolmaster -is that his name is bandied about in all the -strange places of the earth. Old Radcastrians meet -in the Himalayas, on the high seas, in a fever camp, -on a lonely ranch, and they immediately begin to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -discuss their old masters. Mostly they speak of them -with love if not with reverence. Our little mannerisms -and tricks, which we imagine are known only to -ourselves, lie open to them and endear us to them. -They roar with laughter over our peculiar phraseology, -our methods of punishment, our impotent rage over -little things like chipped desks and false quantities.</p> - -<p>I should like boys to remember me by the books -I introduced them to: I like to think of them equipped -with a taste for the best literature, gloating over -Conrad or Doctor Johnson, Charles Lamb or E. V. -Lucas, new God or old Giant, in some forsaken place -where ordinary cheap reading would not satisfy any -of the heartache, or remove any of the sense of -desolation that comes upon the mind at such times.</p> - -<p>Each time I come back to school I try a different -method with my English classes. If only I had more -time I really believe I could achieve something. At -present all I can do is to read a short story of Stevenson -like "Markheim" or "Thrawn Janet" and then get -the form to reproduce the substance of it, or to rewrite it -from the point of view of one of the other characters. -I have found this method pay very well. Once jog -a boy's imagination and he will produce quite original -and diverting matter. The difficult thing is to hit -on the particular sort of literature that boys like. -Only too frequently Shakespeare palls; Milton, Pope -and Wordsworth are quite beyond the average boy. -On the other hand they cannot have too much of -balladry. "Tam Lyn," "Sir Patrick Spens," "Sir -Cauline," and the rest they love. So with mediæval -legends like "Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight." -Most boys after a careful introduction to the life of -the age of Queen Anne and the curious characters of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -Swift, Steele, Addison and Defoe, appreciate quickly -the beauties of the <i>Spectator</i>, and are only too glad -as a weekly essay to interpolate a paper on some -foible rampant in that school. Boswell, too, they can -tackle if only you prepare them by giving a Macaulayesque -account of Johnson's quaint tricks and -mannerisms. Spenser, Shelley and Keats I find are -only for the few. Most of them love Byron. Tennyson, -like Dickens, they have been taught to revere at -home. They are not very fond of either. But -Browning and even Meredith quickly become bosom -friends of theirs, as do the Pre-Raphaelites. But by -far the greatest boom at present is the Masefield cult. -I read "The Everlasting Mercy" when it came out -in the <i>English Review</i> to all my sets and they were -intoxicated. Hallows got to hear of this and was -furious with me for introducing "so foul-mouthed -and immoral-minded a poet" to boys. Poor old -Masefield. I don't suppose he reckoned with the -Public School attitude when he set out on his mission -of outspokenness. In order to keep the problems of -modern life before my form I strew my classroom -with daily and weekly papers, monthly and quarterly -reviews, and demand précis of all the more important -articles before or after debates on all sorts of modern -problems. I have started to do more original work -myself. The <i>World of School</i> has accepted two or -three articles on educational reform which I submitted -to them, and I now have the lust of authorship on me -badly. It's a very wearing disease. I am for ever -planning books. I want to write a complete English -course, eliminating all that nonsense about weak and -strong verbs, different uses of the gerund and all -grammar grind and analysis.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> - -<p>What I want is an historical survey of the whole of -English literature, liberally interspersed with examples, -with a list of the books they ought to buy and enjoy -reading, imaginative questions which should spur -them on to original composition in verse and prose -with a stimulating introduction on why, how, and -what we should read. I would make such books as -Arnold Bennett's "Literary Taste" and "The Author's -Craft" compulsory for every boy in every school in -the kingdom. I would also make every boy learn by -heart those passages in "Sesame and Lilies" where -Ruskin points out the value of reading in practical life.</p> - -<p>But all this would not gain a boy many marks in -a modern examination, and we live or die by results -in examinations. English papers seem to me to be -the worst set of all. What can it profit a man to -know the context of obscure passages in Shakespeare -if he has not got the spirit of the play in him actively -shaping his own life? If a boy does not feel the -Hamlet or the Richard II within him shouting for -utterance when he reads a Shakespeare play, he is -doing himself no good at all. The whole argument -brings one back to beauty and imagination. I want -to see every boy's study crammed with copies of the -"World's Classics," the "Everyman" and the "Home -University Library." There is no excuse for anybody -not having read standard works at this time of day.</p> - -<p>I try to instil a love of books into my forms by -telling them of men like George Gissing, with whom -it became a question of breakfast or a precious volume -acquired in a second-hand shop: a book must cost -you something before you can expect really to value it -at its true worth. As Ruskin says, we despise books -simply because they are accessible. I've always had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -this book-fever on me. I remember even as a small -boy suffering unduly from the pangs of hunger, going -from fruiterer to book-shop and from book-shop to -fruiterer, wondering which I really wanted more, the -romance or the pound of cherries. I know that -I always hated myself when I succumbed to the -latter temptation, for the cherries were soon eaten -but the delights of the book were perennial.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 4, 1911</i></p> - -<p>The joys of the Coronation were not for us. Some -of the Corps went down to London to line the streets, -but the rest of us went into camp and had a gorgeous -time. We spent the time bathing and washing up, -and celebrating Coronation festivities in all the -villages near by. We made speeches and helped to -feed myriads of children: we led processions and -drank vast quantities of liquid at other people's cost. -Money seemed to be poured out in honour of George V.</p> - -<p>All the same I was lonely because most of the boys -I require by me to complete my happiness were in -London lining the streets. However, we were not -parted long and we are now just back from the -Windsor Review. That is the most impressive ceremony -in which I have ever taken part. All the -Public Schools and Universities paraded before the -King in Windsor Great Park. It was a sweltering -hot day and we were as tired as could be after our -long journey and the fatigue of camp, but no one -fell out or fainted except some of the Oxford and -Cambridge contingents. Good for the schools! It -was wonderful to get down south again, if only for -one day, to see real trees, civilized people, pretty girls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -the Thames, respectable houses built for comfort, -culture and leisure. We spent all the long hours in -the train in rushing up and down the corridors -"debagging" people, "scrumming" forty or fifty -unfortunates into one carriage and then leaping on -the top of them. No wonder we were tired. How -any windows remained unbroken is a miracle to me.</p> - -<p>We have had a good term with regard to the Corps—about -four of the best field-days I can remember. -The best was in Wensleydale amid peerless scenery: -about ten big schools took part, and I, as usual, was -engaged in scouting most of the time. It is rare fun -stalking the enemy on these lonely moors far from -your own people. With a little imagination you can -picture the reality ... and in any case it's a rotten -game to be captured by some other school. I don't -know why, but after you've left the school about ten -minutes you feel as if you'd been soldiering all your -life and lived only for food and sleep. No meals are -more acceptable than field-day lunches, usually eaten -by the side of a dusty road in the full glare of a hot -sun, but it's hunger that makes the meal, and marching -is the best appetizer I know: the only thing I object -to about these sham fights is the powwow afterwards -and the stupidity of the umpires. Every one knows -that umpires can't be everywhere at once and human -nature doesn't admit of one's giving oneself up unless -real force is used; consequently the most ridiculous -decisions are given, for the conditions have always -altered by the time any umpire turns up; the weaker -side which has been ambushed becomes reinforced -by a body ten times as big as the ambushing party, -and so turns the tables, and the clever strategist -who really brought off a good coup finds himself a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -prisoner and harangued by his O.C. Field-days are -very unfair, but they are amusing. It's rare fun -chasing an enemy into a farm-house and forcing an -entrance into every room in pursuit of him: it's good -to see a motor-bicycle belonging to some officer lying -by the roadside and to ride away on it. It's worth -any amount of powwow to sit under a hedge within -sight of a bridge on which you have chalked "This -bridge is blown up," and watch the enemy debate -whether or no they have a right to advance across it: -it's very like the real thing to be told off to act as -guerillas and to keep on irritating an advancing force -by appearing at inconvenient times and unexpected -places, and holding up their plans and then trying -to escape and repeat the experiment farther along the -line. Close order drill, ceremonial and inspection are -distinctly boring, but field-days are red-letter days.</p> - -<p>For twelve hours one gets right away, away from -work, away from Common Room, away from games, -and it does every one a world of good. We lose our -petty animosities: we become more broad-minded -and regain our ordinary sense of camaraderie: we -sing ribald songs, we fill our lungs with good air, we -discuss philosophy or any mortal thing with our -next-door neighbour on the march, not caring whether -he listens or not; we silently form good resolutions -about our work, we think upon great days long past, -of famous runs with the beagles, childhood's days on -the moor, tramps across country as undergraduates—all -the best things of life come back to one on the -march. It isn't that we take soldiering very seriously: -none of us does that. I hate shooting on the range; -rifle-firing frightens me; I should be a damned fool -at <i>pukka</i> fighting, but this make-believe is good sport<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -and I suppose it teaches us something. At any rate -it's amusing.</p> - -<p>One of the quaintest things about this term has -been my friendship with Chichester. He is a new boy -in my form who speaks but seldom, not because he is -nervous (he is one of the most self-assured people I -ever met) but because he doesn't want to. He writes -already bizarre but quite original verse. He goes -his own way in everything. He somehow became -attracted by me, and now we spend all our spare time -together. It's a queer friendship. He's a largish -boy for fifteen, with curly light hair and penetrating -blue eyes and a delicate pink and white complexion.</p> - -<p>We lie on a rug together and watch House matches, -eating strawberries and cherries. He borrows all my -books and reads them at an astonishing rate. Masefield -bowled him over completely. He has written -at least four poems based on "The Everlasting Mercy." -He is about the cleanest child I have met and yet -he employs the foulest metaphors I ever came across. -He is an anomaly. He is in for a bad time here: -people won't understand him and every one will do -his best to ruin him.</p> - -<p>He appears to be quite fond of me and calls for me -daily to go down to games with him. Common Room -is scandalized and I have been warned by most of -my colleagues that such things are not done. It is -not good for a boy to be taken up and made a favourite -of by a master. With that sentiment I entirely agree. -I wonder why every one here does it. But I'm not -making a favourite of him: he has honoured me -with his friendship. I have no fast, firm friend; -neither has he. He certainly is not the type of boy -to trade upon such a relationship; in form he works<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -like a "navvy," he plays his games adequately: he -is quite normal except for his gift for writing English. -Surely no one can blame me for fostering that.</p> - -<p>At any rate I should prefer to leave rather than -break off our relations, so people must just talk and -think what they like. Of course the school doesn't -like it. They hate any boy having much to do with -a master, but Chichester has a will of his own and -I rather fancy he will take his own line right through -life. Not that he is self-assertive: he is quiet and -unassuming, but he always contrives to get his own -way. Luckily for me he is in Wade's house, and dear -old Wade, who ought to have been a country squire, -never denies any one anything; so when the boy -goes for leave to come to my rooms he gets it every -time without a murmur.</p> - -<p>The only blow about camp this year is that Chichester -won't be there. His people are taking him -abroad for the whole of August.</p> - -<p>I have been bothered a good deal lately about a -peculiarly silly habit of mine. Sometimes, in mathematics -especially, I get violently angry at intervals -because I realize that my sets are not working hard -enough. I so rarely punish that of course there is a -temptation for boys to slack in present circumstances: -when I find that they take advantage of my ideals -to practise this trick on me I usually "give tongue" -forcibly and "drop on" them as heavily as I can -with a quite colossal punishment. This I take down -in a book and—after five minutes I've forgotten all -about it. The boy always looks contrite at the -moment, but I realize that he knows that he won't -have to do the punishment at all.</p> - -<p>There is a silly system here by which one has to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -enter the names of all the boys one punishes in a -book: I simply can't remember to do it. It's like -looking at "roll" lists. I'm always slack about -checking the reasons that my boys give for their -absence. I always believe what a boy tells me. -How can you expect boys to tell the truth if you -always verify their statements by outside corroborative -evidence? It seems to me to be asking for -trouble.</p> - -<p>There seems to be everlasting espionage here. The -school sergeant is known to be in the "secret service" -of the Head Master, and is popularly supposed to -wander about with a pair of field-glasses scouring the -countryside for miscreants. This seems a quaint -conception of education. Wherever and whenever we -meet boys we are expected to extract information -from them as to their precise occupation.</p> - -<p>The only safe place seems to be on the cricket field, -and even there you are surrounded by seniors waiting -to lash you if you drop a catch or (in their opinion) -field badly.</p> - -<p>I spend most of my afternoons, when I am not -wanted to fill up last place in a Common Room eleven, -in coaching the "Rabbits," which is a league composed -entirely of those who are unable to play cricket at all, -the worst two dozen in the school. It is really -amusing: no one could possibly pretend to take it -seriously. The only time when it perhaps gets monotonous -is when some elderly fag appears and insists -on playing, and I find him coercing all the others to -field for and bowl to him, while he scores about a -hundred and fifty. That only happens when there is -no master about. The House matches this term -have been frenziedly exciting and Chichester and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -have spent most afternoons watching them. It is an -Arcadian, simple life in the summer term. Every -morning at 6.30 I pull Dearden out of bed and race -him down to the sea in pyjamas. We have a hasty -bathe and arrive just in time for chapel at 7, unshaven. -We there (pernicious custom) have to take a "roll" -of our form. We look down chapel to see the faces -of friends and at some intimate verses in the hymn -or psalms we smile as at some hidden secret between -ourselves. 7.25 sees us running to first school. We -run everywhere at Radchester. I hate these dreary -lessons before breakfast: 8 o'clock seems an interminable -distance ahead. There is supposed to be -cocoa in Common Room between 7.20 and 7.25, but -no one ever has time to drink it, unless he cares to -risk being late for form, which is not a vice masters -here are prone to. At 8 o'clock on two days of the -week two of us have to deny ourselves breakfast -until the whole school has finished, for we have to -say grace in hall, collect the names of all absentees, -walk round to see that no one cuts the cloth or -indulges in undue ribaldry, and then when all is over -we dismiss them. Only then (at 8.30) do we get our -own breakfast. By this time all the best of the food -is gone. Feversham will probably be helping himself -to his fourth egg and sausage and fifth piece of toast, -the morning papers will all have been seized and we -shall be thoroughly irritable.</p> - -<p>One of the things that makes me loathe the Common -Room system is this herding together for breakfast, -a meal that ought to be eaten in communion with the -morning paper and no living soul to interrupt.</p> - -<p>From 9 to 9.45 we punish, we practise fielding, we -correct work. From 9.45 to 1.15 we rush from subject<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -to subject, from class to class, attempting to drive -some rudiments of mathematics and English into the -heads of boys who don't want to know anything. -If only they were born poor and knew that they had -to depend on their wits for their livelihood, it would -be infinitely easier for us. Occasionally one gets an -hour off in the morning (I get three in the week) and -this is spent either in writing letters, taking the -illustrated weeklies from the House Room, or in going -for a lonely walk or bathe. Sometimes I lie on the -sand-dunes and eat and read, or try to write a few -words more of an article. At 1.20 we all assemble in -hall again, this time taking our food with the boys. -I like this meal; the food is not good but the conversation -is. I love all the clique that sits at my end -of the table. Jimmy Haye, who sits on my right -hand, is an argumentative soul who frequently sulks -and refuses to speak to me when he thinks that I am -doing the wrong thing, such as going about with -Chichester, speaking against the classics at a debate, -or advocating educational reform. Jimmy is a boy -I should much like to know intimately, but he rarely -comes up to my rooms: he doesn't care to mix with -the riff-raff he finds there. I have occasionally -persuaded him to come for a walk; he spends most -of his life in "ragging" in the house and in being -bullied by Naylor, the senior maths. tutor, who is -endeavouring to raise him to the standard required -for University scholarship. On my left sits Montague, -Jimmy's greatest friend. He is easy-going, clever, -very good at games, quite wild and irresponsible in -the house, with a temper like a fiend. He has -Spanish blood in him and has travelled all over the -world. He treats me as I like to be treated—as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -boon companion: although he doesn't take advantage -of my standing invitation to use my rooms as an hotel -he always comes to me for advice when he is implicated -in a row. He likes to take me for walks on -Sundays and pour out his many grievances against -life. Sometimes neither he nor Haye talk to me at -all for a month, then they suddenly relent, become -their old gay selves again and chatter away, to my -endless enjoyment.</p> - -<p>It is at lunch-time that I generally hear the scandal -of the day. In the afternoon immediately after -lunch there is punishment drill—some twenty to fifty -miscreants have to run or march round the square -under direction of the drill-sergeant for half an hour, -while other people are changing, going out to nets or -playing tennis.</p> - -<p>We bowl at nets till 3.30. Not many days pass -without an accident. It's a wonder to me that boys -aren't killed at this exercise: all the nets are very -close together and hardly protected at all. Once the -House matches start, of course, nets are "dropped" -and we simply lie on rugs and applaud or groan -according to the fortunes of the game. Most of the -masters sit on an elevated mound, Olympians on their -dung-hill, near which sacred spot no boy may -approach.</p> - -<p>At 3.45 we get a scrappy tea in our own rooms: -the old witch of a bedmaker is supposed to put out -the tea-things and the kettle, and produce the roll -and butter provided by the school. She frequently -forgets, just as she forgets to dust the room or wash -up the dirty things. Usually I have to write orders -for chocolate, walnut cakes, and fruit and jams or -bananas and cream, and dispatch fags to the tuck-shop.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -There are never less than half a dozen urchins -clamouring for tea: at 4.15 the bell rings for afternoon -school.</p> - -<p>Shall I ever forget in the years to come this hellish -bell? It rings not less than fifty times a day, usually -for five minutes at a time: nothing is so calculated -to get on a new-comer's nerves as its incessant tolling, -day and night, calling us to some fresh duty.</p> - -<p>At 6 o'clock the school goes into hall for tea. If -one is on duty that means more "calling of rolls" -and counting of absentees; if not we have a blessed -half-hour in which to prepare for Common Room -dinner at 6.30. At 7 we hurry off to take prep. The -senior men get half a crown a night for taking prep. -in Big School, we poor juniors have to hustle along -to supervise one of the other innumerable preps. for -no reward. I hate this invigilation. It means that -one tries to correct work, but has to interrupt oneself -all the time in order to help boys over ridiculous -points about cisterns and pipes, quadratic graphs or -a line in Homer. Of course one can refuse all aid: -most men do lest they should be found ignorant of -some department of school study. At 8.45 we again -rush to chapel and at 9 another prep. starts, in studies -this time, and juniors start to turn on baths as a sign -of bed. At 10 o'clock work for the day is over -except for masters and the Sixth Form. Shouts and -screams come from all the dormitories, and twenty -minutes later we go round to see that every one is -in bed.</p> - -<p>By eleven most of the buildings are in darkness. -Bridge-parties and conversations over whisky are -kept up till twelve or one, but it isn't every night -that we have time to indulge in these practices.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -Such is our normal day, but it's the unusual that -finds its chronicling most frequently in this diary.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 1, 1911</i></p> - -<p>To-morrow we go away to Aldershot for the annual -camp; another school year is over and I now have -two years to look back over. I don't know that my -experience has taught me much yet, except a distrust -of the old men. I still love boys as much as ever, -though not in the mass. I hate them at school -lectures when they cough in order to make a nervous -lecturer break down, or when they express mock -approval by prolonged ironic laughter and stamping -of feet. I hate them most of all when they choose to -"rag" an unfortunate master who can't keep order -in hall or at "roll." I always funk taking both -these ceremonies, though I have never had any trouble -except in my dreams. If I did I suppose I should -half-kill the boy nearest to me and let out with my -fists all round.</p> - -<p>I like boys best singly in my rooms. Chichester -makes up to me for lack of wife or sister or brother. -I am never happy when he is out of my sight. He has -shown up a prodigious quantity of good verse and -some short stories, all of which I store away in the -hope that some day I shall have collected enough to -publish.</p> - -<p>I've got a new idea in English composition with -the lower forms. I take in a copy of a really good -picture and get them to describe it: as a model for -this I read Pater's description of the "Mona Lisa" -with a copy staring them in the face as I read. I don't -know where I got this idea from, but I find that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -brings out a good deal of latent talent from boys -who can never express themselves on paper in normal -circumstances.</p> - -<p>I wish it could be possible to have school without -the first and last days of term: they are never-ending. -At the beginning one misses all the comforts of -civilization and mourns the absence of all society: -at the end, after a strenuous turmoil of thirteen weeks -there is nothing whatever left to do. Marks are all -added up, examination papers corrected, reports -written, prize sheets made, clothes packed. Boys -besiege one's rooms with requests for photographs, -and with a catch in the throat say good-bye. They -are going into the firm, going up to the University, -going abroad—going to the ends of the earth on their -different missions, and Radchester will know them -no more. Their office another will take and one -gasps at the handful that will be left to carry on the -glorious traditions of the House and school. The -last day is pitiable.</p> - -<p>Most masters are unfeignedly glad to get away. -I never am. I sometimes chafe about the eighth or -ninth week, but by the thirteenth I have become so -used to the life that I hate the thought of any change. -I have learnt to do without civilization. I just want -my boys by my side always: I want to go on teaching -English. I don't mind a holiday from mathematics. -I wish I could find the soul of algebra and geometry. -It's hard to make a moral lesson out of a circle. -I am not Sir Thomas Browne. I shall miss my daily -bickerings with Jimmy Haye and Montagu in hall. -I shall miss the cricket and the bathing; above all, -I shall miss Chichester and the rug. Luckily he is -coming to camp this year. Camp lets one down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -gently. Gradually the longing for society steals over -one again and the strenuous ten days' soldiering -makes one pine for clean sheets and mufti, ordinary -hours and meals at a table, but while it lasts it's just -one great picnic.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 10, 1911</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">It's</span> been a good camp in every way. I was -battalion scout most of the time and had the extraordinary -luck to outwit a whole section of Cameronians -(regulars) in one field-day while I was investigating -behind the enemy's lines. What an ideal country for -fighting this is, with all the pine-trees and the long -stretch of Laffan's Plain and Cæsar's Camp. I wish -that Radchester could be burnt down and rebuilt -somewhere on these Surrey hills. Every evening -I used to tramp over to the Aldershot baths from -Farnborough, tired as I was, and then back to join -the riotous "sing-songs." I find that one gets through -a good deal of money at the canteens. I always -want to eat like a pig and drink like a fish at the -finish of each day's manœuvres. I have never been -so bronzed as I am this year: my face is almost black -with the sun and the dust. We had some excellent -fights during the ten days, not always as on the -programme. We had a first-class row with the Melton -corps. They "swank" as if they owned the whole -camp, so we let all their tents down one night. There -was a battle royal and an inquiry the next day, -when about eight Generals all gave tongue and talked -about the honour of the Army. You can't suddenly -pretend that a schoolboy ceases to be a schoolboy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -because you dress him up in khaki. He will have his -"rags," whatever Guardsmen say.</p> - -<p>There was, too, the usual smoking row. As a -matter of fact, the great majority of fellows don't -smoke in camp: they can afford to wait till the -holidays begin. It is an education in itself to meet all -the people from the other schools, to see how those -with the great names take it for granted that they -are cock-of-the-walk and "hold up" the canteens, -while members of less well-known schools have to -wait.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, the officers' mess is the place -to learn things. I dined there one night as a guest. -I had no idea that Oxford and Cambridge were, or -could be responsible for, such bounders as I met on -that one evening. Good-hearted fellows for the most -part, but it was ludicrous to see them in the same -mess with these <i>pukka</i> officers of the Grenadiers -and Coldstreams. They are keen on their job, too, -but without the ghost of an idea how to behave, -or how to speak the King's English. They are -indescribably funny to watch as they sidle up to the -Colonels and Generals and try to adopt a sort of -Army attitude to life. There are heaps of men here -whom I used to know at Oxford; most of them, -however, are in the regulars and not O.T.C. men at all.</p> - -<p>One of the "stunts" is for the boys to get the -General or some big "nut" to go to tea in their -tents. They provide a palatial meal and the wretched -old man has to gorge himself nearly sick in order to -please these fifteen-year-olds, who would be tremendously -upset if he didn't eat all that was offered -to him. But the man we all stand in dread of is the -Brigade Sergeant-Major, who has a voice of thunder,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -and puts the fear of God into every one who comes -near him, officer and man alike. He seems to be a -walking encyclopædia; there is nothing he doesn't -know and he requires absolute perfection every time. -I must say ten days of this life make our puny efforts -at school to be smart look pretty cheap. Here we -really get the hang of things: at school somehow we -nearly always fail. It's partly competition and the -ever-present fact that we have a reputation to -keep up.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 15, 1911</i></p> - -<p>I have just had four days in town as an aftermath. -The comparison between London and camp is extraordinary. -I'd no idea my love for London was so -deep-rooted. There hangs over London an ever-present -air of success, of money-making and money-spending. -The shops tempt you, the hotels tempt -you, the theatres tempt you, everything tempts you. -I fed well and met all sorts of interesting people, -among them Chichester. He lives at Hampton Court -and I had one great afternoon on the river with his -sisters, himself and his mother. They appear to be -very wealthy and at dinner, to which I stayed, there -was such a variety of wines that I got nervous as to -which wine to put in which glass. I believe I got -them all wrong, except the liqueurs, but I don't think -they noticed. How Chichester can bear the bleak -savagery of Radchester after the rich comforts of his -own home, I can't conceive.</p> - -<p>Some day I am to go back and stay with him. He -appears to spend his holidays boating, motoring, -riding, playing billiards, going to theatres, reading -and writing. I never met people who put one so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -quickly at one's ease. Although they are rich they -don't seem to worry about Society: they do none of -the <i>right</i> things, for which Heaven be praised. They -just enjoy life to the full and take each blessing as -it comes. They have less of the snob in them than -any people I have ever met. They appear to be -unduly grateful to me for what I have done for Tony. -My hat! The boot's on the other foot: what has -Tony not done for me?</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 23, 1911</i></p> - -<p>After a glorious week with my uncle in Dawlish, -during which time I bathed and walked a good deal, -I am back in town again. I love Devon: the coast -scenery fills me with ecstatic delight and I thank God -every minute that I am alive and strong to enjoy -the good things of life.</p> - -<p>I got into conversation with heaps of strangers of -both sexes, and heard views of life that I am sure -never enter the heads of my colleagues: when I am -asked, as I frequently am, what I do in life, they always -think I am lying when I say I am a schoolmaster, -and laugh good-humouredly as if I had said something -supremely funny when I mention that Oxford was -once my University: apparently all young men claim -to be "college boys": it's part of the game. Their -whole conversation is one vast lie. But it does no one -any harm and gives them a sense of romance: they -get right away from the humdrum existence of the -shop-counter and the office, and for a fortnight imagine -themselves to be dukes and duchesses. But they miss -half the joy that Devon provides by not scouring the -country. Their programme is to rise late, dress with -lavish care in the most glaring and tasteless colours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -and slowly promenade up and down the Front. It -is all very pretty and harmless and would delight the -heart of O. Henry. They miss entirely the thousands -of joyous little creeks with which the coast is studded: -they never try to discover the secret charm of the -moor. They prefer listening to the comic songs of -the coons to the birds on the hillside, and the band -on the Promenade to the rush of wind in the ears as -one stands on the cliffs.</p> - -<p>I wish I could write a novel. But I lack every -faculty necessary for it. I can't observe properly: -I can't describe the effect that scenery has on me. -I am too nervous to probe into the inner history of -sad-eyed women and dour-faced men. That they -have their passionate loves and hates, of course I -know, but these every man keeps in the secret places -of the heart. Your Devonian is not the sort of man -to wear his heart upon his sleeve for daws to peck at. -I came back to London two nights ago, with my uncle, -and he took me to several plays. When I am in town -I'm never satisfied unless I can put in two theatres -a day. I am just as excited at the rise of a curtain -or the tuning up of the orchestra to-day as I used to -be when I was a small kid. To be able to see in the -flesh all these great actors, of whom we only hear -dimly in our fastness of Radchester, is a delight -not less than, if very different from, the sight of the -red loam of Devon, or a great stag breaking from -cover with the hounds close upon his heels.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 26, 1911</i></p> - -<p>I spent a week with the Chichesters at Hampton -and had a joyful time in company with Tony. After<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -leaving them I went home because my mother suddenly -developed rheumatic fever and was seriously ill. -I read aloud to her for about three hours every day -from Ford Madox Hueffer's "Ladies Whose Bright -Eyes" and W. L. Courtney's "In Search of Egeria."</p> - -<p>I have heard from the Head Master that Anstruther -is to have Marshall's house. Anstruther! Ye Gods! -He is two terms junior to me. I hear that the Begum -of Bhopal wants me to coach her son in Constantinople. -That would be fun. Think of the experience! -I wanted to clinch with the offer at once, but my -mother made me promise not to. Heaven knows -what it would have led to. I should have seen the -world, met all the best people, and perhaps found -a good job at the end of it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="IX" id="IX">IX</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>October 13, 1911</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Back</span> again at Radchester. As usual there are a -few rows on. Two of the parson members of the staff -are quarrelling because Tomson (the High Church one) -will call the Communion "Eucharist," and will talk -about the "Catholic" instead of the Protestant -Church. Mathews on the other hand calls the altar -the communion-table. A battle royal is in progress. -I believe Tomson will have to go. This is a very -Low Church school and any one who crosses himself -or indulges in any ritualistic practices is looked upon -as inclined to papistry.</p> - -<p>It seems a strange thing to make such a fuss about. -Both Mathews and Tomson are good, conscientious -workers, and the school will be the poorer if either of -them leaves. Another row concerns me. It is -commonly thought by some members of my form -that Chichester has been "sneaking" to me about -their methods of work, a pretty laughable idea when -one thinks how little Chichester cares about any one -in the school, much less in his form. We never talk -about school matters at all. We talk books and -philosophy. Anyway, I have lately been boycotted -by my form, by Montague and Haye and most of the -school.</p> - -<p>I'm reading Stevenson's and Meredith's Letters.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -I've got rather a passion for letter-writers. The -Paston Letters, Dorothy Osborne's, Lady Mary -Wortley Montagu's, Horace Walpole's, Gray's, Lamb's -and Cowper's all gave me lasting pleasure. One feels -at last as if one really was beginning to see the inner -workings of the minds of great geniuses when you -close a volume of their intimate correspondence—but -I prefer Stevenson's and Meredith's to all the others. -They show such wonderful cheeriness in the face of -adversity, such love for their friends and wives, such -an interest in literature and in life. They are so -splendidly natural and speak from the heart. We -hear the very voice of the man we have learnt to love -in public talking intimately in his own home.