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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5b76d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51409 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51409) diff --git a/old/51409-8.txt b/old/51409-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ddb6d13..0000000 --- a/old/51409-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7365 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Public School Life, by Alec Waugh - - -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: Public School Life - Boys Masters Parents - - -Author: Alec Waugh - - - -Release Date: March 9, 2016 [eBook #51409] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/publicschoollife00waug - - - - - -PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE - - - * * * * * * - -COUNTRIES OF THE MIND -MIDDLETON MURRY -Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net - -IBSEN AND HIS CREATION -Professor JANKO LAVRIN -Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net - -THE RETURN -WALTER DE LA MARE -Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net - - * * * * * * - - -PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE - -Boys Parents Masters - -by - -ALEC WAUGH - -Author of 'The Loom of Youth,' 'Pleasure,' etc. - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Logo] - -London: 48 Pall Mall -W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. -Glasgow Melbourne Auckland - -Copyright, 1922 - -Manufactured in Great Britain - - - - -A DEDICATORY LETTER TO ARNOLD LUNN - - -_December 6, 1921_: - -MY DEAR ARNOLD,--It was with genuine surprise that I read the other day, -while turning over the pages of _The Harrovians_, the date 1913 upon the -title-page. Only eight years ago, and since then so much has happened. -What a long while it seems since _The Harrovians_ was the most borrowed -book in the house, and we passed the hours of evening hall, that should -have been spent in the study of irregular verbs, in eager discussions on -your book. It was a revelation to us--we schoolboys of 1913. It -explained us to ourselves. We thought then that the last word on the -subject had been said. - -But one can never say the last word on such a subject as the Public -Schools, especially in a novel. In a novel one is constrained to tell a -story or to reveal a character. In _The Harrovians_ you dealt with the -Public School System only in as far as it effected the development of -Peter, and in _Loose Ends_ you found yourself equally fettered with -regard to Maurice. It is for this reason that I feel there is still -room for a book such as this, which, though a narrative, has for its -object simply the analysis and presentation of public school life. At -any rate I hope that you may think, when you come to read it, that it -was worth doing. If you do not, well then at least here is your name -after the title-page in grateful tribute to many pleasant hours spent in -the company of yourself and of your books, and in the hope of many more -such hours. - -For their sake, if not for its own sake, please accept this book, and -believe me, - -As ever, your sincere friend, -ALEC WAUGH. - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAP. PAGE - I. INTRODUCTORY 1 - - II. THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL 20 - - III. THE NEW BOY 38 - - IV. THE SECOND YEAR 60 - - V. ATHLETICISM 76 - - VI. THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING 91 - - VII. MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP 124 - -VIII. THE MIDDLE YEARS 161 - - IX. PREFECTSHIP 171 - - X. THE LAST TERM 198 - - XI. THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT 215 - - XII. SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH - REGARD TO MORALS 231 - -XIII. THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS 256 - - XIV. CONCLUSION 263 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -INTRODUCTORY - - -Twenty years ago a father said to his son, who had just come down from -Oxford with a batting average of 35.7: 'For ten years, my boy, you have -been playing cricket all through the summer at my expense. You can now -either come into my business and play first-class cricket during your -month's holiday in August, or, if you want to continue to play cricket -all through the season, you can go down to the Oval and apply to be -taken on as a professional.' The moral, the obvious moral, that is to -say, is admirable. And the elderly gentleman whom I overheard repeating -this story in the pavilion, leant back in his seat and affirmed proudly, -though with a deep sense of the passage of good things, that it was in -such a spirit that the game had been played when he was young. 'That's -what cricket meant to the Studds, the Lyttletons, the Fosters. We didn't -have any of these amateur professionals, none of these fine fellows who -get found soft jobs by their county committees. What's the difference, I -should like to know, between the fellow who gets paid five pounds a -match and the fellow who is presented with the directorship of a ladies' -corset factory at a comfortable salary, and who has only to go to the -office once a week to sign his name in the directors' attendance book?' -The elderly gentleman shrugged his shoulders with disgust. - -He was quite right, of course. There are too many cricketers who make as -much money out of the game as any professional, yet are entitled to put -initials before their name upon the score card. And the father was quite -right when he insisted on the industry of his son. He was none the less -right because things probably failed to turn out as they had been -planned. They rarely do. We can guess what happened. - -For a year the son worked hard. During his month's holiday he made a -couple of centuries in first-class cricket, and various papers -commenting on this achievement expressed their regret that so promising -a cricketer should only be available in August. It is needless to add -that the other members of the family saw to it that these references did -not escape the attention of their father. Next season the county started -so well, that by the end of May it stood at the head of the -championship, and the young financier was entreated to turn out for the -Yorkshire match in the middle of June. On such an occasion parental -discipline was naturally relaxed. And an innings of 87 on a tricky -wicket was followed by an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -Parental pride was flattered. Next season the same thing happened, only -more frequently. There was, in fact, an understanding that he was -available for all the important matches, and very soon not only the -fixtures with Middlesex, Kent, and Surrey, came to be regarded as -important, but also those with Hampshire, Gloucestershire, Somerset, and -Worcester. Indeed, in five years' time the son found himself playing -county cricket steadily from May to August and as an amateur. Things -happen like that. Still the pact, as the elderly gentleman in the -pavilion asserted, had been made in the right spirit. And it was, after -all, a family affair. - -But the fine distinction between the amateur and the amateur -professional is defined only by the obvious moral to this story, and the -subtler moral had passed unnoticed by the elderly reactionary in the -pavilion. A young man, twenty-three years of age, has been expensively -educated for some ten to twelve years. And he is faced at the end of his -education, when it is assumed, that is to say, that he is equipped with -the knowledge and trained ability that will enable him to take up that -portion of the world's work for which he is best fitted, with two -alternatives. Either he can go into his father's business, or else he -can lose his caste and sign on as a professional cricketer. It occurred -neither to the father nor to the son nor to the elderly gentleman who -repeated the story in the pavilion that any other alternative was -possible, or, indeed, desirable. The son was not in a position to say to -his father: 'Of course I wouldn't become a pro. But I'm really not keen -on your business. I shouldn't be a success at it. I'd rather do -something else.' He could not say that, because there was nothing else -for him to do. Six years earlier he could have gone to Sandhurst. If he -had worked harder at school he might possibly have passed into the -Egyptian civil service. It is possible that his blue would have obtained -for him a schoolmastership, but his gulf in mods, would have limited his -choice of schools. And the prospects of a junior master at a second-rate -Public School are not inviting. So, whatever his own inclinations might -have been, he had to accept his father's offer. It is here that we find -the true moral of the story; and we ask ourselves whether this young man -was, in spite of his ten years at Oxford and at a Public School, really -educated. He had learnt how to make centuries in county cricket, and he -had acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. But he had -not developed the ability to perform properly the type of work for which -he was best fitted, nor, indeed, had he discovered what that type of -work might be. As likely as not his father's business was the last that -he should have chosen. We all react from our surroundings, and he had -probably become heartily sick of his father's particular form of 'shop.' -He had so often sat wearily at the dinner table, fingering his bread, -piling the salt into pyramids on the edge of the cruet, while his father -had explained to his mother the minute details of his latest deal. 'You -see, my dear, I bought in at twenty-six....' Of all hideous employments -the buying and selling of shares had seemed to him the weariest. And yet -there was nothing for him but to accept a desk beside a telephone with -the files of the _Financial News_ spread out before him. - -He can have brought no enthusiasm to his work. Out of a sense of duty, -and in order to improve his own position, he may have worked hard during -the winter months, but he must have worked without pleasure, with his -work not as an end but as a means. - -Yet nothing in a man's life is of more importance than his profession. -If he does not enjoy his work he values too highly the privileges that -success in it will bring to him. He asks too much of his private life, -and if he is disappointed, he embarks on a desperate search for -pleasure. Half of the discontent of modern life, the discontent that -expresses itself in endless parties, dances, and entertainments, can be -traced to the reactions of men and women engaged in uncongenial -employment. And so we return again to that first question. Can we call a -man educated who has not discovered in what capacity he is most likely -to be of service to society, or who, having discovered it, has not taken -steps to qualify himself for that profession. That, in a sentence, is -the case against the English Public School. A system stands or falls by -its products. - -And it is only natural that parents who are not particularly well off, -and who have no private business into which they can draft their -children, should ask themselves whether or not a public school education -is worth the considerable personal sacrifice that will be entailed if -their sons are to be sent to Wellington, Clifton, or Uppingham. 'We -want to do the best for Tommy,' they say. 'But after spending £250 a -year on him for five years what do we get in return? Tommy is not clever -enough to pass into the civil service; he may get a mastership on a -salary only slightly better than that of a Metropolitan policeman. Is it -worth it?' When the head master to whom these doubts are carried, -commences to enlarge on the moral qualities that are revealed and -strengthened by 'the honest give and take of public school life,' the -parent is still unsatisfied. 'Are you quite sure?' they say. 'Of course -we know it's all exaggerated, but where there's smoke, you know, and one -has heard....' Is it surprising that under such circumstances the -mandarins of the public school profession should have erected a -barricade of prejudice between themselves and criticism. Their -maintenance is at stake. They have to persuade the parent that he is -getting his money's worth. Otherwise he will send his son to a day -school, or, worse still, to some pension in Rome or Brussels. - -And so it has happened that any critic of the Public Schools is -immediately driven into a false position. For so long the Public Schools -have been accepted with an unquestioning reverence--for so long, that is -to say, the authorities have been able to persuade the world that the -goods they are selling are the best, in fact the only goods upon the -market--that if any one breathes a word against them now he is labelled -a revolutionary; it is assumed that politically he is a Socialist, that -he wishes to substitute co-operation for competition, that he is a -harbinger of red ruin, concealing a bomb intended for William of -Wykeham's Tower or the green sward of Agar's plough; that his programme -involves the complete destruction of the existing fabric, and that he -proposes to erect about its ruins some bizarre construction of eugenics -and modernity. Nothing, as a matter of fact, is further from the truth. - -The majority of assailants are anything but socialists. They consider an -enlightened oligarchy the ideal form of government, and their chief -quarrel with the Public Schools is the absence of that enlightened -oligarchy. No one wants to destroy the Public Schools. No one would be -so foolish. But we do maintain that the public school system--a very -old, a very magnificent, a very venerable mansion--stands in drastic -need of repair. It is some years since the drains were attended to; -electric light is more serviceable than gas; the tapestries are a little -moth-eaten; the books in the library are dusty. The house wants to be -spring cleaned. - -It is easy, of course, to say that, but it is very difficult to know how -to set about it. Our institutions are mirrors in which are reflected our -personal imperfections. They can be no better than ourselves; and the -merchants of panaceas take for granted a world which has left behind it -envy, greed, malice, and desire. To that degree of perfection we shall -never attain, but we can at any rate be honest with one another. And -there is no side of English life about which rulers and ruled, fathers -and sons, old and young have been so consistently dishonest with one -another in the past as they have been about the standards and ideals of -the English Public Schools. - -It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods, and though the -English Public Schools do not insert double-column advertisements in the -daily papers, they are at least beholden not to prejudice the value of -their stock. The greengrocer does not inform you that, on the whole, his -potatoes are not bad, considering that he bought them from a farmer with -a leaking shed. A head master does not tell a parent that, if he is -going to send his son to a Public School, his own school is not worse -than any other. Yet the same man who views with grave suspicion eulogies -of a patent medicine, accepts complacently the house-master's assurance -that Tommy is improving enormously both morally and intellectually under -his care. A schoolmaster spends a large part of his life boosting the -value of his goods, and in time, of course, he comes to believe that -every word of what he says is true. The commercial traveller of two -years' experience will wink his eye: 'I spun him the tale!' But the -commercial traveller of ten years' experience has a solemn countenance. -'People know good stuff when they see it.' - -A few weeks ago I was staying in the country with some friends, and was -taken over by them to the prize-giving of the Preparatory School at -which their sons were being educated. The ceremony was enacted in the -gymnasium. The staff sat at the end of the room on a raised dais, in the -centre of which was a table covered with 'calf-bound mementoes of -industry.' Behind this table stood the head master. He was a large, -genial, middle-aged man, rubicund with a surfeit of golf, and he smiled -down upon the school and upon its parents. 'Well, you boys,' he said, 'I -want to tell you how pleased I am with the way you've backed me up this -term. You've worked hard and you've played hard: I don't really know how -long it is since we've had such a thoroughly satisfactory term: of -course there are one or two young gentlemen'--and at this point a -twinkle appeared in the corner of his eye--'who have been a little, -well, shall we say, difficult; but that's past history, we won't say -anything more about it; and, as a whole, as I've already said, I don't -think I've ever had such a satisfactory set of fellows.' There were a -few more remarks of mutual congratulation, and then he proceeded to the -distribution of the prizes. - -Afterwards I had a chat with one of the assistant masters, with whom I -happened to be on fairly intimate terms. - -'A wonderful fellow, the Head,' he told me. 'Do you know he's made that -same speech at prize-giving for the last twenty years. Hardly a phrase -different. He wants to send the parents away in a good temper. They'll -get their account to-morrow. Of course he doesn't know that's why he's -doing it. But it's the reason right enough. And how clever that bit is -about the young gentlemen who've been a little troublesome. It makes -every mother feel that her boy is better than her neighbour's.' - -I suggested that such an opinion was likely to be revised under the -influence of the terminal report. 'Not a bit of it,' he answered. 'All -our reports are strictly censored. We write them out on a piece of -foolscap and the Head gets them typed; but where we write "lazy and -unintelligent," the parents read "moderate." You can take my word for it -that the boy who gets "moderate" in his report from here is one of -earth's best dunces.' - -That was, of course, at a private school; but, even at the most -prosperous Public Schools there is a tacit understanding that parents -should be stroked down after the manner of refractory cats. The -half-term report contains frequently enough a quantity of pungent -critical writing, but the parental visit to the school is invariably the -occasion for much conversational flattery. Freddie, unless he has become -involved in any particularly unfortunate adventure, is the object of -restrained, perhaps qualified, but still potential commendation. The -father is assured by the house-master that everything is going on -splendidly: 'A little low in form, perhaps, rather too boisterous at -times in the day room, but a sound fellow at heart, the sort of fellow -that the house will be proud of one day.' And the mother's qualms are -put at rest by the house-master's wife. 'The tone of the house is so -excellent, you see. No bullying at all, and Freddie's manners are so -charming. Every one likes him.' - -It is possible that if the house-master were taken to task in the -privacy of his own study, he might be persuaded to confess himself a -pragmatist. 'One has to keep them quiet,' he might say. 'The young -rascal'll get on all right as long as they don't start meddling with -him.' But it is hard to be honest with oneself. The schoolmaster cannot -help regarding the parent in much the same way that the junior subaltern -regarded the brigadier. We all know what happened when the runner -brought the news that at such an hour the brigadier would visit -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements. Lieutenant Jones specially called -the brigadier's attention to what he knew would please him. He put his -smartest men on guard. He assured the brigadier that everything was -going quite all right, that the men were perfectly comfortable and that -the supply of rations was adequate; Lieutenant Jones did everything, in -fact, to get the brigadier into the next trench as soon as possible. - -Which was, of course, all very rational. The brigadier's interest in -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements was remote and theoretical, and -either way was of small importance. But it is a different thing -altogether when house-masters wave parents out of the way with -comfortable excuses. It establishes at once a dishonest relationship. -The schoolmaster does not trust the parent. He regards him as a nuisance -that periodically has to be appeased. And, as long as things go -smoothly, he is content to leave him in the dark. There is no -co-operation. And that is absolutely fatal. It means that the two people -who are chiefly responsible for the boy's welfare are working at cross -purposes. - -The trouble does not end there. For between the parents themselves there -is frequently an incomplete mutual appreciation of the difficulties of -school life. Women, in the nature of things, can only know about Public -Schools what men choose to tell them. That is usually remarkably little. -Many a husband encourages in his wife the illusion that before he met -her his life was a vague, indeterminate, ineffectual thing, the -incidents of which are unworthy to be recorded. And many others on such -matters as public school life consider that a lie that saves friction is -justifiable. It is so easy to see how it happens. - -Husband and wife are sitting after dinner on either side of the -fireplace. The wife has just finished reading _The Harrovians_, and she -looks up with a puzzled, unhappy look. 