</p> - -<p>We have just had an amazing masters' meeting in -which the following motions were carried:</p> - -<p>(i) Masters are forbidden to see more of one boy -than another!</p> - -<p>(ii) Masters are forbidden to have any boys in their -room except for "turned" work.</p> - -<p>(iii) Masters are forbidden to hear "turned" work -in their rooms except between 9 and 1.</p> - -<p>(iv) Lower School boys are not to be allowed in any -House other than their own without a written leave -from their House-masters.</p> - -<p>(v) Boys must never be given the run of a master's -rooms.</p> - -<p>(vi) In future every one will stand all through the -offertory in the Communion service.</p> - -<p>There were heaps more, but these were the funniest. -Anything more priceless than the solemn conclave of -old dears passing these resolutions one by one, with -here and there an amendment (always rejected without -discussion) I never saw. If they think that all this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -tomfoolery will prevent me from seeing all I want to -of Tony, they are mistaken. It wasn't altogether -aimed at me. Apparently quite a number of the -younger masters make friends with the boys. For -the life of me I can't see why they shouldn't. Anyway -these "rules" aren't going to make any difference to -me. All through this ridiculous meeting I found -myself repeating Edith Sichel's priceless aphorism: -"There is nothing that cannot be imagined by people -of no imagination." It ought to be inscribed over -the mantelpiece of every Common Room.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 19, 1911</i></p> - -<p>We have had some good field-days lately, notably -one where I was in command of a small force, which -was told off to harass a large advancing troop by -repeated ambushes. I nearly ran my people off their -feet, but it was rare fun. We just appeared in the -most unlikely places, forced the enemy to waste time -by deploying, let them get quite close and then -scattered and met again farther back along the line -and repeated the manœuvre. The whole business -was overwhelmingly successful for we delayed their -advance until it ceased to be of any effect. I prefer -this sort of tactical scheme to the usual one of merely -putting out outposts or an advanced guard. The -only way to interest boys in the Corps is to give them -some one to fight against every time. I found this -out when I started the night scouts. I have been -allowed twenty minutes nightly in which to practise -my specialist scouts in getting used to working in the -dark. It was futile merely getting them accustomed -to using their night eyes; unless we opposed one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -another and tried to track each other down, the whole -business failed of its object.</p> - -<p>As soon as we had sides they all became ten times -more enthusiastic: both their sight and hearing -became more acute: there were some titanic struggles -and much good resulted from these tactics. It is -an eerie business, searching on a pitch-black night -inch by inch, over a ploughed field, for an enemy that -you expect to pounce upon you from behind if he -gets the chance. Of course Hallows and Co. did their -best to prevent my having these boys out, on the -ground that they would catch cold—and then that -they might get into mischief. For once I carried my -point and had my own way.</p> - -<p>I notice that I'm leaving the school buildings far -less frequently than I used to do when I first came -here. I have very little temptation to go off to -Scarborough for a "razzle" at the theatre or the -Winter Gardens. About twice a term suffices now. -I don't quite know why. Of course I'm reading much -more and I sit up taking notes for books that I mean -some day to write. I still refuse to play "bridge." -I go to the "club" and sing, dance, eat and drink -on rare occasions, but normally I don't go out of my -rooms much at night.</p> - -<p>I don't spend more time in Common Room than -I can help. I just play my games, work out my -schemes in form on the teaching of English and -mathematics, write innumerable letters and try my -hand occasionally on original topics for articles.</p> - -<p>Of late the <i>Pioneer</i> has taken several sporting -sketches of mine, which has put a new heart in me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 31, 1911</i></p> - -<p>Last term ended very quietly. I saw a great deal -of Tony in spite of all the silly new regulations.</p> - -<p>It was grand to be back in London again: I spent -five days with the Chichesters at Hampton and we -feasted right royally and went to two shows a day. -On Christmas Eve I went down to see my father and -mother, who were staying in Bath for the waters. -After the riotous orgies at the Chichesters I thought -I should find Bath boring. I arrived late at night -and was struck by the lights twinkling from hills on -every side. My people had got "digs" close under -the shadow of the Abbey. I was glad to come to a -place which had such a wonderful eighteenth-century -flavour, and expected to find out many new truths -about Jane Austen, Fielding, Sheridan, Doctor -Johnson, Beau Nash and all the other celebrities, -but no one in Bath seemed to take any notice of the -past. The present was gay enough for them.</p> - -<p>So many Army men retire to Bath with a progeny of -daughters all of marriageable age, but possessed of no -dowry, that they almost wait in a queue outside the -station to fasten on to any strange young man who -appears. It took me some time to fathom this. -I found every one exceedingly kind and hospitable. -I could wish I were a better dancer. These Assembly -Room shows are glorious, but they make me abominably -nervous. I feel all the time gauche and awkward -in the presence of these resplendent youngsters: they -can all dance superbly, and in the first place I am -afraid that the cheapness of my clothes militates -against me, and then that no girl could possibly really -want to dance with me when she could secure one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -these subalterns or rich young squires. All the same -once I got into the swing of the thing it was all right. -I always found some partners who fitted my steps -exactly: I endured agonies with some tall and -unresponsive creatures, who obviously were only -giving me a "duty" dance, but with small girls like -Ruth Harding I got on famously. To enjoy a dance -to the full one ought to know one's partner intimately -and dance with her for the entire night. At the last -two dances I got Ruth to dance with me most of the -evening, which apparently scandalized some of the -clique which I am supposed to have joined. There -can be no place in the British Isles where tongues wag -so unceasingly as in Bath. It is like sitting through -a scene in "The School for Scandal" to hear the -modern Lady Sneerwell and Mrs. Candour chattering -about faithless wives. Not one in a hundred of their -stories could possibly be true, or else we are living in -a most depraved age. It is the first time in my life -that I've heard people openly discuss these things. -I can't say that I like it. Ruth is a good little soul. -She knows nothing about eighteenth-century history -but is quite keen to learn. We have explored Prior -Park and Castle Combe, and have searched every -street in order to find out where all the greater -celebrities lived in the great days. In some ways -the place has not changed at all since the age of Jane -Austen. At one of the Assembly Room dances I met -exact replicas of Catherine Morland, Emma, and -Mr. Collins. They almost employed the same phraseology. -Quaintly enough, not one of them had ever -read a word of Jane Austen.</p> - -<p>My father and mother love the life here. We take -my mother out in a Bath chair into the gardens and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -she gazes at all the smartly dressed passers-by. My -father has got to know all the local clergy: sometimes -he takes duty at one of the churches. We have a -great number of callers and there is never a lack of -anything to do. It is a welcome change from the -dullness of our village at home. One of the joys of life -here for me is beagling. I go out three times a week -with the Wick or the Trowbridge Beagles. I doubt -whether there are a finer set of people living than -the average beaglers.</p> - -<p>They are usually poor (they can't afford to ride), -they are passionately addicted to open-air life and are -hence sound in mind and limb. Although one feels at -times after a heavy run as if one would drop dead -from fatigue before one got home, yet the sense of -exhaustion is soon ousted by a sense of wild exhilaration -in the hunt, the scenery, the people you meet, -and the physical fitness of your body. It is so splendid -just to turn up at some country house and there, -among the sherry and the sandwiches, get into -conversation with some flapper or schoolboy or old -colonel, all of whom are full of tales of past historic -runs and anticipations of the day's sport.</p> - -<p>One day we ran from Trowbridge right on to Salisbury -Plain, and lost the hounds in the dark by -Edington Church—and had to scour the lonely hills -for them until eight o'clock. This was on a night -when I had promised to take Ruth and two other -girls to hear the D'Oyley Carte Company. I got to -the theatre at a quarter to ten.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 19, 1912</i></p> - -<p>I spent most of my days with Ruth for the rest -of the holidays, doing all the correct things, having -tea <i>tête-à-tête</i> at Fortt's, going to the theatre on Friday -nights (the fashionable night in Bath), walking over -Lansdown and down the Avon valley, beagling -together (that was best of all: she is a superb athlete) -and dancing together whenever possible. Her parents -and mine have become firm friends and we are as -thick as thieves. I am not in love with her, but she's -about the best pal I ever had, which is saying a good -deal.</p> - -<p>I hear that Bath has been waiting anxiously to hear -the announcement of our engagement. What a -place! Why on earth can't a man have a girl friend -without eternally being suspected of marriage? -Ruth and I have never kissed or done anything -except treat each other as bosom friends, which we -certainly are and probably always shall be.</p> - -<p>In spite of the insidious temptations of Bath, to -crawl round looking at the shops all day, or to explore -the highways and by-ways of Somerset, I have both -read and written a good deal.</p> - -<p>This seems to me the Golden Age of the novel. -There are about thirty or forty people writing really -great stuff, full of a philosophy of life, candid, human, -extraordinarily real and interesting: their books do -not sell in great numbers, but they occupy a place -on one's bookshelf that one wants to refer to almost -daily. All the other thousand or so novelists don't -count at all. I hate the unreality and false glamour -of these popular writers: they are like the halfpenny -papers which cater for a low and vicious, ignorant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -taste, only to be compared with the shoddier melodramas -that we see on the cinema.</p> - -<p>I often wonder how these old ladies get on who -crowd daily into Smith's Library in Milsom Street -and ask the girl behind the counter for an interesting -book. She must have her work cut out to remember -the million or so different connotations that the word -"interesting" bears to the circulating library subscriber. -I wonder how many of them would like to -plunge into the inconsequent medley which constitutes -my diary. When you see one old lady bearing off -under her arm a copy of "The Revelations of a -Duchess," Samuel Butler's "Life and Habit," Gertie -de S. Wentworth-James's latest narcotic, and some of -A. C. Benson's Essays, it almost frights you to think -of the aggregate effect of such a mixture. Talk -about mixing drinks! The reading habit seems to be -ingrained in the British public, but I cannot help -wondering how much of the best stuff is ever understood -by people who commonly feed on garbage.</p> - -<p>I should like to publish a sort of annual guide to -be called "The Hundred Best Books of the Year," -to be divided up into sections for Parsons, Doctors, -Schoolmasters, Socialists, Capitalists, Politicians, -Flappers, Nursemaids, Factory Hands, Maiden Aunts, -Subalterns, and Young Matrons. I wonder how -many would overlap. Not many, I fancy.</p> - -<p>I don't think criticisms of books make any appreciable -difference to their sale. I have seen heaps of -novels, damned by all the papers, go into five or six -large editions and others that have been acclaimed as -sheer genius die at birth. I wonder, for instance, -how many copies of E. C. Booth's "Cliff End" were -sold during the first year after its appearance, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -I can't remember any novel which made so deep an -impression on me at the time. Yet on every bookstall -you see copies of "Paul the Pauper," which every -sane man would condemn as simply silly. It has -sold over 200,000 copies in two years. It seems -incredible: there isn't a single human character in -the book, not a single natural sentence: everything -is untrue to life in every respect. The passions are -laid on with a trowel. There are Grandisonian heroes -and double-dyed villains: coincidences of a kind -which violate every natural law occur on every other -page. The only thing that I can compare to this -amazing book is a Lyceum tragedy and the wit of a -music-hall comedian. I wonder if England will ever -become educated.</p> - -<p>From what I have seen of girls in Bath I should say -that the system of education in girls' schools is no -better than that of boys: they certainly know a little -more about English literature, because their mistresses -read aloud to them passages out of the novels of -Charlotte and Emily Brontë, Jane Austen, Dickens and -Thackeray. They also devote more time to poetry -than we do, but they forget it all as soon as they -leave school. They don't see that these books taken -altogether form a complete introduction to life. The -average girl I have danced with lately seems to have -read nothing at all. Her conversation invariably -runs on the same lines. Have I been in London -lately? Don't I just adore Du Maurier and Martin -Harvey? Do I rink? Do I hunt? Do I punish -my boys very severely? Am I sorry that I am not -in the Army? Do I like dancing? Do I like girls? -Am I an outrageous flirt? Would I like to sit out -somewhere more secluded than this rather open spot?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -Am I certain that I had enough supper? Isn't the -way Jim Dainton and Sophie Harrington are behaving -"perfectly disgusting"? Don't I love Irene Fairhaven? -Isn't Joyce, or Corelli Windyatt, or Moritz, -or Stanislaus Würm, or whoever is playing on this -particular evening, divine, topping, ducky, dinky, -perfectly sweet, ripping—or whatever the word of the -moment is? Shall I be at the Morrisons' on Tuesday -or the Dohertys' on Thursday?</p> - -<p>I get most infernally tired of all this claptrap. -No one ever says anything that he or she means: it is -all superficial. The girls think of nothing but their -frocks and the effect they are making on their partners. -I want to talk sense and instead have to rattle on -with sheer nonsense. I suppose I am getting prosy -and sedate, but I do just love talking about books -and different views on life. I seem to have no ready -change of small-talk. Of course one cannot expect -to get to know all the people with whom one dances, -but this constant chopping and changing is rotten. -I want to keep to one girl, Ruth for preference, all -through the night. Then one doesn't have to think -of something polite to say: if we feel like silence we -just keep silent, if we want to talk we talk, about -anything that comes into our heads, serious or gay. -We understand each other's moods without having to -go through a long rigmarole of introductory icebreaking. -One great advantage of Bath is the number -of clubs and places where one can browse among the -reviews and periodicals of all sorts. How I manage -to keep abreast of any modern work in a hole like -Radchester, I can't think. Without the <i>Times -Literary Supplement</i> and the book reviews in the -<i>Telegraph</i> and <i>Morning Post</i> I should be entirely at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -sea. And yet with all these incentives to read, the -ignorance of these townspeople is extraordinary. -They nearly all rely on their bookseller for everything -they read. They leave the choice always -to him.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="X" id="X">X</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>February 23, 1912</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was appalling to have to leave the comforts of -Bath for the wilds of Radchester. It has been the -worst Easter term so far within the remembrance of -man. We were snowed right up from the beginning -and House-fights of snowballing soon ceased to amuse. -We are simply shivering in our rooms. The whole -place is one medley of germs. Every conceivable -sort of contagious disease is raging. It is useless -trying to teach anybody anything except individually, -for there is no continuity, one boy drops one day, -another the next, six more the day after.</p> - -<p>I have three in one of my sets where I'm supposed -to have twenty-six. I've spent every spare moment -in my rooms writing to Ruth, reading and trying my -hand at poetry. Thank Heaven, Tony is still immune. -He waits for me every night after chapel and we -stagger across the snow-bound square with the wind -blowing the filthy stuff into our eyes and down our -necks and almost into our skins. One misses games -in a place like this. I hate letting a day go by without -taking violent exercise. I suppose if I were in the -City I should be content with Saturday afternoons, -but as a schoolmaster I feel that I can't teach and keep -healthy unless I need a hot bath in the afternoon. -The cold bath in the morning makes me yell with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -agony these days, but I always keep it up. I suppose -it is good for me. At any rate it is refreshing.</p> - -<p>Masefield had a new poem in the February number -of the <i>English Review</i> called "The Widow in the Bye-Street." -All my boys immediately proceeded to -copy it. He is certainly virile and unlike anybody -else. He makes an irresistible appeal to youth. -Of course the outspokenness of his diction accounts -for this, at least partially.</p> - -<p>Of late I have been sleeping rottenly. I always -like to keep my blind up, so that I can hear the waves -more clearly and see the sea from my bed. I notice -that when the moon is up I get appalling nightmares -and wake to find it full on my face. I wonder if I am -liable to moonstroke!</p> - -<p>We have cleared the snow off some of the ponds -and had some really good skating. The most ridiculous -rules have been made about it, because two boys -were once drowned, a hundred or so years ago. Each -House has to take a ladder and a rope with it, and not -more than twenty boys are allowed on the same pond -at the same time. Considering that none of the -ponds is more than two feet deep or ten yards across, -such precautions seem rather unnecessary, but nothing -can be done at Radchester without rules being framed -by the dozen to meet all contingencies. Curiously -enough, a tragedy <i>has</i> occurred. The head waiter in -Common Room has drowned himself. We spent half -of one bitter moonless night searching for his body. -He leaves a widow and six children. I wonder why -he did it. Was the conversation of the masters -altogether too deadly for him? Was he underpaid? -or was it just the depressing conditions? I never saw -a place which so invited suicidal thoughts. The gloom<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -of this coast at this time of the year is indescribable. -All the bungalows down the beach are deserted and -so are the little tea-houses which look so jolly in the -summer-time. The Head Master has played a low-down, -dirty trick on a man called Turner, who only -joined us last term. He was quite young, brilliantly -clever, popular and successful with the boys: he had -to rent a cottage about a quarter of a mile away -because he was married and had one baby. His wife -was pretty and did a good deal to make the place -habitable. One remembered sometimes even the way -to take one's hat off. Well, he has had to go. His -sin was—being married. The Head Master told him -that he had come under false pretences, that the school -could not afford to keep men who did not "live in," -and that a wife caused a man to neglect his work.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>March 23, 1912</i></p> - -<p>During the last month or so I have been seized -with a panic lest I should die of appendicitis or some -such quick and hidden complaint. I can't sleep at all -and I lie awake with a curious numb sort of pain -and think of death. I am all right in the daytime -for the most part. At any rate I am playing hockey -and footer with all my old vigour and I never feel bad -in form. It's just at night; unfortunately it's every -night that I get seized with a real horror lest I should -die uncared for, unhonoured and unwept. I should -have liked a little taste of love and laughter, of -civilized comfort—I should have liked to have written -some sort of book which would have helped mankind -along the rough road of life. I should like to have -had a wife, an heir ... but as it is Tony must be my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -heir. I have transmitted to him my passionate love -of literature, my keenness for beauty, my longing for -a revolution in educational practice and theory.</p> - -<p>I have worked off my spleen on a long centenary -paper on Dickens for the <i>Radcastrian</i>, which will excite -and annoy the lovers of that novelist a good deal.</p> - -<p>I made all the boys in my form write centenary -appreciations of Dickens, too. I got some queer -stuff. He is not half as well known as he ought to -be in spite of his great name. But I do wish he had -resisted his tendency to caricature.</p> - -<p>There have been the usual rows. By far the most -disconcerting was the expulsion of Mather, who was a -school prefect and a scholar of Magdalen, for stealing. -It seems impossible to believe. It appears that he -was in a House where most of the boys have far too -much pocket-money: the very fags own to having -"fivers." Poor old Mather was one of eight sons of a -penniless country parson: he never had a sou and -consequently starved when all the rest of the House -were revelling in delicacies.</p> - -<p>More masters have been poisoning the boys' minds -against me. Tony's House-master has been lecturing -him about my pernicious influence. I wish I knew -what was behind this dark conspiracy. I wish they -would give me some facts to go on, and say that just -here or just there I was doing harm, but all their -accusations are nebulous. Whenever I go up to a -man's rooms and beard him in his den, he nearly -always denies that he ever said any of the things -which were reported of him. It's very difficult to -know what to do.</p> - -<p>I've discovered another wheeze which I use to get -original work out of my form. I give out a list of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -forty or fifty words, ostensibly for spelling, and by -the side of these they write a list of synonyms, and -then during their next prep. they weave a story -round the words I have given them. I have had -wonderful results from this simple device. Incidentally -the boys love doing it. It stimulates them, -especially when they have to read their own efforts -aloud.</p> - -<p>Now that the sports are looming ahead, I get up in -the very early mornings and take people for training -walks. In the afternoon I run with them across -country or round the track. Before I came no one -worried much about the sports. I have really got -them keen this year, much to Hallows' indignation, -because as games master he is responsible for the -sports, and he thinks I'm taking too much upon myself -in training them daily for weeks before the events.</p> - -<p>About a dozen of us, Tony and other boys in this -House, go off every Sunday to a nook we've found by -an inland stream. We call it a training walk: it -pans out at twelve miles. By so doing we get right -outside the country we know and really begin to get -a glimmering of beauty on these glorious warm spring -days. It's impossible to imagine now that we were -ever snow-bound. It is warm and sunny every day; -so much so that "Rugger," and hockey seem indescribably -silly games for this time of year. It feels -"crickety" weather. I've been writing articles on -Hymns and Cross-Country Running for the London -Press and had both accepted, which is a bit of luck. -Things are looking up. All the same it's a nerve-racking -process, waiting to hear one's fate by every -post. Editors are as stubborn as mules and without -any sense of humanity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have had one great excitement lately. A -schooner ran ashore just close to my bedroom -window and we had to rush out in the middle of -the night and rescue people. Poor devils, they -were awfully cold and miserable by the time we got -them to bed in the sanatorium, but luckily there -were no lives lost, and most of the cargo has been -salvaged.</p> - -<p>Life at the end of the Easter term is fairly brisk. -It's impossible to get hold of boys to do anything in -the way of extra work owing to the innumerable -House competitions. There is the Junior and Senior -Hockey, the Singing Competition, the Boxing, the -Gym., the Corps and Certificate "A," the Sports, and -Heaven knows what besides—and every man on the -staff thinks that his pet job is the only one that -matters. The only thing about which we are all -agreed is that school work does not matter. No one -thinks of that. All the same I think these contests -are good things, particularly in the Corps, though I -object to the extraordinary number of prizes and pots -that are lavished upon individual winners. There's -a huge element of selfishness inspired by the very -things which we hold to eradicate it. I took two -days off by going down to Queen's Club to see the -Oxford and Cambridge Sports. It was a rare treat -to meet all one's best friends of the Oxford days and -watch other people in the last stages of nervous funk -as we were so few years ago. I went to the dinner -afterwards: I wonder whether one will ever grow out -of these orgies. They are very life and blood to me -now at any rate. I expect our older guests get a -trifle tired with the exuberance of our spirits before -the end. It was very tame to have to come back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -Radchester and the school sports after that grand -struggle at Queen's Club.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 13, 1912</i></p> - -<p>Here I am back again in my beloved Bath.</p> - -<p>The term ended well. Heatherington's won the -sports and I was the recipient of a tremendous ovation -at the House Supper. I don't think I ever felt so -proud before. At the end of term I went down to -Hampton Court with Tony until Good Friday, when -I went on to see Ruth: we have spent all the rest of -the time together.</p> - -<p>It was at the Easter Ball that I saw a face which -I shall never forget. I was ragging about with Ruth -in the vestibule when I saw a girl at the far end of -the room talking to young Conyngham, one of the -"nuts" of Bath, whom I cordially dislike. They -seemed very pleased with one another. I don't -know what came over me but Walter Savage Landor's -phrase came into my mind, "By Jove, I'm going to -marry that girl," and before I knew what I was doing -I had left Ruth and raced across to Conyngham and -asked him to introduce me to his partner. He was -really bored. She was not pleased. Apparently he -realized that I meant to stay there till he did introduce -me and so he gruffly mumbled, "Oh! This is Mr. -Traherne—Miss Tetley," and walked away about -two yards. "Don't go away, Philip," she said, in a -voice that thrilled me to hear.</p> - -<p>"May I——?" I began.</p> - -<p>"I'm afraid I've only got number 17 left."</p> - -<p>"May I have that—and any extras?"</p> - -<p>"If you like—I'm afraid I didn't hear your -name."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Traherne. Patrick Traherne—let me write it -for you."</p> - -<p>I did and received instant dismissal. Not a -promising start, but I was pleased just to get so much -out of her. All the evening, as I was gallivanting -round with Ruth, I kept on looking at her, but she -had no eyes for me. I asked Ruth about her, but she -was not interested.</p> - -<p>"Which girl? Oh, that one. I don't know her -except by sight. Her name's Elspeth Tetley. Rather -ugly, don't you think? Her name I mean. No: -she's a pretty enough little thing in herself. She -seems very fond of Mr. Conyngham."</p> - -<p>Yes, she did—confound her. Incidentally, she cut -my dance and there were no extras, so I did not see -her again that night. I wasn't going to be defeated -so easily, so I bowed to her when I passed her in the -streets, but she never even saw me. I don't quite -know what it is about her that so attracts me; she -looks very quiet, she is amazingly sure of herself, -extraordinarily pretty, with any amount of humour -and energy I should think. I am still speaking -without the book, for I know nothing about her, -whatever, except that I love the look of her.</p> - -<p>Ruth and I have spent all the holidays so far watching -"Rugger" matches and picnicking and motoring -and dancing. I have had Petre Mais down to stay -with me. By a strange chance he knows the Tetleys: -he thinks Elspeth, as he calls her (he has known her -from childhood), the most adorable girl he has ever -met. I have tried to get him to bring her along to -see me, but something has always cropped up at the -last moment to prevent our meeting.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 3, 1912</i></p> - -<p>I spent the whole of the Easter holidays in Bath, -mainly in the company of Ruth. It was good to have -Mais with me: we used to sit up to all hours arguing -about education: we appear to be both of us bitten -with the craze of reform, though we don't agree on -points of detail. He is a curious mixture of the very -grave and sedate and the irresponsibly gay. He gets -on extraordinarily well with my father. While I am -disporting myself in company with Ruth, he takes the -Gov'nor for long walks and argues about Christian -dogma and ethics. I am afraid that Ruth interferes -with my reading and writing. Mais seems to get -through a great deal and always "twits" me with -being a lady-killer: he never seems to want the -companionship of the other sex. There is Elspeth -Tetley, with whom he might spend days—she is -obviously very fond of him—and instead of going -about with her he gives her up to Conyngham and -buries himself in the Church Institute or the Bath -and County Club, getting up notes for some article -or book that he is at work upon. He is never happy -unless he is working. As he very truly says, "his -work is his mistress and he never wants a better." -All the same a man needs some relaxation. I find -mine in the company of Ruth, who grows more -alluring with every passing day. She has taken me -to Bradford-on-Avon, to Englishcombe, by motor to -Badminton and over Salisbury Plain. I have been -to three point-to-point meetings and at each of them -caught a fleeting glance of Elspeth Tetley. She was -always surrounded by young men, so I couldn't speak -to her. I love these country meetings more almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -than any other form of sport. The hazardous -steeplechases fill one with excitement: many men -were riding whom I knew at Oxford, but they all -appeared to belong to sets of the most exclusive kind. -There is always a plentiful sprinkling of dukes and -duchesses at these shows, as well as all the farmers -in the country and the riff-raff of the town. The -procession of bicycles and governess-cars and dog-carts -and motors and pedestrians miles out in the country -is a fine sight. I should like to have enough money -to be able to go in for steeplechasing: it must be one -of the finest sensations in the world to feel yourself -rushing through the air, jumping these brooks and -thickset hedges, always risking your neck, while all -the youth and beauty of the country watch you, -heart in mouth lest you should take a toss, transported -beyond belief when you ride past the post a winner. -Elspeth Tetley somehow fits a point-to-point meeting -exactly. Some girls look the most preposterous -idiots all togged up in the serviceable tweeds and -brogues that girls wear for these shows, but she looks -just as divine at a race meeting as she does in a ballroom. -I hope to Heaven I get the chance of meeting -her again some day.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>June 10, 1912</i></p> - -<p>I hated leaving Bath more than ever this time, -partly because it meant leaving Elspeth in the -clutches of young Conyngham, partly because of the -summer weather and the flowers and the comfort of -the south, partly because of parting with Ruth, but -mainly because of the horrid contrast. Who, for -instance, in Common Room ever rides to hounds, or -cares about point-to-point meetings? Not one of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -colleagues ever goes near a dance if he can get out -of it. I wonder how they all spend their holidays. -As a consequence of my depression it took me longer -than usual to settle down this term. I had a bad fit -of restlessness, a feeling that I ought to be out in the -world, risking something, trying to make money out -of rubber in the Malay, or jute in India, experiencing -the ups and downs of life in America, Spain, China, -Russia, anywhere where men really lived. There is -no denying that we do tend to stagnate here. This -incessant round of cricket, bathing, maths., English, -prep., chapel, and roll isn't fit work for an able-bodied -man of active brain and ambition. The ideal schoolmaster -has to put away ambition from the start. -He can never set the Thames on fire or cause his name -to ring out through the ages: it is enough for him -if a score of men go through life blessing him for what -he taught them, but a boy's memory is very short: -he soon forgets his masters when he gets out into the -real world and little wonder. I've been going into -Scarborough lately and trying to find an interest in -watching the trippers, but I hate the north-country -people now. Bath has spoilt my taste for them for -ever. I hate their raucous laughter, their dirty teeth, -their loud ingurgitations over their food, their louder -clothes and ghastly sense of independence, though as a -Socialist I ought, I suppose, to be thankful for the last.</p> - -<p>I have had an offer to sub-edit a rather pleasant -monthly called the <i>Scrutinator</i>. I nearly accepted it. -I don't know what held me back unless it was Tony. -I hate the thought of life without him, though of -course he will leave just as other good fellows have -left and I shall have to find some new friend and -confidant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have had a wedding here, an unheard-of thing -at Radchester. The Bursar is leaving, and so has -decided to do what he wouldn't be allowed to do if -he remained and that is to take a wife.</p> - -<p>We had a really gay time for two days. The -bridesmaids had the time of their lives. I wonder -that the Head didn't put up a list of rules about them -but it was all over before he really discovered anything -about it. It was a sight for the gods to see members -of Common Room raking up old frock-coats and top -hats and white waistcoats for the occasion. The -ceremony made me very jealous and I went back to -my rooms feeling terribly lonely. Sometimes it seems -to me that a man is only half a man until he marries. -It would be splendid to have some one to turn to -in every mood, some one who would sympathize and -always be there ready to console, comfort, and share -your joys and griefs. Ah! But who is that some -one to be, that perhaps not impossible She?</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 29, 1912</i></p> - -<p>This has been a wonderful summer term from the -point of view of weather. All our school matches -came off, all our field-days passed without a hitch. -The summer term makes an enormous difference to -life here. Then the sea at last seems to take on some -sort of colour, the country seems less drab, people are -more cheerful and human: the long evenings on the -shore are a pure joy—and then of course there are -the early morning bathes, the lazy afternoons watching -the cricket, or reading or trying to concoct an article. -Every one seems to be in the best of health, there are -fewer rows, and we are less antagonistic in Common -Room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have started an illegitimate "rag" called the -<i>Radchester Ram</i>, which gives me unalloyed pleasure. -We got tired of the everlasting succession of accounts -of matches in the <i>Radcastrian</i>, and so we have collected -all the really original literary stuff we could get and -now we bring this new periodical out once a month. -There is nothing offensive in it, as there so often is -in magazines of this sort. It is simply a medley of -verse and sketches, short stories and articles of general -interest. On our first number we made about a -sovereign profit. It gives many of us something to -think about and encourages boys to write. We pay -for all the contributions we use.</p> - -<p>We have had two wonderful addresses given us -here, one on Speech Day by Lord Dunnithorne, in -which he implored the boys to keep up their ardour -and energy not only in games, but in every side of -life, in keeping an eye while still at school on public -affairs, and developing a sense of proportion as to -the relative values of the spiritual and the material, -the other by a Fellow of All Souls from the pulpit -on the hypocrisy that is so rampant in Public Schools. -He asked us to think for ourselves, to set ourselves -against any tradition, however strong, when and if -we felt clear that it was against the principles of -Christ and Liberty. He dwelt not on the greatness -of the Public Schools, but their failure to produce the -big men of the day. He brought out name after -name of men who are now leading the world in -politics, in science, in religion, in every department of -life who owed nothing to the Public Schools. He -accounted for this by telling us that we always tried -to level up the many and so levelled down the few -who really mattered, that our general level was far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -too low and meant a crushing of that Divine spark -which alone could help us to do our duty. It was -like a breath of inspiration from another world to -hear this fine exponent of the best Oxford spirit -trying to rouse us to a sense of our shortcomings. -The Head was furious about the sermon, as were -quite half the members of Common Room. I made it -the text of pretty well all my discourses for the rest -of term. Most of the boys of course didn't know -what he was driving at; those who did were divided -into two great camps: the upholders of tradition -and those who agreed with him. I am afraid we who -agreed with him were in a minority. Montague and -Jimmy Haye refused to speak to me for weeks. -Poor devils. Probably before very long they will -come to understand what the preacher meant and -metaphorically sit in sackcloth and ashes because they -heeded not his warning. How the old men hate -individuality: they fear it as Shakespeare feared and -hated the mob.</p> - -<p>Individuality, like originality, is dangerous to -custom: when people begin to think for themselves -there is usually trouble somewhere, but unless people -learn to think for themselves they will surround -themselves with unimaginable horrors. How often -in the train does one come across half-educated louts -gesticulating and laying down the law on every -conceivable point, their arguments, theories and -principles all emanating from the halfpenny press. -More harm has been done to the cause of progress and -good sense in this country by cheap journalism than -by any other agency. It is not drink, but the gutter -press that gnaws at the very vitals of the commonwealth. -It is an appalling thing to think that as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -nation we prefer to take all our theories and principles -at second hand from the sayings of unscrupulous ink-slingers -of Grub Street who have never done an -honest day's work in their lives, but have just earned -their daily bread by obeying the dictates of some foul -capitalist who thinks of nothing but filling his own -pockets. Politics may be dirty, but there is nothing -quite so foul in this country as journalism. Unless -we can make boys rise above the pinchbeck claptrap -of the cheaper writers we fail entirely to educate them. -To pin one's faith to anything but one's own intellect -is to fail to make anything of life. I've tried every -means in my power of late to rouse my boys to take -an interest in their work, to show them the continuity -of history, the reason why we read good literature, -the reason for exercising the faculties: we must send -them out into the world with the critical spirit fully -developed, not ready to be gulled by every shibboleth -of party politics or mad cry in the market-place of -people with axes to grind. We want them to mould -other people's opinions, not to take everything ready -made—as a sort of reach-me-down suit that they can -wear without question. I want them to probe all difficulties -and not to rest until they have planted the new -Jerusalem in this green and pleasant land of England.</p> - -<p>Of all missionary work, this is the most important, -to get people to think for themselves, not to have -minds like the rows of suburban villas in which they -live, each one an exact replica of its neighbour's; dull, -correct, unambitious, cramped and futile, but to -launch out in experiments, to probe for some underlying -purpose in life, to keep on searching for some Holy -Grail, to work for the amelioration of mankind and -the progress of humanity, not to sit down quietly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -under abuses but sword in hand to set out to destroy -the powers of evil. One gets easily worked up to -preach the gospel of the nobility of work to boys: -the hard part of the task is to rouse them from the -appalling apathy and listlessness which characterize -them. They are used to being shouted at and preached -to—they don't take the trouble to listen to one quarter -of what one says. They can understand punishment, -but they have very little use for a mere appeal to -their better nature, their reason or their emotion.</p> - -<p>Every night at 6.30 I have a voluntary class for -Shakespeare lovers. We run through play after play, -and those who come on the whole gain a great deal. -The difficulty is to get them to come. The great -majority of them prefer to go over to the gym. or to -laze about in their studies. They don't realize at -all that I have to eat my dinner in five instead -of thirty minutes in order to give them this time. -They look on me as a sort of Shakespeare fanatic and -come only when there is nothing else to do. They -have no idea that Shakespeare has something very -definite to say to them, some principle of life to disclose -for their benefit, if only they will do their part. They -all think that there is some royal road to learning -by which all virtue can be achieved without ardour, -energy or suffering. If they could only hear the -complaints of Old Boys who come back and discuss -over the fireside their wasted opportunities it would do -them a world of good. I try every means I can think -of to interest my forms. I lecture on a century of -English literature and get each boy to select a subject -and make it his own by reading up and writing a -paper on his favourite author in that century. These -papers are read aloud before the rest of the form,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -who comment favourably or adversely, and debates -are held to try the opinion of the House on the different -verdicts formed by each member of the class.</p> - -<p>I find my system of entertaining boys to tea a very -expensive one. I gave a large party to my form -<i>en bloc</i> at the end of term: it cost me £2 10s. I -shouldn't mind if I were earning a living wage, but -£40 a year out of my £150 is docked for a pension -scheme in which I take no interest, and Oxford bills -still come in and I can never meet them. The -holidays, too, eat such a hole into one's salary. I am -always "broke" and always in debt. I wish I could -learn to save. Some men seem to have put by -quite a lot for the inevitable rainy day. I have had -one good excursion lately. Our team won the Rapid -Firing Competition at Bisley and I was sent down -with the team to claim the cast of the Winged Victory -which it is our good fortune to have won. I have -never seen a more motley crew than the different -competitors who went up for prizes.</p> - -<p>Tony has got into the Shooting VIII, so I had him -with me during this tour, which gave me tremendous -joy. I managed to read Edith Wharton's wonderful -romance of "Ethan Frome" in the train on the way -down and "The Innocence of Father Brown" -coming back. I have read the latter book to my form -since. They simply gloat over it. It makes admirable -material for reproduction: another good idea is to -read half of one of the stories and make them finish it -in their own words—a sort of Edwin Drood idea. -Thank God this term is over: the tiredness of my -brain can be guessed by the virulent language of my -reports. I had to write several of them over again -because the Head objected to my candour.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XI" id="XI">XI</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 12, 1912</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Camp</span> at Tidworth was a splendid holiday. Of -course the Plain is not so exciting as Aldershot: -there are no baths and no towns to visit, but I like -the bare wildness of it all, the undulating hills, the -wide views on every side, the clumps of trees, the gorse -and the bracken. They didn't work us very hard -this year, owing to the fact that there had been some -row about overdoing it at Aldershot last August. -That didn't worry me. I don't come to camp to -work. I come to mix with as many boys as possible, -to get to know their little ways—I come to join in the -"rags" at "sing-song," to see what sort of material -the other schools produce, to laugh at the amazing -scenes in the officers' mess, to get back some of the -sleep I seem to have lost at school, to learn a little -military work, to live an open-air rough-and-tumble -life for a few days, and in short to enjoy myself. -I had to leave early this year in order to take my M.A. -It was the first time I had been back to Oxford since -I came down. Of all pointless things in life the taking -of an M.A. seems about the most prominent. Why -should I be supposed to be a more responsible creature -because I pay a few more guineas into the already -overfull University chest for the privilege of exchanging -my rabbit's-fur hood for a red and black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -silk one? Anyway I followed the convention and felt -inordinately important and wise for about two hours! -Oxford in the Long Vac. might please Charles Lamb -but I hurried away as soon as I could. I just glanced -at a few shops, reminded some long-suffering tradesmen -that I was still alive and then caught a train for -Minehead, where Tony met me fresh from camp. -He had never been in Devon before and I had invited -him down in order that he should join me in the -walk which I cannot repeat too often. We went to -Cloutsham Ball to see a meet of the Devon and -Somerset staghounds, and had the luck to see a kill -at Porlock Weir: we slept two nights at the Ship Inn -and talked to Carruthers Gould and several other -celebrities we met there; then we tramped over the -Deer Forest to Badgeworthy Water, in which I fell -and had to waste an afternoon in a croftsman's cottage -while my flannels were dried.</p> - -<p>We slept that night at the Valley of Rocks Hotel -at Lynton. I've never seen so many foreigners in -Devon. Somehow I resent the presence of these -strangers in my native land: I feel that I want to -shut the gates and only permit such as can prove -themselves worthy to gain access to the Garden of -Eden. It is dreadful to hear polyglot noises at -breakfast and condescending praises of Watersmeet -and Woody Bay, Parracombe and Combe Martin -from Germans. Luckily very few of these visitors go -far afield. Most of them only come to eat and drink -and lounge in the gardens and sleep. They don't -really penetrate Devon at all: the secret of her charm -still remains with her own children, and with those -to whom her children divulge it. Tony was in -rhapsodies over the cliff walk to Ilfracombe and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -delighted my aunts by praising all the scenery and -giving detailed reasons for his appreciation.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 20, 1912</i></p> - -<p>Tony only stayed in Ilfracombe for a week, but we -made the most of our time. He got on famously -with my grandfather and kept him thoroughly -amused. We bathed twice a day and went to all -the shows we could find, coons and concerts and plays -in the Alexandra Hall. After he had gone I was left -alone with my aunts and grandfather. I used to read -Seton Merriman aloud to them at nights. My -grandfather spends most of his time attempting to -solve puzzles in <i>John Bull</i>, <i>Tit-Bits</i>, <i>Answers</i>, and -so on. A strange craze to occupy a man of eighty. -He is usually to be found at the County Club, of which -he is the leading spirit.</p> - -<p>My aunts and I go round district-visiting, picnicking -at Woolacombe and Lee, getting up amusements for -Bible Classes and Sunday School scholars, and calling -on all the residents. Tiring of having no active -occupation I started coaching an Anglo-Indian boy -who was staying at Combe Martin, which I found -interesting work. He was a delightful fellow, typical -of all that is best in the Charterhouse type. I felt -that I was paying my way by working with him, and -thoroughly enjoyed it.</p> - -<p>In my spare time, spurred on by my grandfather's -efforts, I started going in for the weekly <i>Westminster</i> -competitions, without meeting with any success. -My main enjoyment was watching the Cardiff and -Swansea trippers coming off the channel steamers and -exploring the delights of Ilfracombe. It is for these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -people that the shops spread out their garish wares of -cheap meretricious novels, vulgar post cards, hideous -china and other mementoes. I ate pounds and pounds -of cream and was growing fat and lazy, when I -suddenly found myself called away to Chesterfield to -coach a boy for the London Matriculation at the rate -of ten guineas for ten days. The contrast was too -awful.</p> - -<p>Chesterfield is one of the grimiest and most hideous -of towns on the borders of Derbyshire and Yorkshire. -My pupil was a slack, good-for-nothing, over-affluent, -overgrown youth who had to pass in English, knowing -none. His father, who was a colliery owner, happened -also to be a Director of Education for the county, and -was anxious to know what education really meant.</p> - -<p>He had read Huxley, Spencer and Darwin, and no -one else. I asked him to come along and join his son -and the three of us went through the history of -English literature from Shakespeare to the present -day. The father was really interested, the son -frankly bored. In mathematics the boy knew far -more than I did, but he could not frame an English -sentence for any money. Neither could he see the use -of poetry, drama, novel or essay.</p> - -<p>I was taken to the Corporation Baths, I was motored -all over the place, I encountered some of the rudest -people I have ever met in my life, and I was thoroughly -miserable for ten whole days in a house which -"stank" of money and where everything was uncomfortable -and wrong. Work was the only relief. -The abjectness of the shops and the people's faces -threatened to drive me mad, so great was the contrast -between Chesterfield and my Devon home. How -any one could live for choice in an ugly misbegotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -place like this I can't think. It seemed to me to invite -crime or at least criminal thoughts. The meals were -one long unendurable agony: high tea of pine-apple, -blancmange and tinned salmon at 5.45, 7.30 or 8.45, -according as "the master" returned from work. -I went hungry most days. After a day I found myself -studying this new type closely: the father collects -the most evil oil-paintings and the most exquisite old -oak furniture. They have a pigsty in the front -garden, which occupies their spare hours. The old -man is deeply religious, very methodical, Liberal in -politics, very quiet, very anxious not to spend money, -as honest as the day, fond of power and passionately -devoted to his son. He keeps a journal containing -a list of all the books he reads and his opinions of -them.</p> - -<p>I went into barracks at Exeter for a few days before -returning to Ilfracombe, to keep my hand in, but -I was chafing all the time to get back to the sea and -freedom. The convention of mess is only less nauseating -than that of Common Room.</p> - -<p>For the last fortnight of the holidays I went up -home to stay with my people and had to submit to -being shown to people as a sort of prize pig. A round -of tea-fights and bridge-drives, walks and sleep. -I don't seem to be able to get going with any original -writing. I wonder why in the world they give us -such long holidays. In eight weeks one ought to be -able to achieve something, write a novel or at any rate -perform something useful. Instead of which we -travel up and down the country and waste the -precious hours—I hate not being actively occupied -every hour of every day—life is damned dull that way. -There must be thousands of men who would give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -anything to get as much holiday as I do, whereas -I chafe and long to be back at work again weeks before -the time comes to return. It's pleasant to get a -chance of seeing my father and mother, though they -are never very communicative. My father is out -visiting in the parish all and every day, and only gets -back late at night, and my mother is usually very -busy in the house or shopping. I accompany them -in their walks as a general rule, but they are not -interested in talk about Radchester—they like to discuss -books, but my mother reads little but theological -and philosophical treatises. My father lives for -humour: he is amazingly witty in himself (his letters -are a treasure-house of shrewd and excruciatingly -funny character-sketches of his parishioners) and he is -passionately fond of wit in others. I wish I inherited -some of this gift. I find that I am too deadly serious. -I get too excited over my schemes to reform mankind. -He is too kindly and tolerant, too good-natured and -easy-going to try to shock people out of their indifference. -My mother looks on my educational -ideals as a sort of mania out of which I shall grow -when I come to years of discretion: she thinks all -education nonsense and a mistake.</p> - -<p>I find that I become pretty well the ideal lotus-eater -at home. I sleep from 10 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> to 9 in the morning -and then read whatever I can lay my hands on if it -is wet, or go out in the parish if it is fine. If I write, -which is seldom, I rarely give up more than a couple -of hours a day to it. I ought to imitate A. C. Benson -and write two or three hours regularly daily, year in, -year out—but I never do anything regularly.</p> - -<p>If I were ever to write a novel I should finish it -in a fortnight or three weeks. I can't bear to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -anything hanging over my head. I am always -afraid lest I should die in the middle and then find -all the good work go for nothing. I wish I could -cultivate the calm patience of these men, who work -steadily for fifty years to produce some little thesis. -Would I had the calm assurance of Lord Acton or -Lord Morley.</p> - -<p>If I could only cultivate a sense of arrangement. -Here am I a strenuous and not altogether unsuccessful -teacher of English, and I can't even string paragraphs -together properly. That's why I like writing up my -diary. I don't have to worry about arrangement. -I can just write down things as they occur to me, -matters of infinite moment cheek by jowl with -ephemeral topics of the hour. I have been reading -Montaigne's "Essays" of late and derived considerable -comfort therefrom. I always carry a book about -in my pocket wherever I go, one of the "World's -Classics" for preference: it effectually prevents me -from getting peevish if I have to wait for a train or -in a shop to be attended to.</p> - -<p>These holidays I have read very thoroughly John -Stuart Mill "On Liberty" and Hobbes's "Leviathan" -in this way. Oh for a lucid pen like Mill's or an -orderly mind like Hobbes'. Such books are best read -quietly and in small quantities at a time. When I read -a novel I tear the heart out of it, just as Doctor -Johnson did. There are very few novels I can't get -through in a day. I usually sit up to finish them -if I can't manage it otherwise. My mother says that -I can't possibly remember what I read and that it's -pure waste of time to read in this way, but I think -I generally manage to squeeze the best out of a book -in this way.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<p>Anyway I was born to hurry: I think it's a vice, -but impetuosity and turbulence are two characteristics -that I must have been endowed with by my fairy -godmother.</p> - -<p>It is this same idiosyncrasy which prevents me from -being a good letter-writer. I write to dozens and -dozens of boys and friends like Ruth, but I never -express myself adequately, simply because I don't -take enough trouble.</p> - -<p>If genius really means the taking of infinite pains -I must be the least of a genius that ever lived, for -I only write when it is easy to me, and on subjects -that don't require that I should refer to handbooks -all the time. On the other hand, Samuel Butler -has some comforting light to shed on that topic.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>October 5, 1912</i></p> - -<p>Eight weeks is too long a holiday. One gets out of -touch with all things pertaining to discipline and rules. -As time goes on one begins to chafe less at what seem -ridiculous restrictions; they become part of the day's -work, just as I suppose if I were in the Army the -red tape of the orderly room would not worry me -after a year or two.</p> - -<p>I have just had young Pollock staying with me. -He is now a gunner of two years' standing. It seems -only yesterday I was training him for Woolwich. -He can't understand why I stay in so heathen an -atmosphere as a school. The rules he simply ignores. -I find him smoking on his way across the square to -breakfast, turning on my gramophone while the boys -are at work, sitting in my window-seat in full gaze -of the school, glass in hand, drinking whisky. He has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -no sort of respect for my seniors, but swears genially -in Common Room, seizes the best chairs, takes up the -whole of the fireplace and the only copy of the <i>Times</i>, -while Hallows and Co. gnash their teeth, purple with -rage in the background. The best of it is that he is -quite unaware that he is giving offence. He is -extraordinarily genial, if somewhat condescending in -his manner towards them. It is a pure joy to -watch him with them: he so exactly represents the -world's attitude towards the whole race of ushers. -"They are poor, ignorant, down-at-heel devils, -but it's as well to be kind to them." That is the -sort of feeling that Pollock has, I know: you can -see it in his every action. I suppose the difference -between Common Room and a gunner mess is fairly -wide.</p> - -<p>I have just been reading F. R. G. Duckworth's -"Leaves from a Pedagogue's Sketch-Book." I wish -I had his gift for writing. I could a tale unfold of life -at a Public School which would dispel a few hundred -of the fatuous superstitions that have grown, I know -not how, round our ancient homes of learning. But -if I did even so much as reveal this diary I should -be out of a job in a week.</p> - -<p>We are in the middle of one of the more delectable -sorts of row. A few days ago a field-day was fixed -against Blowborough, but it had to be scratched -owing to disease on their part. A House match was -hastily substituted and duly posted at 12.45 on the -day. One of the Houses refused to turn out because -they were not given longer warning. Hallows is in a -fine state of frenzy. What will happen to the captain -of the offending House I can't think. Games "bloods" -do occasionally get obstreperous, but do not often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -care to risk Hallows' wrath. I shall be interested to -see the <i>dénouement</i>.</p> - -<p>I have been into Scarborough with Pollock to see -<i>Passers-By</i> and <i>Hindle Wakes</i>. Houghton's play -seems to me to be epoch-making. Quite apart from -its merits as a play the subject was (to me) so novel. -It expresses so much of the new spirit, the spirit that -refuses to be limited by the narrow conventions of its -fathers and carves out a new line for itself regardless -of public opinion. It seems to me that Fanny Hawthorn -was quite justified in refusing to marry the man -she went off with. He was just an amusement, an -adventure. Two wrongs can never make a right. -She wanted a week-end of liberty, excitement—call it -what you will, and took it, ready to pay her part of -the damage.... The evil certainly does not lie in -her refusal to marry the man, but, if there is any -(which I take leave to doubt), in going off with him -in the first place. There are people who have to learn -what life means by getting burnt: she was lucky -enough only to get singed and not ruined for life. -Her sort does not go on the streets. She probably -settled down to married life with a man after her own -heart very soon. But does the quiet humdrum -pleasure of safe marriage ever give the golden ecstatic -moments that come from dangerous romantic passionate -episodes of a day? The audience made me -acutely sick. They shivered with delight at the -"daring" of it—though what there is "daring" in it -I don't know. It is more like a sermon than a play.</p> - -<p>We are acting <i>The Great Adventure</i> at Radchester: -just half a dozen of us in Common Room -suddenly hit upon the idea. We have the new Bursar -for stage manager, a fellow called Harding. He has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -been all sorts of things, including music-hall proprietor, -actor and stage manager of a suburban theatre. He -does not find it easy to fall into line with our rigid -conventions. Outwardly he conforms rather well, -being a born actor, but he manages to live two quite -distinct lives, one which pleases the heart of the -Head Master, energetic at his work, asking no -questions and simply doing his duty, the other, lighthearted -and gay away in the town where he spends -a great deal of his time. In conjunction with one of -the music masters he is writing a musical comedy: -they practise scenes every night. It is most ludicrously -silly, but certainly not worse than 90 per cent. of -the musical comedies I have seen. Harding has a -distinct turn for witty lyrical writing, built on a lifelong -devotion to W. S. Gilbert.</p> - -<p>The "club" has improved since I first joined it: -we all now try to improvise something to earn our -cake and whisky. Harding writes songs, Benson puts -them to music, Jimson and I dance or tell stories, -some one plays a banjo or a violin, and we rouse the -night air with a catch. I don't altogether like even -all the members of the club, but when I get very -lonely or depressed in my own rooms I go there, in -order to forget myself awhile. I don't seem able to -make any close friend on the staff. There is no one -there, for instance, who matters to me half so much -as Tony, and at times I doubt whether I ought to -take up so much of his attention. After all, a boy -at school comes to play and work among his equals, -not to mix with grown-ups. Tony has too many -advanced ideas, owing, I suppose, to the books I lend -him and the talks we have so frequently together. -I must try to deny myself the pleasure of his society<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -more than I do. Of late I have been extraordinarily -pleased at some of the work which several boys have -shown up. Really quite a number of the short stories -and verses I get are worthy of publication in some -magazines. I try to encourage boys to submit their -best stuff after I have sub-edited it to various editors -with whom I have dealings. Tony has already had -one poem accepted by the <i>Monthly Magazine</i>.</p> - -<p>I find that the average boy drinks in Swinburne, -Morris and Henley with extraordinary relish when he -won't look at Keats and Shelley. The first business -is to get him really interested in anything: the -decadent phase will soon pass. I tried "The Dynasts" -on them and failed miserably. The really good stuff -is utterly beyond them—perhaps they'll remember -later on and come back to it with proper understanding. -I must share my own great joys and discoveries in -literature: I can't keep a really fine thing like "The -Dynasts" to myself. Common Room won't listen: -they think I'm crazy on the moderns for whom they -have no use—not that they read the ancients, but -they do allow them a place in education. The -moderns they abuse as mere wasters of time. I have -been trying for various Head Masterships and been -offered that of Chipping Campden. I was particularly -tempted to accept it at first, because of the beauty -of the place. Mais, Stapleton, and I used to walk out -there from Oxford on Sundays: it is one of the most -perfect mediæval towns I know, but it is probably too -remote from the bustle of life for a man like myself. -Anyway I refused it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 20, 1912</i></p> - -<p>We have had some good sermons this term from -visitors. One man on the Beauty of Holiness tried -to make us see what there was of beauty in even this -arid wilderness: he succeeded rather well—but then, -of course, he doesn't have to live here. He vainly -imagines that we consider the sea to be the real sea -instead of a waste of grey water, ugly and cruel. -Then we had a most famous man, who tried to make -all the school go and confess their vices to him: his -mistake was to imagine that there was but one vice -and that one practised by 90 per cent. of the school. -You can't do much with a man who has got a bee in -his bonnet to that extent. Although he was sincere -and obviously affected many of the boys, he rather -irritated me. I wish I could settle in my mind what -is the sort of sermon boys ought to have. The one -we had last term on keeping the Divine spark alive -was certainly the best I have ever heard, but that may -be because I agreed with every word about the -necessity of cultivating individuality and imagination. -In some ways it would be good for us to hear more -about Church doctrine: we are really rather vague -about our beliefs.</p> - -<p>I am afraid the "ragging" of Koenig is not confined -to the boys: he has lately been elected to the "club," -and we do our level best to make him drunk: we tell -him the tallest of yarns about impossible old customs -which we celebrate for his benefit. He must think -us—oh, I don't know what he makes of us. In my -heart I am really sorry for him. Of late I have -taken to going to see him by myself. Of course -by now he sees that he has been hopelessly "ragged"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -ever since he came, but he has a wonderful belief that -in the end he will settle down. When this generation -has passed on, he will be stricter and the younger -boys will reverence him. Poor devil, he doesn't -realize that his name is already a byword and that -it will become a standing tradition to "rag" him for -all time. There is the case of old "Parsnips" Askew: -he has been here for thirty years and not a day passes -without some silly trick being passed upon him. -Sometimes his form will come clad as if for amateur -theatricals with the excuse that they hadn't time to -change, and they will go on with their (imagined) -rehearsal while he tries in vain to teach. On other -occasions they come in in uniform and drill; there are -endless variants: four or five will faint and the rest -of the form rush about in all directions for water or -carry the "bodies" out and never return.</p> - -<p>I don't envy Askew his life at all. Boys are merciless -devils when they find they have a master in their -power. It is all very well to say that a man must -have the whip-hand of his class. Once he has lost it -he stands precious little chance of ever regaining it. -Koenig is pathetically anxious to make good. For -some obscure reason he loves the life here and dreads -every day lest he should receive notice to quit. I -suppose this love of "ragging" is ingrained. Although -I sympathize with and quite like the poor old ass, -yet I am as bad as anybody at pulling his leg. About -three weeks ago four of us all pretended to be as drunk -as man can be and we knocked him about in a most -shameful manner and kicked up the devil of a row -in his rooms, half wrecking the place. In the end -he had to put each of us to bed.</p> - -<p>After <i>The Great Adventure</i>, in which I was too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -nervous to be much good, I got bitten with the craze -of acting, and made my Saturday evening juniors -prepare two short plays for the last night of term. -That has taken up every hour of my spare time lately -and most of my hard-earned salary, for I have to -feed the whole cast at every rehearsal.</p> - -<p>We've got a wonderful new parson master this term -who has any amount of originality and cares for no -authority. He preached the other day on the text -of "a <i>man</i> bearing a pitcher of water," emphasizing -the need for <i>men</i> to take upon themselves the duty of -bearing religion into the home and not leaving it to -the women. I rather think that he fulfils my ideal -of a school preacher. He never has any notes, but -simply talks in a most personal way about the difficulties -that beset him, problems of public interest, -even controversial topics. He, at any rate, tries to -rouse the intellectual and æsthetic faculties and he is -inordinately cheerful always in spite of wretched -health.</p> - -<p>Boys crowd to his rooms for spiritual advice. He -is almost the perfect mediator that a priest should be: -his own devotion to God irradiates from him at all -times and in all places. He is ever gay and sunny, -and refuses resolutely ever to be drawn into the -thousand little petty quarrels in which the rest of us -indulge: his own forms worship him.</p> - -<p>I have made friends with several outcasts this term, -boys who don't fit into the scheme of things and are -as a consequence morose, irritable and unhappy. -I try my best to make them see the point of school -rules and all the rest of the red tape against which -they rebel, but I do so in such an unconvincing, -lukewarm way that I might just as well keep silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -At any rate they have a refuge in my rooms and thank -God they take it. I have had a very good offer -made me by the Head Master of Welborough. He -wants me at once. When I went to see the Head -Master about it he refused to let me go.</p> - -<p>"Of course," said he, "if you choose to pay the -school a term's salary for breach of contract, I cannot -prevent you from leaving but——"</p> - -<p>I can't see myself able to forfeit a whole term's -salary at any period of my career.</p> - -<p>So that's that! Of course I am not anxious to -leave because of my innumerable friends among the -boys: I am rather like a cat in some ways. If I had -any sense I should take no notice of the Head, who -really loathes me, and go.</p> - -<p>Three members of the staff are leaving. No one -stays here long, and really I don't wonder. There -seems very little point in cutting oneself right off -from human life, or the chance of ever making any -money or any good thing out of life.</p> - -<p>And yet I stay ... I am very like a cat.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XII" id="XII">XII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 31, 1912</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My</span> form play was a great success on the last night -of term: boys really are far better actors than grown-up -people as a rule. They enter into the spirit of the -part more quickly.</p> - -<p>I spent Christmas quietly at home, reading, overeating -myself, writing letters, dispatching Christmas -cards, attending a vast number of church services, -visiting the cottagers, dancing in the village schoolroom, -and gossiping with my father and mother. -On the 27th I came down to Bath for the Christmas -dances. That night, at the first one, I found to my -intense disappointment that Ruth was unable at the -last minute to come. That young ass Conyngham -arrived just after me. I therefore dashed into the -vestibule as quickly as I could to see if Elspeth Tetley -was there. To my great joy she was, and alone, and -(woman-like) as different as possible in her behaviour -from last year. She smiled cordially as I bore down -upon her.</p> - -<p>"H'lo, Mr. Traherne; it's a long time since we last -saw you in Bath."</p> - -<p>"Yes, and the last time I saw you you cut me: -you cut my dances, you cut me in the street—you——"</p> - -<p>"All right, don't get peevish: how many do you -want to-night?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>"None, if you're going to cut them all."</p> - -<p>"Come now, let's bury the hatchet; you'll have -to hurry. I see half the earth waiting to wring your -neck because you won't say what dances you want."</p> - -<p>"Well, how many are booked?"</p> - -<p>"I've only just come."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but that means nothing."</p> - -<p>"Well, tell me how many you want."</p> - -<p>"As many as you can jolly well let me have."</p> - -<p>"Here's my card, fill it up as you like."</p> - -<p>"Do you really mean that?"</p> - -<p>"I do: for goodness' sake hurry up. How many -have you taken? Oh! stop, stop, you can't have -them all."</p> - -<p>"Well, I've only taken eleven as yet."</p> - -<p>"Eleven! we shall set the whole of Bath talking."</p> - -<p>"Who cares?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! it's all jolly fine for you, but what about me, -the poor defenceless maiden? Where's the little girl -you usually dance with all night?"</p> - -<p>"Ruth? She's not coming."</p> - -<p>"Oh, that's why—— You must go—here's Mr. -Conyngham and all the gang."</p> - -<p>"You'll really keep those eleven?"</p> - -<p>"Wait and see. Yes, yes, of course I will. Go -away!"</p> - -<p>So I have got to know Elspeth after all. I never -spent such a night in my life. She beats every girl -I have ever met in every possible way—she's prettier, -more talkative, more seductive, more lovable, more—more -everything. She wanted to know all about -me and told me all her life history: we fixed up all -sorts of meetings and grew more and more pleased -with each other as the evening went on. She is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -best dancer I ever struck and likes my style of dancing -better than the more fantastic and modern methods -of Conyngham, against whom she seems to harbour -a pretty active dislike, to my great astonishment. -I wonder what's happened. They were as thick as -thieves all last year.</p> - -<p>The next day I met her again for a few minutes. -I tramped up and down Milsom Street until I saw her. -I took Ruth to the pantomime at Bristol in the -afternoon and to <i>Gypsy Love</i> in Bath at night. Elspeth -was also there. Yesterday I went to the rink with -Ruth and saw Elspeth again, and this afternoon I -managed to get away from all my crowd and have -tea with Elspeth at the rink: so ends the year 1912.