'Harold, dear,' she says, 'it's -not like that really, is it? If it were true I couldn't think of sending -Freddie to such a place.' And what is Harold to say? He has read _The -Harrovians_. He knows that substantially it is true, but equally well he -knows that if he acknowledges this to his wife his domestic life for the -next six years will be complicated by incessant arguments and anxieties. -To begin with he will have to spend many evenings of discussion before -he can persuade his wife of the advisability of sending Freddie to -Rugby. And afterwards there will be constant uneasiness. His wife will -fret. She will want to pay visits to Rugby, to interview the head -master, to ask her son uncomfortable questions. His own life would -become unbearable. And a lie smooths out so much. 'Oh, no, dear, quite -unlike the Rugby of my day. An exaggerated picture of a bad house in a -bad school, that's all it is.' - -Such a situation must arise fairly frequently. And at least one instance -of it has come within the circle of my own experience. While I was a -prisoner in Germany I lent a copy of my school story, _The Loom of -Youth_, to a fellow-prisoner, who had expressed a wish to read it. A few -days later he returned it to me with such a flattering display of -enthusiasm that, in a moment of unusual generosity I promised to send -him a copy on our return. The sequel reached me a few days later. He had -returned to his room and remarked that Waugh had promised to give him a -copy of that book of his, 'the thing that's all full of oaths. I don't -know what I shall do with it,' he said. 'I shall have to be jolly -careful that my wife doesn't read it.' - -If one may generalise from such an incident, and I believe that one may, -for it has its root in the eternal indolence of human nature, then not -only schoolmasters and parents, but fathers and mothers are working at -cross purposes. And so the boy finds himself alone, stranded in a -society the nature of which he has to discover for himself. He never -regards his house-master as one working in co-operation with his -parents for the welfare of his soul. Schoolmasters will be to him a -separate caste. And although he will never reason this out with himself, -he will appreciate it intuitively in the natural cunning with which he -will exploit one or the other in the furtherance of his own ends. I do -not mean that he is deceitful. But he may want to specialise in History, -or to abandon German in favour of Greek, and he will think whether he -would do better to approach his father or his house-master. There is a -sort of dual monarchy, and if one sovereign is opposed to a favourite -scheme, it is but natural to try one's fortune with the other. - -His parents' interest in his school life must appear to him superficial. -When his father comes down at half term, he has to answer innumerable -questions as to his prowess on the cricket field; and very often indeed -the chief pleasure that his athletic successes brings him is the thought -of the delight that his father will experience. But the intimate side of -his school life, his thoughts, his friendships, his troubles, his -ambitions, do not enter into his relationship with his parents. In the -same way his house-master's interest in his home life seems to him -superficial. On his return to school he is asked a few questions about -the theatres he has visited; whether he is in training for the football; -has he done any private work? not a word of his intimate life. The boy -ceases to regard his school life as a continuation of his home life. The -two are entirely separate, and it depends on the temperament of the -individual as to which of the two he will consider the more important. -We hear a great deal of talk about the influence of the home; it is, -indeed, the stock argument of the pedagogue who would shelve his own -responsibility on to other shoulders, but I believe that its influence -is greatly overrated. Home and school present to the average boy two -watertight compartments. They are different lives, a different technique -is required. And human nature has at least one property of the -chameleon. - -A schoolboy sets out, therefore, to discover school life for himself. He -knows what his parents expect him to make of it; he has a fairly shrewd -idea of what his schoolmaster expects him to make of it. It remains for -him to investigate school life as his companions have made it. Naturally -he does not announce his investigations. He lets his parents think what -they like and his schoolmasters think what they like. He goes his own -way. And it is thus that school life as it is, differs so enormously -from the traditional concept of it. There must be always a gulf between -the reality and the imagined idea. But in public school life the gulf is -between, not the schoolboy reality and his idea of it, but between the -schoolboy reality, and the confused idea of it that is held by parents -and masters. It is two degrees from the truth. In consequence, when any -one does attempt to tell the truth there is an outburst of indignant -protest. And the worst of it is that it is an honest outburst. When head -masters write to the Press and say 'these accusations are entirely -false,' they honestly believe what they say. That is what makes -everything so difficult. They have forgotten their own schooldays, and -for so long they have been persuading parents of the value of a public -school education that they have come to believe in their own -advertisements. And yet what they have come to believe is far more -remarkable than the truth. In sermons and addresses they assure the boy -and his parents that school life is a miniature of the larger world; -which is the statement of a fact: yet every subsequent act and utterance -is in contradiction to this initial axiom. For, if that larger world did -really resemble the official concept of school life, what a bizarre, -what an extravagant affair it would be. It would be filled with high -lights, with breathless escapades, with impossible heroics. It has been -accepted as quite credible that a boy should be capable of the most -extreme and loathsome brutalities, that a percentage of every school -should spend its life in gambling and heavy drinking, that at least one -prefect in every school should contract inconvenient liabilities at the -Baron's Arms, and that to extricate himself he should forge his -house-master's signature. Indeed, anything may happen provided that the -course of life follows a simple process of right and wrong which leads -to the triumph of virtue and the downfall of vice. It is something like -a Lyceum melodrama. And, though we can all manage to enjoy for a couple -of hours the fine sensationalism of _The Beggar Girl's Wedding_, we -should hardly accept its values as a philosophical background for our -daily life. And yet that has actually happened in the case of the Public -Schools. Mr P. G. Wodehouse, in his delightful _Mike_, makes Psmith say -to a new acquaintance: 'Are you the Bully, the Pride of the School, or -the Boy who is led astray and takes to drink in Chapter Sixteen?' Such -figureheads exist in the popular imagination. The world believes in -bullies, in villains, in straight heroes and in the weak character who -goes wrong, but is saved through the influence of either the hero or the -head master, or the head master's daughter, or through the sermon of an -occasional preacher. It is all very jolly, of course, and no doubt the -world would be a far more comfortable place if it were possible to label -and pigeonhole all our friends and acquaintances. But life cannot be -simplified by any arbitrary process. We have our standards of conduct, -but they are shifting and relative. They are the measures that each -successive society arranges for what it considers to be its convenience. -And we accept them for what they are. At a Public School, however, a -traditional conception has formed a code of rules for the convenience of -a society that does not exist. Which is confusing: and when Desmond Coke -wrote in _The Bending of a Twig_ a very entertaining skit on the -behaviour of a boy who had read a number of school stories, and went to -Shrewsbury expecting to find bullies behind every cloister, -schoolmasters laughed over the book, but did not read into it any -criticism of themselves. - -And yet there is nothing that we need more than an honest facing of the -facts of public school life. Facts are a solid neutral ground on which -parents and boys and masters may meet to discuss their ideals and their -difficulties. And, in the course of that discussion, they may discover, -as likely as not, a way out of their troubles. The hope of this book is -to provide that statement of facts. It does not set out as an -educational treatise. It accepts the Public Schools as the system best -suited to the material with which it deals. It suggests no new system of -teaching. It does not advocate co-education. It does not advance any -plea for Montessor methods. It will contain no discussion of the -advantages of Greek over German. There will be no appendix with -time-tables and suggested curriculum. For, as things are now, it does -not matter whether Sanscrit is substituted for mathematics: the boy will -learn equally little of either. It is intended as a human study of -public school life, as an attempt to break down that conspiracy of -silence, that relationship of evasion and deceit that exists officially -between parents, boys, and masters; and from time to time it will -suggest solutions. - -It is, of course, only an attempt. For no one person can see more than a -side of the truth. However impartial we try to be, we can see in a -situation only what the limitations of our personality allow us. We are -all at tether. During the last three years many public men have visited -Russia; they have been honest men, and we know quite well that they went -there with the firm intention of telling nothing but the truth. But, -before they went, we could have told them exactly what they would say on -their return. Yet the analogy does not quite hold good. For we, too, -have gone, each of us, to a Public School with a preconceived idea of -what school life would be, and each of us in turn has had that -conception destroyed by actuality, and each in turn has had to create -for himself his own picture. It follows then that there must in each -picture be a certain measure of truth. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL - - -We hear much of the embarrassed misery of a boy's first week at school. -And, certainly, it is pretty wretched. Mr Vachell compared it to the -first plunge into an ice-cold swimming bath: the sudden shock, and, -afterwards, the glory of a swim. But it is the inaction, the loneliness -of the first week that is so difficult. It is more like standing on the -edge of the swimming bath on a cold day waiting for the signal that will -start the race. And yet the change must have been a great deal more -difficult for our parents than it was for us. The preparatory school -system is of more or less recent growth, and, when one considers how -much one learnt at a Preparatory School, in _esprit de corps_, in -patience, in sportsmanship, in the give and take of a communal life, one -wonders how an earlier generation managed to survive the first term. -School life by all accounts was a fairly barbarous business in the -eighties, and by what strange roads our parents came to those rough -waters. Some came straight from home, some from private tutors: the -majority from the old-fashioned dame school. It is not surprising that -the Preparatory Schools should have so increased in number and improved -in quality. - -For the Preparatory School fulfils a most important function, and it -fulfils it extremely efficiently. It is what it sets out to be, a school -that will take a small boy almost from the nursery, and train him in the -course of four or five years to take his place in a large Public School. -The task that the head master of a Preparatory School has to tackle is -not, however, anything like so hard as that which confronts the head -master of a Public School. For a Public School has to equip a boy for -life; and life is vast, indeterminate, a swiftly moving river that is -never the same from one moment to another. The Preparatory School, on -the other hand, has only to equip a boy for a Public School, and the -Public School is a fixed quantity. As regards curriculum, the task is -simple. The required standard of education is known. A certain -percentage in the common entrance examination has to be obtained. The -school has not to discover the career for which its individual members -are best suited. It has merely to decide which of them are good enough -to be trained specially for scholarships. The main object of the -Preparatory School, however, is to produce presentable specimens of -society, boys who will do the right thing in the right circumstances. -And this the Preparatory School does admirably well. - -It is at a Preparatory School that boys learn manners, courtesy, the -proper behaviour in the presence of ladies. But these things, you may -say, a boy will learn at home. No doubt he ought to, but any preparatory -schoolmaster will disabuse you on that point. How many small boys of -seven who have not been to a school will, when they are handed a plate -of cakes, take the one nearest to them rather than the one of which they -fancy the appearance. How many small boys will think of opening a door -for a lady, of offering her his chair when she enters the room, of -apologising to his hostess if he arrives late for breakfast. These are -the little things that a boy learns at a Preparatory School and that he -will learn nowhere else; at all good schools a great value is placed on -these points of etiquette; if anything, 'good manners' are rather -overdone, and the precipitate charge of twelve or thirteen urchins -towards a door handle is likely to prove embarrassing to the lady -visitor who has risen from her chair. - -At my own school, for instance, music lessons always took place -immediately after lunch; so that, if lunch was a little late, the first -boys were allowed to leave the table before grace. It was a rule, -however, that no boy should ever leave the dining-room till he had asked -the permission of the ladies. And many visitors were much perplexed by -the repeated inaudible apologies of nervous small boys who came -stumbling towards them between two close-packed tables. The good manners -of a preparatory school boy are indeed slightly pedagogic. Their elbows -are pressed into their sides when they eat, their wrists are raised -above the table, and, in a precise voice, they request permission to -trouble their next door neighbour for the salt. They are like the -critics who insist that a sonnet is not a sonnet if the last lines of -the sestet form a couplet. But it is a fault on the right side. For -manners, as well as morals, relax in the greater freedom of a Public -School, and at the age of fifteen one has managed to substitute ease for -stiffness. - -It is, indeed, impossible to say how much one learns at a Preparatory -School. At the age of ten one has not the necessary detachment to view -oneself as an objective reality. It is impossible, for instance, to -remember where, or when, was learnt the spirit of comradeship and -sportsmanship that is, perhaps, the most lovable quality of the old -public school boy. It is hardly inherited. For the average small boy is -greedy, selfish, and acquisitive; and, when one is given leg before to a -left-hand round the wicket bowler who is turning the ball from the off, -the temptation to protest against the umpire's decision is natural. The -primitive man, indeed, would have uprooted a stump and walked to the -other end of the pitch. Where does one learn to turn straight round and -walk towards the pavilion? I think it is at the Preparatory School. A -small boy knows that he has got to play cricket like a sportsman; he -knows that a sportsman does not question the umpire's decision; and he -is terribly afraid of doing the wrong thing in the presence of his -schoolfellows. The first time he is given out caught at the wicket off -his pad, a blind anger seizes him. His mouth opens to make a protest. -The same thing happened last year when he was playing cricket in the -garden with his brother and sister, and, when they insisted that he was -out, he sat down in the middle of the field and howled till they told -him he could continue his innings. The temptation to repeat the -experiment is considerable. But he dare not make any exhibition of -himself. He would be mercilessly ragged; and so he returns to his seat -under the trees and contents himself with the announcement that Jones is -a mean sneak who was trying to get a revenge for the kicking he got that -morning. And of course the incident will be repeated. Umpires make -mistakes in first-class cricket: small boys make them with a melancholy -frequency on lower grounds, and few batsmen are satisfied with an l.b.w. -decision. The young cricketer has many opportunities of displaying the -Christian qualities of patience and restraint, and every time the -temptation to sit down in the middle of the pitch and howl grows weaker. -'The monster custom is angel yet in this,' and, by the time he goes to -his Public School, his features have learnt to assume a good-natured -smile, and he says something about it being all in the game and that -last week he had a decision in his favour. - -I am inclined to think that in that example can be found the essence of -preparatory school life; the habits of courtesy and sportsmanship are -acquired till they become a second nature. We are told that man is a -logical creature, that when he has been properly educated it will be -possible for forty million people to live in one country without -competition; that in an enlightened society there will be no need for -policemen, for every man will instinctively appreciate what is right. It -may be so. No one knows what the world will be like two thousand years -hence. But, in the meantime, I think we do wisely to train small boys as -we train an animal. We thrash our dog if he plays havoc in our -neighbour's chicken run, and we rag the small boy who disputes the -umpire's decision. The dog does not chase chickens again, nor does the -small boy argue in the middle of the pitch. - -It is a strange business, though, this acquiring of social habits, and, -though preparatory school life has been only dealt with in a small way -by educationalists and novelists, the process is certainly interesting. -Everything, to allow for the subsequent relaxation at the Public School, -is slightly overdone, and the small boy tends to become a prig. It is -only natural that he should. By nature he is at that time a somewhat -poisonous little beast. He is the victim of numberless petty faults and -jealousies; and when he becomes reformed he is self-righteous. He would -never think of sneaking, of course, but he would not hesitate to whisper -just as a master is coming into the class-room, 'Oh, shut up, Jones.' He -always enjoys putting some one else in the wrong, and Arnold Lunn has, -in _The Harrovians_, an incident that provides an admirable example of -this attitude. A member of the school has just died. He was not a -popular boy; he was not distinguished in games or work. No one really -minded, but the school felt bound to present a countenance of -appropriate melancholy. A certain Clayford, however, had a set of stamps -he wished to sell, and he accosted cheerfully a couple of boys who were -discussing the last hours of their lost comrade. 