</p> - -<p>I seem to be getting fonder of the other sex and -not to be quite so nervous and hoydenish in their -presence as I used to be a year ago. Bath has -educated me a good deal. I am much more the -normal man of society than I ever thought I was -going to be.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 1, 1913</i></p> - -<p>Life has moved since yesterday. To-night was the -Lansdown Cricket Club Ball. I divided my programme -equally between Ruth and Elspeth. Elspeth -was looking wonderful in a filmy sort of pink strawberry -frock. Everything went quite normally and -gaily until number fifteen, after which Elspeth and I -found a sitting-out room in inky darkness. Suddenly -she leant over, my arms were about her neck, we -kissed ... and now I live in a different world. -Even now I can't believe it. It seems impossible -that she should love me. Yet she has promised to -marry me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>I never dreamt such luck could be mine. She -seemed so far above me, so obviously a match for the -best of men and not for a poor drudge of a schoolmaster. -She says that for a whole year she has been -thinking about me and meant to marry me all along, -only she was afraid I was already engaged or about -to be. We sat out all the rest of the dances. I am -living on air. I am much too cheerful and can't -sleep at all. I want to go out and shout my good -fortune to the skies. What are we going to live on -I wonder? What will my people or hers say about -it? I only know that nothing will induce me to give -her up. I seem to be a quite different person from -what I was this time yesterday. I know that then -I never thought that I should have the ghost of a -chance of even knowing Elspeth well, and now she is -willing and anxious to live with me for the rest of -my life.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 23, 1913</i></p> - -<p>The day after I was engaged I took Elspeth up to -London with the idea of going to see the South -Africans play footer at Richmond. When we got to -Paddington we decided to "do" two theatres instead, -so we lunched in the Haymarket and went to see -<i>The Dancing Mistress</i>, which was rotten, and <i>Doormats</i> -at night. We didn't get back till half-past three the -next morning.</p> - -<p>It was on that day that I was formally introduced to -her people, who were most kind and asked me to stay, -which invitation I naturally accepted. So I moved -my belongings up to the Crescent where they live, -and in two or three days I began to receive telegrams -and letters by the hundred congratulating me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> - -<p>Every day we took the dogs for walks, played -billiards or went out with the beagles. Old General -Tetley, Elspeth's father, is a dear, very kind to me -and quite willing to allow us to be engaged and even -talked of our being married in a year if I could get a -better job than my present one at Radchester. -Mrs. Tetley gave us the run of the house and we were -left pretty well to our own devices. Elspeth's -brothers and sisters (she has two of each) all appeared -to congratulate us at one time or another: they are -an extremely cheery family and I love them all. -After a week of bliss at the Tetley's I took Elspeth -up to see my father and mother, in order to let her -see our part of the country. She took to them at -once as they did to her. The rest of the holidays -passed like lightning: so long as Elspeth was with -me I was perfectly happy, doing nothing at all but -listening to her play and sing or talk—the thought of -having to separate, however, went near to driving -me mad.</p> - -<p>When the time came for me to return here, I simply -could not face it. That last morning we walked -over the moor and talked about anything to keep our -minds off the afternoon and then at 1.48 I took her -south as far as Derby, where she caught the Bath -express and left me standing, absolutely lifeless, -waiting for the train to take me back to Scarborough -and Radchester. The pain of parting is the most -excruciating agony that I have ever undergone in my -life. I had often imagined that it must be awful for -lovers to have to part, but I had no idea it meant -all this. I wanted to throw myself under the train -rather than put any more miles between us. I tried -to read: I had bought every kind of interesting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -magazine: it was all no use. I tried to talk to people -in the train: they bored me to distraction. By the -time I got to Leeds I was joined by a crowd of boys -whom normally I am only too glad to see. I couldn't -find a word to say to them. "Elspeth—Elspeth—Elspeth"—the -one word throbbed through my head -the whole way back. I kept on wondering what she -was doing at each moment of the journey. I started -to pour out my soul on paper. I want to go on writing -to her all day. Nothing else interests me. I can't -work. I take no interest in anything. I can't -possibly face a year of this cruel agony. I'd far -rather die.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>February 2, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I have tried in every sort of direction to find another -job. I can't possibly torture Elspeth by bringing her -here even if I could afford to keep her, which I can't. -I answer advertisements of every kind. I think I must -have approached every Head Master in the kingdom.</p> - -<p>One business firm wrote from the City and asked me -to go down to see their directors, and I did, but all -they could offer me was a sort of glorified commercial -traveller's job, my income to be solely on commission, -which isn't good enough.</p> - -<p>I saw <i>The Younger Generation</i> while I was in -London, which pleased me a good deal, but London -without Elspeth is as hopeless as anywhere else. -My pangs are just as acute. I'm working like the devil -and playing games every day, but at night I'm so -homesick or rather so sick with longing for Elspeth -that I don't know what to do. If only I'd got some -long-suffering friend in whom to confide, but even -Tony can't fill her place!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>March 2, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I've applied for educational posts in Egypt, India, -Bangkok, all over the world. I've been collecting -testimonials from my colleagues. I suppose all -testimonials are the same, but I'd no idea I was such -a wonderfully gifted teacher as all my Dons and -Senior Colleagues make me out to be. It's good of -them to lie on my behalf like this when I've behaved -so rottenly to them. I was getting on well with my -continued bombardment at every door of employment -and working like a nigger, when suddenly I got a -really bad bout of "flu": it left me a complete -wreck. I had to get up before I was really fit in -order to go to interview the Colonial Office about a -job in Nigeria. I felt properly seedy, but I kept the -appointment, and then suddenly lost all control of -myself. I couldn't face the prospect of going back -to Radchester, so I just took a train for Bath, telegraphed -to Elspeth and arrived. She was a good deal -surprised and upset. I was put straight to bed for -ten days and now I'm recovering from bronchitis. -I never enjoyed a disease before, but it was sheer -Heaven to have Elspeth nursing me. I felt serenely -contented and didn't care what happened to me.</p> - -<p>Of late I have been very carefully considering -whether or not I ought to be ordained. Periodically -I get what seems to me a clear call. Elspeth is -against it. I don't quite know why.... She came -to see me off at Bristol when I was convalescent. -Again the agony of parting was almost unendurable. -I clung to her like a small baby until the very last -moment, utterly regardless of the other passengers. -All the way up in the North Express I suffered horrors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -of nightmares. The hills and towns looked for the -first time in my life cold and hostile. It was all -I could do to keep myself from jumping out and taking -the next train back. I know Elspeth does not suffer -quite so acutely as I do. I'm glad. It's too terrible -a strain on the nervous system.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 3, 1913</i></p> - -<p>It was all I could do to keep going to the end of -this term, but I managed it somehow. I've thrown -myself into my work as never before: when I am -actually in form, teaching, or in the afternoons -playing games I am more or less sane, but I am -perilously near madness when the night draws on -and the hours creep past and I am left alone with -nothing to console me but her photographs, her letters -and my letters to her. She is my whole aim and end -of living: I've tried going to theatres in Scarborough, -I've tried to coach all the boys for the sports, I've -played "Rugger" and hockey with greater venom -than ever before, with the rather humorous result that -I now have spoilt my upper lip for ever. I got it cut -all to pieces: it was very cleverly sewn up, but I guess -it's going to be awry for the rest of my life. I have -had a fearful, nightly fear of dying before I can taste -the bliss of married life. I wish I could rid myself -of this fear: it's the same sort of funk that makes me -rush ahead with anything that I am writing, lest -I should die before it is finished: it's a most unreasoning, -foolish obsession, but one that I am totally -unable to eradicate. I owe more than I can ever repay -to Maurice Hewlett. I have found it increasingly -hard to concentrate my attention on to any book or -author since I became engaged: now I've found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -"The Forest Lovers," "Mrs. Launcelot," "Half-Way -House," and others of his novels, and I have -been really engrossed, and literally forgotten all about -my gnawing agonies while reading him.</p> - -<p>Poor old "Parsnips" Askew has been sacked after -thirty years' service, for incompetence. I never in -my life heard such a blackguardly action. Many -mean things have been done since I came here, taking -evidence against boys in confession before Confirmation, -putting the blame for wrong judgments on to -shoulders less well able to bear them, for example, but -this beats all. Askew has devoted the best years of his -life to Radchester and in spite of being persistently -ragged by every boy in the place for two or three -generations, he has certainly done a tremendous -amount of good in his own honest, simple way.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 8, 1913</i></p> - -<p>As soon as ever the term was over I rushed back to -Bath to stay with Elspeth. There was an Easter -Dance the very first night. Elspeth and I had every -one of them together. It was like returning to -Heaven straight out of Hell. I had been holding -myself in leash so severely for the past few weeks -that I was perilously near to a severe breakdown.</p> - -<p>Elspeth and I went to all the point-to-point meetings -together and I recalled my envious longings of the -year before. Now I am as content and as happy -as it is possible for man to be. There isn't a shadow -on the horizon. We wander about Bath arm-in-arm, -have tea at Fortt's <i>tête-à-tête</i>, go to the theatre together, -shop, and in the evening Elspeth and her mother -make things for her "bottom drawer," while I -pretend to read or write.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 3, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I took Elspeth down to Ilfracombe for a fortnight -in April in order to introduce her to my grandfather -and aunts. I have never known Devon more glorious -even in the spring. Just to take her to all my -favourite nooks and creeks and hear her eulogies on -them is worth Heaven in itself. She is almost as true -a lover of the West Country as I am. We motored to -Clovelly and Hartland, we went on the sea a good -deal; she is a far better sailor than I am.</p> - -<p>I keep on applying for every sort of likely vacancy -that I hear of. The thought of the long summer term -frightens me. I can confide in my people: they -understand. They say, "Get married: you won't -be happy till you do—never mind about the money, -that'll come."</p> - -<p>The Tetleys, on the other hand, can't understand -what they call my foolish impetuosity. What's the -hurry? say they. We are both very young. Elspeth -is devoted to her parents, and so we are at a deadlock.</p> - -<p>After three months of being engaged I have tried -to find out what are the peculiar attractions of -Elspeth. I can't write them down. I don't know. -She is amazingly shrewd and self-possessed: she very -rarely shows her hand; as an observer of human -nature I've never come across any one to parallel her—she -never misses anything. She is a quite unusually -capable musician, a peerless dancer and intellectual—oh, -I can't catalogue her like this: all I know is that -I love her so passionately that life without her is -inconceivable....</p> - -<p>We have so far compromised that Elspeth and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -are to be married in August if I can get a job of £300 -a year by then.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 20, 1913</i></p> - -<p>It was worse than ever coming back to Radchester -this time. The long holiday all alone with Elspeth -makes life without her more unbearable than ever. -I don't suppose people in our position usually feel -like this. Most of the engaged couples whom I know -are delightfully placid. Men are quite glad to get -away from their fiancées and have a "fling" with -their old acquaintances before the gates of the prison-house -of marriage finally close on them. I seem to -have changed entirely since I met her. I am now -simply a bundle of nerves enduring agonies of apprehension -daily. I am afraid of everything, afraid lest -she should be ill, afraid lest she should find some one -she likes better than me. I have as yet really no -claim on her.</p> - -<p>I suppose a passion of this sort comes to most men -never, to a few just once and never leaves them. -I haven't written a sensible word in an article since -that eventful night in January, which now seems -twenty or thirty years ago. Five minutes after I have -left Elspeth I feel as if I had been separated from -her for months and were never likely to see her again. -I write the most pitiable, unmanly, mawkish letters -to her: she bears with me wonderfully. I wonder if -it would have been better for her if she married -Conyngham. He has money and certainly would not -be in danger of going off his head unless he was -constantly with her. I had always been led to believe -that the time of one's engagement was full of ecstatic -joys. I wish I found it so. All I crave is marriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -and never having to separate from Elspeth as long -as I live. Every day this term, instead of playing -cricket, I wander for miles alone, looking at all the -cottages and bungalows along the shore to find a cheap -enough place for us to live in.</p> - -<p>Even Tony, though he does his best, cannot soothe -me in my present paroxysms. It really is sheer cruelty -to think of transplanting Elspeth from a place like -Bath, away from society and shops and friends and -games and amusements to a dead-alive hole like this, -where she won't meet more than two girls of her own -station in life in the year. I just spend my time in -praying for the days to pass more quickly.</p> - -<p>I had no idea that twenty-four hours could possibly -take so long in the passing. Nothing contents me. -I really try to plunge into my work but I have lost all -interest for the moment, even in English. The only -thing that consoles me is the fact that we have fixed -the sixth of August for the wedding. I am like some -Lower School fag: every day I cross off the date -from five or six calendars, which I keep to show that -so many days have gone, so many have still to go.</p> - -<p>I have interviewed the Head Master about my -staying and he wants me even as a married man. -He has gone so far as to ask Elspeth to come up this -term and stay with him.</p> - -<p>Elspeth has all her time filled up making preparations -for the wedding; she doesn't seem to miss me -as I do her, which is after all not strange. I seem to -be the girl in this affair and she the man. Every day -I suffer more and more. Now the boys have nearly -all got measles and I am picturing myself as getting -them too just when she arrives. I have every sort -of foreboding and dread on me all day and all night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -I haven't slept since I came back this term. I wish -I knew what was the matter with me. Day after day -I watch for the post, waiting for the offer of some job -to arrive. From the morning till the evening post -seems a lifetime—but in the end I have been rewarded -for my vigilant and arduous search. I have just heard -from the Head Master of Marlton that he would like -to see me on Wednesday with a view to my taking a -post on his staff in September. I have written to -Elspeth to meet me in London and come the rest of -the way with me. I also mean to bring her back -with me to Radchester: I can't stand the strain of -this any longer.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>June 11, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I went to see Marlton and Elspeth joined me in -London. It is as about as different from Radchester -as Heaven from Hell. It is about the most beautiful -old town I have ever seen. The country round is -densely wooded, with undulating hills of no very great -height, but extraordinarily picturesque. After leaving -Lewes—it's in Sussex—one seems to lose all touch -with the hurry of modern life: only the slowest of -slow trains stops at Marlton. We were met at the old-world -station, at which no one seems ever to alight, -by a courteous old butler, who led us up past -the castle and the kennels to the Priory, a huge -Gothic church most beautifully proportioned, with -flying buttresses on the north and south. The school -is an adjunct of the Priory and is exactly like an -Oxford College: it has the same perfectly kept lawns, -the same remoteness from actuality, the same quaint -old cloisters and tiny courts and quadrangles. All the -buildings are hoary with age and ivy-covered. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -Head Master's house is set right in the middle of the -school buildings: the boys live in more modern -houses scattered here and there about the town. -The Head Master and his wife were exceedingly -pleasant both to Elspeth and myself. They showed us -over the buildings, which are indescribably beautiful; -the boys are all quieter and far more gentlemanly -than the northerners and looked attractive and -friendly. We went down to the playing fields and -watched them at cricket. They have none of our -absurd rules here: there are no bounds and boys are -given as much personal liberty as if they were at home. -It will be splendid to teach in such a place. Both -Elspeth and I were enchanted with it. After a -titanic battle, I managed to get her to agree to come -back to Radchester to stay for a few days with the -Head Master of the Preparatory School, who has -always been good to me. Poor Elspeth! When she -saw the bleak desolate plain of Radchester she nearly -wept. Thank God we are not going to live here. -She stayed at the Prep. for ten days and I spent -every spare second with her. Every morning I used -to go down to fetch her and she used to come up -the shore to meet me, looking just lovely. She would -sit and sew in my rooms all day so that I could get -to her at once after school and I abandoned all games -so that I could be with her. After ten days she could -stay no longer at the Prep. and the Head Master -had not asked her for another month, so I had to try -all sorts of people to see if they would entertain her. -No one would! So she had to go home. I couldn't -do without her: I thought I should go mad.</p> - -<p>One morning the doctor came round and told me -that I ought to give myself a rest, that my nerves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -were giving way, that he would fix up leave for me—that -I was simply to go away at once. So without -saying good-bye to any of my four-years' friends I -packed a suit-case and left.</p> - -<p>It seems impossible to believe, now that I am back -in Bath with Elspeth, that I can ever have suffered -as I did: it is all like the dim recollection of some -horrible nightmare. I miss my boys, I miss my form, -I hate to think of another man usurping my rooms, -my place in chapel, taking my work—but the break -is final. This morning I received all my books, my -pictures, my clothes, everything that I had collected -in my four years and Radchester and I part company -for ever.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XIII" id="XIII">XIII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 9, 1913</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">As</span> soon as we got back to Bath I was sent to a -doctor, who told me that I was suffering from a very -severe nervous breakdown, and that I must do -literally nothing till September but laze. So I have -parted from Radchester for ever. Once I was married -he said I should probably become normal again. -Elspeth and I spent our days shopping and making -arrangements for the wedding. We went down to -Marlton to find a suitable house to live in and found -one about a mile from the school, right on the outskirts -of the town, a semi-detached "villa," rather -like the house in Stratford-on-Avon in which Shakespeare -was born: it has a tiny stretch of garden and -a superb view from the dining-room and bedroom -windows of the park and the wooded hills of the south -away towards the sea. £35 a year is the rent. We -measured every nook of it for carpets and stairs and -hall furniture, and made an inventory of everything -that we should want. We spend many happy hours -searching through catalogues for all that we shall -require in the house. I have insured my life for £1000, -so that Elspeth will not be left quite penniless if I die -suddenly. We play tennis a good deal and I read -a fair amount, but I haven't the heart to write very -much. I don't quite know why.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 30, 1913</i></p> - -<p>Elspeth and I have had one or two minor tiffs over -matters of judgment. She has a decided will of her -own. It is going to take me a little time to learn -the much-needed lesson that marriages to be successful -must be largely a matter of give and take. We are -both rather obstinate. I must learn to give in to her -more readily.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 30, 1913</i></p> - -<p>As the time drew nearer to the day fixed for the -wedding, people began to arrive from all over the -country. A good many Radchester boys and masters, -all my relatives, and friends of all sorts began to -arrive in Bath. We had an amazing number of -presents, but those which touched me most were from -Heatherington's House and my form. So I'm not -forgotten even yet at Radchester. They had a lively -time after I left. In my place as a temporary substitute -they got a parson who drank heavily and had -to be carried out of chapel twice. Because I am so -poor and because our house at Marlton is so small -I was prevailed upon to sell all my books, which I now -see was one of the grossest mistakes I ever committed -in my life. At the time I thought of it as a piece of -heroism and great self-sacrifice. The episode reminds -me of Charles Lamb and the cake. As a matter of fact -it was a piece of unmitigated foolishness. I only got -£50 for the lot, and the notes that I had made in -them might be worth that if I had kept and used -them.</p> - -<p>We were married with a great show of pomp and -splendour on the sixth of August. I didn't at all like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -the gorgeous ceremony: there were too many people. -It was too much of an orgie: far too much fuss was -made of us. As I look back it appears now as a -medley of changing clothes, cutting cake, drinking -champagne, uttering platitudes to visitors, complying -with endless superstitions, and never seeing Elspeth. -I had no idea that there were so many million omens -attached to weddings. They must be very unlucky -things. It began to mean something when the day -was nearly over and we found ourselves locked in a -first-class carriage bound for Porlock.</p> - -<p>We had a room in the Ship Inn looking over the -bay, and met some of the most entertaining people -it has ever been my fortune to come across. No one -suspected that we were a honeymoon couple: we -were purposely callous about each other's welfare in -the presence of others and joined with every party -that was got up for any purpose. Most of the time -we spent in attending meets of the staghounds.</p> - -<p>Every one in the hotel was there for the hunting, -and the conversation was a refreshing change after -that of Common Room at Radchester. One man -in particular, called Monteith, who was up at Oxford -with me, was very struck with Elspeth and used to -bring her great bunches of white heather every night. -I like to see her admired: it shows me that I chose -circumspectly.</p> - -<p>We bathed every day and explored the combes -and rivers and villages in every direction. I know -no more beautiful country than this for a honeymoon: -you can get quiet when you want it. We lunched -nearly every day among the whortleberries on the -moor, far away from the sight of any living creature: -when we wanted to mix with society we only had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -drop down into Porlock, and there were always forty -or fifty people in the hotel willing and eager to be -friendly. It was the most consummately perfect -setting for a wedding tour imaginable. There was not -a speck or flaw cast upon our complete happiness -once during the entire time. It was all too short: -three weeks fled past like three days and we got to -know each other's little foibles and idiosyncrasies and -to make allowance for them.</p> - -<p>We went as far afield as Ilfracombe, Lynton, -Minehead and Exford: we went on foot, by steamer, -in dog-carts and coaches, and we were as merry as -crickets all the time. After it was over we went up -home to see my people and to introduce ourselves -in the married state to the villagers, who have known -me since I was a boy. All this month I seem to have -been walking on air. I've forgotten there ever was -such a place as Radchester or that I ever nearly -went mad because I had not Elspeth by me. What -I should do without her now God only knows. I only -hope and pray that we may live together to a ripe -old age and die within a few hours of each other. -Then our lives will have been rounded off completely, -for as it is we are only happy in the possession of -each other. Nothing else contents us.</p> - -<p>We went on to London after this in order to buy the -requisite furniture for our cottage. We accomplished -this in a single day, spending about £150 in all in -equipping ourselves with a complete outfit from -"cellar to attic." We are now back again in Bath.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 6, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I don't like wasting all my days in this house in the -Crescent. I seem to have lost all my wild ideals on -education: I have no boys now to give my life for: -all my hopes are centred upon one object, Elspeth, -and if she fails me I am undone indeed.</p> - -<p>I spend my energies on writing silly letters to the -daily papers on the subject of the Olympic Games, -of all footling things. Elspeth now cries through half -the night because she says I have changed and no -longer love her with that same passion that I once had -for her. This is quite untrue, but I can't make her -see it. I seem to be a mass of contradictions.</p> - -<p>Bath seems to have lost its attraction for me now -that I have nothing to do except wait for the opening -of term at Marlton. I find myself pining for Radchester, -the club, the cross-county runs, "Rugger," -camp, bathing, boys to tea—and all the savage, -healthy years of apprenticeship while I was learning -my job. I've read very little except a novel called -"Sinister Street," by Compton Mackenzie, which -seems to me to be at once very good and very bad. -I don't like it so much as "Carnival," but his pictures -of his old Public School masters are extraordinarily -vivid and probably true. I wish I could write such -a book. I want to settle down to some serious writing, -but I haven't the patience to begin on a book, partly -because I should immediately begin to fear lest -I should die before it was finished. I wish I could -rid myself of this silliness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 11, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I have just been up to the Board of Education to -be interviewed for a lucrative post in India. I should -dearly like to go and I have the job definitely offered -me, £600 a year to inspect the teaching of English -in Ceylon, but Elspeth is against it, so I shall have to -refuse. I was also offered £7 a week to sub-edit the -Daily Tatler, but I could not of course break my -contract at Marlton, and they would not keep it open, -so that's off. I should like to be a journalist. The -work would suit me admirably.</p> - -<p>I read "The Story of Louie," by Oliver Onions on -my way south at night, and arrived at Marlton at -nine o'clock and walked up the hill through the -pretty narrow streets to my new home, which Elspeth -and her mother had prepared against my coming. -It certainly is a great change after Radchester. The -only unfortunate thing is that I am no longer my own -master. I now shall have to be careful about dirty -boots. Elspeth has the last word as to where everything -is to go. She and her mother went to bed early -and I went round the house on a tour of inspection. -The hall is really something to be proud of, with its -bookcases and oak chest and grandfather clock. -The drawing-room is small but dainty; most of the -pictures are ordinary and cheap: we bought them at -Boots' for very little. The silver that we had for -wedding presents is all put out on mahogany tables, -and there are photographs of Elspeth's friends but -none of mine, which irritated me momentarily. -I loathe the nondescript china ornaments on the -mantelpiece. The dining-room closely resembles my -own rooms at Radchester. All my old Oxford signed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -proofs of Blair Leighton and Dicksee take up the wall -space and there are two bookshelves. The study -contains my bureau and all my special treasures. -In this room at least, I hope, that I shall be able to -do as I like. Our bedroom is large and yet very cosy. -I think I am going to love this house. At any rate -I feel very proud at being a householder.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 19, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I have spent a week on my bicycle exploring the -surrounding country before term begins. It is -glorious to live where people hunt, and there are large -houses, and cars passing the door (we are right on the -main London-Hastings road) and the villages are all -snug and picturesque, and there are heaps of ripping -neighbours who call and look as if they were going -to entertain us lavishly. It is possible, too, to get -down to a real sea, how different from the so-called sea -at Radchester, a sea of blue and green flanked by great -white Sussex cliffs. I feel most extraordinarily at -home and yet I funk the coming term: I don't know -how these boys will take to me. They are sure to be -very different from the Radchester boys. I doubt -whether they'll be as boisterous or as healthy. Time -will show.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XIV" id="XIV">XIV</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>October 4, 1913</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">I have</span> now had my first taste of life as a master -at Marlton. The air here is sluggish, warm and -unhealthy. I never want to go out and I always feel -tired. There is none of the energy which one associated -with Radchester. The place is altogether -different. In the first place there is practically no -Common Room life, which is perhaps a good thing. -We only gather in Common Room from 11 to 11.15 -every morning for "break." The masters live all -over the town. There are eight houses and each one -is quite distinct from any other: the boys never mix. -Most of the staff are quite young. Of the elder ones -I have come across the officer commanding the Corps -who is elderly (he has a son older than I am), a -parson, very good-natured and easy-going, but with -an insatiable desire for talking. He is the most -gossipy man I ever met. His wife is one of the -sweetest women I ever met. We have dined there -once, but it was a dull meal. He monopolized the -entire conversation. There is another House-master -parson, also old, who is very literary and runs a select -society, which meets every Sunday afternoon to read -and listen to papers on literary topics. I should like -to belong to that. Some day I hope to be elected. -We have also dined there. Ponsonby is a wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -raconteur but rather eccentric in his habits: I should -think that he takes some knowing. The other House -masters are all young and all married. Every one -here seems very well off as compared with the Radchester -masters. They all have private means. -They ride, though not often, to hounds, they own cars -and motor-bicycles, and don't appear to do very -much work. Most of them live solely for games. -I find that I am getting more and more agitated at -the games fetish. Although they live under the -shadow of the most inspiring church in the country, -and though the school buildings themselves are -exceedingly beautiful, the boys and masters alike -seem to distrust beauty just as much as the Radchester -people did. There is one man with whom I have -formed a strong alliance. He, like myself, is a new-comer. -He is unmarried, very clever, and deserted -the Foreign Office, where he held a good billet, to -come down to teach the Sixth. He is in the eyes of -the school quite mad. He is careless as to his -clothes, wearing next to nothing on a very cold day -and arctically clad when it is warm and sunny. He -has a knack of forgetting what time it is and sets out -for a walk when he ought to be going into school. -He is a real poet and a fine classic. His name is -Wriothesley and is already known as "the Rotter." -On Sundays he wears a top hat and immaculate -morning clothes with a white slip, white spats and -patent-leather boots. Added to this he stammers -and is acutely nervous. The rest of the staff are not -inspiring. There are several "beefy Blues," a few -slack men who take no interest in anything that occurs -in the school outside their form work, and one man -who ought to be a country squire, who presides over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -local District Council and spends all his energies on -running the town. The boys are all gentlemen, very -slack, very quiet, care nothing for work and a very -great deal too much for "Rugger."</p> - -<p>Unfortunately I have begun badly. Two articles -that I wrote long ago on Public School Reform have -just found their way into print. Every one here has -read them and they all look on me as a dangerous -innovator, unpatriotic and disloyal. It is in vain -that I point out that I said these things of another -school and under the stress of nerves. I am a marked -man. Whatever I do I shall be looked upon with -suspicion. They all think I am on the look-out for -"copy." Elspeth does not much care for the school -people and I don't altogether blame her. The wives -are very cliquey, and think that they have a right to -dictate to the wives of the younger masters exactly -as to how they should dress, how they should behave, -who they shall know and who they shall not know.</p> - -<p>The society of Marlton is very snobbish and divided -up into a myriad different sets. At the top there is -the Castle clique, who hunt and play polo. Some -of these are quite amusing. Then come the school -people, who keep to themselves. After them come -the professional clique. There are vast numbers of -retired Indian military and civilian people, who play -bridge and walk about the country doing nothing in -particular: to these are attached the doctors, bankers, -solicitors, and clergy. Next come the wealthier -tradespeople and the other school people. Marlton -boasts half a dozen different schools to meet the -demands of people of widely differing ideas, Roman -Catholic, Secondary, Girls' Colleges, Board, Grammar -and National Schools: the place is overrun with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -educational establishments. There is consequently -no dearth of people, though the total population is -certainly not more than ten thousand.</p> - -<p>My work is not very arduous and gives me time to -write in my spare hours. I only hope that I shall -have the sense to avail myself of it. I take mathematical -sets all through the school: the boys seem to -know even less than they did at Radchester. Certainly -they know no English. I find to my intense -disgust that I am and have been for the past ten years -suffering from chronic appendicitis. There is no need -as yet for an operation, but I have to be dieted very -carefully and avoid games. A much more insidious -disease is attacking my brain. I am beginning to get -restive. I haven't the least idea why. I want to -get up and run away. It is all too comfortable. -I am afraid of acquiescing and becoming as my -colleagues, happy as sheep are happy basking in the -sun. I never had this before: it's a new development. -I go for miles on my bicycle and sit on stiles or hedges -and read or gaze out over the landscape and wish—I -scarcely know for what. I have lately been rereading -all Thomas Hardy's novels. I seem to be a -sort of second Jude the Obscure.</p> - -<p>The hours are very different from those at Radchester. -We have breakfast at 8.30. Chapel (which -we only have to attend once a day) is at 9.15, and -then school goes on from 9.30 to 12.45. At one -o'clock we lunch and Elspeth and I walk down to the -town to shop or change a library book at the station, -getting back for tea at four. School continues from -4.15 to 6. Then work is over for the day. There is -no preparation invigilation for masters, thank God. -In the evening after dinner I do a little correcting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -not more than is necessary, write if I feel like it, -read a chapter or two of a novel, and so to bed at ten. -The days pass very quickly and I don't seem to do -anything. I am achieving nothing. Most of the day -seems to be spent in riding to and from school. I've -been reading D. H. Lawrence's novel, "Sons and -Lovers." It's about as perfect a picture of Midland -life as could well be imagined. Thank Heaven that -I'm back in a county among people who hunt and -talk the King's English. I have a great deal to be -thankful for. It seems a very Elysium of quiet -content and happiness, and yet there is underlying -tragedy.</p> - -<p>The first Monday in October is made an occasion -for an annual orgie which rouses the town out of sleep. -I have just come from partaking of all the fun of the -fair. It starts on the Sunday night, when all the -riff-raff of the place march through the streets making -a fearful din with drums and kettles and tin cans and -whistles, to celebrate the completion of the building -of the Priory. The day after is given up to revelry -of a rather gross kind. Booths are erected in the -main narrow street and all sorts of useless things are -bought and sold. On the fair ground there are -roundabouts and swings, cinema shows and helter-skelters, -houp-las and side shows, rifle ranges and -coco-nut shies. It is all very tawdry and shallow -and noisy and cheap, but it gives one a glimpse of -Hodge at play which is instructive.</p> - -<p>Compared with the north-countryman he is feckless, -very subservient, slow and deliberate in his movements, -content with his potato-patch and fourteen shillings -a week as wages, afraid of his superiors (the north-countryman -has no superiors) and in all things seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -to be a relic of the feudal system. He takes his -pleasures very sadly and is frequently drunk; he -finds life monotonous but he is not ambitious enough -to cast off his slough; in Marlton he was born and -in Marlton he will be buried and that is his life history. -There are as a consequence a great number of workhouse -inmates, semi-lunatic boys and girls who loiter -about the streets all day: the shops are very poor -and the attendants slow beyond belief. No one here -seems to have any conception of the value of time.</p> - -<p>The boys at the school have the same lazy habits -in a lesser degree: they rarely run, they amble along -through life very happily. They are genial but by -no means effusive. The lack of wild enthusiasms, -frequent riots, strenuous friendships and enmities is -one of the glaring points about Marlton when I come -to compare it with Radchester. After a few weeks -Elspeth and I felt so bedraggled and worn out owing -to the enervating climate that we took a few half-holidays -down by the sea.</p> - -<p>What a joy it is to be working in so exquisite a -country. The drive over the downs, through the -pine-woods, down to the rocky coast puts fresh blood -into one. I want to sing for the very joy of being -able to appreciate it. Nature is beginning to mean -very much more to me than she ever used to. I go -up sometimes (when I am fretful and inclined to chafe -at the prison bars) to the golf-course, and then gaze -over the northern vale, and the Kentish Weald, the -white cottages nestling under the hills, the spires of -many churches, and a great peace descends on me. -I begin to realize the meaning of that word "England" -and all that it connotes. If I hadn't been in the -wilderness for four years I should probably never have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -felt quite such a thrill of thankfulness at the beauty -of it. These south-country people as a rule take it all -as a matter of course: they have lived here always: -they have never seen Halifax or Huddersfield or -Leeds or Radchester. They don't know the ghastly -depression that sinks into one's soul after a month -of gloomy, sunless days in a foggy, poisonous, -manufacturing town.</p> - -<p>One of the quaintest changes in my life is that now -I find that I want to write. I keep getting fresh -ideas daily. At present I am engaged in editing an -"Anthology of Verse and Prose for Schools," which -isn't anything like so dull as it sounds.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 16, 1913</i></p> - -<p>I have had Tony down here for a few days. It was -like entertaining a hurricane. He says that I'm in -danger of becoming as invertebrate as a limpet. -"Where are," he asked, "the wild diatribes against -abuses, the physical fitness, the madness about games, -the frenzy for intellectual improvement?" I shook -my head sadly and murmured something about the air. -The boys he looked at in "break" one morning and -snorted audibly like a war-horse. "These lads have -got the 'guts' of an Ague-cheek, the blood of sardines," -he said. "Why don't they get a move on? Do -they always slop about like this? You want the -Radchester sergeant here for a few days, some one -to open their windpipes. What do you do all day?" -I told him. "I said '<i>do</i>,'" he replied.</p> - -<p>Perhaps my appendicitis may have something to do -with it, but certainly it is a change to find myself -confining myself to a slow walk into the town with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -Elspeth in place of the seven miles' strenuous run or -the gory game of "Rugger" that usually occupied my -afternoons. I go out with the beagles a good deal, -but for the first time in my life, instead of trying to -follow the hounds wherever they go, I sit on the tops -of gates and wait for them to come back and don't -worry if I lose them altogether. There is no fighting -against the temptation to slack.</p> - -<p>Elspeth has had a school-friend staying with her -who infuriated me by her vacuous behaviour. Her -only aim in life is to attract men. I don't know what -is the matter with me, but married life is rubbing -me up the wrong way. I am becoming fidgety about -my rights in the house. It sounds childish: in fact it -is childish. This settling down business is going to -be a lengthier job than I thought. I seem to have -lost all my old freedom of action or thought. I -certainly love Elspeth no less in my heart of hearts, -but I hate being managed by a pack of women. First -there is the servant, then Elspeth, then Elspeth's -school-friend. I never seem to see a man. I can no -longer have crowds of boys about me and entertain -them as I used to, because it's so expensive and we -can't afford it. Besides it makes so much extra -work. But the real trouble is, I fancy, that I love -Elspeth far more than she loves me. I scent the -elements of a tragedy here already.</p> - -<p>One custom here pleases me a good deal. All the -senior boys have us in turn to their studies to tea. -They are much more men of the world than the -Radchester "bloods." Their airs and moustaches, -their evident wealth and perfect ease of manner all -frighten me. I feel very much more like a "fag" -being patronized than a master.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<p>I have already had two or three dire conflicts in -Common Room over the articles I have lately -published. Several of my colleagues won't speak to -me: others say that I am trying to head a revolt -against games and all the age-old traditions that -made Marlton famous: "whippersnapper" is the -phrase most commonly employed about me I think. -I see myself classed with Tipham of "The Lanchester -Tradition." One of the greatest pleasures I get in life -is on alternate Saturday evenings, when I attend the -School Debating Society and let loose some of my -"wild" theories. These do not tend to make me -more popular, but they certainly rouse people to speak -who normally would keep silence either through -nervousness or indifference.</p> - -<p>My work I should like if only there were more of it. -I get so little to do that life hangs very heavily on my -hands. I am become further domesticated by the -possession of a dog and a cat. We quarrel over the -animals. I loathe the cat: I hate all sleepy things -and Elspeth hates the dog in the house. Consequently -I go off with "Sludge" (a wild rough-haired -terrier with no respect for anything in the world) and -tramp the country for miles and talk to him: he can -understand my frets and worries. He is very like me, -never happy unless he is out and about chasing -something frenziedly. Elspeth stays at home and -consoles herself with the cat. It's a bad existence. -Lately I have succumbed to a new disease. I have -an overmastering desire to hear the roar and bustle -of London: I believe if we lived there we should be -happy, there is such heaps to do.</p> - -<p>Most husbands in the city only see their wives at -night, in the early morning and evening. Consequently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -they are glad to meet, whereas Elspeth and -I can see one another nearly every moment of the day. -I am in to all meals and invariably about the place -when rooms are being cleaned out, which seems to me -to be happening all and every day. The only way -I have kept going is by keeping the house full of -visitors, mainly old Radcastrians, who come to see -what sort of a married man I make.</p> - -<p>One curious incident that has just happened will -give the clue to my state of mind.</p> - -<p>My people have been staying in Cheltenham and -as Elspeth and I had been bickering freely and I had -been feeling rotten, we decided that it would be a -good thing for both of us if I went to see them for the -week-end. I have always been irresolute, but I -cannot remember ever weighing anything so carefully -as I did the pros and cons of this ridiculously small -matter. In the end I went. I was intensely miserable -and lonely in the train. All sorts of horrors crossed -my mind, accidents to Elspeth while I was away, -accidents to the train. By the time I got to Cheltenham -I was in an abject state. I just embraced my -parents and then stated that I was going straight back -home. They did their best to prevail upon me at -least to stay for one night, but I was adamant. I -walked with them, arguing all the way, to their hotel -and then straight back to the station, where I caught -the last train of the night for London. I arrived at -Marlton at two in the morning and had to rouse -Elspeth by throwing stones at her window. Sobbing -and half-demented I was put to bed. She was in a -terrible state: she thought I had gone out of my -mind. I am not certain that I wasn't. All I know -is that though I quarrel with her in this absurd way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -I cannot bear to leave her for more than a few hours -at most. It is a most extraordinary state of mind -to have got into. I wish I could explain it. No one -could have been saner than I was up to the time of -my engagement: now I seem to be more nearly -approaching insanity with every passing hour. I -cannot believe that every newly married man suffers -as I am suffering. All this tells on Elspeth too. Such -behaviour as mine only lessens her love for me. She -does not really sympathize at all. She is becoming -cold. My God! please show me the way to keep her -love.</p> - -<p>So ends my first term at Marlton.</p> - -<p>I have read a good deal and bought a few books. -I have made a start at writing. My health is becoming -very bad. I have not learnt how to control myself -or my wife. I want happiness and, straining after it, -only attain misery. I like the boys but they are -slack and don't really want to learn anything. I have -joined the Corps, but it is not so smart or popular -here as it was at Radchester. I have enjoyed most -of all watching the school "Rugger" matches. It is -considered part of every one's duty to go down to the -fields to watch all matches, which irritates me. -I don't want to watch because I'm expected to, but -because I want to. Neither Elspeth nor I are very -popular: we have made enemies by accepting an -invitation to a House supper and then not turning up -because we left a day before the end of term. We -had no idea that these House suppers were only annual -events and that invitations to them are considered -the highest honour possible when extended to masters -who don't own a House. It would be useless to -explain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<p>The boys are far more civilized than they were at -Radchester owing to the fact that their House-masters -are married and that quite frequently they meet -members of the other sex. They are more urbane -and polished: they acquire a kind of <i>savoir faire</i> in -their demeanour, a smartness in their dress which was -noticeably lacking at Radchester. There is not so -great a cleavage between home and school; they -spend quite a number of afternoons in drawing-rooms; -they entertain the small sons and daughters of the -staff, they come into contact to a certain extent with -the life of the streets, they are allowed to buy whatever -they like in any shops, they are encouraged to explore -the beauties of the countryside on bicycles. Some -of the prefects have motor-bicycles. They are -allowed to play golf and to go out to tea at the -houses of private residents in the town. Altogether -they are made as happy as it is possible for boys to be. -In a word, I could not imagine any boy committing -suicide at Marlton, whereas they might at Radchester. -Nevertheless there are several things that -are wrong about the place. The lack of energy is -by far the most noticeable. The lack of reading is -perhaps the next and may follow from it. The school -library is very old and well stocked with mediæval -books of all sorts, being peculiarly rich in archæological, -historical and theological works, but it seems -to have stopped stocking new books about 1890. -The amount of modern stuff in it is composed entirely -of books of little value which have been presented -to it. There is no system on which books are bought -at all: I looked in vain for Meredith, Swift, Hazlitt, -Stevenson, or Conrad, to mention a few names at -random. There are but few purely literary works<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -and boys are certainly not encouraged to keep up -with the newest thought in philosophy, poetry, drama, -essays and so on. Only the senior boys are allowed -to take books out; the bulk of the school use the building -on Sundays and then only when it is wet. They -rarely read anything except contemporary magazines. -One thing that has pleased me about my work is -that I have been put on to teach history. This -seems to me one of the vitally important subjects. -Domestic politics rather than long descriptions of -foreign wars, however, seem to me to be the first -essential. I have tried to make my forms realize -the continuity of history, its applicability to modern -life, so that they may not be led astray by any -illogical sophistries in unscrupulous newspapers. -I find that they become really interested in the -history of the Home Rule question, the beginnings of -the war between capital and labour, electoral reform, -the decentralization of government, the power of the -Cabinet, the Crown, the House of Lords and the -Commons. I want to equip them so that they will -be able really to form their own judgments when they -grow up and not accept party shibboleths and be at -the mercy of any witty scoundrel.</p> - -<p>Side by side with the history we read the famous -literary works of the time. Each boy (I did this at -Radchester) selects one author or book and writes -descriptive criticism on him and it, which he afterwards -reads aloud, and comments are made by the -rest. Boys are astonishingly poor debaters, they -cannot articulate clearly: even when they read aloud -they stammer over all except the simplest words.</p> - -<p>Every night of the term I hold a voluntary class -for Shakespeare and drama-lovers in general: these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -readings of plays would go down infinitely better if -only boys knew how to pronounce words, how to get -up the meanings of passages, or even the meaning -and use of stops. One would think that an educated -boy of sixteen or seventeen would really know how -to read, but only in the very rarest cases can he -do so with intelligence. Nowhere is this more clearly -shown than in chapel, where the prefects of the week -read the lesson: they mumble over and spoil some -of the most dramatic and poetic passages in the -Bible. It isn't through lack of reverence or care -but simply because they have never been taught. -Incidentally they have never been taught how -to read to themselves: they cannot concentrate -on anything that requires thought or hard work. -A short story in a magazine they appreciate, -and good literature they can tolerate when it is -read aloud to them by their form masters; but -they cannot tackle anything solid by themselves. -They distrust all standard authors as likely to be dull. -Their surprise when they are introduced to such a -book as "Wuthering Heights" is indescribably -comic. In mathematics I still seem to have the -horrid trick of going so fast that no one learns -anything. At any rate I interest them: I wish -I could get the stuff to stick in their minds.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XV" id="XV">XV</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 13, 1914</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Elspeth</span> is now with me at my father's home and -in bed with "flu." While we were there I got an -invitation from Gregson's to write a book for them -on education, so Elspeth and I went straight down -to Bath, and I shut myself and wrote "Reform in -Education" in ten days. It amounts to 50,000 words. -I find that I simply cannot write slowly. I start to -plan a thing out, then my brain refuses to take in -anything except matter for the book. I look on -meals as a needless interruption. I want to write all -day and all night. The MSS. is now being typed for -me, and I am resting, by reading novels and magazines, -playing bridge and billiards with my father-in-law, -and alternately quarrelling and making it up with -Elspeth.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>March 3, 1914</i></p> - -<p>There have been endless rows in the school this -term and wholesale expulsions. House-masters are -told all about them, and the rest of us kept in ignorance. -What the whole body of the school knows is -hidden from us poor juniors. On what principle I -wonder? Elspeth and I fight daily over books. She -dislikes any papers, magazines or books in the drawing-room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -and I hate to see the best room in the house -given over to nothing but clothes in the making. -Having sold under compulsion all the books that I -so much valued I am now trying to build up another -library. This naturally costs money, but, as I frequently -tell Elspeth, I can't get ideas to write about -unless I read a good deal.</p> - -<p>My neurasthenia has been so acute lately that I -have had to see the school doctor: he wants me to -go into a sort of retreat for the Easter holidays alone. -I'd far rather die. Because I attended every debate -and dramatic reading at the School Debating Society -last term I have been elected president. We have had -debates on conscription, Lloyd George, and classical -and modern subjects. I have brought up the average -attendance from forty to about a hundred. I shall -not be content until we get the majority of the school -to attend. These debates, etc., take place in Big -School on alternate Saturday evenings from 7 till -8.45. That means dinner at 6.30, which precludes -the possibility of many members of Common Room -attending. When I first began to go the meetings -were rather disorderly and riotous, and no one cared -much about the subject. There were long and -awkward pauses, but now we have managed to -rouse a good deal of opposition, and people come with -very carefully prepared speeches, and there are less -irrelevancies. I have had one severe attack of appendicitis, -but it passed off after a few hours. Of course -the school has had the usual diseases, mumps and -diphtheria. The whole town is down with the latter: -it is said that the water is bad, the milk is bad, and -the sanitary arrangements mediæval. It is really the -most backward, sleepy place I ever came across. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -District Council fight among themselves, but never do -anything for the public weal. Most of the members -are drapers, butchers, and bakers, and consider -nothing but their own interests.</p> - -<p>I have been elected to the Sunday Afternoon Literary -Society. There are eight boy members and eight -masters. We meet at 3.15 on alternate Sunday -afternoons, and a paper is read for an hour, and -afterwards there is tea. This society has been in -existence for fifty years. There is never any discussion, -which is a great pity. At the end of term -a Shakespeare play is read.</p> - -<p>The first papers I heard were on "The Schoolmaster -in Literature," Francis Thompson and Kipling, -and they were all extremely interesting. Elspeth -and I have dined with various members of the -staff. They give good dinners, but the conversation -is not very thrilling; they dislike anything out of -the ordinary; they "never get the time to read," -and consequently won't talk "book-shop," which I -am beginning to fear is my only subject. They disapprove -of my beagling because it takes me away -from the games; they don't know, of course, that -I've been forbidden to play games. As a matter of -fact, I frequently referee the "kids'" games, which -are really amusing. They have a quaint habit here -of playing all their school matches in the Christmas -term, and all their House matches this term. Ingleby, -who runs the games, is a passionate devotee of -"Rugger," and puts the fear of God into every boy -who comes near him. He is altogether delightful, -and has a most charming wife, but he cannot brook -being "crossed." He dislikes and distrusts me -because I said somewhere that I thought games were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -overdone at the Public Schools. His belief is that -games have been, and are, the saving of England, -the one outstanding glory of our national life. To -this idea he clings through thick and thin, and opposition -to it only rouses him to fury. He has a strong -face, and is one of the giants here. His influence is -enormous. He is an ideal schoolmaster of the old -swashbuckling type; he rules by fear and the rod; -all his boys love him almost as much as they dread -him; he always looks as if he were going to knock -any man down who ventured to disagree with him. -I like him, but the devil that is in me always prompts -me to get up against him; he is a great stickler for -convention; the first time we crossed swords was on -a very minute point of etiquette. A boy in his -House, who is taking the Army exam., wanted special -coaching in English, and so, not being able to find -any classroom vacant in which to take him I agreed -to visit him in his study. Of course I ought to have -asked Ingleby's leave. I forgot, and he got furiously -angry. "Young upstarts disregarding rules of a -thousand years' growth," and so on.</p> - -<p>I like my Army class work. The English required -for Sandhurst and Woolwich is of a very low standard, -but it is amusing. These general questions, précis, -reproductions, and so on, give me a chance of introducing -favourite passages from great authors, and I try -my hardest to make them read for themselves by -running a sort of library in my classroom. I fill up -all my vacant shelves with "likely" books, and just -let them help themselves. The worst of it is that -they nearly always forget to bring them back. I -find this as expensive a hobby as having boys continually -to tea at Radchester used to be.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> - -<p>My other English form are preparing for the -London Matriculation, which, as things stand, is the -best examination in English that I know. I concentrate -all my powers on literature. I try to build up -a coherent idea of the history of English literature -all through, and most of the boys respond to the idea -splendidly. The worst of it is that they come to -me, for the most part, desperately ignorant; three -or four plays of Shakespeare, and Sheridan and Goldsmith -comprise their whole stock of knowledge. On -the other hand, there is a handsome prize awarded -annually (£20 worth of books), called the "Carfax," -for the boy who shows the best knowledge on Shakespeare, -three set authors, and a general paper on all -the best authors from 1800 to the present time. This -stimulates the senior boys, and in this, the Lent -term, every year, some twenty or thirty boys really -try to make up for the lamentable deficiency in this -branch of their education.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 5, 1914</i></p> - -<p>I find that I am getting slack in writing up my -diary. I don't quite know the reason unless it is -that "happy is the nation that has no history" -applies equally to individuals. Elspeth and I are -getting on much better, by fits and starts. We still -quarrel, but more rarely, and only when I forget to -show her some of those "little, unremembered acts -of kindness and of love" which make so great a -difference to life. We had one wonderful day at the -Oxford and Cambridge Sports, when I introduced her -to all the old Oxford gang. She was thoroughly in -her element there. She was not born to be a schoolmaster's -wife. She needs gaiety, amusement, heaps of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -friends, and an incessant round of youthful pleasures. -I wish I could get a job in London if only for her -sake. She gets very tired of the everlasting topics of -conversation at Marlton, bulbs and babies. All true -Marltonians are keen gardeners, and they all have -large families. I suppose four years of Radchester -made me forget the joys of a garden ... because -really the gardens of Marlton are a joy for ever; -apparently the very rarest and most delicate flowers -will bloom in Marlton when they would die in any -other soil in England.</p> - -<p>As soon as the holidays started Elspeth and I went -to London in order that I might continue to bombard -the editors and publishers with copy. There wasn't -much doing, but we saw numbers of quite excellent -plays. I received a commission from Goddard's to -edit a dozen plays of Shakespeare and other dramatists -for use in schools, for which they promised me £50. -I didn't spend as much time over them as I could -have wished. My old disease of hurry made me write -Introductions which I ought to have done much -better, but my object was to say as little as possible -and not to overburden the juvenile mind with a -million unnecessary notes. It was an easily earned -£50. I finished my anthology, which I called "A -Cluster of Grapes," and started to produce a School -Mathematical Course, which I eventually gave up -because it bored me.</p> - -<p>Elspeth and I went as usual to the point-to-point -meetings this year, and the Bath dances, and -thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. There are still the -same old cliques to be seen parading up and down -Milsom Street, weaving petty scandals over the tea-table -at Fortt's, girls becoming engaged and breaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -it off, strange, unaccountable weddings and stranger -divorces. We are now looked upon as an old married -couple and no longer interesting.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 14, 1914</i></p> - -<p>This has been a good summer term; it was pleasant -to come farther south at the beginning of May instead -of having to cut oneself off from all the joys of summer -by going to Radchester. Marlton in the summer is -exquisite: the town is just one blaze of colour: it -is much too hot, but luckily Elspeth loves the heat, -and I don't mind it much. Besides there is splendid -bathing in the open-air school swimming-bath. Financial -affairs have been a constant thorn in my flesh. -Here I get £200, and on that I have to keep Elspeth, -and a servant at £18 a year, a house the rent of which -is £35 and the taxes £15. I give her £2 a week on -which to keep house, and we spend money like water -by travelling in the holidays. Worst of all I am still -paying off old Oxford debts, which drag us down still -further, and my books and tobacco bill average about -£3 a term. All the other masters have private means -and live like princes. I suppose we ought to economize -by having no people to stay with us, but it -would be deadly for Elspeth while I was in school if -she was always alone, and I, too, like old friends to -talk to at night. Consequently we are never free -from visitors. Her father and mother and brothers -and sisters have all been down, and several old Radcastrians, -including Jimmy Haye and Montague, both -of whom love it.</p> - -<p>I have had the luck to get Tony's first forty poems, -that he showed up to me for work at Radchester, -printed in a monthly review. I am now waiting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -be operated on for appendicitis. I am going into the -nursing home on the 27th, as soon as ever I have -finished correcting all my exams. I am funking it -horribly. It would be dreadful if this were to be -the end before I've really come to understand Elspeth -and treat her as she ought to be treated. I do so -want also to write something worth writing before I -die. It's no good being morbid over it. I only hope -that the taking out of this offending member will -mean the eradication of all uncleanness and offence -in me. It ought to make me better tempered, more -long-suffering, more loving and lovable, and altogether -more Christian and chivalrous. I read a paper to -the Sunday Afternoon Society on "The Predecessors -of Shakespeare"; as usual I prepared it too hastily. -I had far too much to say to get through it in an -hour. Before I knew about my operation I had -accepted an invitation to lecture at Stratford-on-Avon -on the teaching of English. These summer -conferences are extraordinarily good things, and one -learns heaps of "tips" about how to tackle a subject -in the proper way. I still go on experimenting with -my form. I have no reason to be displeased with -their progress in literature. I have had quite a -number of original pieces of work shown up. I have -got to know two boys in particular very well. Every -week they read papers to me on any subject, and -we sit round a schoolhouse study table and argue. -They are as different as possible from each other. -One is a brusque, quite clever, very athletic lover of -sensuous poetry; he pins his faith to Byron, Swinburne, -Rossetti, William Morris, Edward Dowson, -and Arthur Symons; his name is O'Dowd. The -other, Raynes, is a quiet, demure scholar, who does<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -not get on very well in his House; his passion is -Meredith. I get more pleasure out of these two than -out of any other boys in the school. By far the -rottenest thing I have to do is private tuition. This -means taking two or three very backward boys, -usually in mathematics, for an hour three times a -week. For this we get extra pay, £2 2s. for each -boy! That is six guineas for thirty-nine hours' work. -Whereas I have before now got six guineas for an -article which hasn't taken me more than thirty-nine -minutes. I grudge the time I have to devote to -these boys more than I can say; they know nothing, -they never will know anything, they don't want to -know anything. And yet one can't refuse to take -them because every penny is important.</p> - -<p>We have one great function here in the summer -term before which everything else fades, and that is -Speech Day. This consists of a wonderful service in -the Priory, then we go to Big School, where prizewinners -read their papers, prizes are awarded, and -speeches are made and large luncheon-parties are -given in each House-master's house. The vast concourse -then wanders slowly down to the fields to -watch the old boys' cricket match, and at night -there is a school concert. The music here is world-famous. -The school concerts are magnificently done. -We have a large album of school songs, and selections -are taken from these, and there is usually some -oratorio or cantata. The festivities leave one slightly -limp, and there is not much work done during the -rest of the term. The most surprising feature about -it all to me was the comparison between the Radchester -Speech Day and the Marlton Speech Day. -The Radchester parent was a sight for the gods;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -he was always wealthy, nearly always possessed of -a distinct accent, and wore clothes to match; he -was hearty, bluff, and a good fellow; his womenfolk -gave me no pleasure. At Marlton the parents -seemed to be the salt of the earth; they were all -aristocrats in name if not in money. The majority -of them are parsons and soldiers, and practically to -a man old Marltonians. Loyalty to his school is the -one shining characteristic of the Marltonian; to -them there is simply no other Public School in -England. I don't wonder; the boys are perfectly -happy. They live secluded from the rotten side -of the world in a valley which takes the breath -away for sheer loveliness. They have a great tradition -extending from the dark ages. There is a saying -that no matter where he is or in what circumstances -an old Marltonian can be detected at once by his -geniality, his good-breeding, his entire absence of -"side," and soft, slow, lazy way of speaking. Quietly -and insidiously the place is beginning to take hold -of me. There is no doubt whatever that I enjoy -life much more than I used to; I am beginning to -observe beautiful things, nature particularly. I find -myself standing stock-still looking at the clouds racing -past the moon on a clear night behind the Priory; -the lilac and laburnum thrill me like an exquisite -melody; the green of the fields, the thickly leaved -trees, flowers in a garden, all sorts of things that -didn't seem to me to matter much are now becoming -ineffably precious. The lights in the schoolhouse -studies late at night, seen as one crosses the court -on the way home from school and chapel, are amazingly -beautiful and peaceful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 24, 1914</i></p> - -<p>Here I am on the eve of being operated on. I -wish it could be postponed for a bit. There seems -to be the chance of civil war in Ireland, and the row -in the Balkans looks like spreading. Elspeth and I -are thinking of going to Scotland when I am convalescent, -but I should like to cross over to Ireland -and see really what is happening. We really have -treated Ireland throughout the ages damnably. I -wonder what will come of it all. I have finished -correcting all my examination papers, and done my -reports, added up my marks, and now all is over. -Elspeth has been kindness itself to me lately; there -is no doubt of the depth of our love for each other. -I have been making a will, which seems silly because -I don't leave much; about £150 worth of debts, and -£1000 to pay them with from my insurance. Of -course there'll be the furniture, but that's not much -of an heirloom. I have had several horrible qualms -about death, but, good heavens! it's no good worrying. -I wonder whether Elspeth will marry again. -After all, it won't matter to me when I'm gone. -This is a silly way to talk. This has been a rotten -day. I have said good-bye to a few boys, packed -up what I shall want for the nursing home, a volume -of Chesterton and a volume of Stevenson. I bicycled -up to the golf links to say good-bye to the country -that I have now so learnt to love; and after tea, -in a bowler hat and "going-away" suit and suit-case, -I walked up to the nursing home. It's a rotten -game doing all this in cold blood. Elspeth stayed -with me in my room, which is clean, comfortable, -and faces south, until the nurse turned her out. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -am now left alone, and Elspeth isn't to be allowed to -see me until after the operation. It was agonizing -parting from her, and I dread the night. I haven't -slept for a very long time decently, and I certainly -don't expect to to-night. I've been allowed as a -special concession to finish writing up my diary to -date. It seems all very futile now. I've made jolly -little of my life. I've loved a few boys, taught a -few of them something, taught a great many nothing. -I have irritated some very good people by giving -publicity to ill-considered judgments, and I have -given of my all to one girl; I live in and for and by -Elspeth alone. She is the whole of life to me. God -grant that we may be spared to one another and -learn to be truly and always happy together.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XVI" id="XVI">XVI</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 17, 1914</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Even</span> now I can't realize it: I went into that nursing -home on a beautiful peaceful evening in July with -nothing more important to worry about than my -silly old appendix, and somehow while I was lying -low and not worrying the entire world seems to have -changed. I came in thinking that it might be exciting -to go to Ireland, because there was a chance of a -slight "scrap," and I come out and find the whole -world in a death-struggle. It is like some hideous -nightmare. I suppose war must have come upon -most people as a surprise, a bomb-shell, but for me -it has come as all part of another existence. My life -is now divided into two parts, before I went into -the nursing home, and after.