'I say, you chaps, like -to buy a complete set of Borneos surcharged Labuan?' - -'Not to-day, thank you,' said Peter stiffly. - -'We're not much interested in stamps _to-day_,' added Morgan. - -It is a perfect picture. - -And as there is no stricter moralist than the potential rake, there is -no one with a more rigid code of honour than the preparatory school boy. -'Owning up' becomes a fetish. Popular opinion drives the wretched urchin -into the head master's study. I remember once that on the eve of a -school match a member of the eleven went sick with a headache. There was -immediate consternation. Ferguson might not be a good bowler, his -batting was indifferent and he missed his catches more often than not, -but he was a distinct improvement on Evans, the twelfth man. The chances -of a victory were prejudiced: and then some one recollected that that -morning Smith had smacked Ferguson's head in the changing room. It also -happened that, for the moment, Smith was extremely unpopular. Morison's -people had just paid their half-term visit to the school, and when the -Head had brought Morison's mother into the room, Smith had not stood up. -It had been a direct insult to Morison's mater. Every one had said so, -and none of us would listen to Smith's excuse that he had had his back -to the door, and was filling his fountain pen, a combination of -circumstances that rendered a sudden leap to the feet impossible. - -'Don't argue, Smith; you're a cad.' That's what every one had said; and -when it was remembered that Smith had punched Ferguson's head that -morning, the fury of popular opinion knew no limit. - -'You've lost the match, I hope you know; you'll have to own up, of -course,' we said. - -Smith was resentful. He did not see why he should. - -'Because, Smith, that is what a gentleman does under such -circumstances.' - -Smith was still obstinate. He did not see why Ferguson should have got a -headache just because of this. People had had their heads punched before -without getting headaches. There was a murmur of contumely. - -'But that wasn't an ordinary punch, Smith; you hit him with all your -force.' - -The suggestion that it was not an ordinary punch flattered Smith's -pride. He, too, was inclined to think that there had been about that -punch a certain something. He grudgingly admitted that it had been a -pretty hard smack. - -'Even so, though, I don't see how things are going to be made any better -by my owning up.' - -Such an attitude was opposed to every idea of preparatory school honour. -There was a shudder of supreme contempt. - -'Perhaps _you_ don't, Smith.' And there the argument stopped. But for -the rest of the day Smith's life was made miserable. Every time any one -passed him they said: 'Owned up yet?' No one would talk to him at -tea-time; when he joined a group afterwards the group dispersed and he -was left alone. Finally, of two evils, confession appeared to him the -less, and, after prayers, he pushed open the door of the head master's -study and blurted out to the accompaniment of big quivering sobs that he -had punched Ferguson's head in the changing-room and given him a -headache, and, perhaps, lost the match. - -A couple of years ago I went down to my old school, and, just before -lunch, when the whole school was collected in the hall, the head master -announced that he wanted the name of the boy who had left the tap -running in the bathroom. There was a slight commotion in a far corner; -one boy was being nudged and pressed forward. There was a whisper of 'Go -on, Hunter.' All eyes were turned in his direction. There was no course -for Hunter but to come forward into the open and confess. - -And yet, as likely as not, some one else was the offender. It was the -sort of offence that any one might commit. It is not easy to remember -what one has forgotten. No doubt he thought he had turned off the tap, -otherwise he would hardly have left the bathroom; yet he might very -likely have done it. His companions told him that he had, and his faith -in their loving kindness was not sufficient for him to have wondered -why they had not repaired his mistake. If Hunter had not owned up he -would have had to say definitely that he had not left the tap running, -and that he could not truthfully have done. So he owned up. - -The fear of being thought a coward very often makes the preparatory -school boy confess to sins that he has never committed, and it is -usually the ones who are most often in trouble who find themselves in -this position. After all, if you are always getting into scrapes, are -always engaged in some misadventure, it is very hard to tell whether, on -a particular occasion, you are innocent or not. The head master comes -into a class-room in the afternoon. - -'Now look here, you fellows,' he says, 'you know I've told you that I -won't have you running down that steep path to the football field. You -are bound to fall down; you must walk. I've told you that a hundred -times. Now the matron tells me that she saw one of you running down -there this morning. I want to know that boy's name.' - -What is Jones mi. to do? He has run down that path so often. Whether or -not he did so that morning he cannot remember. He has had so much to -think about since then. Yet, suppose he did run down the hill, and -suppose that some one saw him. If he does not own up, he will be called -a coward all over the school. Far better 'own up,' and receive some -small punishment. Indeed, it may be said that the Jones mi.'s of the -world form a rule for themselves, that they own up to every offence of -which they are not dead certain that they are innocent. Head masters, -like batsmen, have to have the benefit of the doubt. - -It is equally difficult to acknowledge innocence in the midst of crime. -At my old school there was an excellent rule that for half an hour after -lunch we should sit in our class-rooms and read quietly. One afternoon -this peaceful siesta was disturbed by a loud and fierce and general -discussion of the superiority of Yorkshire cricket over that of -Lancashire. The particular class-room unfortunately happened to be -situated beneath the nursery of the head master's children, and the -angry voices of the disputants roused from her slumbers a recent -addition to the family. The complaints of a very indignant nurse forced -a very busy master to disturb the repose of that restful half-hour after -lunch. On this occasion the usual formula was reversed. He did not ask -the names of the boys who had been talking, he asked for the names of -the boys who had not been talking. Now, as it happened, I had taken no -part in the argument. I am a Middlesex supporter, I had just received as -a birthday present a bound volume of _Chums_, I was also, at the time, -in popular disfavour. So I had seated myself in a far corner of the room -and read steadily, with my fingers pressed into my ears. But I did not -dare to say so. I should never have been forgiven. It would have been -the action of a conscientious objector. No one would have believed me. -I realised how hopelessly out of things I should feel while the rest of -the school were receiving their punishment. Suppose a half-holiday was -stopped--what on earth should I do with a half-holiday all to myself? I -should be much happier working out theorems in a class-room. And it was -also possible that I might have said something that some one had -overheard--at any rate, I was not going to risk it. I sat silent at my -desk and accepted meekly the common lot. - -From the outside a Preparatory School looks very much like a miniature -Public School. It presents the same features, the same routine, the same -curriculum; there is even some attempt at a prefectorial system. -Superficially they have much in common. But there the resemblance ends. -The scale of values is altogether different. Indeed the Preparatory -School is very like the Public School of traditional conception. Talbot -Baines Reed is only read by boys of under thirteen; and boys of under -thirteen have moulded themselves after his image. There are, of course, -none of the high-lights, the heroism, the sacrifice. There are no -nocturnal visits to ostlers; but otherwise it is not unlike _The Fifth -Form at St Dominic's_. The smallest boys do resemble the 'Tadpoles' of -that popular romance. In spite of frequent visits to the bathroom their -hands and collars are continually smeared with ink; when they go for -walks at least one of them falls into the ditch and cuts his trousers; -they are all dog-eared except at meal times and at the start of the -morning's work. And they have the same attitude to life. They are -continually forming rival gangs; they are on the brink of feuds and -jealousies. They side against one another. Each boy in turn becomes the -object of general dislike. There is a certain amount of bullying, a -great deal more than there is at most public schools. New boys, for -instance, are subjected to an inquisition. They are asked what their -father is, and whether they would rather be a bigger ass than they look, -or look a bigger ass than they are. At a Public School only one boy in -every twenty gets really ragged, and usually for obvious reasons. But at -a Preparatory School every one has to put up with a certain amount of -persecution. There is a good deal of sycophancy, and the independent -learn many lessons. - -But when all is said and done, the really big difference between the -Preparatory and the Public School is the absence of the cult of -athleticism. The scholar is entitled to and receives as much respect as -the cricketer and for obvious reasons. The Preparatory School has to -contend with a far more competitive system than the Public School. -Schools have their ups and downs. Numbers rise and fall, but a Public -School that has a name can be always certain of the support of its old -boys. It has a firmly established tradition. Only a few Preparatory -Schools, on the other hand, possess this questionable advantage. The -name of only a few are familiar. None of them would justify the -journalist in the employment of his cliché 'a household word.' The -Preparatory School depends largely on the energy and personality of one -man, and the scholars are, after all, his exhibition blooms. He may -produce cricketer after cricketer, but the Public School will take all -the credit. We speak of Hedges and Chapman and Stevens as products of -Tonbridge, Uppingham, and U.C.S. respectively. We do not know where they -learnt the groundwork of the game. The scholar, however, comes into -prominence while he is still at his Preparatory School. The name of the -school is put after the name of the successful candidate. It is the -scholar, not the cricketer, who advertises a school. If the head master -of a Preparatory School told you that seven of his old boys were at that -time playing in their Public School Eleven, you would not feel that he -was entitled to any extravagant credit. If, however, he told you that in -one year seven of his boys had won scholarships you would be -considerably impressed. The boys themselves naturally, of course, are -more interested in cricket than in Greek, but they appreciate that -scholastic triumph has a marketable value, and the school officially is -prouder of its Winchester scholar than of its slow left-hand bowler. The -small boy who goes home for the holidays knows that he can impress his -uncle by the announcement that Hughes got the second Eton scholarship, -but that the statement that they beat Southdown by 100 runs and that -Evans took seven wickets for twenty-three will elicit only a polite -'really.' It is exactly the opposite at a Public School. The new boy -will proudly announce that the captain of his house had played for -Notts. There is a standard by which one can judge public school cricket -and football; there is no more a standard for the performances of -preparatory school athletes than there is for the startling figures of -the village fast bowler. Naturally there is more excitement when a new -boy shows an uncanny apprehension of the theorems of geometry than over -a new boy who brings the ball back naturally from the off. As a result -the preparatory master is inclined to push the clever boys on too fast. -It is the one real mistake that the Preparatory School makes, and it -should be noticed. For it is serious. - -A boy of eighteen can stand the strain of systematic coaching; a boy of -twelve cannot. The preparatory scholar is more often than not a -hot-house product. He has drawn on his reserves too early; his mind has -been forced into a groove at the start. He is trained like a pet -Pomeranian, and he is kept in blinkers; he is not allowed to explore -bye-paths that are of interest to him. That would be prejudicial to his -chances. He has to keep on the straight road of scholarship. He may get -his scholarship; he probably will, for such Preparatory Schools are -specialists at the game, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The boy -has been forced too soon and he is stale by the time he gets to his -Public School. - -It is very interesting to note how often, in the course of a year or -two, boys who did not get scholarships are higher up in the school than -their successful rivals: a man who starts the half-mile at a hundred -yards pace leads at the end of the first lap, but he does not win the -race. And the preparatory school master is inclined to forget that, -while a Winchester scholarship is the whole race for him, it is only the -first lap for the boy. He naturally wants the credit of the scholarship -for his school, but on the other hand he has to be unselfish. He has to -ask himself whether, in the long run, it is not better for the boy to -carry on with the general routine and take the scholarship examination -in his stride. If he succeeds well and good; if not, there is plenty of -time. And the wise parent will insist on this. - -The boy himself, however, realises that his world is that of the green -leaf and the bud. It is a time of sowing. And the fruits will show -elsewhere. He knows that his career will only start when he reaches his -Public School. The fact is always being forced upon his attention. 'This -sort of thing is all very well here,' his masters will tell him, 'but it -won't work at your Public School.' In the same way the commandant at -Sandhurst used to adjure us in his speeches, 'to keep always before you -the thought of the day when you will join your regiment.' - -There is the fear and the attraction of the unknown future. And, for the -sake of it, a boy will work far harder than he would otherwise have -done. He looks beyond the rewards and position that his own school -offers. It is not enough to be in the highest form, not enough to be in -the first eleven. He must improve himself so as to be able to take a -high place in the next stage of his career. A public school boy, on the -other hand, regards the honours that his school has to offer as an end -sufficient in themselves. In occasional addresses he is adjured to think -of the day when he will have to step out of that cloistered peace into -the rush and traffic of life; but that day is distant. He has little -ambition beyond 'a ribboned coat' and a seat at the high table. His -horizon is contracted, and his behaviour is that of those who do not -believe in a survival after death. He places an undue value upon the -immediate and the present. The preparatory school boy always looks ahead -to a future stage of life. And so it is that, when the last day at -school comes, he is not the victim of the surprised sentimentality that -overcomes the public school boy. He has begun to feel that he has -outgrown his surroundings. He has chafed at the restraint of childhood. -He has felt that success or failure is of little importance: so soon he -will be making a fresh start. He has lived in the future. He has spent -long summer evenings reading the history of his new school. He has -studied photographs of its buildings; he has pored over old numbers of -the school magazines, and has formed a romantic conception of the giants -of whose prowess he has read. The future opens before him with -limitless opportunities, and he can face it with an eager confidence -after his five long years of discipline. How long they have taken in the -passing, and yet in retrospect how flat they appear, how colourless, how -tiresome. Nothing has happened; day has followed day. Ah, well, that is -over now. Life is to begin. The new boy sets out hungry for experience. -On the last day at his Preparatory School he is addressed, in company -with the other boys who are leaving, by the head master. His egotism is -flattered by the assurance that the honour of his old school lies in his -hands. He is told that he will need a firm upper lip and a stout heart. -He listens to a recommendation of honesty, truthfulness, and -courage--all this he has heard before. He has read so many school -stories. And then, suddenly, he is startled by a warning against -temptations, the nature of which he imperfectly understands. His -curiosity is roused. He learns that if he yields to these temptations -his career will be spoilt, his health and brain will be ruined. How this -fate is going to be brought about he is not certain, but he agrees with -his head master that it is a fatality at all costs to be avoided. He -asks a friend for enlightenment and receives a superior answer of: 'Oh, -don't you know!' which makes him think that his friend knows even less -about it than he does. At any rate this particular temptation has not -yet presented itself, and the acknowledgment of its existence fades from -his contemplation of a golden future. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE NEW BOY - - -Alpha and Omega are the most widely known letters of the Greek alphabet. -And the first and last weeks of a public school career have inspired -more essays and sermons than the other two hundred and fifty weeks put -together. Yet in neither the beginning nor the end is to be found the -essence of school life. The last week is a period of agreeable -sentiment. The first of embarrassed loneliness. The new boy feels that -he has no part in the life of the school. On that first afternoon, when -he has said good-bye to his parents, and turns to walk away from the -station, the school buildings, chapel, studies, cloisters, assume in the -mellow September sunlight the prospect of a distant city that one day he -may be privileged to enter. At present he is outside it, as he stands at -the edge of the courts, forlorn in his black tie and wide brimmed straw -hat, while the stream of boys in bowler hats and gaily coloured ties -pours up from the station. On all sides he hears shouts of welcome, -snatches of eager conversation. No one takes the least notice of him. He -is an unrecognised foreigner. - -During supper, he sits silent and nervous among the new boys at the -day-room table. From time to time he casts hesitating glances at the -raised table where the prefects sit. What giants they seem. He wonders -which is Featherstone, the head of the House?[1] Is that imposing figure -with the black hair brushed back from his forehead, the G. O. Evans, who -made 121 in the Public School's match at Lords? Can it be possible that -he and they are members of the same society? - -A prefect rises from the high table and leaves the hall. Immediately -forms are pushed back and the long narrow passage leading to the -dormitories is filled with sound. The new boy is taken with the stream. -What will happen to him now, he wonders? He has always understood that -most of the ragging takes place in the dormitories. Will all new boys be -subjected to some common lot? In a way he almost hopes that they will. -He may thus be given an opportunity of showing his courage. He will be -marked down at once as 'a bit of a sport.' - -But nothing happens. He walks timidly into the large airy room with its -bare boards, its row of wash-hand stands and red-quilted beds. He sees -his bag lying in the middle of the floor. Three hours earlier when he -and his parents had been shown round by the house-master's wife, he had -placed his bag on the corner bed. It had seemed to him a good idea to -reserve that particular bed. He would then be open to attack only on -one side. Memories of Horatius Cocles had stirred his imagination. But -some one else is already undressing there. He picks up his bag, and is -about to place it on the bed nearest him when a warning voice informs -him that Jones has bagged that bed. He looks round him in dismay. There -are only two vacant beds. 'May I have that one?' he asks. The boy with -the warning voice looks surprised at being questioned. 'I should think -so,' he says, 'unless Hughes wants it. He had it last term.' The new boy -does not know whether or not he dare begin to undress beside the bed -that Hughes may possibly commandeer. He stands irresolute; then decides -to take the risk. There is nothing to choose between the two positions, -and Hughes would probably prefer a change. - -He begins slowly to undress. No one takes the least notice of him. No -one evinces the slightest inclination to test the courage of the new -man. No hardened bully enters with a blanket. It is possible that two -blasé young gentlemen from another dormitory will stroll in 'just to -have a look at the new men,' will make a cursory examination, and having -expressed their disgust at 'such an appalling crew,' will seek better -fortune elsewhere. That will be all. The inquisition of preparatory -school terrors is a myth. This generation is not more timid than its -predecessors, but it is more subtle. The boy who has just ceased to be -labelled 'new' wishes to impress his importance on the new boy. Forty -years ago he achieved this object by putting the new boy on a chair and -throwing boots at him. The appeal to physical force was not, however, -invariably successful. Sometimes the small boy retaliated, and there is -no reason why a boy of thirteen should not be a match for one of -fourteen. At any rate the 'year older' has accepted the twentieth -century doctrine that the easiest way to impress a person is to ignore -him. And so the boy of a year's standing assumes an air of Olympian -superiority. The new man is beneath his notice. He prefers to lean in -the doorway of the dormitory, and talk of the days when 'Meredith had -that far bed, and Johnstone had the wash-hand stand beneath the window.' -He will casually let fall the names of the mighty and note their effect -on the young. In the daytime he is probably quite an insignificant -person, low in form and a funk at football. He can only appear great in -the presence of his juniors during the quarter of an hour between supper -and lights out. He therefore takes enormous pains to secure the -admiration of those whom he affects to despise. - -It is the same everywhere. At Sandhurst, on the first night of each -term, the seniors used to cluster round the piano and sing till 'rooms' -with incredible violence and discord. It was done entirely to impress -the juniors, and on the whole I am inclined to think it was successful. -The junior is a shy person, and the din has on him an effect not unlike -that of an intensive bombardment. As the junior sits in a far corner of -the anteroom, cowed and unhappy by an exhibition that is being -conducted, though he does not know it, entirely for his benefit, so does -the new boy lie back in bed on his first night, wondering what it is all -about. - -The jargon puzzles him; the attitude to life puzzles him. The boy with -the warning voice is lamenting that he has got his 'budge.' - -'Rotten luck,' he says. 'I should like to have stopped in old Moke's for -at least a year. I did just well enough in each paper to avoid being -bottled. Fourteenth I came out, and now they've started a new form, so -we've all got shoved up.' The rest of the dormitory express sympathy. -Then some one wonders whether Davenport will turn 'pi' now he's a 'pre'; -the opinion is expressed that Ferguson will find himself pretty lonely -now that Wodehouse has left. A lot of people have apparently been -waiting a long time to kick him with impunity. Some one says, 'Let's -make up the Fifteen,' and the rival claims of Bradshaw and Murray are -carefully weighed. And all the while four wretched new boys listen in -silent, confused wonderment. - -The conversation gradually becomes spasmodic. There are longer and -longer pauses between the conclusion of one topic and the introduction -of another. 'Well,' says the senior boy, 'about time we were going to -sleep. Good-night all.' There is a murmur of 'good-night': silence: and -then again the warning voice. 'Oh, but I say, Stewart, what about the -new men's concert?' There is immediate interest among the senior -members. Of course, they had forgotten that ... the new men's concert. - -'Too late now,' says Stewart. 'Let's have it on Sunday.' - -'Hear that, you new fellows; you must all have a song by Sunday. -Good-night.' - -But there is little sleep for the new boy. Where is he? What has -happened to him? Such a little while ago he was secure, garrisoned, -sheltered by his home. Only twelve hours. He begins to wish that he had -not been so anxious to leave his prep. Why hadn't he stayed on there -another year? He would have been head of the school. At this very moment -if he had not been so absurdly impetuous he would be turning over to go -to sleep, having wished his dormitory 'good-night.' Just as Stewart had -done. The thought of the concert terrifies him. He is a bad singer. Will -they make him stand on a chair? will they throw boots at him if his -voice quavers, or if he forgets the words? It will be a long-drawn -agony. - -And for a couple of days he is made wretched by the prospect of this -ordeal. It allows him no peace of mind. In form, on the football field, -as he walks up to the tuck shop, the disquieting thought descends to -torture him. But in the end it is a very tame affair. It takes place -after lights out, and new boys, as well as lovers, win a strange courage -of the darkness. Moreover, the object of the concert is to amuse the -senior members of the dormitory, and bad singing amuses no one. Myself, -I remember being stopped before I had completed one verse of 'The -British Grenadiers,' whereas the boy next to me, who had an agreeable -treble voice was made to sing, 'Put on your ta-ta, little girlie,' every -other night for the rest of the term. - -The concert is practically the sole direct ordeal that a new boy has to -face: yet it is probable that he would, on the whole, prefer the -old-fashioned methods. It is better to be ragged than to be ignored. And -he spends most of his first week wondering whether he has done the right -thing. It is especially difficult if he finds himself placed high in the -school. The lower forms are mainly composed of new boys, companions in -calamity, and the master in charge of the second is lenient during the -early days. It is different for the boy who finds himself in the Lower -Fifth, or Upper Fourth. As likely as not there is only one other new boy -in his house in the same form, and, when he cannot find that particular -boy, there is no one to whom he may turn for advice. He soon learns that -it is not wise to carry his troubles to his seniors. He may find himself -in his house-master's study, waiting to hand in the list of books he -will require, and suddenly he remembers that he has forgotten to put -down his Latin prose book on the list; he has also forgotten what Latin -prose book his form uses. He casts a despairing eye round the room and -recognises, leaning against a bookcase the languid, supercilious figure -of Watney. What luck, he thinks, Watney has been in the Upper Fourth -two years. He is sure to know. The new boy edges towards him. 'Please,' -he asks, 'what Latin prose book do we use?' - -His query is met by a look of amazed, outraged disapproval. Watney looks -him up and down. Then at last: 'Who are "we"?' he says. The experiment -is not repeated. The new boy arrives in form without his Latin prose -book and is threatened with an imposition. - -The geography of the school is very puzzling. - -No new boy could be expected to gather much help from the information -that his class-room is 'under the library, up on the right, next to -Uncle Ned's.' For at least a week he is always entering the wrong form -room. In the lower forms it is customary for the master to glance round -the class, see that five boys are missing, and send the senior member in -search of them as a matter of course. Indeed the first week of term is -very pleasant for the senior member of the lower forms. He spends most -of his time searching for lost lambs, and he is in no frantic haste to -complete his task. But that is in the lower form, and, in the middle and -upper schools, form masters do not care to have their time wasted. The -absence of Jones mi. is not regarded as a joke. - -Nicknames are confusing. - -The new boy does not realise that 'Crusoe' and Mr Robinson are the same -person. And, when he finds himself a quarter of an hour late in Mr -Robinson's class-room, his excuse that he thought he had to go to 'Mr -Crusoe' is not an official success. He is always on the brink of a -mistake. - -Probably his life is further complicated by the fact that he is playing -Rugby football for the first time, and, for at least a month, his -performances on the field can give him little satisfaction and less -amusement. In the course of two or three puntabouts he is taught by his -house-captain how to pack and how to take a pass. He is then drafted on -to pick ups and house-games to fare as best he may. He fares extremely -badly. He hangs about on the edge of the scrum. He catches hold of his -opponents when they are dribbling and attempts an Association barge when -they are running. For a long time he never touches the ball with his -hands at all, and on the rare occasions when he discovers it at his -feet, he takes a terrific rout at it and is contemptuously informed that -he is not playing soccer. He is playing with boys older and heavier than -himself. He has little chance of acquiring self-confidence: no -footballer is really any use till he has scored a try, and that day is -slow in coming. The new boy's chief anxiety on the field is to avoid the -notice of any house caps that may be on the touchline. At half-time he -will rub worm-casts on his knees to present an appearance of muddy -valour. He is terribly afraid he will be reported and beaten for -slacking. This fate rarely, as a matter of fact, overtakes a small boy. -A beating for slackness is usually reserved for the boy about half-way -up the house who has committed no definite offence, but has been making -a nuisance of himself generally.[2] Slackness on the field is the excuse -for an official reprimand, and its effect is usually salutary. This, -however, the new boy does not know. Games, when the house-captain is on -the touchline, become a misery. During his first term he looks forward -to the First Fifteen matches chiefly because on those days he will not -himself have to play. - -But it is in his spare time that he most acutely feels himself outside -the general life of the school. He is oppressed by liberty. He does not -know what to do with it. At his Preparatory School an elaborate -time-table was posted on the notice-board, and every moment of his day -was pigeonholed. A boy had no excuse for not knowing at any given time -what he ought to be doing, and where he ought to be doing it. There was -constant supervision. But, at a Public School, provided a boy answers -his name at roll-call, and fulfils his social engagements in the form -room and on the football field, no one worries much what he is doing -during the rest of the time. He can search for plovers' eggs, or hunt -for fossils, or develop photographs, or overeat at the tuck shop. He is -his own master, and this the new boy cannot understand. When he has -changed after football on a half-holiday he asks himself: 'What ought I -to be doing now?' The answer is, of course: 'Nothing in particular. -Whatever you like.' A disconcerting answer, for there is nothing in -particular that he wants to do. The day room is inhospitable. The big -chairs round the fire are occupied by the mighty. The library is only of -less interest to him than the museum. The tuck shop at such an hour is -full of bloods in whose presence he feels embarrassed. He wanders -disconsolately round the courts. All the other new boys seem to have -found something to do (a common delusion this). In the end he succeeds -in finding some one equally lonely with whom he goes for a walk: and a -walk, unless one is a botanist, is such a strange way of spending an -afternoon, that I have since wondered whether any one after his first -term ever goes for a walk at school without an ulterior motive, except -when he is in training. - -It is a strange business that first term, and its importance is, I -think, overrated. It is not public school life. It is composed of the -hesitations, the reactions of a novice. School life is on the other side -of it. The new boy sees that life in fragments. It puzzles him. He tries -to fit it into shape with the scale of values he acquired at his -Preparatory School. And fails. The Preparatory School belongs to -childhood, the Public School to adolescence. The new boy understands -little of what is going on round him. Indeed there is no person whose -testimony can be less relied upon than that of the new boy of four -weeks' standing. He never knows what he should, and what he should not, -believe. The new life is so strange to him that he is prepared to accept -any absurdity for the truth. The veriest nincompoop can pull his leg. - -The following story is true. - -It was the custom in my house for the matron to put out clean -underclothes for each boy on Saturday evening. On my first Saturday I -noticed that no clean pants had been put out for me. I asked an elder -boy why this was. 'Oh, don't you know?' he said, 'we only have clean -pants twice a term.' I believed him. The matron thought that I, in -common with many others, did not start wearing pants till well into the -winter. In consequence I wore the same pair till the second week in -November. It is the same with regard to the more serious issues of -school life. Mischief is often caused by the mistaken ideas that new -boys give their parents of what does and what does not go on in their -house. - -I was provided the other day with a good example. At a certain house in -a famous school it was the practice of the house-master's wife to sit at -the day-room table for lunch. The idea was admirable. The house-master's -wife was a sympathetic woman who wished to recall to the small boys the -regenerating atmosphere of their homes. The results, however, were -unfortunate. The small boys became communicative. In their innocence -they repeated stories of which the true significance had escaped them. -In their ignorance they misinterpreted stories of which the nature -happened to be direct. In neither case did the reputation of certain -light-hearted sportsmen on the Va. table rise in the official esteem. -Indeed of that particular house there was composed a limerick, the exact -wording of which has more humour than propriety, to the effect that the -house reports of the Sixth Form table were written by the fags. Few -parents, however, would accept this explanation. - -Officially the first term is usually an unqualified success. The new boy -is not distracted from his studies by the stress of house politics nor -by the ambitions of the football field. The weekly form order is his -chief excitement. And it would be surprising, considering the qualified -enthusiasm with which the majority of the form welcome this occurrence, -if the new boy did not soon find himself in the running for promotion. -There is, indeed, little else for him to do.[3] He lives in a world of -his own. He sees a good deal of new boys in other houses, and the usual -question in break on Saturday morning is: 'Where were you this week?' -His offences against discipline are inconsiderable. It is 'side' for a -new boy to rag in the day room, in the changing room, and in the -dormitories. That is the privilege of his seniors. He is not hardened -enough to rag in form. He still regards work as important. I remember -once seeing a very small and inoffensive scholar crumple up a sheet of -paper and fling it at the head of his chemistry master. He maintained, -however, that he was aiming at the waste-paper basket, and, though the -excuse was not accepted, the offender's subsequent performances on the -cricket field have inclined me to think he spoke the truth. At any rate -this is the sole piece of audacity on the part of a new boy that I have -witnessed. Indeed the new boy who does not return home with a thundering -good report is a well-placed candidate for expulsion. Most of us start -well. How many public school boys would have to confess that they won -their only prize in their first term. The new boy returns home as from a -Roman triumph. The indulgent father is prodigal of largess and -theatre-tickets. His secretary is instructed to type out the report and -send copies of it to aunts and uncles and his former head master. It is -a great occasion, and we do well to make the most of it. It does not -come twice. - -The change begins, I suppose, on the first evening of the second term, -when the novice, clad appropriately in bowler hat and coloured tie, is -accosted by a member of the form into which he has been promoted and -informed that he will be expected to do the 'con' for them that term. -There is no threat. It is merely the announcement of an arrangement for -mutual help. The old stagers who have slowly moved up the school, with -the danger of superannuation camping on their trail, consider that their -last terms should pass in a soft tranquility. They expect the newcomer -to provide them with that peace. 'Here,' they say, 'is a smart lad who -has got his promotion straight away; he can be of great service to us.' -It is a form of practical communism of which the scholar is particularly -the victim. There is a general conscription of intellect. Scholars are -expected to do the work of the bloods. 