</p> - -<p>I was operated on quite successfully, though the -doctor took two hours to cut out my appendix and -I recovered fairly quickly, though I quite made up -my mind that I was at the point of death hourly. -My father and mother came down to see me and were -awfully good, but Elspeth after a few days took a -holiday because she was so "run down." I felt -miserable without her, but she was quite right to go. -I must have been getting on her nerves badly. The -first news I got about the war was on a certain morning -when I looked out of my window and saw in the place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -where I expected to see the summer circus a whole -troop of yeomanry and their horses. Then my doctor -went away to join up.</p> - -<p>I had to lie in bed and hear the most amazing -stories. First the banks all closed down and -everybody thought that there was going to be no -money, then people began to fill their cellars with -foodstuffs, then day after day came more horrible -news of disasters, of Germany breaking through -Mons and overrunning Belgium, of the wonderful -defence put up by the handful of English troops; -gradually it seemed as if the war was already over, -that Paris would fall and England be invaded. -Horrible stories of atrocities in Belgium I can't -understand. All the Germans I've known were dear -old Koenig at Radchester, fat old bald-headed tourists -at Lynton, sweating horribly as they climbed the hills -behind the coach, and three ripping flappers at -Oxford years ago. Somehow I had never imagined -such a war as this to be possible. I remember now -that night at Radchester three years ago when that -War Office man came down and implored us to make -the O.T.C. as smart as we could because we should -be needed in a few years. I had plenty of time -lying on my back for three weeks in that nursing home -to think it all out. I had heaps of visitors bringing -flowers and fruit and papers, but I was restless and -miserable none the less.</p> - -<p>As soon as I was able I went up to Bath and took -Elspeth to Ilfracombe: there I heard Hemmerde -calling for recruits—it was just like Amyas Leigh -asking for another generation of Devon lads to help -to beat the Spaniards. All the same it's different -now. All the glamour and glory of war seem to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -have gone for ever: this is simply horrible, a massacre -by machinery. Perhaps my mind is not attuned to it. -I am still very weak, but the whole business seems -preposterous.</p> - -<p>We went down to Portsmouth to see some -friends who had just joined up and we saw -the troopships, the searchlights at night, the -coast defences, the trains full of cheering soldiers, -the streets full of raw recruits. We went on -to London and there were posters like advertisements -for soap imploring every man to join -up and save his country. Girls presented white -feathers to any one in mufti, people in trains invariably -asked each other fiercely why they weren't -in khaki. By far the most violent of these interrogators -were peaceful-looking old ladies and young, -healthy parsons. I went down to Hampton Court to -stay with Tony, who, of course, has gone into the -Army. All Radchester was in camp at Aldershot -when war broke out and the entire school went <i>en bloc</i> -to try to enlist. Those who were refused are crying -with anger at the thought that they will have to go -back to Radchester next term. There was some -talk of the schools all being closed down. All the -young masters on the staff at Marlton have gone, and -every boy of eighteen and over and many a good deal -younger. They needn't complain that the Public -Schools aren't doing their part. Every single fit man -in them joined at once. I wish I hadn't had my -appendix out: then I could have gone. Elspeth says -I couldn't, because of my incipient madness. I bet -I would, though it would have been Hell to have left -her. How I should have gloried in this war before -I became engaged. All the Radcastrians are greatly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -"bucked" about it. At last adventure has come -to them with arms full.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>November 10, 1914</i></p> - -<p>Just when I ought to keep up my diary more -accurately than ever I leave it for weeks. It's no -good putting in all the news about the war: that is -all seared into my soul. These three months have -seen the deaths of all the men who seemed to me to -matter when I was at Oxford. All the men of my -age were killed off at once: they got out at the -beginning. From the other side they tell me it's -just an endless line of blood and mud, periods of -intense boredom relieved by moments of fearful -fright. Every one thought in August that it would -be all over by Christmas. Kitchener gives it three -years. My God! there'd be no England left after -three years. I went up to London to lecture on the -teaching of English and found the streets all darkened, -which makes the town incredibly beautiful and eerie. -I suppose the idea is to bring the war home to us -more closely.</p> - -<p>This term has been altogether strange. We are -chastened and quite different. Young boys are now -prefects, heads of Houses, captains of games: the -Corps has ousted athletics. It seems wrong to be -chasing up and down a "Rugger" field while our -brothers and dearest friends are being killed within -a few hundred miles. We have done an amazing -amount of Corps work this term: everybody is as -keen as mustard to make himself really fit. Boys are -reading their Stonewall Jackson, and Haking, and -John Buchan, and everything that they can lay their -hands on to inform themselves of what is going on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -across the Channel and how they shall best occupy -their time here in preparation. By a very quaint -irony, for the first time in my life I have noticed that -boys are becoming really anxious to learn. Somehow -intellectual pursuits seem to be worth striving after: -there is a perceptible wish in every boy's mind to -explore the garner-house of wisdom.</p> - -<p>Never have I felt that the schoolmaster's job was -so important as I do now. Many of these boys will, -please God, not have to fight, but they will all have -to take an active part in the reconstruction of England. -Every hour of every day we shall have to keep before -them the ideals which we mean to see put into practice -by the next generation. Last year we were in danger -of getting sloppy: we were too rich, we were chasing -after every kind of new pleasure, not a thought was -given to the myriad problems of capital and labour, -of poverty, of housing, of health, of education. We -are all trying our best at last to see which of us can do -the most for the sake of England: the name didn't -mean much to us so long as she was safe; now that -she is in deadly peril we are beginning to realize all -that she is to us. Our new activity in the Corps is a -beginning: we are drilling, digging, scouting, signalling, -lecturing, bombing, bridge-building, range-finding, -entrenching—learning up tactics and strategy. -So far as actual military skill is concerned we are -doing our best, but there is an enormous amount of -leeway to be made up in other departments of life. -For one thing, I believe the school is far more devout -than it was. Suffering has sent us back to the Cross. -We have weekly Intercession Services for our old boys. -These are voluntary, but very few boys absent themselves. -Our preachers seem almost inspired. It must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -be much easier to preach now than it used to be: -we are all only too anxious to know what to do: -"Here am I, send me" is the cry of every one in -chapel. Our religion is a much more vital thing -than it ever used to be. We are all working at top -speed all the time. I only hope we don't break down -as the newspapers have. Every one of the papers -except the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> has lost its head not once -nor twice since war broke out. It is almost painful -to read the leading articles at present. They blame -everybody in authority for failure to cope with the -present situation. How the German Press must -gloat.</p> - -<p>In the place of the young men who have left us -we have had to employ very old men, who are for -the most part extraordinarily genial and take to the -work as a trout to water. Not all of them, alas, -have been successful. Boys still "rag" a man who -is incompetent, and they have little respect for age, -but on the whole these old men have fallen into line -far better than any one would have dreamt possible.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 13, 1914</i></p> - -<p>Our first term of war is nearly over. It has been -a strange, unreal sort of life. Every day some fresh -disaster befalls us in the shape of casualties. Every -week some boys come back, healthy, handsome and -extraordinarily grown-up in their officers' uniforms: -we at school seem to be settling down to play our -part. The officers of the O.T.C. have been told to -carry on where they are, that the work they are doing -is invaluable: so we content ourselves with that, -though it seems very little. We have had a naval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -victory at the Heligoland Bight, and a defeat and a -victory off the coast of South America. The Germans -advance no more in France, the whole world seems to -be preparing to rise in arms on the slightest provocation. -Every week Horatio Bottomley and Belloc -explain to us that the end is in sight and the Northcliffe -Press tells us that we can never win but shall -wage an age-long war. We hope the one and fear -the other—and carry on.</p> - -<p>It is a strange thing, but the beginning of war -which I expected would quash all chance of writing -has seen the beginning of my success. <i>Blackwood's</i>, -the <i>Contemporary</i> and the <i>National Review</i> have all -printed articles of mine, and I am writing as much -as I can, spurred on by this undreamt-of piece of luck.</p> - -<p>Although it is a time of war and full of horrors -the term passed very quickly indeed. Elspeth and I -are now absolutely united. Her father has gone out -to Egypt with a staff appointment, her mother is still -in Bath, both her brothers are out in France. All -entertainments at Marlton have suddenly ceased. -There are no more dinner-parties, no more House -suppers, school matches were all "scratched" this -term, and the people in the town no longer play -"bridge." We are rapidly becoming a soberer people -and our efforts are directed to one object only, the -winning of the war. Yet the strange thing is that -so many things go on just as usual. People seem to -have any amount of money, the shops advertise the -same old extravagant useless things; dances, theatres, -horse-racing, football matches still continue—there is -no lack of these things any more than there was -during the Boer War.</p> - -<p>Perhaps we are learning to "do without" gradually.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -It must be different in France and Belgium. I shall -never forget my first sight of Belgian refugees and -wounded soldiers arriving at Marlton station. Somehow -we don't, we can't realize the horror of it in -this peaceful valley, but the tragic faces of these -tortured, homeless women penetrates at one flash -into the very heart. All the gay, irresponsible women -who last July spent their days on the polo ground -now vie with one another in providing homes for the -Belgians and hospitals for the wounded. Girls who -were accustomed to do nothing more arduous than -hunt or take the spaniels for a walk now nurse through -the night, scrub floors, act as kitchenmaids, drive -motor-vans and generally carry on the work that is -left for them to do. So many of them have husbands -or brothers fighting that they would go mad with -brooding too much if they were not working every -hour of every day. There may be a few who are still -untouched by the war, but there are certainly none -in Marlton. Boys who left at the end of last term -have already come back decorated with the Military -Cross. Letters reach me from all parts of the globe -from old boys of Radchester who are sailing to fight -in some region I never heard of before the war. And -all the time we try to preserve the spirit that has made -England great here at home in Marlton. It used to -seem something of a backwater before the war—how -much more is it one now: the milkmen and the -farm labourers, the shop assistants, and the railway -porters who had never been farther afield than Exeter -are now in Egypt, Malta, India, France, all over the -globe. What a widening of experience, what books -will be written when it is all over. For the last year -we have thought of nothing but the wonderful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -adventures of Captain Scott and his fellow-adventurers -in their quest for the South Pole. Commander Evans -came to Marlton and lectured to us about the heroic -death of Captain Oates: we were all swept off our -feet with enthusiasm but no one in the hall ever -dreamt that he would be called upon to emulate such -a deed, and yet now daily, hourly, that feat is being -rivalled. So long as there are any men left in this -country there is no need to fear that we shall lack for -heroes. Boys, who when they were at school were -looked upon as feckless funks, have performed valorous -exploits, which any one remembering their school -days would have regarded as absolutely beyond the -bounds of belief.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 20, 1915</i></p> - -<p>I get heartily sick of the holidays these days -because there is so little to do, and I hate to see all -my pals training while I am doing nothing at all. -Schoolmastering seems so dull, but there is no doubt -where one's duty lies.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 15, 1915</i></p> - -<p>I have now finished a second term at Marlton -under war conditions. I find that the war has brought -us closer together, masters and boys alike. We have -had lectures from wounded soldiers on the campaign -in different parts of the globe. The Corps is more -flourishing than ever. Our favourite amusement now -is the night-attack, which is nearer the real thing than -anything else we do. I went down to a depot the -other day to get some "tips" and saw some first-rate -signalling, the Lewis gun, and some bombing -practice.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>Poor Elspeth about half-way through the term -complained to me one day that she felt too rotten -to keep some engagement that she was due for and -I fetched the doctor much against her will, and to my -horror he told me that she had appendicitis and -must be operated on immediately. We took her over -to Lewes and put her into a nursing home, and I left -her there late one night after a last passionate embrace -and was taken over by Leary the next day in -his side-car to hear the result of the operation and -was told that she had come through it all right. -I shall never forget the agony of waiting to hear the -verdict. I made Leary motor me at terrific speed -half across Sussex to keep my mind from dwelling -too insistently on it. Her heart is weak and she -nearly went under, but thank God she pulled through -in the end, although she was very weak for a long -time after. My life alone during her illness I can't -dwell upon: it was altogether too horrible. I roamed -about the countryside absolutely disconsolate. I have -no use for life at all without her. Every day as soon -as work was over I "push-biked" the eight miles -into Lewes to see her and talk for a little, then cycled -home again to my lonely cottage. I was nearer -dementia then than I have ever been. I have got to -know more of the boys in the school this last term. -They are a wonderfully fine lot, particularly O'Dowd -and Raynes, who still write weekly essays for me and -discuss literary problems.</p> - -<p>I tried to act <i>The Younger Generation</i> in my -Debating Society, but the idea was quashed by the -Censor. I have altered the old system of reading -round a table and substituted a much more effective -plan. We now read in Big School from the platform<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -standing up, with action and dresses complete. -Instead of each individual member having to buy -copies of the play I have now bought numbers of -copies and formed a library upon which any member -of the school may draw just as he likes.</p> - -<p>We have had one or two strange temporary masters. -One, an elderly scholar, had an eccentric habit of -always searching the bottoms of one's trousers for -matches: he had once heard of a man being burnt -alive that way and was in a continual fright lest it -should happen to some one whom he knew. We -have got a new Sixth Form tutor, a fellow of Queen's, -Oxford, who has become a firm friend of mine. He -is, like most of my colleagues, very well off and has -furnished himself with a splendid library which he -allows me to use. I have done a good deal of writing -and much reading: my books are costing me less -because I am doing a good deal of reviewing for the -London papers. One of the strangest effects of the -war up to now has been its result upon the world of -papers and books. Paper is very expensive and -there is great difficulty in getting MSS. printed and -bound, but people are all buying books in great -numbers, particularly poetry and fiction.</p> - -<p>Owing to my own smaller successes I have received -invitations to meet and to stay with some of the -leading writers of the day, which needless to say -I have accepted, though if I go I shall have to go -without Elspeth, for as soon as it was possible we took -her by car from the nursing home in Lewes all the -way to her home at Bath, where the doctor says she -must stay for some months.</p> - -<p>I can't face next term without her: I don't know -what I shall do and yet I cannot conscientiously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -expect her to come back to me until she is quite fit -to look after the house again. At present she is -recovering very slowly and looks dreadfully weak -and thin.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 4, 1915</i></p> - -<p>When the term was over I did go round to the -various houses to which I had been invited and met -the queerest people. I was nervous and irritable -without Elspeth and never stayed more than a night -or two in any one house and kept on rushing back to -see how Elspeth was getting on.</p> - -<p>These Easter holidays have been rather nightmarish -because of Elspeth's illness. I could not -settle down to anything, and of course we could not -go out much because she could not walk. On the -other hand, for some reason I was unable to concentrate -my attention on writing. Everything was -in a state of blur owing to the shock I sustained at -her operation. In some degree last term was like the -same term two years ago when I was engaged. I -tried to hurl myself into my work: I refereed on and -coached the junior games, I devised all sorts of -schemes to interest my boys in English, I had boys up -to tea to remove some of my loneliness, but I was -gradually going out of my mind because I had no -Elspeth by me to soothe me. And all the time the -war has been weighing very heavily upon me. The -waste of the flower of this country is frightful. On -April 23 young Rupert Brooke died, and we have lost -the premier poet of the age before he had had the -chance to transmit a quarter of the splendid things -that were burning inside him. Somehow I feel his -loss more than that of any one I have known.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XVII" id="XVII">XVII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 31, 1915</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">This</span> term has been the worst in my recollection. -Elspeth was not allowed to come back at the beginning -of term because she was not able to cope with the -housework, so I thought to compromise by going up -to Bath every week-end to see her. I did this, but -the five days between each visit became so ghastly -that I could not face them. I begged her to come -back at all costs to save my brain. She did so for a -few weeks, to her mother's intense indignation and -her own no little wrath. Both of them thought it -merely gross selfishness on my part to demand such -a thing, as of course in a sense it was. But I really -was ill. The local doctor could do nothing and sent -me up to a specialist in Harley Street, who told me -to go to the Highlands for the whole of the summer -holidays and take a complete rest. I'm suffering -from an over-active brain. So to-morrow we are to -set off for the north of Scotland.</p> - -<p>This term has passed uneventfully enough so far as -the school is concerned. I went to see the Bishop -about being ordained and he welcomed the suggestion, -but I am still not clear in my mind about it. I have -always had a hankering after the church, but I wonder -if it is simply that I may find an excuse to preach. -I know I am always preaching in form. I spend the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -whole week preparing subjects for my Sunday's -divinity lesson, which is really a hotch-potch of the -week's events with a moral tag appended.</p> - -<p>I have watched a few cricket matches and tried to -rid myself of my nervous behaviour in front of senior -masters. I always behave in Common Room as if -I were a small boy: I have never been able to -eradicate the idea that these are <i>my</i> masters whenever -I meet them.</p> - -<p>In my writings I am becoming too critical, but it is -all rather superficial. I know that there are grave -abuses in the Public School system, though the war -swept away at least half of them; I also know that -I have a reputation here of indulging quite indiscriminately -in wholesale destructive diatribes: -"the zeal of thine house hath eaten me up" as they -say of me. I have not tempered my enthusiasm with -reticence or bridled my tongue severely enough. -The result is that I have divided the school into two -great factions, the loyalists and the seceders. This is -what my enemies lay to my charge. I cannot believe -that my influence carries any weight at all. I am -only a junior master and I don't mix with the boys -here as I used to at Radchester for the simple reason -that I live too far away from the school and that -I have a wife. The only people who see much of the -boys are the House-masters and the House tutors. -The rest of us take a few sets, control, say, a debating -or natural history society or choir, perhaps are -responsible for a form, and there's an end of our -influence. By bowling at the nets one meets a few -others, in the Corps one comes across two Houses, -and of course the school prefects are known to all -the staff. But there is very little intimacy between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -boy and master, though such relations are as much -encouraged here as they were discouraged at Radchester. -A few of my closer friends come up to -borrow books and stay and talk sometimes, others -again come to hear the gramophone or to play the -piano to me, but I have all too few friends among the -boys. There have been one or two colossal rows -this term, in spite of the fact that we are at war. -Boy-nature seems to remain the same in spite of all—and -not only boy-nature but adult nature, for even -here members of Common Room fight one against -the other like tigers when one man infringes on -another man's rights. All these disputes have quite -petty beginnings, but they assume alarming proportions -in a very short space of time. I have been -preaching about the dangers of over-athleticism. -The consequence is that there is a blood-feud between -those who worship at the shrine of games and those -who think that games should be played merely as -recreation. This has now become a question of -Houses. There are Houses where everything is put -second to games and others where games are put last. -It is all rather comic because it really means nothing -at all. The whole matter is always just personal. -There are Houses with a tradition against taking the -Corps seriously: there are others where they think -of nothing else. One good sign I have noticed of late -is the resuscitation of House Debating and Literary -Societies. Boys debate among themselves on all -sorts of school topics, internal politics; the spirit of -criticism is abroad: boys are beginning to think, -there is hope for them. There are, however, many -masters who tell me that boys ought not to think: -they ought to accept and not question, that to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -inculcate the carping spirit is a malicious practice. -I wonder how much this is true. I stand and everyone -knows it, for the cultivation of the æsthetic and -the intellectual first, just because in the past they -have been so despised. I am myself neither æsthetic -nor intellectual but I have a craving after each. -Athletics in themselves cannot satisfy the inner -cravings of man: he wants more nourishment than -that. I like to see the school magazine filled with -good sound articles of general interest and poetry, as -well as accounts of the term's doings.</p> - -<p>I cannot see why the latter should oust the former -any more than the former should supplant the latter. -I want fair dealing. At present there is no fair -dealing. Consequently some of the brighter spirits -have produced magazines of their own, satirical, -comic, serious, any and every sort as a counterblast -to the school magazine. These illegitimate productions -have a short life but a quite merry one. They create -endless diversion owing to the fact that the satire -is too carefully veiled for any but the very few to -understand it; people are set guessing as to the -possible authors, and there is always a rumour that -the paper is about to be suppressed. They show a -spark of humour, whereas the legitimate magazine -is always deadly serious: when it aims at humour, -as in its correspondence, it only succeeds in being -ineffably tedious and dull.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 20, 1915</i></p> - -<p>We had a wonderful holiday in Scotland. We went -via Edinburgh to Kingussie, which is in Strathspey, -in full view of the Cairngorms; the scenery between -Blair Atholl and Kingussie is magnificently rugged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -and grand. Kingussie itself is a fair-sized village of -white-washed houses with two quite excellent hotels, -both under the same management. We chose the -cheaper and had the luck to have the run of the other. -From the very first we made friends. By a strange -chance two of the cheeriest and most typical of the -best sort of Marltonians happened to be up there -and we went for many excursions together, bathing -in lochs and burns and climbing cairns.</p> - -<p>Acting on my specialist's advice I began to take up -golf and became immediately seized with a mania. -Before we left I was playing thirty-six holes a day. -The golf-course at Kingussie is right up the mountainside -and is truly hazardous and sporting. There were -crowds of visitors, all of them as merry as could be. -Except for a few men in kilts and trains full of sailors -passing through, one would never have believed that -we were a nation at war. Every sort of person came -and stayed at our hotel during the eight weeks that -we were there, from Mr. Asquith and Mr. McKenna -to the most astoundingly vulgar shopkeepers from -Dundee and Glasgow. The wonderful fresh air -soon brought colour to Elspeth's cheeks and she -began to take exercise and climb some of the peaks -near by with me: she also bathed with me in the -Spey and sat and painted the blue hills while I wrote.</p> - -<p>We made friends with the English chaplain and -his wife, with the hotel proprietor who had amassed -a wonderful collection of curios, with a peerless -Marlborough boy whom I am never likely to forget, -with a few convalescent officers and most of the -residents. Never a day passed that was not full of -enjoyment. The weeks passed all too quickly but -I rapidly grew better and my nerves became quieter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -and my outlook on life less turbulent and queer. I -owe my cure mainly to golf, which kept my thoughts -off writing or the war.</p> - -<p>I have had articles in most of the important reviews -and in several of the weeklies. I find that I am -being hailed as an educational expert and a literary -critic, whereas in reality I am neither. I am a poor, -rather demented creature with very high ideals and -in my anxiety to see some of my ideas carried out -I offend many good men, put myself into a false -position and ruin myself in other people's estimation. -I am over-enthusiastic. If I could only learn to go -more slowly. It is the same old story about my -mathematical teaching. I can't understand why a -boy should not acquire the rudiments of mathematics -quickly. I know that he could if he would only -bestir himself. So if only the schools as a whole -would bestir themselves, we should get boys interested -in something more important than games. I go the -wrong way to work. I haven't got the tact of a flea. -As my first publisher said when I sent him the draft -of my first novel, "This is too damned honest." -That has been my failure through life. Instead of -turning things over in my mind I just blurt out -what I am thinking at the moment and get angry -because every one doesn't straightway agree.</p> - -<p>Elspeth and I spent a few days at Nairn in order -to taste the sea breezes and I played golf with a -Cambridge billiard Blue, who has now a post in the -British Museum. Nairn is full of interesting people, -but it is a strange anomaly of a place. In parts it is -as hideous as Radchester, in others, as in the view -across to Cromarty, it is exquisitely beautiful: the -colours are soft and of every hue. I found this part<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -of Scotland interesting from a literary point of view. -There is certainly a touch of <i>Macbeth</i> in Forres: and -"Ossian" could only have been written by a man -who knew Kingussie. I hope before I die that we -shall once again have the chance to see Loch Laggan: -I have never been more taken with a piece of scenery -in my life. Laggan is like a miniature sea, set in -between two beautifully shaped hills, ideally quiet, -perfect for bathing and for rambling about on the -moors. But it is too far out of the world for a man -situated as I am now, who cannot bear to be out of -touch with the latest movements. Laggan would be -the place to go to worry out some new philosophy -or to compose some wonderful new piece of music. -I think I could write a novel there. But there must -be no rumours of wars over the other side of the hill. -In these days the heart pines for London and friends: -it sounds ungrateful to say this, for Scotland did a -great deal for me, and Elspeth and I both benefited -enormously from our stay and were loath to go.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 31, 1915</i></p> - -<p>We determined to take in a paying guest this term: -our Scottish tour cost us £100. Luckily we got an -exceedingly interesting man, just down from Oxford, -who has come here to take temporary work. He is -a great historian and exceedingly keen on political -economy. He began by being badly "ragged" by -the boys and detested by his colleagues because of his -rather new ideas and revolutionary principles: I came -to like him very much. He entertained Elspeth and -me a good deal. When he first arrived he was deadly -serious, but we soon laughed him into a more equable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -state of mind: unfortunately for us he was conscripted -although he was nearly blind, and so he -had to go.</p> - -<p>I have three times been up to the War Office to -try to get out to the Front, but it is no good thinking -of it till I am sane again. The last War Office official -whom I saw sent me to the greatest brain specialist -in London, and I now go up every week to be quietened -down. He won't let me write more than is essential -for my well-being, he tries to put me into an easy -state of mind where I cease from troubling about -anything. The idea is to get the nervous tissues to -work evenly, not to get frayed and harassed by the -millions of perplexing doubts and obsessions which flit -across my mind. I am doing my best to act on his -advice. It is all a question of whether my will is -strong enough to impose a brake upon my mind, -which is always showing signs of breaking loose from -the necessary restraint that sanity demands. He -tells me to enjoy life, not to take myself so seriously, -to let things slide and adjust themselves.</p> - -<p>In my frenzy to get things done, I overreach myself. -I attack the deadly dullness of the countryside, I -attack the abuses in a school curriculum. I even -oppose the current morality of the age and instead -of doing good I do active harm. I don't stop to think -how my opinions will be construed.</p> - -<p>I wish some of those who look on me as a dangerous -innovator could see me in form. I am sure that no -one could take exception to my statements there. -My whole gospel is all of a piece. "Lukewarmness" -is the unforgivable sin: one must be an active agent -and ally oneself on the side of God or mammon. -There is no halting between two opinions: if we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -accept (as we must) one or the other so must we fight -for that side tooth and nail. The Holy Ghost, the -Divine Spark, conscience, call it what you will that -inspires men on to courageous, unselfish, heroic acts -and thoughts, dies unless it is nurtured and carefully -looked after. That is the lesson I impress on my boys -in all the lessons where I get a chance of talking. -On Sunday and Monday mornings I comment on all -the books I have read during the week, drawing some -lesson of life for their guidance. He only is the true -teacher who is not afraid to teach, to explain the -difficulties of life, his own shortcomings and attempts -to find the light. One must be honest to deal fairly -with boys.</p> - -<p>I spend my time now in bicycling down to school -after breakfast, teaching all the morning, writing -articles all the afternoon with an occasional variant -by walking down to the town with Elspeth, teaching -from 4.15 to 6, and then coming home and writing -until 10 and so to bed. In this way the days slip -past at incredible speed. We seem to be in another -world from the war: our only reminders are gigantic -catastrophes, big successes, old boys returning scarred -and maimed; telephonic communications plastered -in the local bookseller's window, wounded soldiers, -Belgian refugees, and occasional lectures. Common -Room conversation has changed. The talk now -during "break" is nearly always on the news of the -day and very gloomy are the predictions made, -especially by our older men, who are very hard hit by -the horror of it and age perceptibly between one term -and another. The debating societies flourish as they -never did before, boys seem to be working harder, -games are relegated to a secondary place in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -estimation of the school and we seem to have settled -down with grim determination to see it through.</p> - -<p>I have lately been lecturing to the Girls' School -and in London on Rupert Brooke. He is a poet -exactly after my own heart. He is clever, witty, -honest, and tries to find a meaning in life. He strains -after Beauty but is not afraid of Ugliness: he is in -love with the material, the tangible joys of life, but is -not afraid of probing into the unseen world and -guessing at what lies behind the darkness.</p> - -<p>I have had the great good fortune to have two books -published this autumn, one a school textbook, the -other a series of sketches of English country life -reprinted from the magazines. The sense of authorship -gives me tremendous pleasure and the letters -I get of adverse and commendatory criticism do me -good. I would rather write a real book that mattered, -something to inspire and cheer people up and show -them a path through the labyrinth of life than anything -else in the world. Pray God I may live long -enough to do that.</p> - -<p>The days of quarrels and struggles for supremacy -between Elspeth and myself are over. She is extraordinarily -patient with me and I do my level best not -to give her cause for offence. When either of us -shows signs of a relapse, the other immediately climbs -down and gives in at once. I am as happy as it is -possible for man to be. Some half-dozen boys come -up to my house regularly and talk "bookish shop" -and show up literary compositions of wonderful -insight and value. I am making more and more -friends in the school.</p> - -<p>Coningsby is perhaps my closest friend: he is the -Tony of Marlton: he chafes at the routine and rules<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -and finds an avenue of escape in literature: he is -also a born poet. He has a true sense of beauty and -is learning to discipline himself by imitating the -metres of all the older poets. I am trying to teach -him the necessity of discipline, reticence and restraint -in writing as in life, but I find it very hard owing to -my own inability to conform in one or the other.</p> - -<p>I take him with me to the University Extension -Lectures on the modern poets and to the frequent -concerts given in the town by Plunket Greene, -Gervase Elwes, the London String Quartette, the -Westminster Glee Singers and other celebrities that -come down here.</p> - -<p>One thing which has brought out the latent talent -and interesting side of a number of boys has been a -performance of <i>Twelfth Night</i>, which one of the House-masters -got up in aid of charity. Boys love acting -and to meet them day after day at rehearsals brought -us all into much closer contact than we were before.</p> - -<p>Boys think far more deeply than they used to. -They grow much more quickly to maturity than they -were wont. In one way one misses the careless -irresponsibility: it kept one eternally young to be -always with youth, but now, partly owing to the -fact that all the senior boys work in the holidays in -munition factories or on farms, the whole school -is much more "grown up" in spite of the fact that -the average age is much lower.