'You are paid to come here,' say -the great men, 'you must prove yourselves worthy of your hire.' Arnold -Lunn has described how the captain of his house used to hold an -educational raffle. Slips of paper on which were written: 'Greek Prose'; -'Latin Prose'; 'Essay,' were placed in a hat and the scholars took their -chance of drawing a blank. I can still hear the voice of the school -fast-bowler shouting over the banisters to a wretched goggle-eyed youth, -'No. 69, Becke, and shove it in my study before prayers.' - -But the scholar is an exceptional person, and the novice who is accosted -in the courts has an easier fate. He does not have to do other people's -work. He merely has to do his own out loud. He is, moreover, a -privileged person. He does not have to look the words up in a -dictionary. That is the task of another member of the combination. He is -spared the hack work of translation. It is for him to discover the -sense. At a first glance it would seem that this arrangement would be to -the advantage of the new boy; certainly it will ensure his industry. -There is no chance of his scamping his work. The fate of others depends -on his efficiency, and it does not pay him to guess at the sense. I -remember once translating _Remotis arbielis, surrexit e lectulo_, -'having kicked off his bedclothes he rose from his bed.' No one -questioned the interpretation, so I proceeded to the next sentence. None -of us luckily was put on to translate that passage, but I can recall now -the icy looks of the other members of the combination when the sentence -was correctly rendered. I made a bolt for it afterwards, but they caught -me. I did not guess again. - -The form interpreter is never able to say to himself: 'I went on to con -yesterday, and I went on the day before, there's not the least -likelihood of my being put on to-day. I shan't prepare it.' He has to -labour for the general good, and probably, by the end of the term, he -knows the Latin and Greek books pretty well. But he has not only learnt -the correct rendering of certain obscure classical passages; he has -learnt also, through contact with older boys, the correct public school -attitude to work and the relative importance of football and -mathematics. - -This is what he learns. - -It is the business of the school to win their matches and to produce -first-class footballers and cricketers; it is the business of the house -to win their house matches and to produce as many colours as possible. -It is the business of every individual member of the school to subscribe -to this creed. The value of scholastic achievements is relative. It is a -feather in the cap of a double first to be privileged to wear the dark -blue ribbon of the Sixth. But it is not a necessary achievement. -Scholars, on the other hand, should work. They are no use to the school -at games. It is for them to do what little lies within their power; a -scholarship has its value. The school likes to get scholarships. It is a -side show, of course, but a creditable side show. And the Fourth Former, -after recounting the feats of Lewis in the big school match, comments on -the fact that Bevan won a Balliol scholarship in the same way that the -village greengrocer will say: 'Oh, yes, sir, we have a drapery -department, too.' Real brains are accorded a sort of grudging -admiration. They are entitled to respect. A Fellow has done his job -well. It may not be an important job, but he has done it. Our Fourth -Former remembers the parable of the talents. The Balliol scholar has -converted his one talent into two. - -The boy, however, who, without being a scholar, shows unusual signs of -industry, is a swot. Valuable time is wasted. The school is divided into -two parts: the scholars and the rest. The rest brings to its work -whatever energy is saved from its more arduous activities. No one thinks -any the less of a man for being low in form. Slackness on the football -field is anti-social. In the long category of an unpopular boy's offence -the final evidence of worthlessness is the statement: 'He doesn't even -work.' Even that resort, 'that last infirmity,' is denied him. What -purpose has his existence? These are the articles of faith; these are -the conventions. And the new boy who is ambitious, who wishes to win -the respect and admiration of his comrades realises that athletic -prowess will win him a position that is beyond the reach of the -liveliest intellect. He begins to look on his work as a side show. It -does not particularly matter what happens to him in the class-room. It -would be nice to reach the Sixth. There are agreeable privileges. But it -is not of first importance. - -No sooner has he decided this, than he discovers that his form work is -intolerably dull. Of course he does. He brings no enthusiasm to it. The -masters who can inspire the indifferent are rare. And the mind wanders -from the inky desks, the hunched row of shoulders, and the far voice of -a master droning monotonously, to the swimming bath and the cricket -field. Will Butler get the cricket cup? Did Frobisher get his firsts -because he was worth them, or because he was in the Captain's house? -These topics offer inviting prospects; speculation follows speculation -till suddenly the tired voice breaks into the day-dream: 'Will you -continue now, please, Dunkin?' There is a scuffle as Dunkin collects his -books and thoughts. There is a whisper of: 'Where's the place?' 'What -does _crates favorum_ mean?' And the delinquent begins to stumble -through his lines in a fashion that may, or may not, result in an -imposition. To the unresponsive the atmosphere is one of intolerable -listlessness. - -He makes another discovery, namely, that during his first term he did -far more work than was strictly necessary. That he should discover the -idiosyncracies of certain masters was a matter of course. Sooner or -later he would have been bound to learn that in Old Mouldy's he could -pin the repetition on to the back of the boy in front of him, that the -Moke's mathematical class provided him with an admirable opportunity for -writing the imposition that his house-master had given him the evening -before. A good batsman soon sizes up the opposing fieldsmen; he knows -whether he can risk a single to cover, or whether there is one for a -throw when the ball goes slowly to third man. That is part of the game. -The new boy makes more important discoveries than that. He comes to -understand the intricacies of the set system by which the middle and -upper schools learn French, German, Science, and Mathematics. - -For the days have passed when a boy learnt only Latin and Greek and a -little French grammar. A liberal education is supposed to give him a -general idea of a wide number of subjects. A choice of subjects is -allowed, and it is hard to arrange a fair system of marking that will -bring the boy who does German into line with the boy who does Greek. -Each school tackles the situation in a different way, but each system -probably leaves a loophole for the idle. It could hardly be otherwise, -and it is enough to describe one system and the tactics that are adopted -to cope with it. - -This particular system works as follows: It is accepted that the only -universal subjects, that is, the only subjects that are studied by the -whole form under the same master, are Latin and English, and, under -English, are to be included History, Literature, Geography, and -Divinity. On the marks earned in these subjects the form order and -promotion depends. All other subjects, Greek, German, French, Science, -and Mathematics are treated independently of the form order and are -taught in sets of varying standards. It would seem to be a very sound -scheme. A boy, for instance, may be a bad historian and a poor classic, -but a fine mathematician. If all subjects were included in the same -order he would be kept back by his bad English and Latin and would have -to do algebra that he had long outgrown, yet at the same time his -mathematical ability would place him in a form where the English and -classics would be too difficult for him. Under the set system it is -possible for the boy to reach the highest set in the school at -mathematics and yet remain in the Shell or Lower Fourth. - -During his first term the new boy worked with equal industry at form and -set subjects. During his second term he realises that he is wasting his -energy. Proficiency in Greek will not help him to secure his promotion -into the Lower Fifth; whereas, if he takes things easily at Greek, he -will be able to spend more time on History and Latin. Indeed, it might -be said that the wily one 'makes a book' in form and set subjects. He -appreciates the need of reserve strength. He ought always to have a -little in hand. He casts his eye down his time-table. There is no -reason why he should not spare himself during the hour in the -laboratory. The time might be so much more profitably devoted to his -Latin 'con'; and at the time, of course, he will not consider the -possibility of allowing such an arrangement to divert in any way his -classical activities in 'prep' on the previous night. Far from it. He -will have an opportunity to revise. He again studies his time-table. -French with 'Bogus.' A little relaxation there is possible. Greek with -'Crusoe,' however, presents difficulties. Crusoe is something of a -martinet; he expects lessons to be prepared, and he has a way of -remembering what impositions he has set. He will have to work hard for -Crusoe. Indeed it would be as well if he tried an honest, or the -equivalent for an honest term's work for Crusoe. Is not the next set -conducted by the Moke on admirably communal grounds. In the Moke's every -one helps every one. There is no haste, no envy, no striving for -position. A few scholars hurry through on their way to Balliol -scholarships. They do not matter. They are only ripples on the surface -of that calm, deep pool. - -Sometimes 'the book is made' the other way. A member of the school -eleven has at last reached the Lower Fifth, and is content for a term or -two to rest upon his achievements. He decides to do just enough work to -avoid being bottled. He realises, however, that it will be as well for -his father's peace of mind if a few single figures appear after his name -in the report. And so he devotes himself to Chemistry and French. Two -subjects appear on the time-table for each evening's preparation. And it -is a bad day when it is impossible to dismiss at least one of them in a -quarter of an hour. - -Examinations present difficulties. And it is here that the new boy, at -the end of the summer term, makes his first serious compromise with the -rigid code of ethics that he has brought with him from his Preparatory -School. Why should he not crib in set subjects. They are unimportant. -Promotion does not depend on them. He is not taking an unfair advantage -of any one else. He will only do just well enough to avoid having to do -the paper again. Why should he have to spend hours sweating up a useless -subject. It is absurd. Besides, cribbing is rather an exciting game. It -is a daring feat to smuggle the principal parts of the irregular verb, -into a waistcoat pocket. It needs courage to open a French dictionary -beneath the desk. He will be able to talk about it afterwards, and -fellows will say he is a sport. It is the first step, and afterwards the -compromise becomes increasingly easy. - -He returns home at the end of his first year fortified with a deal of -worldly wisdom. He looks forward to the next year hopefully. He knows -where he is now. He has learnt the tricks of the trade. It is all going -to be splendid fun. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] I have used throughout this book the idiom of my own school. The -Head of a house or of the school is the head boy in work. The -Captainship of a house or of the school is a term applicable only to -athletic prominence. - -[2] I am speaking of the average house. There are frequent occasions, of -course, in bad houses where this privilege of the house-captain is -abused. - -[3] It has even been known for a new boy to work in his spare time. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE SECOND YEAR - - -And it is splendid fun. Let us make no mistake about that. It is -splendid fun. For the ordinary boy, for all those, that is to say, who -have not been designed by nature for the contemptuous entertainment of -their companions, nothing is much better than the second and third -years. It is a light-hearted, swash-buckling period. The anxieties of -the fag have been forgotten, the responsibilities of the Sixth Former -are still remote. The second yearer can rag, and his ragging is not -taken seriously. At the end of the term house-masters do not address him -solemnly and appeal to his better nature. They beat him, and that makes -it a square fight. He knows where he is. He has to remain on the right -side of the law. If he passes the limit, he knows what to expect. Later -on the issue will be complicated by his position: for a while he can -afford to be an irresponsible free-lance. - -It is a happy time of eager unreflecting action. There is a good deal of -noisiness and 'showing off.' But it is harmless. A boy has just begun to -find himself. He is free at last. At his Preparatory School he was -always under the eye of authority. His freedom was enmeshed by a network -of regulations. His first year at his Public School his freedom was -fettered by nervousness and prejudice. That is over now. I sometimes -think that we love Charlie Chaplin so dearly because he does all the -things we have not the courage to do ourselves. When a waiter hurries -past us with a pile of plates, how delightful it would be, we think, to -drive our feet between his legs; who would not love to hurl a brick at a -retreating foe; who is not tempted to crook his walking-stick round the -ankles of the pompous. We never do these things; not as we should like -to do them. But we come as near as we ever shall come to the attainment -of this desire during our second year at school. On a small scale it is -permitted us to destroy furniture. We can pull chairs from beneath an -unsuspecting foe. The strings of a hammock have been cut to the -discomfiture of the occupant. The terminal bill for breakages is often -considerable, but no one is ever really hurt. - -For what little bullying exists nowadays the second and third yearers -are in the main responsible. The effect of a new-found freedom is -intoxicating. And there is always a boy in every house who is an -irresistible butt. There is a compound German word that means -'face-that-invites-a-box-on-the-ear.' And such a physiognomy is the -invariable possession of at least one scholar; in its own way the -magnetic influence of such ugliness is as irresistible as the charm of a -pretty woman. One has only to see that particular brand of face to want -to heave a boot at it. One refrains seldom. It used to be held that -every house contains one bully. It would be truer to say that every -house contains one boy who is bullied. Most boys go through their -schooldays without being subjected to any bullying, but most boys -indulge in a little spasmodic bullying themselves. It is a sort of bull -baiting, and it is in the main good-natured. - -Four or five fellows are sitting in a study after tea. There are still -twenty minutes before lock-up, and the conversation has grown desultory. -They all feel a little bored. One of them suggests that they should go -and see how that ass 'Sniffy' is getting on. It is a popular suggestion, -and a raid is made upon Sniffy's study. Sniffy is discovered working. -This is considered to be a disgrace to the house, and Sniffy is informed -of the fact. He invites his guests to get out. 'But, my dear Sniffy, -what hospitality! Surely you are going to offer us a chair! No? Then we -must teach you manners!' Sniffy's chair is suddenly jerked from under -him and Sniffy is flung forward on to his table. He jumps up and lets -fly at one of his assailants. It is no fun ragging some one who does not -retaliate, and proceedings are soon less cordial. In the end Sniffy's -study is pretty effectively wrecked. This happens about once a -fortnight, but, beyond this, I am inclined to think that, except in a -bad house, there is very little bullying now in Public Schools. - -The tone of a house changes far more quickly than the tone of a school. -And, in every school, there is usually a thoroughly bad house. As a -house-master grows old he tends to leave the management of the house -more and more in the hands of his prefects. As long as his prefects are -efficient all goes well; but, sooner or later, a weak head is bound to -come, and then the swash-buckling element gets out of hand. One of the -houses when I first went to school had got into this state. The head boy -was easy-going, and there were in the day room two members of the First -Fifteen who had in school failed to reach the Lower Fourth and who were -thorough 'wrong 'uns.' Terrible tales of refined torture used to be -repeated in the upper dormitories, and I can well believe that life -there was pretty wretched. But I always distrust second-hand accounts. -Nothing is more easily distorted than the story of atrocities, and, for -my part, I have neither been a victim, nor the witness of any serious -bullying. The only case that reached official notice during my time -savoured strongly of the ludicrous. - -A parent had complained that his son had been ill-treated, and all the -house prefects were summoned into the head master's presence. The -offenders were leaning nervously against the wall; their victim was -enduring tortures of self-consciousness; the head master was fingering -his pen, and the avenging father blocked up the entire fireplace. There -was a dead silence. We were all hard put to it not to smile. The -offenders looked so much smaller than the prey. At last proceedings were -opened by the boy's parent. He followed the traditional line. He had -been a boy. He knew what boys were. He knew the public school code of -honour. He loathed sneaking. His boy had not sneaked. The confession had -been dragged out of him. What he, the father, wanted, was not -punishment, but the assurance that such a thing would not happen again. -'And now, John,' he concluded, 'show the head master that bruise upon -your arm.' Very sheepishly the boy drew off his coat, rolled up his -sleeve and revealed a bruise, certainly of extensive proportions. - -'How did they do that?' asked the chief. - -'By flicking him with wet towels, head master,' said the parent. - -A simultaneous denial came from both offenders. 'We didn't make that -bruise, sir.' - -'But did you flick him?' asked the chief. - -'Well, sir; yes.' - -'Then how on earth can you tell that you did not make that bruise?' - -There was a moment's silence, during which the smaller of the offenders -surveyed the wound with an almost envious eye. - -'It couldn't have been me, sir,' he said at last. 'I can't flick well -enough to have done that.' - -I hope I may be pardoned for retelling this story, which I have already -told elsewhere. But it seems to me to interpret perfectly the attitude -towards bullying that exists in most houses. No doubt there was a great -deal of bullying fifty years ago. And people think that what was true of -the Rugby of _Tom Brown's Schooldays_ is true of the Shrewsbury of -to-day. They still think that the three chief sins of a Public School -are bullying, stealing, and midnight escapades into the town. But those -days have passed. In Desmond Coke's _The Bending of a Twig_ the new boy -who sought for bullies behind every cloister quickly won the nickname of -Don Q. - -It is usually during the course of his fourth term that a boy first -begins to swear. For swearing is, on the whole, confined to members of -the Middle School. It is side for a fag to swear, and an oath, except on -rare occasions, is considered beneath the dignity of a blood. He is -supposed to dwell in an Olympian fastness beyond the reach of -inconvenience, where the need for violent language is infrequently -presented. For the second yearer, however, life is full of emotion that -demands to be registered forcibly. - -I can never quite see why so many people refuse to believe that a -schoolboy's conversation is punctuated with 'damns' and 'bloodys.' We -employ the idiom of our surroundings. A boy does not swear at home; at -school he does. And there is no particular reason why he should not. An -oath means little to him. He knows that some indecency is implied. But -the meaning of the word is not defined by his use of it. He rarely -employs it appropriately. He recommends the most contradictory -performances. A powerful expression is needed. He wishes the world to -know that he has been moved powerfully either to anger, or to delight. -That is all. Any word that would have this effect would suit him, and I -remember a dormitory captain insisting that the only expletive to be -used in his presence should be 'daggers'; this crasis satisfied every -one. The language a boy uses is no index to his character. Swearing and -'talking smut' are very different things. - -It is also in his fourth term that a boy who is anything of an athlete -begins to discover himself on the football field. He finds himself -scoring tries in home games. He is noticed by the bloods as a coming -man. He makes friends among his seniors. He is no longer outside the -life of the school. The road of ambition lies clear and straight before -him. It is marked out in distinct stages. He learnt, of course, during -his first term that a house cap may put one hand in his trouser pockets, -that a seconds may put both, that a first may walk across the sixth form -green in break; but these facts were distant in the imagination like the -ritual of a mediæval court: they now become realities. In a year, he -reminds himself, he will be in his house fifteen. The year after he -should get his house cap. In four years he should be a first. It might, -indeed, be maintained that the blood system is at the same time the -magnet and the expression of the second yearer's ambition. The blood -would not value his performances so highly were he not encouraged by -others in the belief that he is of supreme importance. And, at fifteen, -one idealises the future. It seems splendid to be a blood, to play for -the school against Blackheath, to saunter across the courts with one's -hands in one's pockets, one's books stuck under one's arms; to be on -terms of