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 17, 1916</i></p> - -<p>Elspeth and I spent Christmas in Bath and I tried -to write without much success, so we decided to go to -Bournemouth, where we stayed for three weeks and -enjoyed every minute of it. By a strange chance we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -met at least half a dozen people who were with us in -Scotland in the summer.</p> - -<p>We walked about the cliffs trying to get strong -and went to many entertainments and read a great -many novels. We joined in at nights with the hotel -people in their amusements, which did us both good -and went a long way to remove the depression of the -times.</p> - -<p>I still go up to London every week to see my -specialist. I am gradually getting quieter, though -there are moments when my restlessness drives me -to do crazy things. There are hardly any old Radcastrians -of my time left. Two masters are back -maimed for life, one armless, and the other without -a right leg. The other young ones are all killed. -Stapleton has given up his living and is working on -a farm: Montague and Jimmy Haye keep on coming -and going from and to France. Both have been -wounded once, but they seem to bear charmed lives. -They always spent some part of their leave with us -at Marlton. They live for getting somewhere where -it is really quiet and there is no reminder of the war.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 3, 1916</i></p> - -<p>It is strange to walk through the streets of Marlton -and hear working-men talking of Salonika, Gallipoli, -Mesopotamia, and India in the most casual way as if -they were all villages within easy walking distances. -The postmen, porters, and farm labourers are beginning -to come back, having been invalided out of the services. -All of them are full of wonderful exploits -and make us poor stay-at-homes feel out of it and -useless. The term has passed quietly. I have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -told by the Head Master that my writings do not -altogether please my colleagues, that I do not temper -my enthusiasm with sufficient discretion or think -long enough before I commit myself to a judgment. -I have been too much obsessed with my theory that -the intellectual and æsthetic faculties should be -cultivated before the others to see the dangerous -side of my tenets. I hate upsetting the masters here -because some of them have been very long-suffering -with my madness. I am certainly extremely unpopular -because, like Feste, "I am comptible, even -to the least sinister usage." Under my mask I am -abnormally sensitive. I hate making enemies. I -want to be every man's friend. I almost deceive -myself into thinking that I am, then in an unguarded -moment I flaunt an opinion which disgusts the conventional; -in my horror of ignorance and dullness -I make sweeping generalizations about people who -live in the country and I somewhat naturally have -the whole hive about my ears. Who am I, forsooth, -to talk of ignorance and dullness? Why should I -set myself up as a pinnacle of light? I don't: it's -just because I am striving so hard to escape from the -slough that I seek to drag out others with me, a -foolish, quixotic act.</p> - -<p>Elspeth and I have been amusing ourselves looking -at all the vacant houses in the town to find somewhere -larger: it is rather a good game going over other -people's houses and comparing them with one's own.</p> - -<p>We had a fortnight of deep snow and spent the -time in tobogganing, which took me right back to -boyhood's days. For that fortnight I was quite easy -in my mind and irresponsible again, forgetful of the -myriad worries that beset me. We find it very hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -to keep going. I get agonies of apprehension just -before each post comes in, wondering what manuscripts -are going to be returned, hoping against hope -that at last something will be accepted. If only I -could get a series commissioned, I should be happy. -It's a fiendish business thinking out subjects to amuse -people, only to be turned down by one editor after -another. I spend a small fortune in stamps alone. -All the same I ought not to grumble: I make on an -average about £100 a year by writing. When editors -do pay, they pay handsomely, quite out of proportion -to the trouble of writing the one article that finds -acceptance. What stupefies me is the enormous -drawer full of writings all sent back too often to -submit again, or else topical and hence dead. I find -that I can't write on the war. I want to be definitely -literary or definitely educational. My colleagues -dislike my doing the latter, and there is very little -market for the former.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1.5em;"><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII">XVIII</a></h2> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>May 4, 1916</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> spent the Easter holidays near a munitions works -in Essex and had our first taste of Zeppelins. I was -acting in some amateur theatricals to amuse the -workers in the factories, and while we were driving -home afterwards immediately above us sailed gracefully -along the grey cigar-shaped beautiful engine of -destruction. The noise of the bursting shells and the -bombs she dropped was terrific: but none of the -people who live here seemed to worry at all. I was -frightened considerably, but there was nothing to be -done except go to bed, so we did. I don't care about -seeing any more Zeppelins: it would take a considerable -time for me to take them all as part of the day's -work. I went over the factories and saw the whole -business, from danger buildings to the most elementary -innocuous part of the concern. It is a colossal -undertaking and one that gives a man some slight -inkling of the gigantic conflict in which we are -engaged. The workers seemed all very cheery and -were of all types, from parsons to bricklayers, domestic -servants to duchesses.</p> - -<p>We were staying with some extremely pleasant -people. The daughter of the house, Sybil Grant, is -to live with us for a term because she is unhappy at -school. Her mother likes my system of education:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -the household is one of the best I have ever stayed in. -They are all interested in modern movements, in -poetry, science, ethics, everything pertaining to the -intellect, and at the same time they are athletic. -Like the people in "Mr. Britling" they play strenuous -and humorous games of hockey every Sunday afternoon, -recruiting from local Belgian refugees, service -men at home on leave, nurses, and all the local girls -for their sides. I have rarely enjoyed a holiday more. -Yet even here the bad side of my character came out -at times. I grew restless and morose some days and -dashed off to London for no purpose except that I -wanted to keep moving. The suburbs of London on -the north-east side depress me frightfully. Coming -back from Liverpool Street through Hackney Downs -and Enfield is like going through the Inferno.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>June 25, 1916</i></p> - -<p>It is rather jolly having Sybil Grant in the house: -she gives me a special human interest. It is the first -time I have come into contact with an absolutely -"slack" person. She disliked school because she -could not get on with her work. I don't wonder. -She is incapable of tackling any subject unless she -loves it. She reads a great deal of poetry and likes -writing it. But her art is quite formless. Like the -boy Coningsby she always writes of sea-gulls and -desolate cliffs. All her topics are as morbid as -youthful topics always are: she delights in death-bed -scenes and lonely suicides, deserted lovers, and -murderers. In her way she is something of a mystic. -She rather thinks that she is gifted with "second -sight," which spoils her a good deal, because it leads<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -her to imagine herself as a sort of divine prophetess. -She makes many friends among the boys, which is -good both for them and for herself.</p> - -<p>I spend most of my time in being exceedingly rude -to her and putting her down to work out mathematical -problems, which she loathes. In spite of this, however, -we understand one another pretty well and get on -admirably. We have to-day had a great lunch at -the Castle Hotel, two Sixth Form boys and two young -but thoroughly intellectual masters. For two hours -we sat and discussed educational ideals. Maltby is -all for the many being sacrificed to the few: brains -alone matter: he would have all games "bloods" -disregarded entirely unless they were in the Sixth, -but all members of the top forms privileged in every -possible sort of way in order to act as an incentive to -others to emulate them; intellectual and not athletic -prowess is his creed, and of course I agree to a large -extent. Our object is to show boys that nothing -matters in comparison with the growth of the brain, -that hard work leads to competence, honour, and a -full understanding of life, and that nothing but hard -work will bring out the best and most laudable -faculties in man. In order to achieve this we should -have to destroy the whole existing system, for the -love of beef and muscle is at present ingrained in boys -from their earliest years and hero-worship is apparently -as rampant as ever it was. In my own small way -I always try to instil into my boys the necessity to -open and use all the brain-cells instead of just ten -or twenty per cent, of them, but my influence alone -doesn't count for much. We try to teach the lesson -that games are only a recreation and not the serious -business of life. I believe the attitude which boys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -adopt towards the Corps is the right one. They work -hard enough at the book work, they try to become -as efficient as possible on parade, but they revel in -field-days. We have had two splendid ones this term. -One day last week we marched down to Welham -Heights and fought a great fight across the heather -against heavy odds. It is a wonderful place. It was -a very clear day and in the intervals of fighting we got -a chance of taking in the beauties that lay before us, -the winding valleys, the furze-clad downs, the distant -white cliffs and the green of the open sea. Few of -those who took part in this manœuvre will quickly -forget the impression which this superb view of -Sussex made on their minds. Such a day fills us all -with renewed energies for our work: we fill our lungs -with fresh air and our minds with fresh and invigorating -thoughts: we go back to work revivified -and full of determination. Incidentally we seem to -get to know each other better. On the way home -in the train we discuss all sorts of subjects nearest -to our hearts, which we do not normally give -voice to.</p> - -<p>We have very much more chastened Speech Days in -war time than we used to have. There is no cricket -match, no prize-giving, no luncheon, only the Priory -service is retained and to that is added the ever-lengthening -list of Old Boys who have given their -lives for England.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>July 12, 1916</i></p> - -<p>A red-letter day in the history of the family of -Traherne. Elspeth gave birth to a daughter this -afternoon at half-past one. For months past I have -been trying to look after her in view of this great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -event, for the last weeks I have myself been in a -state of frenzy lest anything should go wrong and -I should lose her. To-day has been a ghastly ordeal. -I had to spend most of it in school, which was a good -thing, because it kept my mind from brooding. -From nine to one I taught, speaking all the time, -trying my hardest to concentrate on quadratic -equations and Army English. I went up at lunch-time -and was told to disappear till four o'clock. -I went for miles on my bicycle seeing nothing, my -mind a blank, except for one ever-recurring sentence: -"O God! grant that it may be all right." I couldn't -face the thought of her going under. Elspeth is the -whole world to me. She has gradually weaned me -from my love of schoolmastering and now I think of -nothing at all but her. I went back at four and was -told that everything was all right and that I was the -father of a daughter. I thought of nothing but -Elspeth's health and I was taken up to see her: she -looked dreadfully frail and ill. I forgot the baby: -I didn't even want to see her until I had seen Elspeth—then -I was shown the wee morsel of humanity in -its cot. Its cry sounded to me quite uncanny. It -seemed so hard to realize that another life had -entered the world since I was last in the house. -Every one at the school has been up to congratulate -me: hundreds of telegrams had to be dispatched, -flowers and presents of all sorts began to arrive. -I begin to feel really important, but the fact that I am -a father will take a long time to realize. I had no -idea how strung up I had been all the term before: -the presence of a nurse in the house for the last week -had worried me and kept me in a state of continual -torture. The courage of a girl having to face such an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -ordeal in cold blood is positively wonderful. I only -hope that she will quickly recover.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>August 1, 1916</i></p> - -<p>It has been a fortnight of great trial. Elspeth -was left very weak and ill and is by no means well yet. -She has had a very hard time. The infant is as good -as gold and amazingly healthy. She cries very -seldom. I had always imagined that children cried -through the entire night, but this kid never cries at -all: she is one big smile by day and contentedly -sleepy at night. She is beautifully proportioned and -has large blue eyes and regular features. I had always -thought men rather fools who raved about their -children's looks: all babies used to look alike to me. -Now I know that there never was such a baby as -mine: I look anxiously into "prams" along the road -and compare the babies whom I see there with mine. -I have managed to hide my affection for her from all -the people who ask me silly questions. I'm not -going to be classed with all the other fathers there -ever were as a blind worshipper of my own child. -Her hands and feet give me undiluted pleasure. It is -amazing to watch her moving them about: her -suppleness ought to be a sign of healthy activity in -the future. Her head is small and splendidly proportioned. -I hope she does not grow up a fool. -She gives Elspeth a wonderful, never-ending interest -in life: she thinks of nothing else. It is the best -thing that could possibly have happened to her: -we ought to have had a child at the very beginning. -I am more proud of her than I dare acknowledge to -any one except myself. I should like to write a book -just jotting down her daily growth, her recognition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -of her mother, of the nurse, of me, of strangers, of -things in a room. At present she loves looking at -her hands and she keeps her thumb in her mouth -most of the day and night. She has an extraordinary -amount of individuality: unluckily, she is terribly -frightened of any sudden noise. This must be -inherited. I hope to Heaven that she does not -inherit her father's dementia as well. At present -she has got, I am told, exactly the expression of -my eyes, the far-away, detached look varied by a -piercing, questioning, quizzical gaze that so disconcerts -strangers. Elspeth's mother is extraordinarily attached -to her and would give her life for her: it is -a joy to see the delight which the infant takes in her -grandmother and vice versa.</p> - -<p>We have christened her Prunella after my mother. -I had the luck to get Tony down to the christening -to be her godfather. Elspeth is going to spend the -first part of the holidays in Bath while I take Tony -for a walking tour in Devon and Cornwall during his -convalescence. He has been wounded in both arms. -He, like everybody else, thinks her perfect. I only -hope that she will grow up loving us and finding us -worthy of her love. We must try to make life easier -for her than it has been for us.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>September 20, 1916</i></p> - -<p>Tony and I had a wonderful holiday together. -Now that Elspeth has Prunella and her mother she -is happy and I, for some strange reason, feel that -I am leaving some part of myself behind with her -in the person of the kid, so I did not feel the separation -so acutely as I should otherwise have done.</p> - -<p>I always return from a holiday in the West Country<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -a different man. On this occasion as the result -Tony wrote some wonderfully descriptive verses and -three short stories, and I was inspired to begin my -first novel. I am not satisfied with it, because as -usual I have hurried through it far too quickly, my -characterization is not sound, my protagonists have -simply run away with me. I start off by meaning -to say one thing and then end up by saying something -quite different. I cannot visualize scenes accurately: -I give a hazy, vague impression like a man who never -keeps his eye on the object. I have often, for -instance, tried since I have been at Marlton to describe -the school, the Priory, or the town, but I have never -succeeded in pleasing myself with the result. The -town to me is just a cluster of beautiful old houses -set in a picturesque valley flanked with wooded hills; -the Priory which stands in the midst defies description. -I know that when I get inside I gaze at the thin -perpendicular pillars, the ornate ceiling, the many -coloured stained-glass windows, the slender beauty -of the whole, but I cannot get the impression it makes -upon me into words: the school is simply an Oxford -College with lime-trees in the quadrangle and latticed -windows to its studies and no more. I can't paint -what it looks like on a clear moonlight night, or when -the lights shine through the rain on to the puddles -in the main courts.... So it is with Devon and -Cornwall: their very names ring in my ears like some -magic phrase, but I can't explain the fascination -these counties have for me.</p> - -<p>It is all rather a tragedy for me, for a man who -cannot see or describe accurately can scarcely expect -to become a writer, and I am almost as keen to bring -out a great book as I am to be a great schoolmaster.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -The tragedy lies even deeper, for I fail even in my -calling. I want to be able to plant my finger on -abuses and rid the world of them, and I find I am -simply in my hurry destroying the wheat with the -tares and bringing the whole edifice of education -about my ears with no definite constructive theory -about the rebuilding. I love boys but I don't attract -many but the outcasts. During the time that I have -been at Marlton I have only got to know at the -outside a dozen intimately, and I don't know that my -influence on these has been wholly good. I rouse in -them a spirit of criticism and get them to refuse to -believe anything until they have proved it for themselves. -I have made enemies of practically all the -staff, all of whom are better fellows than I am and -do more good with less effort. I seem to be the -Martha of my profession, cumbered about with too -much serving, always thinking that I am the only -one who is really working because I kick up such a -fuss about it.</p> - -<p>I seem to have been like this in everything that -I have undertaken. When I was married, I considered -that I was the only man who had ever had -to learn by experience the laws that govern marriage, -when Prunella was born I imagined myself to be the -only father in the world. I suppose I do feel joys -and miseries more acutely than most people. The -smallest kindness shown me makes me almost worship -the doer of it; the least hint of inimical criticism -and I am up in arms in a moment and consider myself -the most badly treated man on the face of the earth. -It is awful to have to face oneself and write oneself -down as self-centred, narrow, anarchical, selfish, and -all the rest of it. At any rate those friends I have,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -have clung to me through thick and thin, and Elspeth -has been a brick to stick to me as she has. I made -her come up to town to see Tony before he went back -to France and to buy some new clothes. I am so -proud of her these days that I want to dress her -smartly, give her none but the best things to wear, -entertain her to all the amusements that are going. -She loves London; the shops and restaurants and -theatres all provide her with a never-failing source -of interest. Besides which it is necessary to have a -fling in the big world before we retire to our backwater -at Marlton: it is all very well for me, but there -is nothing for her to do there but tend Prunella.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>December 19, 1916</i></p> - -<p>This Christmas term has passed all too quickly. -Elspeth has been wrapped up in Prunella and watches -her growth with ever-increasing delight. I see the -infant in the early morning and talk to her while I am -shaving: she is now cutting teeth and doing her -level best to talk. Her remarks at present consist -of "Gug-gug-Da-da," and incomprehensible noises -pitched high and low in the scale: she laughs like a -grown-up person: she only cries when the piano is -being played or the gramophone put on. She lies -and kicks in her cot, her pram or arm-chair by the -hour: she is quite contented crooning and laughing -to herself. She wriggles her hands and toes about -incessantly and is as bad as any animal about her -bottle: her eyes dilate with fury if it is delayed, -and with pleasure when it appears. Her interest in -everything that goes on is positively comic: she is -afraid of nothing except sudden noises and allows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -herself to be handled by any stranger. All the -masters' wives love her: she must be really a beauty -because every one is agreed about it. I think her -eyes are lovely and her contentment is a thing to -marvel at. The patience required for lying for months -trying to learn to talk, with teeth slowly coming, hair -slowly growing, strength gradually being built up, -must be immense. Her intuition is perhaps the most -noticeable thing about her: she knows when she is -being "ragged," she knows somehow exactly what it -is that people are trying to convey to her, and she -answers any one's smile with a beautiful grin which -is entirely her own. She is, however, a complete -deterrent to work. I always want to be with her, to -have her on my lap and pet her, but I curb my desires -strictly. After all, I've got my writing to attend to, -Sybil to teach, the boys' work to correct and games -to referee. My novel appeared in the autumn and -to my intense surprise went into a second edition -almost at once: the critics were unanimous and loud -in their praise, which astonished me, for it seemed to -me to lack any kind of pretensions to style, clarity, -cohesion, or even sense. None the less the writing of -books is not a paying game. An article brings in -quick returns, costs very little energy, and is not at -all wearing to the nervous system. After finishing -my first book I was a wreck.</p> - -<p>Spurred on by the success of this I have already -written another in imitation of the younger novelists -of the day, in which I have portrayed a horrible -character obsessed by sex: I don't quite know why: -the writing of it affected me greatly and I am as limp -as a rag now it is done, and want to burn it, but -my publisher is delighted with it and wants to bring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -it out in the spring. For the sake of the money -I suppose I must let it go. Fortune seems to be -smiling on me. Another publisher has already made -me sign contracts for two novels and a volume of -my collected poems, so I have my work cut out in -the near future to cope with the demand. Added to -this, the best-known literary agent in the country -has now approached me and asked me to let him -place all my work. All the agents I have tried -hitherto have failed me hopelessly, but it is an honour -to have Harrod for an agent, I am told, so I have -signed his agreement too. The only fly in the -ointment is that there is a great scarcity of paper and -trouble in the printing trade; still, people are reading -books more than ever. I shall never forget the day -when I first saw a book of mine in the window of a -London book-shop. Fame (of a sort) I felt had at last -reached me. Three years ago I should never have -dreamt such a thing possible, and my little notoriety -has already brought me great friends.</p> - -<p>When the Christmas term is over we are to spend -some days with quite a number of leading literary -lights, to whose conversation I am looking forward. -Common Room were incensed at my book because -they thought that they detected pictures of themselves. -I can't for the life of me think where, for the -characters were all weaved entirely out of my own -brain. Apparently some of the opinions I put into -the mouths of my worst characters have been taken -literally as my own, which is pernicious nonsense. -I should have thought after all this time that most -people here would know what ideals I stand for. As a -matter of fact no one has lately taken much trouble -to cultivate the acquaintance either of Elspeth or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -myself. They look on me as eccentric, they have not -worried to sympathize with me over my troubles -and I am afraid that they think that Elspeth does -not want to know them because she goes out so seldom. -We live very much to ourselves. It is hard to see -how we could do otherwise when one realizes how we -spend each day. I have to go on writing most of the -time to earn our daily bread: we haven't a penny -private means. We are not very economical, though -we try hard to be so, and prices are steadily rising.</p> - -<p>I have had one bit of luck, however. I have been -appointed Examiner for the Oxford and Cambridge -Locals in Mathematics and English, and though the -work entails a good deal of drudgery, it also makes -an appreciable difference to our income. Incidentally -I very much like going through English essay and -literature questions. I like to compare all the -different methods of teaching English that obtain -throughout the country.</p> - -<p>The term has passed without incident: Sybil has -learnt a good deal of history and written some -excellent short stories. Boys come up to borrow -books and to discuss problems that worry them. -I have had no occasion to punish any boy for some -time. Old Boys come back frequently and keep us -reminded that after all there is a war on, which we -are apt to forget when we have a petty feud of our -own raging. I have refereed a good deal of "footer," -and struggled hard to keep my platoon up to the -mark. The only complaint I have about life is that -the days are too short and I want to do far more -than I can.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>January 19, 1917</i></p> - -<p>We spent a splendid holiday in London going from -house to house of new friends and seeing for the -first time how the artistic and literary section of -London live. They are very different from the -Marlton people: their codes are much less stringent, -they are far more tolerant, they seem to get much -more out of life. They are intensely interested in -art, painting, sculpture, music, the drama, and all -æsthetic delights. Elspeth was taken up at once by -them: she has the sort of uncommon beauty that -passes more or less without comment in Marlton but -in London is looked upon with admiration. She -seems much healthier and more vivacious in town: -the life agrees with her. I spent some days with her -at Bath and some quietly in St. John's Wood, writing -for dear life at one of my new novels for Manson. -The worst of novel-writing is that it gives one no time -at all for articles and the money one derives from it -does not come in for so long a time after. I am told -that the book writer achieves a kudos which the mere -short-story and article writer never gets. I doubt it, -but it may be so. Anyway I doubt whether I shall -write many books, the wastage of nervous tissue is too -great. While I am at work on a subject I want to go -on and on at lightning speed until I have finished, -and when I have finished I am perilously near -lunacy.</p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>February 10, 1917</i></p> - -<p>A frightful blow has befallen us. I have been -turned out of Marlton for writing my second novel. -I am to leave at the end of the term. So after eight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -years I am thrown out of my profession: a quaint -finish for the overkeen enthusiast. I quite see that -I was a fool to write it. It was all owing to my -unreasonable haste. I spoke out too plainly: I -didn't condemn my villain enough or show the hatred -I bear to vice. It is useless to explain now: all the -pent-up fury of those who imagine themselves injured -by me has broken out and I am overwhelmed. I was -supposed to be taking part in a play that the school -and town were getting up in aid of the hospital and -I was requested to resign my part because no one -would act in it if I persisted in going on. I have -been lectured by heaps of my junior colleagues here -as if I had committed a most heinous crime. I don't -quite know what to make of it all. That the book -is a bad one I can scarcely doubt, for the critics have -been as unanimous in their condemnation of it as -they were unanimous in praising my first. I must -be much madder than I thought I was, because I still -fail to see why my influence, which was generally -allowed to be on the side of the angels, should suddenly -become malign and foul because I create foul -characters in a book.</p> - -<p>I could wish that some of my enemies could have -seen my further work, for I have now two more -novels written, which can scarcely appear for a year -at least. It is all horrible. I can't bear to contemplate -cutting myself off from the society of boys. -Before I married they meant everything in the world -to me and now they come after Elspeth and Prunella.</p> - -<p>I have passed through troublous years of late -which have tainted my brain: I might have become -sane again in time, but now all is darkness and I have -nothing further to look forward to. Each hour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -class brings me nearer to my last one and it is all -I can do to keep from crying aloud. At least I will -spend my remaining days in trying to keep the -beacon bright in my boys' eyes. I have always -regarded the schoolmaster's as the most responsible -position in the kingdom: these boys sitting under me -to-day will help to control the Empire to-morrow. -Am I leading them to see that corruption, vice, -intolerance and bigotry are deadly sins and that -disinterestedness, virtue, tolerance and active sympathy -are the weapons they must learn to use in their -fight to build the New Jerusalem in England? -I have to rouse them from their lethargy, to make -them wild crusaders, caring for nothing but the future -prosperity of their country. I have so little time left -to do it and so much to do. The days pass with -frightful rapidity. Elspeth has been up to London -searching for a flat for us to live in, and after an -arduous and protracted journeying she has eventually -discovered a small but comfortable ground-floor -apartment in Maida Vale.</p> - -<p>So now nothing remains but to finish the term out, -pack up and go. I have been searching for work -but there does not seem anything vacant just at -present. It is no light thing at my age suddenly to -throw up the profession one has adopted and to -begin again. Education was my one great passion -in life. I can never hope to be a great writer. The -future is black: I dare not contemplate it. There -are still, however, thank God, some weeks to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> - - -<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;"><i>April 3, 1917</i></p> - -<p>My last term as a Public School master is over. -How I managed to get through the last few hours -in school without breaking down I don't know. -Luckily no one knows the agony I feel. Several, -the majority of people, think that I am leaving of -my own free will in order to be at liberty to write: -the irony of that is laughable. I would give my -whole soul to continue to my life's end as a teacher -of youth: I have loved my work with a passion -I could never transfer to anything else. I have made -endless mistakes. I have gone too fast: I have -treated growing boys as if they were grown up: I -have not always given my colleagues their due in my -intolerance of lukewarmness. I have always worshipped -energy, and energy has been my ruin. I have -never been able to curb my tongue or my enthusiasm -nor to stifle my opinion. The grass has grown over -the grave of my ambitions at Radchester and I am -by now forgotten as a breath of wind that once -passed over, so will it be at Marlton in a term or so. -All my ardour gone for nothing, my strenuous ideals -broken, my office another man will take and Marlton -will be at peace again.</p> - -<p>Regrets I know to be vain, tears wasteful. The -decree has gone forth against me and I must abide -by it.</p> - -<p>But after all, "There is a world elsewhere!" -Marlton is somewhat of a backwater, the waters here -run very sluggishly. I want more scope; once I am -in the great world again I shall quickly recover my -sense of perspective and come to regard this place -in its true light. My four years' experience here has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -been most valuable, but the secret of success in life -is to keep moving. A rolling stone may gather no -moss, but it does "see life." At any rate I am saved -from sinking into a groove. To-morrow to fresh -woods and pastures new.</p> - -<p>The meaning of life, as Tchekov says, is to be found -only in one thing—fighting. To get one's heel on the -vile head of the serpent and to crush it.... If one -has made a mistake and lost faith in one idea, one -may find another.</p> - -<p>I have still got what I would not barter for anything -in heaven or earth, and that is the love of -Elspeth.</p> - -<p>So long as she remains mine I can defy the world, -I am happy. Pray God she will never desert me and -turn me out as Marlton has, for without her I have -no sun, no moon, no reason for being. She possesses -me heart and soul. I only wish she could ever realize -a millionth part of what she means to me.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;"><a name="APPENDIX" id="APPENDIX">APPENDIX</a></h2> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><i>I have thought it good, for the sake of those who have -somehow missed Patrick Traherne's published work, which -he produced under a variety of pseudonyms and initials -(G. K., J. B., A. C. B., and K. R., being his favourites), to -append a fragment here of a book which he never finished.</i></p> - -<p><i>It was to be called "The Future of the Boy," but I have -been unable to find more than the Prologue and Epilogue: -he wrote to me on several occasions asking advice on technical -points, and I had gathered from these letters that he was -well under way with the book (which was obviously to be his -"magnum opus") when all writing had to cease. I fear -that he must have destroyed the manuscript in a moment of -depression, probably on the day when he received his dismissal -from Marlton. I guess, however, that he could not -bring himself to burn his Prologue and Epilogue even -though he became too inert to try to publish them. I am the -more pleased, therefore, to be allowed the privilege of giving -publicity for the first time to two of the most remarkable -papers on education I have ever read. That they are immature -and in many respects false is at once obvious; they -only touch, too, on the intellectual side of school life, the importance -of which he always overemphasized; but they are -stimulating, controversial, and interesting.</i></p> - -<p><i>I shall be amply repaid if the result of my labours is to -send such readers back to his earlier work, where they may -discover for themselves some of the myriad problems that -vex the practical educationalist, and at the same time learn -more of his theories for reforming the abuses which block -up the path to progress.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;"><a name="PROLOGUE" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</a></h2> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 14em;"><i>Why do not English boys care for learning?</i></p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 14em;"> <span class="smcap">Lord Bryce</span> (January 3, 1914).</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em;"><a name="MODERN_SHELL_TO-DAY" id="MODERN_SHELL_TO-DAY">MODERN SHELL: TO-DAY</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> boy's first intimation that a new day of miserable -waste has begun is received by the clanging in his ears -of a discordant bell by a man servant, whose sole -claim to attention in these pages is that he also acts -as the senior boys' bookmaker's agent, and supplier -of cigarettes, tobacco, matches and pipes at a rate -highly profitable to himself. The compulsory bath -over (no boy would wash unless he was compelled, -that is an idea that you who live on adages and saws -which are one tissue of lies will find it hard to believe, -but it is true), after the compulsory bath, I say, he -hurries into his clothes, dashes downstairs and just -gets to the chapel as the doors close behind him. -The service need not be given in detail: it is merely -a roll-call with a little music thrown in; the boys -are ardently urged to join in the responses or psalms, -sometimes with threats, but except on Sundays no -part whatever is taken by the congregation in the -service. They mark with satisfaction that their -form master has noted their presence and then proceed -with their disturbed slumbers, unless the youth on -their right or left has some racy story or spicy bit of -news to impart, or there is some friend across the -gangway of the aisle at whom they wish to gaze, -not being permitted by law to speak owing to disparity -of age. The fascination of the loved face grows and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -the service becomes interesting until the Head Master's -eye, ever roving, searching for evil, lights on these -two: they blush, hide their faces under a pretence of -praying, and march out; the service is over. A -scamper ensues towards the classrooms for the most -hated and slackest school of the day: that on an -empty stomach before breakfast.</p> - -<p>The scene is an ill-lighted, cobweb-ridden, white-wash-walled, -low-ceilinged room, fitted with old oak desks, -on which are carved many thousands of initials and -into which several obscene remarks are deeply inked; -long low benches without backs incite the boys to -lounge forward with bent shoulders; there is no -relief on any of the walls to hide the hideous plaster -except a map of Palestine dated 1871.</p> - -<p>The blackboard is rough and cracked, and whatever -writing is inscribed on it is indiscernible when the -lights are on.</p> - -<p>The door has just been unlocked, a grey-haired -portly man in an M.A. gown lets the flood of sombrely-clad -louts of seventeen and eighteen rush past the -Eton-collared, more brilliant youngsters of fourteen, -so that they may secure the place nearest to the pipes, -or sit in remote corners with their backs against the -wall, covered by the form in front from any possible -detection.</p> - -<p>The master makes his way to his desk, sits down -and raps out suddenly:</p> - -<p>"Stop talking there; how many times have I told -you to stop talking as soon as you come into the room? -Harrison minor, are you <i>still</i> conversing? Thank you, -thank you for your momentary attention. If you -will be so good as to bring me the last three hundred -lines of the Fourth Æneid on Thursday, second school,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -we shall be, I think, at one again. Shut your books. -Write out the Rep." Silence then follows, except -for the scraping of pens, the dropping of books and -mathematical instruments, and the whispered monotone -of one boy who is copying it straight from the -book on to the paper. Several others after a time, -at a loss how to continue, peer gently over their -neighbours' shoulders and, enlightened, proceed.</p> - -<p>One of the bigger boys, more muscular but even less -intellectual than the rest, produces a paper-covered -novel of Mr. Nat Gould from his pocket and proceeds -to read with some fervour when he has copied his -repetition: two others are engaged in an acrimonious -conversation, "You —— young swine, I'll damned -well lick you after for that. Blast you, take your -arm away, I can't see a word you've written."</p> - -<p>"I say, your crowd were a lot of stumors yesterday; -so you thought you were the House for the 'pot.' -My God! Talk about swank!"... And so on, -until the master who has hurriedly been correcting -some analysis, which the form wished to have back -(this is an English lesson, by the way) suddenly -raises his head, apparently having heard and seen -nothing, and says, "Anybody finished yet? Ah! -you have, Dixon. Now hurry up, the rest of you; -I've a lot to do to-day," and then breathlessly he -turns to his corrections again, until he has done, -then calling the nearest boy to him tells him to give out -the corrected papers. "By the way, we'll correct -that Rep. you've just done. I'll read it out to you. -Four marks a line and one off for every word wrong—"</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"<i>Anon the great San Philip she bethought</i> ..."<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>He wheezes the noble poem out in lines like so many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -rashers of bacon, gives the form a moment's respite -in which to add (which they do very generously to -themselves) the number of marks. He then proceeds -to give a long disquisition on adjectival adjuncts -and subordinate clauses. "Surely, Morgan, your -knowledge of the Latin tongue should have shown -you that——"</p> - -<p>A school messenger interrupts.</p> - -<p>"The Head Master to see Haxton at once, sir." -Subdued murmurs and a casual whistle emanate as a -fair-haired, good-looking boy goes off, blushing. In -an undertone one of the biggest fellows at the back -says to his neighbour, "There'll be Hell to pay, my -son, if that little fool starts confessing his and our -past, he's gone for confirmagger-pi-jaw, he won't -stick much of that Devil's talk; he'll let on at once, -and—Hell! Yes, sir? No, sir, I wasn't talking. -Oh, sorry sir, I thought you meant now, sir, I was just -asking how many marks Jaques had got, sir."</p> - -<p>While the monotonous teaching of analysis goes -on, several of the boys at the back might be noticed -by any one not quite blind to be writing notes which -are hurriedly passed along the form surreptitiously, -others again are feverishly learning Greek irregular -verbs for their next hour, when they go to a man -who canes for every failure to answer a question; -more still might be seen writing lines under cover or -pretence of taking notes, for the master has now -finished his analysis and is carefully reading out -notes from a "Verity" edition of <i>Twelfth Night</i>, -which play the form are supposed to be enjoying, -notes which each boy has carefully to take down and -learn, notes in which he learns for the thousandth -time that moe = more, nief = hand, and some interesting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -but watered-down details about the lives of -Penthesilea, Ariadne, and other classical favourites. -In the intervals of taking down whatever portion of -this rubbish that various members of the form -think fit, the idiot of the form (there is always one) -is being quietly tortured in many ways, gentlemen -behind kick him violently forward, the quiet youth -on his left has been silently pinching his ears and -pulling his hair, with a calculating brutality that -exists scarcely anywhere except in the Public Schools -and the South Sea Islands.</p> - -<p>An air of supreme boredom and lassitude is evident -on every face in the room; the very atmosphere and -clothing seem to be pervaded with it and invite it.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Haxton, now quite pale and obviously -shaking, returns: he writes a note quickly. The -recipient begs for permission to be excused for a -little; he must go to the sanatorium. After carefully -burning a lot of incriminating documents in his study -he makes his way to the sick-room and feeling really -quite unwell is able to induce the nurse (in the absence -of the doctor) to admit him.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the class pursues unruffled the even -tenor of its way. A bell rings, it is 8.15; early school -is over and the pangs of hunger prevail over all other -feelings. Breakfast is supervised by unfortunate -junior masters, who are supposed to use their eyes to -count the 300 boys and to see that they do not cut -their loaves on the cloth. Soon afterwards Second -School begins, a classical hour; for this there has -been half an hour's special preparation after breakfast—a -grammar grind—the man to whom they go now -being renowned for his strong arm and often -stretched-out hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<p>The classroom is much the same (they all are) as -the one to which I introduced you before breakfast. -The master, younger, square-jawed, not intellectual -but grim, rather sour: the face is more remarkable -for an absence of any virtue than for any special -presence of vice. He gives the boys three minutes -in which to make sure of their work: then they are -all marched out into the middle of the room, asked -questions rapidly on the Greek irregular verbs; a -boy goes down a place; another supplants him; -the whole system is apparently to keep the body -moving so that the brain may perhaps capture some -motion and become alert; rather does it seem to -any rational, unprejudiced bystander a method to -involve wasting a maximum amount of time for a -minimum amount of actual good. These boys are -most certainly no more alert than they were in early -school: they do not crib here, or write notes to each -other or read Mr. Nat Gould, they are far too frightened -for that; they are terrorized like a rabbit in front of -a gigantic snake, fascinated, almost loving, certainly -admiring the strength of a man who has such power. -He is not inhuman either, this master, he has a stock -of jokes, each of which is carefully stowed into a -particular compartment of his brain, brought out in -a particular order and calling for the same amount of -quiet laughter every time.</p> - -<p>He is very popular among the boys and in existing -conditions perhaps deserves to be. When you are -being slave-driven, you at least like your driver to -be simple, honest and modelled on a plan you can -understand: he has to beat you, he is paid for it; -if he can afford to throw you a joke, however old and -threadbare, yet like a bone thrown to a pariah dog<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -in the street, you relish it all the more, for you know -it is more than your due.</p> - -<p>This man achieves very excellent results in all -examinations: he is known as the best teacher of -grammar in the school. He is the "thorough" man -who will make his way and become a leading Head -Master in the end. He has no sympathy, no intellectual -insight, he has been bred on the same plan -that he is now inculcating and thinks it the finest -system ever devised for the education of boys: in -fact the only system. He knows that several ignorant -authors, journalists and politicians occasionally decry -the results of his teaching, but he is aloof, superior to -all these "common cries of curs"; more aristocratic -even than Coriolanus, his downfall in the next decade -will be as it was with the aristocrats in the French -Revolution, really terrible to witness.</p> - -<p>It is with a sigh of relief that the Modern Shell -hear the bell that rings the close of this hour. Immediately -following on this, the form splits up into sets -for mathematics, a subject in which they never make -much progress for several reasons.</p> - -<p>In the first place the set master is a queer man -with ideas; he took a low degree in mathematics -himself and never knew much about them, but it -worries him to find that no boy ever seems to know -when to divide, multiply, add or subtract by pure -reason.</p> - -<p>All the set seem accustomed to see a type on the top -of an exercise or on the blackboard and to copy this -type feverishly a hundred times, thereby to gain -many marks and think they have accomplished -something. For the fetish of marks is what makes -Modern Shell do any work at all. They have a perfect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -passion for gaining them and this master panders to it -by giving them thousands a day: consequently the -set works at lightning speed, but never achieves -anything, for none of its members seems capable of -reason. Even though geometry is substituted for -Euclid they still contrive to learn propositions as a -species of very difficult prose repetition: they still -believe in and treat algebra and arithmetic as two -vastly different subjects which can have no connexion -with each other, the mere presence of an "<i>x</i>" in an -arithmetic paper frightens them out of their senses. -They dabble in stocks and shares, compound -proportion, approximation in decimals, quadratic -equations, logarithms and progressions, and yet -immediately they get out of form and into the -tuck-shop they are unable even to count the change -they get out of half a crown without a mistake, -they cannot measure the simplest article accurately -and have no more power of logical reasoning than -they had as babies. Consequently when they come -to examination time they fail. Given a type they -will work out a hundred examples with scarcely a -mistake. Asked for the answer of an original sum -and they are nonplussed at once and multiply when -they should divide, add when they should subtract -and vice versa, entirely without method, principle -or reason. Yet these fellows work hard enough, not -from fear of the master in this case, he scarcely ever -punishes, but in order to gain some of the thousand -marks over which he is so generous.</p> - -<p>The last school of the morning is spent to-day in -history. Geography is also supposed to be taught -but is gently allowed to slide except for the drawing -of a few maps. The history master is a dear good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -man, a thorough "slacker," well beloved of the whole -school and staff.</p> - -<p>The preparation is as usual "to read a chapter of -Oman." Some notes are read out from the master's -"undergraduate" notebook very slowly and listlessly -and as slowly and listlessly taken down by most of the -form unless they have anything else to do such as -drawing "Old Clothes-horse" (the nickname of the -master), a proceeding sometimes fraught with danger -for "Old Clothes-horse" has an uncomfortable habit -of suddenly remembering his vocation, of saying to -himself, "I must be stern." On such days he will -demand of such a one the drawing, and bawl out at -the top of his voice: "You disgraceful scoundrel, you -son of a plough-boy—you—you—disgusting hound—you -will write out the whole of the last hundred -pages of the history"—a punishment naturally enough -afterwards remitted to one-half, one-third, one-tenth, -but even then fairly severe. His method of imparting -history runs too much on the lines of doing the -minimum of correcting work (which though he does -not know it, is a step in the right direction, but done -in his case from the wrong motive) and of placing -implicit confidence in the reading of the work of one -man.</p> - -<p>Dates and comparisons of characters, knowledge of -laws and deft little paragraphs about things like -Habeas Corpus, Barebones, and so on, with neat -compartments at the end of each period containing -the great names in literature of that period (as if it -ever did a boy any good just to know the name of -Dryden, Pope, Burke, and Johnson without having -read a word of their works), these combine to form -his stock in trade. His boys turn out fairly well in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -stereotyped examinations, but they leave school -knowing no real history at all, worse still with a -positive distaste for a subject with which they have -really not even a nodding acquaintance.</p> - -<p>Morning school is now over and an hour is to pass -before the midday dinner. You think perhaps these -boys now are going to have complete rest, a chance of -being by themselves, time for reading—not a bit of it. -There will now be compulsory net practice or shooting -on the range, recruit drill, a racquets or a fives tie -to play off, an imposition, probably several, in arrears -to be polished off, book-keeping, shorthand, typewriting -or music classes to attend, or, worst of all, -private tuition. Dinner comes as a temporary relief -in which discussion runs rife on the latest scandal, -scores at cricket, the news in the <i>Sportsman</i>, the newest -catch-word, how So-and-So was ragged, the latest -form of torture devised for the most prominent idiot, -and all the customs, fashions and frivolities of their -little world. After dinner a stampede is made to -change from the appalling funereal garments of the -morning which are given an all too brief respite, into -the flannels necessary for the House match or nets -of the afternoon. Some luckless ones who have -perchance dropped a pen in the deadly stillness of a -strict master's form or refused to do any preparation -for over a week in a slack one's set, are hounded round -the quadrangle for half an hour in an ignominious -punishment drill, which drill sometimes contains over -a hundred boys, which speaks well for the discipline -of the school.</p> - -<p>Suppose it is a House-match day, and nearly every -day in the summer term sees one of these in progress, -those in the Houses concerned, not actually playing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -will all be compelled to watch: nay, in fact so imbued -with the evils of over-athleticism are they that they -would all rather miss anything than one ball bowled, -one run scored; their eyes are riveted on to the -cricket pitch; the whole staff is there equally occupied; -the life of the little nation is at stake; nothing at all -matters except the winning or losing of this single -match. It is the one big world event about which -quarrels will be raised, criticism will be rife for days -to come, in dormitory, in the Common Room, in the -privacy of the masters' own sitting-rooms or in the -studies of the boys. Other Houses not actually -playing will be practising assiduously at nets until -another bell rings to show that time is up; a rush is -made to change back into the monastic garb preparatory -to getting up more work (or pretending to) for -afternoon school. The first period of the afternoon -to-day is given up to what is called science for our -forms; that is to say, a few nerveless experiments -which never come off are tried by a man whom it is -hard to differentiate from the bottle-washer of the -laboratory, a man with an accent (not that that -matters intrinsically), but a man with the vulgar -attributes that accompany accent when promoted to -spheres unused to such things; living in an air of -snobbishness and hypocrisy, this "bounder" bounds -more than ever he need and causes howls of derision -as, in his nervousness he mispronounces words of -which even Modern Shell have somehow acquired -the correct tonation. A smattering of physics, -chemistry, electricity, magnetism, heat and light, is -now doled out in such minute quantities that no one -ever derives any real idea of what is going on, what -they all mean; just enough to temporize, to fill the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -parents' minds with the idea that their sons are -being liberally educated in every department of life.</p> - -<p>From this waste of time the boys proceed to their -last hour of real school "teaching" for the day—French -or German, taught again in sets by a man -who took high honours in history and then spent six -months in a German <i>pension</i>. His foreign accent is -deplorable but he is a conscientious man and makes a -valiant effort at least to keep a day ahead of his set -(not a very hard task) in knowledge. He, however, -has ideas on the subject of teaching modern languages -and does not believe too much in the mental gymnastic -of grammar, but buys periodicals in French and -German, and also modern novels for his set to read: -being an entirely honest man his ignorance is being -continually shown up, particularly as he is unfortunate -enough to have in his set one boy who spends -all his holidays in Belgium or Switzerland, but his -popularity carries him through, and his very lack of -knowledge makes the boys work to see if they can -beat him on his own ground: this, it is easy to see, -is the Modern Shell's intellectual treat of the day. -In examinations they do nothing, but most of them -get some sort of a smattering of, and begin really to -take an interest in, languages whose periodicals sometimes -even publish football and cricket results and -occasionally have pictures which remind them of -certain London penny weeklies that they avidly read -in dormitory.</p> - -<p>A bell signalizes tea and the end of school. A -hurried repast, for physical training follows hard on -the top of it, a compulsory form of exercise that most -boys frankly detest. After twenty minutes of this -the preparation bell goes, and excitement is rife to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -see whether it is "The Cadger" or "Hopeless George" -on duty. If the former, work and the right work has -to be attempted: if the latter, novels appear as if by -magic and work is given, for an ecstatic hour, the -go-by. Another bell (the bell is so constantly in use -that a special man has to be kept who does nothing -else but attend to this department) summons the school -to evening chapel, a repetition of the morning roll-call, -except that a lusty roar in a well-known hymn -will testify to the Almighty that there are 300 boys -who are well pleased that "another ruddy day is o'er." -As a matter of fact it is not "o'er," for a further hour -of preparation in the privacy, however, of their studies -this time awaits them. Pathetic indeed is the sight -of the tired-out wan faces of the Modern Shell boy, -whose head can be seen nodding over the page of a -dull grammar, trying in vain to keep awake and -remember the consequences that will accompany his -ignorance on the morrow if he forgets what a quasipassive -or oxymoron is.</p> - -<p>At last, at ten o'clock the bell rings once more and -with a burst of energy he flings his book aside and -rushes upstairs only, in all probability, to find that -it is his duty to keep "nixes-watch," that is, to stand -near the end of the dormitory until nearly midnight -to listen for the step of the House-master, who might -otherwise pry into practices that would fill his complacent -mind with disquiet. About midnight, worn -out, yet not a whit improved in body, soul, or mind -the luckless wight will be allowed to get into bed, to -sleep, perchance to dream of a new regime, of a better -order of things, where life will not be one dull, eternal -round of uselessness, useless knowledge, useless -punishments, useless games, useless virtues, useless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -vices, useless restraint, useless discipline, but free, -progressive, happy, where no such things take place -as have taken place in this absolutely truthful picture -I have drawn of a day in the life of a boy in the -Modern Shell.</p> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em;"><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE</a></h2> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> - -<table class="centered" border="0" cellpadding="0" style="max-width: 100%;" summary="Education"> - -<tr><td class="chapinf"><p> <i>Education is the release of man from self. You have to<br /> -widen the horizons of your children, encourage and intensify<br /> -their curiosity and their creative impulses, and cultivate<br /> -and enlarge their sympathies. Under your guidance<br /> -and the suggestions you will bring to bear on them, they<br /> -have to shed the old Adam of instinctive suspicions, hostilities,<br /> -and passions, and to find themselves again in the<br /> -great being of the Universe.</i>—"The World Set Free."</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 style="margin-top: 4em;"><a name="MODERN_SHELL_TO-MORROW" id="MODERN_SHELL_TO-MORROW">MODERN SHELL: TO-MORROW</a></h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the first place it must be borne in mind that one -great difference in the attitude of this form to life in -general in the future will be caused by the fact that -it will be a mixed class of boys and girls, and will be -recruited from all sections of the people, so that there -will be every chance of there being practically no -divergence in age, physique or intelligence between -the top and bottom, to use the existing phraseology, -between A and Z, as they will then be placed.</p> - -<p>The boys and girls will be permitted to get up as -early in the morning as they like, but not later than -7.30 in the summer months. Breakfast will follow -at once in different Houses, boys and girls sitting at -the same table as much mixed as possible, friend with -friend. Chapel for those who wish to go will follow, -a service short, devotional, sincere, containing a few -personal prayers, a rousing well-known hymn and a -lesson of particular applicability not necessarily taken -from the Bible alone, but from any of the great -masterpieces of the world. Masters and mistresses -who feel inspired to give a personal address of not -more than five minutes on any problem that may -have been occupying their minds may interpolate -their sermonette in the place of this lesson. This, -the only service of the day, will not take longer than -twelve minutes. If the weather is fine most of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -work of the day will be done out of doors, some of it, -such as the manual labour classes, the digging, road-mending, -gardening, will necessarily be so, but in -favourable circumstances the intellectual side of the -curriculum will be as far as possible carried out in the -open air. If, however, this is to-day impossible, the -Latin hour will be conducted in a classroom, where -inspiring pictures, replicas of old masters and pieces -of sculpture will make an already bright, airy, cheerful, -healthy classroom still more so.</p> - -<p>The master, mistress, girls and boys will all be -dressed in those clothes considered most sane and -healthy from the eugenics point of view; flannels -and gymnastic dress will probably be most popular. -The Latin taught will certainly not be of the grammar-grind -sort: conversation will go on between girl and -boy, others in the same class will be constructing a -Roman amphitheatre, or working out, on a sort of -<i>Daily Mail</i> war board, a campaign of Pompey or -Cæsar.</p> - -<p>The life of a Roman citizen will be enacted and -written about by the classes: all the time the boys -and girls will be doing the work; the teacher only -flitting about from group to group as his or her -presence is required, encouraging here, pointing out -errors there, all the time acting as any real teacher -ought to act, that is, not foisting his or her opinion on -to the form but developing their own ideas on the -lines most desirable for them.</p> - -<p>The hour instead of passing as hours in school are -passing nowadays in periods of long, slowly dragging -minutes that make time seem interminable to those -who take out their watches in the vain hope that -Father Time will take a hint and have mercy, will go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -so quickly in the interest and joy of real work and -progress that the form will only regret having to -leave the subject, were it not that the next is just -as full of interest, just as helpful.</p> - -<p>It is mathematics in this second period carried out in -a sort of engineering schoolroom where practical implements -are at hand for testing all their theoretical results.</p> - -<p>One section of the class to-day splits up into a lot -of stockbrokers and the rest into investors. Each -investor has his own bag of gold or counters, his own -cheque-book, the daily newspapers are brought into -school and consulted, and each youthful financier -tries his fortune with the investment that most suits -his fancy at the time. Day by day he develops his -original idea, buying here, selling there, so that his -knowledge of stocks and shares by the end of a term -is unassailable; the foundation is laid of a character -that will not play ducks and drakes with his own real -money in later life if he finds that his splashes now -hold him up to ridicule from his fellows at school. -In geometry the forms will invent their own problems -and work out together as a body any that defeat the -individual intelligence. And again the teacher's aid -will only be invoked as a last resource; the children -will teach themselves. Buying and selling, commission -and percentage work will all be done as it were -in real life by the taking of a case that one of the form -invents or by going the round of the shops in the town -or village and auditing their accounts, looking into -their businesses and receiving real instruction from -those whose life's work it is to conduct a trade or -business, so that here again the factor of reality so -absolutely essential to the intelligent learner shall be -brought into play.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> - -<p>By the end of a term each pupil or at any rate each -form will have produced its own algebra, arithmetic -and geometry, and these will be stored in the archives -of the form if they are thought to be of sufficient -value. At any rate they will be the only textbooks -they will see in these subjects.</p> - -<p>The period following on this will be an outdoor one -if possible, either one of those mentioned above or a -natural history study in the nearest wood, or drawing -of the surrounding country, or dancing on the platform -permanently kept for that purpose in a corner of the -playing-fields to a gramophone, or singing in the open -air, or any exercise or physical training decided on -as beneficial to the human frame! From this the -form will come in refreshed in body ready for more -intellectual stimulus.</p> - -<p>Then follows the hour of history and geography; -the history on a plan rudely devised in the early part -of the twentieth century by Mr. C. R. L. Fletcher in -his "Sir Roger of Tubney" and Mr. Ford Madox -Hueffer in "Ladies Whose Bright Eyes," where all our -ancestors, their customs and reasons for their strange -actions, stand out clearly in the broadest outlines as -real living forces. The Elizabethan adventurer, the -peasant, the villein, the Norman baron, the various -Kings, the Cavalier gallant, the Augustan Age courtier, -the Georgian politician, the powder-puff-age lady -satirized by Addison, all will live as actually as our -own relatives and friends.</p> - -<p>Scenes from history again will be acted in costume, -debates will take place in class as to why Shakespeare -does not see fit to mention Magna Charta, what effects -followed, what causes, why enthusiasm was held in -such disdain in the eighteenth century, and altogether,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -hand in hand with the literature of its age, the history -of each period in the nation's life will be carefully -worked out, and its bearing on present-day character -and custom soundly sifted and thrashed out.</p> - -<p>I said geography would be taken at the same time: -geography as studied in the new schools will be an -excellent mixture of political economy, history (really -it is hard to separate the two), science and mathematics, -all in their relation to actual facts.</p> - -<p>Calculations of temperatures by isotherms, geological -strata, even numerical facts about other races, -all of these things will strike home and be found of -paramount interest to boys and girls, but most -especially will this be the case when, as will always -happen, the form decide to work out and write up -in detail the accurate history and geography of their -school and the district immediately surrounding it. -This will give so much, such ample opportunity for -the rousing of and keeping keenly alive their faculties, -that of all subjects, history and geography will be -the hardest from which to tear the ardent enthusiasts. -The nature of the soil, the various winds that blow, -the effect of these winds on the weather, that is, -what weather to expect after different winds, the -rainfall, the contour of the outlying lands, the agricultural -state, the condition of the crops—the list -might be magnified into a book by itself, all these things -will help the child to a better and truer understanding -of the making of history and geography than any -textbook, and will prove of lasting worth to him as a -useful citizen of the future. After this period there -will follow an entirely free time, when the school will -be at liberty to follow its own devices until lunch-time: -there will be voluntary lectures on all sorts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -of subjects that appeal to the stamp-collector's or -the natural historian's mind by men and women who -have made their mark. Great explorers and big-game -hunters will themselves come and give an -account of their exciting experiences. Perpetual -pianolas, perpetual cinematograph films will be in -use during these hours in which the school is at liberty. -In the afternoon, free time will be given for games of -every description to be played, no particular partiality -being extended to one over another. Running, -swimming, tennis, basket-ball, racquets, fives, golf, -cricket, shooting, all will be equally accessible and -equally encouraged.</p> - -<p>Tea-parties daily from 4 to 4.30 will be given by -masters and mistresses, and by pupils to other pupils -or to their elders, a time of social intercourse and -polite society: the neighbouring populace will then -be entertained by the youthful hosts, and courtesy -and gallantry have a special chance of being adequately -cultivated. After tea school will again be continued -in the science hour, where each pupil will proceed to -experiment under the care of an expert with the -produce which he or she has been concerned with in -the morning. It may be to-day that the Modern -Shell are trying to discover a use for the millions of -rotten bananas that are shipped into this country -week by week in order to economize in produce or to -discover a new fertilizer: it may be that they wish -to discover how to eliminate from the water of the -neighbourhood certain properties that have been -found to have an evil effect on the health of the -populace; once you see the bugbear, the nightmare -of examination, is removed the child can occupy -himself doing something really useful, something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -which will in all probability be, in the end, of great -service to the State and at the same time train the -youthful mind in the way it both wishes and -ought to go.</p> - -<p>The French period which finishes up the afternoon -school will be of great use, for reminiscences will be -indulged in of the last visit to a French school, -village or town on the part of those members of the -form who went last year, in the annual foreign tour; -they will by these reminiscences, told of course in -French, whet the minds of the neophytes, so that -they will look forward more than ever to the holidays -which will see them as a body transported to a land -where so many fascinating customs may be witnessed. -Conversation both in and out of school will be carried -on in both German and French as much as possible, -helped of course by the fact that there will be so -many natives of these countries always in the school.</p> - -<p>The evening will sometimes be spent in quiet -reading, sometimes in lectures, sometimes in cinematograph -shows (as a matter of fact the cinema will -be very much in evidence throughout each and every -day), sometimes in concerts, pianola and real, very -often in theatricals; but on this particular evening -of which I am speaking the Modern Shell have decided -to do the English that the present-day form did in -morning school before breakfast. This English period -is, if anything, looked forward to more than any other -period in the day.</p> - -<p>The reason is that, in its many-sidedness, it is even -perhaps more entrancing than geography. First -there is the writing and editing of the form magazine, -which is an intricate periodical with a daily news-sheet -merging into a more serious-minded weekly, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -itself turns into a monthly magazine of extraordinary -bulk. News, verses, stories, long and short, novels, -drawings, essays, debates, dialogues, all are heaped -into this production.</p> - -<p>Plays are written, produced and acted by each -form, supervised only at the rarest intervals by the -form master, parts for which are thought out and -debated about spiritedly in form as part of the -subject. Extracts from the great masters are discovered, -learnt and declaimed by the discoverer to -the rest of his confederates; everywhere and in every -branch of this subject there is the fresh air and fierce -pleasure of the explorer and pioneer, carving out for -himself a gigantic task to be performed, disciplining -himself for that task by repeated smaller undertakings. -In such an atmosphere of feverish excitement and -interest, is it to be wondered at that the result is so -magnificent? For our youthful poetry is real poetry -written in the white heat of passion, the literature of -our youth is real literature written while the fire of -life is still burning strongly and furiously inside. -Each boy and girl finds in him or her self something -that he or she must say, something sacred that must -be expressed after attempts which may often be -futile, volatile, fluid; at length there emanates a solid, -lasting record in sentences that will ring through the -world of a generation that had risen out of the slough -of sullen acquiescence in an age that cared not for -learning or things of the soul, to the highest heights -that had ever been dreamt of by the human race, -and our schools of the future had shown how nearly -godlike indeed are these puny mortals when they -put their shoulders to the wheel and help God to -grind His mill.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> - -<p>So we leave our dream-children and this sketch -of Utopia in the fervid hope that something of truth -exists in this vision that I have seen, and the last -and most fervent prayer of my life is that I may live -long enough to take part in a revolution that shall -make such a vision possible, and see it in the initial -stages starting on its godlike course; then shall I, -like Simeon, be content to depart in peace, for I shall -have, in little at any rate, O God, have seen Thy -salvation.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" style="page-break-after: always;" /> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="ph2">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:</p> - -<p>Obvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's -original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Schoolmaster's Diary, by Stuart Petre Brodie Mais - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SCHOOLMASTER'S DIARY *** - -***** This file should be named 51633-h.htm or 51633-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/6/3/51633/ - -Produced by Chris Whitehead, MWS and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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