friendly intercourse with masters, to be beyond the reach of -punishment. And, because the future seems so glorious, the second yearer -idealises the dwellers in it. In the same way that in Chelsea the latest -poet or draughtsman can disregard the social laws of property and of -propriety, in the eyes of the junior the blood can do no wrong. His -voice is hushed when a blood passes him in the cloisters. If one should -speak to him, he blushes and stammers and feels proud of it for days. -The blood naturally endeavours to realise the popular conception of -himself. He owes his position to it. For the higher up the school we go, -the less important the blood appears, and, when our time comes to sit at -the high table, we can hardly believe that we are occupying the same -chair that Meredith sat in four years ago. It is absurd. How the house -must have come down. To think of that little ass, Barton, being a -prefect. How short a time since he was playing in junior house games and -getting cursed for funking. And for ourselves--it is only yesterday that -we were trembling, a diffident new boy, at the far corner of the -day-room table. We cannot but believe our generation to be vastly -inferior to those that have preceded it, and we do not think otherwise -even when we win the senior cricket cup, although in Meredith's year the -house was beaten by an innings in the first round. It is not in our -nature to desire, or even value highly, what we possess. The last year -is often a disappointment. - -No such foreknowledge mars the enjoyment and anticipation of the second -yearer. It is indeed hard to imagine a more fortunate combination of -circumstances. From an agreeable present he surveys the prospect of a -delightful future. The days may pass slowly, or swiftly, as they -will--their passage will be a long enchantment. - -It is during this period that a boy gets through the majority of his -ragging in form. Now the ragging of masters is a very specialised art. -The master holds all the cards. He has behind him the marshalled forces -of the law. He can cane, he can give lines. He has every implement, -physical and moral, for the preservation of order. He ought to be able -to keep order. Yet the boy usually wins. Indeed, I often wonder how a -master, who has once begun to be ragged, can ever hope to regain order. -He is fighting a confident foe. The new boy learns during his first week -that 'one can do anything one likes in Musty's.' Musty stands no chance. -He enters the form room nervously; he is on the lookout for trouble; he -is afraid to turn his back on the class when he is working on the -blackboard. For ten minutes there is silence, a suspicious silence, -perhaps, but still a silence. Musty tells himself that if any one -attempts to break that silence he will make him sorry for it. He will -punish the first whisper: that is the only way. And then, suddenly, from -the back of the room, comes an ominous sound. It is not a cough: it is -not a sneeze: it is a hideous nasal and vocal croak that Musty has -learnt to recognise as the prelude to rebellion. He observes that some -one is cramming a handkerchief into his mouth, and is choking in the -subdued manner of one who is unsuccessfully stifling a laugh. - -Musty decides on action. 'Jones, take that handkerchief out of your -mouth immediately, and you'll spend the afternoon doing me a hundred -lines.' Jones withdraws the handkerchief from his chin, and his face -assumes an expression of outraged innocence. 'But, sir----' he begins. - -'A hundred and fifty lines,' snaps Musty. - -At this point the democracy of the class feels that its independence has -been violated. There is a murmur of disapproval. And a tall, cadaverous -youth rises from the front desk. - -'Please, sir----' - -'Silence, Evans.' - -'No, sir, but really,' Evans persists, 'I must explain to you, sir, that -the younger Jones is suffering from a very severe cold.' - -'Yes, sir, I am,' blurts out the victim. 'And the matron said I was not -to play football this afternoon.' - -At this point Musty should, of course, be firm. - -'I am sorry,' he should say, 'but, at the same time, that will allow -you, Jones, to do me two hundred lines instead of a hundred and fifty. -And perhaps you, Evans, will do me a hundred and fifty. Thank you. We -will now proceed with the lesson.' - -Such tactics might succeed. But Musty hesitates; for a moment he wonders -whether Jones is telling him the truth. And the delay is fatal. Already -other members have started to produce testimonials to Jones mi.'s -integrity and disease. 'He really is awfully bad, sir. My study's next -door to him, and he was coughing all last night. He made such a noise -that I was only able to do you three problems instead of six!' - -A general conversation begins. Members cease even to address the chair. -When Evans assures Musty that 'Jones would never tell a lie,' Power -retorts that the other day Jones sold him a watch as new which went -smash at once. 'Dirty little liar, I call him!' 'You wait till -afterwards,' is Jones's reply. And, by the time honour has been -vindicated, there is no chance of restoring order that day. The class is -already out of hand. Jones mi. has the general permission to sneeze as -often as he likes, a permission of which he generously avails himself. - -Such a disturbance should have been quelled by a firm hand. Masters have -to run the risk of being unfair. There is, of course, the possibility -that Jones's cold may have been genuine, but his previous record should -preclude it to a 100 to 1 chance. At any rate, it is unlikely that Jones -would be anxious to carry the case to the head master. Criminals avoid -Bow Street. - -It is not usually, however, so easy to distinguish the preliminary -manoeuvres. When, for instance, a boy walks quickly up to the master's -desk and says that he thinks there is a peculiar smell in the room, the -master is taken off his guard. He assumes interest. He walks to where -the boy was sitting and sniffs. A polite boy rises and asks respectfully -if anything is the matter. 'No, nothing,' says the master, 'Jones -thought there was a curious smell where he was sitting.' The interest of -the form is quickened. There is a general sound of sniffing. 'Well, sir, -now that Jones comes to mention it, I do seem to recognize--I don't -quite know what it is, sir.' - -'Come, come,' says the master, 'that'll do.' - -'No, but really, sir, I don't know if it's quite healthy. Do you think -the drains are all right?' - -The information is hazarded that there have been several cases of -typhoid recently in the town. - -'It must be the drains.' - -Then some one suggests that it may be the gas. The school custos is -notoriously careless in these matters. The suggestion is welcomed. At -any rate it deserves investigation. And such investigations, when -conducted by twenty clumsy boys, whose clumsy feet are shod with heavy -boots, are a long and noisy business. Books fall with a clatter on to -the floor. The hindquarters of the inoffensive are accidentally kicked. -Smith endeavours to jump from one desk to another, misses his footing -and crashes on the desk. Musty is lost. - -He stands in the middle of the room. He says 'Come, now!' a great many -times. He varies it occasionally with 'That'll do.' He asks Smith -whether he considers that what he is doing 'is really necessary.' At -last a piping unrecognisable voice rises from the far corner. 'It isn't -the gas. It must be Musty himself. He never washes.' - -In most schools there are at least two masters who are the continual -victims of such treatment. Such ragging, however, is too simple to -content the truly adventurous. The Mustys of the scholastic world are -objects of contempt, and we prefer to respect our enemies. It is far -more entertaining to rag a disciplinarian. One has to guard oneself. The -master has all the weapons. Among other things the ragster has to work. -If he is unexpectedly put on to con, flounders through a couple of lines -and breaks down completely at the third, he has played into his -opponent's hand. He has deserved the imposition that he will most -certainly get. The ragster must prepare his work. That is part of his -defence. He cannot say to himself: 'I have been on twice running. I -shall not go on to-day.' If he makes a cheeky remark in form, the -master's just retort is: 'Jones, you seem to like talking. I think you -had better translate the next passage.' And, if Jones translates the -passage successfully he feels that he is one up. Such ragging is very -different from the general rag of the complete incompetent. It is a -free-lance affair. It is an art. The majority of masters meet it in some -form or other. It is only a few who are subjected to displays in which -the whole form take part. - -Yet it is a puzzle to find out how exactly this ill-fortune selects its -particular victims. Personality is limited. There are only a few who -have a real genius for teaching. The majority are merely competent. And -competence must fall before invention. Why is it that some are ragged -and others not. The ragged master may be an excellent fellow. He may be -good at games; he may be just as exemplary a member of society as his -colleagues, and yet he is selected for this refined torture. There are -some masters for whom one never works hard; one does enough and no more -to avoid being bottled. One sits in the class-room for long, sultry, -tedious hours; the insipid sunlight moves across the wall. One watches a -fly crawl up the window-pane. One writes 'is a fool' upon the desk after -the inscribed name of an enemy. One sticks a compass into the back of -the man in front. Perhaps one revises the next hour's lesson. It may be -that there is an imposition to be completed. The minutes pass slowly; -one longs for the strike of the clock. And yet no one attempts to -enliven the hour with some geniality. The few attempts that are made are -spasmodic and unsuccessful. - -We had a master who was nicknamed, I never knew why, Marchand. And, one -day, a boy who was doing translation paused at the French word -_marchand_. 'Please, sir,' he said, 'I don't know what _marchand_ -means.' There was no laugh, not even a titter. We were all too -surprised. The master's face did not alter. 'It means merchant, Smith,' -he said, 'and you will stay behind afterwards and speak to me.' He -received six of the best. And it was, no doubt, such a master who made -the historic retort to the boy who, during an hour that was devoted to -the discussion of Old Testament history, inquired what 'harlot' meant. -'A harlot, Jones,' the master answered, 'is a lady who finds herself in -unfortunate circumstances, and you will take two hundred lines.' - -If such an answer had been made by Musty, the boy would have -expostulated freely; other members of the form would have interested -themselves in the cause of justice. As it is, Smith gets his half-dozen -and Jones his two hundred lines, and the world says 'silly ass!' - -There are certain masters who inspire neither industry nor -insubordination, and yet I suppose that once they, too, had their hour -of trial. So much depends on the first impression. Arnold Lunn has -recounted in _The Harrovians_ the story of one Crabbe, who was so -unmercifully ragged that he had to leave at the end of his first term. -'He went on to another school where his reputation had not preceded him. -He opened his first lesson by setting a boy a hundred lines for -sneezing. After having successfully established a reputation for -unbridled ferocity, he was able, by slow degrees, to relapse into his -natural kindly self.' It is typical of much. The master who has once -allowed himself to be ragged is lost for ever. He may beat, he may line, -he will never restore order. His only chance is to try elsewhere. - -The ragging of prefects is of very much the same order. There is less of -it, because the head of the house has a way of jumping suddenly on the -turbulent. 'I hear you were ragging Beetle last night in hall. You've -got to stop it--see? and you're going to get six as a warning!' The head -of the house has more authority than an assistant master. If a boy felt -that an assistant master was unjust he might very well complain to the -head master. But no boy would care to appeal against a boy--that would -be sneaking. A good head of the house sees to it that none of the -prefects are indiscriminately ragged, but there is always one of them -for whom the rest of the house has but little respect, and to whom the -taking of prep is always an anxiety. He beats and lines more than the -rest of the prefects put together. But it has small effect. Indeed the -second yearer acquires a hardened hide. Punishment is no deterrent to -him; it is merely a pawn in the game. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ATHLETICISM - - -By this time the new boy may be truly said to have reached the inner -circle of a public school philosophy. He knows to what gods he must bow -the knee. And he serves dutifully before the altar of the god of sport. - -The cult of athleticism has been for a long while the target at which -the enemies of the Public School have launched their abuse. And until -this cult is understood, it is impossible to understand the standards -and the scale of values of a Public School. Every community must have a -religion of sorts, a faith to which all faiths are subservient, a -service which makes the first demands. A man, when called to decide -between two claims, must be able to know which way his duty lies. He may -not follow the claim of duty, but he should be able to distinguish which -it is. In some communities it is the observance of social custom, in -another the making of money is all important, in one the honour of the -regiment, in a second the teaching of the Scriptures. At a Public School -it is athletic prominence. - -The position of a school is decided by its performances on the field. If -two men in a club are discussing the merits of a certain school, the -first consideration will be athletics. 'Oh, yes,' they will say. -'Fernhurst stands very well just now. It beat Tonford and Merton last -season, and it's got two fellows in the Varsity eleven.' The social -status of a school is judged, not by the number of Balliol scholars it -has produced, but by the quality of the schools it plays. 'Oh, Marestone -can't be much of a place,' you will hear said. 'They only play a few -grammar schools.' - -This fact the new boy realises at once. His father's friends are -impressed when he can tell them that his school has beaten Haileybury. -They display a mild interest at his casual reference to Bennett's -scholarship. The new boy reads in the daily papers enthusiastic articles -on the performances of the school eleven, and he learns that Haslett is -being watched by the county authorities. There is an air of publicity -about every school match. There will be reports in the newspapers. The -new boy feels himself to be participating in a function of considerable -general interest. All over the country people will be wondering what -will chance in this particular encounter. He is on the spot. The Press -accentuates his keenness. How could he, in the face of such a testimony, -doubt the supreme importance of athletics. We believe in the goods that -are most widely advertised. Who ever read an article on the prospects of -the various competitors for a certain exam. Who has read in the _Times_ -that 'enormous interest is being taken in the approaching scholarship -examinations. Clifton has several promising scholars. Marston may be -poor at unseen, but he is very deft in his handling of Latin prose, and -he has a good ear for hexameters. Haileybury, on the other hand, place -their faith in Johnson, a steady, industrious worker who can be trusted -to perform consistently in all subjects....' Yet, two or three times a -week, we can read in the _Sportsman_ that Fernhurst has a vastly -improved side and that with Evans back again in the three-quarter line, -is hopeful of emerging triumphantly from the approaching contest with -Tonford. - -Public School sport is awarded at the present moment a preposterous -amount of publicity. It is bad for the schools; it is bad for the boys -themselves, and, as far as one can gather, it has not helped English -sport to any appreciable degree. It encourages in schools the belief -that games matter more than anything else. Very often it makes boys -swelled-headed, certainly it makes them think they are bigger than they -are, and is preparing for them a big disappointment. It is so easy to -appear a giant among pigmies. In my own short experience I can remember -more than one player who was described while at school as being an -England batsman in the making, and who now experiences a difficulty in -getting into the county side. Every summer we know by name a whole host -of public school cricketers that are never heard of afterwards. They -have averages of sixty during their last term; their exploits are -described in fervid journalese. They go up to Oxford, fail to reach -double figures in the Freshmen's match, and are quickly submerged in -college cricket. Others go up with enormous reputations, making -centuries in the trial match, and then find that there is a difference -between club and county cricket. They just get their blue with a batting -average of twenty-five; they play for the county during August and do -nothing exceptional. They are just average cricketers, useful members of -a side and nothing more. In the meanwhile the journalists are shrieking -of the natural offbreak of a sixteen-year-old Rugbeian. This particular -type of writer resembles the literary critic who hails every new poet as -a 'second Keats,' and every new novelist as 'a second Hardy,' but loses -interest in his discoveries after the appearance of their fourth book. - -There is no need to dive back into past history. We can find enough -examples in post-war cricket. N. E. Partridge in 1919 had a batting -average of 43, and took 71 wickets for under 12 runs each. He had a -magnificent press. Next to Stevens, and perhaps Hedges, he was the most -discussed boy cricketer of the year. On the strength of this boosting he -very nearly received an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -As a matter of fact, I am not certain that he did not actually receive -an invitation, and that his head master refused to let him go--but on -that point I am not certain. At any rate his claims were seriously -advanced by a great many reputable judges of the game, among whom I -think Sydney Pardon has to be included. He went up to Cambridge with a -tremendous reputation; he did only moderately. At one time, indeed, it -seemed improbable that he would get his blue. Last season he did nothing -exceptional for Warwickshire. I may, of course, be misjudging a -cricketer whom I have never seen play, but everything would seem to -suggest that Partridge will develop into nothing more exciting than the -average county cricketer.[4] - -We could also take the example of L. P. Hedges. I spent the summer of -1918 in a German prison camp; but even to that distant city came news of -the brilliant Tonbridge batsman who was greater even than Hutchings. -During the summer of 1919 the assiduous student of the _Sportsman_ heard -much of him. Every week appeared the score of some fresh triumph, and, -to crown it all, came that brilliant 163 at Lords. It was a gorgeous -show. I was thankful not to be fielding at coverpoint. But, let it be -whispered gently, the bowling did not look particularly difficult, and, -though Hedges's innings was dazzling, a quite ordinary batsman should, -off the same bowling, have been able to help himself to a generous -allowance of fours. - -That particular innings marked, I suppose, the height of Hedges's career -from the point of view of press publicity and popular esteem; the height -had been reached, that is to say, before his qualities had been placed -on the open market and tested by the stress of three days' cricket and -the accuracy of professional bowling. We do not hear much of Hedges -nowadays. He has played useful cricket for Oxford and for Kent; but he -has done nothing sensational. And yet, when I saw him last summer make a -50 against Middlesex at Lords, I could not help feeling that he is a -better bat to-day than he was in 1919, and that that 50 in an important -match, against confident bowling, and while Woolley was scratching -uncomfortably at the over end, was in every way a finer performance than -his 163 of two years earlier. He drove Haig and Durston through the -covers as easily as in 1919 he had plastered the ring with boundaries. -And yet the pressmen remained calm. - -It is vain and it is unfair to attempt to form a judgment of a person -whose wares are not upon the open market. No one can tell who is, and -who is not, going to prove a test match cricketer. Equally it is -impossible to tell from public school form which boys are potential -cricketers. Who, for example, who saw in 1910 F. H. Knott and D. J. -Knight batting in the Public School's match at Lords realised that -Knight was going to develop into an incomparably greater batsman than -Knott. And yet sportsmen continue to write about boy cricketers with the -seriousness that they devote to Hobbs. They draw the most ridiculous -comparisons. I discovered last summer in one of the most influential -daily papers the following passage in the account of the Public -School's match at Lords: 'There is probably no cricketer, with the -exception of R. H. Spooner, who sees the ball more quickly than J. L. -Guise.' Now anything much more ridiculous I can hardly imagine. It is -like the literary critic, who shall be nameless, who described the work -of a minor poet, who shall be also nameless, as having given him more -pleasure than anything since the first flights of Swinburne. It is -preposterous to speak of Guise, who is an extremely promising cricketer, -as seeing the ball more quickly than any batsman except Spooner. It all -depends on what manner of ball he is seeing. In the Eton match he, no -doubt, saw Allen's deliveries with considerable speed. Spooner, however, -was in the habit of seeing in this manner the deliveries of Cotter, -Tarrant, and Schwarz. Speed of eye is relative to the quality of the -bowling. I should hesitate to call myself a batsman, but there is a type -of ball that I can see with incredible rapidity. It is bowled to me, -alas, too occasionally, in village matches. It is medium paced, it -pitches on the middle stump, a little more than half-way down the pitch, -and it turns away ever so slightly towards the leg. Any one can look a -good bat who is opposed to bad bowling. And I maintain that it is no -sort of sense indulging in wild panegyrics about schoolboys who have -never been tested by first-class bowling. - -If a boy seems promising the county authorities should give him a trial, -and, if he does well, then let the pressmen get busy. Every one is so -terrified lest a good man may be overlooked. But how unlikely that is if -the county authorities are at all keen. Trial matches can be arranged. -Visits can be paid to schools. There is no need for this hectic -discovery of twenty Spooners every season. The school figures of players -like Stevens and Chapman and Hubert Ashton would have been quite -sufficient to ensure a proper trial for them. And the fact remains that -in spite of this press work amateur cricket is at a lower ebb now than -it has ever been before. The Gentlemen and Players match has become too -one-sided to stimulate interest in anything save individual -performances. Very few amateurs are good enough to play for England. -Douglas is; and he was not one of the marked men of cricket articles. -His entrance was as untheatrical as his batting. D. J. Knight, is on his -form of 1919, the second best batsman in the country; Stevens, at his -best, is a great match-winning factor; Tennyson and Fender are useful -players. But it is impossible to maintain that there are to-day any -amateur batsmen comparable with Maclaren, Spooner, Fry, Stoddart, and -Jackson, than the cricketers, that is to say, who passed unheralded on -their merits into first-class cricket. The low standard of amateur -cricket cannot be argued away. And this trumpeting of the press could -only be excused, could it be proved to further the interests of amateur -sport in England. Instead of furthering those interests, it works -against them. It makes games at a Public School too much of a business -and too little of a sport. It introduces professionalism. And I am -prepared to wonder how far one really enjoys one's games at school. - -One is frightfully excited about them; one is very pleased when one does -well and depressed if one does badly. One works oneself into a state of -nervous misery before a match, and one of hysterical excitement after -it. Victory and defeat mean a great deal. And it was with a real -surprise that I realised a few months ago at the end of a very pleasant -season that, although I should continue to play football for another ten -years, and cricket, I hope, for another forty, I should never again -really care whether the side for which I am playing wins or loses--care, -that is to say, as I cared at school about a house match. In club -cricket and football one asks for a good game in pleasant company, and -victory is incidental. While one is playing, of course, one is keen, but -one will not brood afterwards over one's mistakes,--not as one does -after a school match. There is, I suppose, no public school man under -the sun who does not now and again on some winter evening drop his paper -on his knees and curse himself because, fifteen years ago, he missed a -catch at an important crisis--that is one of the things one never ceases -to regret. That awful moment when one picks up the ball with tingling -fingers and tosses it back to the bowler; it is for all time a vivid -memory. One does not feel like that about an ordinary catch in an -ordinary club game. One is annoyed with oneself; one is sorry for the -bowler; one apologises to the captain, but one remembers that one is -out, after all, to enjoy oneself. - -That is the difference between school and club cricket. At school one is -not out to enjoy oneself. It is a business, this getting of runs and -taking of wickets. There are cups for house matches, and there are cups -for batting and bowling averages, and it is a sin to miss a catch. There -are few worse things than the anxiety attendant on those who play on the -fringe of a school side. Not only is one worried about one's own -performances, but about one's rivals. If one has made a duck oneself one -cannot, in spite of one's patriotism, be anxious for a particular rival -to retrieve the fortunes of the side with a century. A first eleven cap -is valued far too highly for such unselfishness. It is equally little -fun to be a member of a bad fifteen. One is subjected to a series of -complaints and recriminations. One grows sick of the whole business. And -I can remember during the first winter of the war the relief with which -we learnt that the Tonbridge match had been scratched. We had a poor -side. We knew that we should be thoroughly trounced, and that, for the -next week, the lives of those who had not distinguished themselves would -be made wretched. We never for a moment questioned the justice of this -tyranny. The Lord our God was a jealous God. We had to serve him. But we -were not sorry that an occasion for his wrath should be removed. I very -much doubt whether the actual playing of games was as pleasant at -school as it is outside it. - -The intensity and rapture are irrecoverable. There is nothing to compare -with the elation that follows a victory over a stronger side. But in the -long run I find cricket more enjoyable to-day than I did six years ago. -It is less complicated. One takes a day off from one's work and spends -it in agreeable company. One can field out all day and never take a -wicket, miss a couple of catches, and then crown everything by making a -duck, and yet thoroughly enjoy oneself. At school that would have been a -rotten day, and one would have spent the evening in deep despondency. -Yet everything is in favour of one enjoying one's game at school. It is -so simple. One strolls down after lunch in a leisurely fashion to the -field. One changes one's boots in the pavilion. A hot bath is waiting -for one afterwards. But, in order to play football after one has left, -one has to rush off to catch impossible trains from impossible stations. -One has no time for lunch. The train always seems to start at 1.18. -There is as likely as not a long walk from the station. One changes in a -converted army hut; one is more than a little tired before the game -starts. There are no proper baths afterwards, and one has to hurry, or -one will miss the only train to town: for it is amazing the number of -football fields which are on loop lines with trains at hourly intervals. -And yet, personally, I enjoy my football now a great deal more than I -ever did at school. - -It would not be just, however, to lay the blame of this professionalism -to the account of the sporting press. Journalists are rarely responsible -for anything. They do not lead public opinion. They follow it or, if -they are clever, they anticipate it. Had not the worship of athleticism -been already firmly established in the schools themselves it would never -have occurred to them to run it as a stunt. The journalist spends most -of his time searching for a town of blind men over which he, with his -one eye, may rule. And the journalist discovered that the Public School -had enthroned an unofficial king who had not received his due of public -recognition. The journalist decided to officialise his position. To this -king was paid extensive homage; and, as there is no more pleasant -reading for ladies-in-waiting than court gossip, he commenced a column -of court news. But he did not set up the court, or crown the king. He is -only a herald. And we must regard these tiresome articles as a proof, -but not a cause of this peculiar ritual. The trumpeting of the herald -adds certainly to the glamour of the court, but his absence would not -start a revolution. If not another article appeared on public school -sport, the cult of athleticism would still continue; it would continue -because as things are at present there is no other focus for the -enthusiasm and partisanship of a boy of seventeen. There is really -little else about which a schoolboy could reasonably become excited. - -Indeed it is hard to see what other results could have been expected -from such a combination of circumstances. Four hundred boys are divided -into ten houses. They are encouraged to feel an intense loyalty for -their house and for their school. They are told that it is up to them to -make their house the best house in the school, and their school the best -school in the country. They set out in all good faith to accomplish -their task. In what, they ask themselves, does the goodness of a house -consist. It is not much sense to speak to them of the moral tone of a -house or school. They desire a tangible manifestation of virtue, 'an -outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.' And the only -available outward and visible sign is the row of silver challenge cups -on the dining-hall mantelpiece. It is natural to assume that the house -which has the most cups is the best house; a school can only prove its -superiority over another school by victory on the football field. -Scholarships are an indirect form of competition. For the best boys from -one school may not come into touch with the best boys of another. But a -victory by 30 points is a direct statement of a fact. The victorious -school is superior to the defeated school. It is in athletic contests -alone that a house or school can express a united will, can become -indeed one person. The loyalty of a boy for his house or school is a -fine thing, but it renders athletic worship almost inevitable. Were -there not this intense house and school feeling individual boys would -cultivate their individual tastes; forty boys would be grouped together -for convenience of boarding--that is all a house would be. But as soon -as a boy comes to regard himself as a member of a fine community, he -feels a natural pride and loyalty in its performances and in its -welfare. There is no other focus for partisanship: form work is -uninteresting. Boxing, fives, the corps, and the gymnasium are side -shows. Cricket and football are what count. A boy must have a religion -of sorts. He must have some ideal to which the demands of his own -temperament may become subservient. - -On this worship of games is based the scale of social values. The ethics -of cribbing, for example, are based entirely on the assumption that a -success in form is of inconsiderable importance; it is permissible for a -boy to crib in order to save his energies for worthier causes. The blood -system is built on an intense admiration for those who are upholding the -honour of the house, and is an expression of the small boy's longing to -reach such a position himself. The attitude to morality on the part of -masters is intimately connected with athletics, and on the boy's part, -the belief that a member of a school side is, _ipso facto_, an -invaluable asset to the school, allows the blood to do very much what he -likes; as long, in fact, as a boy can satisfy his companions and himself -that he is exerting all his power on the football field, he can amuse -himself in other ways as he thinks fit. - -There is no other criterion for a boy's worthiness, or unworthiness, as -a member of a house, and the half-bloods consider that a very big -responsibility has descended on them. They have to keep the house up to -the mark. The big men cannot bother themselves about individuals. But -the half-bloods who are, as it were, emissaries between heaven and -earth, can investigate closely the behaviour of the coming generation. -They can notice who is showing signs of slackness. They individually -give themselves enormous airs. They form a sort of improvement society. - -I remember that, in the course of one term, our house lost every -challenge cup that it had possessed. This was considered a disgrace. And -several of us decided that it was for us to reform the house. We did not -consider ourselves to stand in any need of improvement. But we used to -wander round the studies between tea and hall inquisitioning fags and -scholars, asking them what use they thought they were to house or -school, and informing them that they would be well advised to make more -strenuous efforts. It was, I suppose, a form of bullying; or rather -perhaps an aid to vanity. What we really needed was for some one to kick -us hard. No one did, however. It seemed to occur to no one else, any -more than it did to us, that there were objects of a public school -education other than the acquiring of caps and cups. You might as well -expect an Indian priest to doubt the omnipotence of Buddha. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[4] The proofs of this book were corrected in April. Should anything -unforeseen change during the cricket season, before its appearance, I -can only plead the fallibility of the prophet. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING - - -The boy who thus exhausts in ragging the residue of energy that the -football field allows him, has, it follows, to be careful not to burn -the candle at both ends. He has to spare himself, and to spare himself -he abandons the spasmodic cribbing of his first year's summer -examination for sustained, systematic methods. Now the true ethics of -this subject are as little understood as those relating to any other -sphere of public school life. Cribbing is generally regarded as a -dishonest practice to which only the ignoble few have regular resort. -The habitual cribber is as morally lost as a thief. For what, after all, -is cribbing, say our aunts, but the stealing of marks from your -companions. 'When you crib,' they tell us, 'and say that you are not -stealing, you argue from the standpoint of the housemaid who would -return conscientiously the sixpence you have left on your -dressing-table, but would not think twice of filling a medicine bottle -with your best brandy and handing it over to her young man.' While we -are at our Preparatory Schools we are inclined to agree with this. We -ourselves would never think of cribbing. At a Preparatory School it is -not done. But at a Public School we learn otherwise. To the public -school boy cribbing is not dishonest. It is not wrong, because it is not -anti-social. There are no doubt somewhere, if we could discover them, -fixed immutable standards of righteousness. But we have not found them -yet. In the meantime we are content to frame conventions that alter with -each generation to safeguard what we consider to be our comfort. We put -a thief in prison because we are anxious to protect our property. His -actions are anti-social. They are only anti-social, however, because we -happen to value our property. We should not object if he took from us -what we did not prize. It is thus indeed that the dustman earns his -living. And the public school boy does not usually set much greater -value on his marks than the housewife on her egg-shells. - -I remember reading several years ago a short story that appeared in _The -Captain_. It was about an American who came to an English Public School. -On the result of a certain examination depended the position of head boy -in the house, and the American broke into the head master's study and -extracted the examination paper. The theft was, however, discovered, and -the American summoned to the head master's study for an interview that -was the certain prelude to expulsion. This fact was made known to him. -'Waal,' he said, 'I guess that's fair. My father often said to me when a -big bluff fails, it's down and out for the guy that misses.' The head -master was surprised. He appreciated the difference between a big bluff -and a piece of calculated deceit. He saw that the American had, because -of the atmosphere of business in which he had been brought up, a -standard different from his own. The American had honestly believed -himself to be attempting 'a big bluff.' - -Now, in the world at large, ignorance of the law is no excuse. If it -were, law court procedure would be infinitely complex. At school, -however, the intention matters more than the result. The means are set -before the end. The head master in the story realised that the -American's offence was actually far less serious than it appeared, and -the American was not expelled. - -In this case, of course, the theft of the examination paper was -definitely anti-social. It was a real theft. The American was -endeavouring to acquire a position that others valued through means not -at the disposal of his competitors. But this story, which appeared in a -paper the moral tone of which has necessarily to be above suspicion, -establishes officially the principle that the seriousness of an offence -depends largely on the attitude adopted to it by the offender. And -therein lie the true ethics of cribbing. What public opinion approves -cannot be anti-social. Only a few recognise the distinction between the -immoral and the anti-social. And public opinion is, on the whole, -inclined to condone cribbing. - -Every boy is anxious to be a power in his house; he wants to be a -prefect, he looks forward to the day when he will be safe from -authority, will be, indeed, authority itself. But he knows that, without -unduly exerting himself in the class-room, he will be able to achieve -prominence through success at football. A house cap has to sit at the Va -table: as a second, probably, and certainly as a first, he will be -raised to the dignity of the dais; thence the process of seniority will -carry him quickly to his prefectship. It is assumed that by that time -the same process of seniority will have carried him to the Upper Fifth. -(It is hard to avoid being promoted once a year.) The hours spent in the -class-room are a dull setting for the vivid hues of the life that lies -outside it. Occasionally the setting is relieved by a bright patch of -colour--an ingenious rag, a successful piece of cribbing--but, on the -whole, it is dull and monotonous. A boy works spasmodically, sometimes -to get a promotion, sometimes to secure the good-will of a master he -admires, sometimes to reach a form where it will be only rarely -necessary for him to prepare his work. And he cribs more or less -consistently out of laziness, to avoid being bottled, to save himself -trouble, to be able to devote as much of his evening as is possible to -more sympathetic forms of employment. He does not consider he is doing -anything wrong. He knows that, if he is caught, he will be punished. But -then he sees the relationship of boys and masters as a long, -intermittent struggle, a game played in good faith, with fixed rewards -and penalties. He does not expect his conduct to be condoned officially. -His form master has set him so many lines of Virgil to prepare. It is -assumed that he will take an hour to prepare those lines properly. -However, with the help of Dr Giles's translation, he has managed to -prepare those lines satisfactorily in twenty minutes. He has gained, -therefore, forty minutes; naturally the master demands, and exacts, a -reparation. But his companions do not mind. And he regards as -anti-social only what will offend them. If he were a thief it would be -in their eyes that he would be guilty. But a theft only becomes criminal -when the injured party has taken proceedings against the offender. In -this case no proceedings have been taken. He has not been reported to -the head master, nor has he been kicked round the cloisters. He -considers himself to be innocent. Indeed, popular opinion is far more -likely to be directed against the boy who is scrupulously honest. His -behaviour may be anti-social. - -There was a form, for instance, in which it was the custom for the boys -to correct their own papers and give up their own marks. They would pass -their papers to the next boy but two. The answers would be read out and -the marks awarded. When all the answers had been given the marks would -be added up. 'Any one over 90?' a couple of hands would rise. 'Any one -over 95?' one of the hands would sink. 'Right,' said the master. 'Divide -all marks by 11.' The names of the boys would then be read out in turn, -and the marks earned by each would be delivered by the corrector. - -Now the correction of exercises and the addition of marks entails a -measure of labour, and no one does unnecessary work. It had become the -custom, therefore, to doze pleasantly while the answers were being given -out, to insert various hieroglyphics in the margin, and to return at the -conclusion an average total. The system had been in existence a long -while, and it was known that the top mark usually lay somewhere between -100 and 90; a top mark of over 110 or beneath 80 would rouse comment, -perhaps inspire investigation, and that was, of course, the last thing -the form desired. So that, when the form master said any one 'over 90' -some one on the front bench raised a hand. It happened in rotation more -or less; at the end of the term there was little to choose between the -top ten in the marks for those particular exercises. Certainly whatever -difference there was could be easily counteracted by superior -proficiency in some other field. - -All went well till a certain Miller was promoted into this particular -form. Miller was a prig: he came from an undistinguished house. He was -excessively industrious. He had the prude's morality. He was desperately -honest. He corrected the papers passed to him accurately and gave up the -right mark. - -During his first week in the form, when the top mark was 91, Miller gave -up 63. The form master was surprised; Miller had corrected the paper of -quite a senior member of the form. 'Really, Jones,' he said, 'I'm -surprised.' Jones also was surprised. After the lesson he expressed his -surprise with a well-aimed kick that landed Miller at the foot of the -second landing. He considered that no further explanation was required. -He was wrong. - -The next day, when the top mark was 103 he received 57. On the occasion -of this second essay in originality the whole form decided to interest -itself in Miller's welfare. There was an informal meeting at the end of -the hour, in which Miller was given to understand that on this system -exercises had been marked in the Middle Fifth for upwards of twenty -years. Tradition had approved the system. The form was conservative. It -meant to uphold that tradition. In earnest of its intention it proceeded -to demonstrate what defensive method it would adopt. Miller made no -answer, but the next day he not only returned Jones's paper with 65 at -the head of it, but when a certain Burton announced that the paper he -had marked was worth 103, Miller said something to the effect that the -maximum was 93. - -Such a thing had never happened before in the Middle Fifth. It was an -orderly form, but there was very nearly a popular demonstration. -Burton's honour had been questioned. The form master agreed that such an -imputation had not been made upon a boy during the five-and-twenty years -that he had sat in that class-room. 'We'll go through the questions one -by one and see what the maximum is.' - -Now, luckily for Burton, the master had not kept a check upon the marks. -He had gone through question after question, saying after each: 'Now -let me see, I think that should be worth 10,' or 'that 15.' So that, -when he went through the questions again, he appealed, on each occasion, -to the head boy of the form. 'How many did I give you for that, Evans?' -And, on each occasion, Evans was generous. - -Once Miller timidly suggested that for Question 6, 15 marks and not 30 -had been the maximum, but there was a complete unanimity of opinion -among the rest of the form. 'Thirty, sir, certainly it was 30. It must -have been--I've got 23 down to Firth for that, sir.' Miller was -overruled. - -The maximum was finally discovered to be 130. 'So you see, Miller,' said -the master, 'you've not only questioned Burton's word, but you've been -inattentive during the lesson. You will do me 200 lines, and if you will -hand me up Jones's paper I will correct it myself.' With this generous -addition to the maximum Jones received a heavy mark. - -After such a disaster the form felt certain that Miller would bow to the -convention; but there is no limit to the obstinacy of the martyr: Miller -continued to mark according to order. He was kicked, but kicking was of -no avail. His own paper was undermarked. This, too, was unavailing. -Finally the form decided to accept him as an inevitable affliction. They -ceased to kick him. Each of the ten top boys took it in turn to sit two -places away from him so that no one person should suffer unduly from the -general evil. And the one who sat two places on the other side of -Miller had instructions to over-mark his paper so that he should be got -out of the form as speedily as possible. At the end of the term Miller -was promoted; and the Middle Fifth relapsed into its placid communal -existence. - -Now Miller's conduct would no doubt appear worthy of the most intense -approval. He had behaved like the hero of the school sermon. He had done -what every new boy is adjured to do. He had taken a firm stand against a -dishonest practice. He had been bullied, but he had remained firm. His -honour had withstood the shock of his opponents. Such a splendid example -would shine like a candle in a dark cathedral, and from this simile the -preacher, as a runner reaching the straight, can stride into the rounded -periods of his peroration. 'If only others of you would light your -candle from that flame; if only in that large cathedral there were a -hundred burning candles instead of one, how soon would not the whole -building be filled with light. The beautiful tracery of the roof would -emerge from shadow. A soft glow would be shed on the strong carved -pillars. The brasses would glimmer on the wall. The splendid -architecture of the building would be plain. So is it with the human -soul.' - -We have heard that sermon many times. Miller is a splendid handle for -rhetoric, but his behaviour remains anti-social. If it is wrong to place -oneself in a position of inequitable advantage, it is equally wrong to -place a rival in a position of inequitable disadvantage: and that is -what Miller had done. Jones had done his work as thoroughly and as -conscientiously as the others, but he had received lower marks for it, -because Miller had chosen to apply to it a standard that was not imposed -on that of his companions. It is not unfair in a hundred yards' sprint -to start a second before the pistol is fired if you know that the other -runners are going to do likewise, but it is hard lines on the one runner -who is compelled to wait for the proper signal. True morality plays an -insignificant part in business and competition. We all have different -ideas of what is sport. If W. G.'s much-criticised running out of Jones -in the Test Match of 1880 had taken place at a house match at school, we -can assume that W. G., whatever his batting average, would not have been -invited to play for the school again. What is moral and what is -anti-social become practically synonymous terms as long as every one -starts fair and plays the game by the same code of rules. No one must be -allowed opportunities that are not at the disposal of his opponents. -And, in the case of the Middle Fifth's corrections, the rules of the -game ordered generous marking and no great gulf between the first and -last. Miller played the game by different rules. The form was -righteously indignant. It is doubtful even whether Miller's immortal -soul drew sustenance from the conflict. It was probably confirmed in its -priggishness. Certainly Miller became, in the course of time, a highly -officious prefect. I do not know what fortune the 'romance of destiny' -may hold in store for him, but I can imagine that he will occupy some -post of prim, precise officialdom. He will create nothing. Whereas -Evans's opportunism is largely responsible for the rapidly increasing -market for Messrs. ----'s patent cookers. - -The schoolmaster asserts that between himself and his form there exists -a compact of square dealing. But the signature of the form has not been -obtained, and it is an agreement every clause of which is very clearly -to the advantage of the schoolmaster and to the disadvantage of the -form. The form does not recognise the treaty. It refuses to commit -itself, and indeed in this singular document the true nature of cribbing -has not been defined. The exact line between cribbing and co-operation -has not been drawn. We are safe when dealing with 'con,' that is to say, -the translation of Greek or Latin into English. We know, for instance, -that boys are allowed to prepare their work together. Two brains are -better than one. Well and good. But, if two soldiers have to dig a -trench one uses the pick and the other the shovel. So it is with Latin -'con.' One boy looks up the meaning of the words in a dictionary; the -other unravels the sense. That means that the boy who looks up the words -never brings his mind to bear on the translation of the text. Yet such a -combination is accepted as fair by any master. And, once this -combination has been accepted, a master's position becomes logically -impossible. For it must be remembered that a schoolboy has a fairly -sound grasp of consecutive reasoning. He studies the theorems of -geometry. He struggles with the dialectic of Plato. He is capable, that -is to say, of following out to their logical conclusion such lines of -argument as will, in the end, assuage his conscience. He could -construct, for instance, an imaginary conversation between Socrates and -his form master. - -_Soc._: You object, Mr. Featherbrain, to the cribbing that is prevalent -in your form? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Now, as I am inexperienced in this matter, never having been -myself to a Public School, perhaps you will be so kind as to make me -better acquainted with the methods adopted by these members of your -form. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. Some of the boys use English translations with -which to prepare their Virgil and Homer. Others copy the Greek prose of -their more clever companions, inserting, from time to time, certain -gross errors that they expect will throw me off the scent. - -_Soc._: I understand. Now, in this matter of English translations: you -expect each boy to prepare his Virgil by himself, and to produce in form -the results of solitary unaided labour? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: If, therefore, you discovered one boy asking another to explain -to him a difficult passage, you would punish him severely? - -_Mr. F._: No. You have misunderstood me. I should not. - -_Soc._: But how is that? Have you not just told me that each boy must -produce in form the results of solitary, unaided labour? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly, but we allow boys to prepare their 'con' together. - -_Soc._: I understand. On the assumption that two brains are better than -one, you permit two boys to unravel the sense together. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Now, if two people attempt a certain task, what procedure would -they follow? Would they not divide the task into two portions. If two -men are building a house one man stands at the top of a ladder and lays -the bricks that his companion, who is standing below, throws up to him. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Time would be wasted were each man to do the same work: that is -to say, were two ladders to be placed against the wall and were the two -men to descend and ascend the ladder carrying bricks to the top? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Therefore, we may assume that in all tasks that are undertaken -by two persons, the work is divided into two duties? - -_Mr. F._: But I do not see, Socrates, that this line of reasoning has -any bearing on the subject we are preparing to discuss. - -_Soc._: That may very well be, for, as I have told you, I am ignorant of -these matters and have come to you for guidance. It does seem to me, -however, that in this matter of translation, which is the discovery of -an unknown thing, the unknown may be divided into two parts. - -_Mr. F._: How is that? - -_Soc._: When a boy reads over the passage that he has to translate, two -things are unknown to him: the general meaning of the passage and -certain words in the passage. That is so, is it not? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Then do you not think that two boys, before setting out to -translate a passage, would make some arrangement by which one of them -should be responsible for unravelling the sense, while the other should -look up the unknown words in a dictionary. - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: And to which of the two would be entrusted the task of -unravelling the sense. - -_Mr. F._: To the cleverer, undoubtedly. - -_Soc._: Therefore the less clever would do the drudge work: that is to -say, he would never bring his mind to bear upon the passage: and the -imaginative work would be done for him by his companion. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Yet the system is approved as an honest one by the authorities -and the work of the drudge is accepted as solitary and unaided labour. - -_Mr. F._: That is so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Now, is this task of translation limited to the co-operation of -two persons, or may three or more persons take their share in it? - -_Mr. F._: As many persons may take their share in it as may -conveniently be crowded into a study measuring eight feet by four. - -_Soc._: I understand. Suppose now that three persons are preparing a -passage together. We have agreed, have we not, that this work can be -divided into two duties only? - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Then what share of the work will the third partner take? - -_Mr. F._: He will act as a reserve and will bring assistance to either -party when it is necessary. - -_Soc._: But, to whom have we allotted the task of unravelling the sense: -to the cleverest, have we not? If the help of the third party, then, is -only requested when the cleverest finds himself in difficulties, does it -seem to you likely that the third party will succeed where one cleverer -than himself has failed? - -_Mr. F._: It is unlikely. - -_Soc._: And, if this third party is higher and more important than the -second party, it is unlikely, is it not, that he will content himself -with what we have admitted to be the drudge's work of looking up words -in a dictionary? - -_Mr. F._: It is unlikely. - -_Soc._: Then the third party will do nothing save profit by the industry -of his two companions, and the work that he will produce in the -class-room next day will, strictly speaking, be not his at all, but -theirs. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Now, let us take a further example. For I am anxious to discover -at what exact point the work that a boy produces in form will cease to -be, in the official eye, the result of solitary and unaided labour. -Suppose that the third party is a member of the Eleven, who has various -social duties: it is possible, is it not, that he would prefer to spend -over his translation less than the three-quarters of an hour that his -two companions require? - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: Then, is it impossible that he might arrange for the cleverer of -the two to come to him after breakfast and explain to him in twenty -minutes the meaning of the passage? - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: And such an arrangement would be accepted by you? - -_Mr. F._: I do not see that I could object. - -_Soc._: Now let us suppose that the cleverer of the two finds that he -will have to clean his corps clothes during the twenty minutes between -breakfast and chapel. He will feel himself bound in honour, and also by -fear, to translate the passage to the third party, but he will obviously -be unable to do it in person. Is it not likely, therefore, that he will -write out the meaning of the passage and hand it to the third party? -Would such conduct be unacceptable to you? - -_Mr. F._: I do not know, Socrates. - -_Soc._: But, surely in your own mind you have clearly defined the line -that separates what is honest from what is dishonest. Surely that is -your profession--to teach the young to distinguish between what is good -and what is not good? - -_Mr. F._: That is so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then do you see any real difference between hearing a -translation and reading a translation? Is there any difference between a -meaning that is apprehended through the ear and a meaning that is -apprehended through the eyes; for are not both eyes and ears channels -through which meanings are carried to the brain? - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, and, when you put it that way, I can -distinguish no essential difference. - -_Soc._: Very good: then we have established that it is fair for a boy to -come to his study after breakfast, find in his hand a written -translation of his Virgil, and, with that written translation, prepare -in twenty minutes his morning's lesson. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: If, however, he were to take from his drawer a printed -translation of Virgil, and with that prepare his morning's lesson, you -would consider him capable of dishonest behaviour and you would report -him to the head master. - -_Mr. F._: Most certainly, Socrates. - -_Soc._: In what, then, lies the essential difference between the printed -translation and the one that was copied out for him by his companion? - -_Mr. F._: But that is surely obvious. - -_Soc._: It is not to me, and it is for this reason that I seek -enlightenment of you. For to me it seems that the work produced in form -by the boy who has studied the printed translation is every bit as much -the result of solitary and unaided labour as that which is informed by -the study of a written translation. But is it that you appreciate a -difference between the written and the printed word? - -_Mr. F._: Perhaps that is it, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then would you allow a boy during the holidays to copy out one -of Dr. Giles's aids to the classics? - -_Mr. F._: Most certainly not. - -_Soc._: Then it is not between the written and the printed word that the -difference lies? - -_Mr. F._: It would seem not. - -_Soc._: Then where does it lie? - -_Mr. F._: I do not know, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then we must surely assume that there is no difference; and we -must further add that you have not dealt honestly with your form in so -severely punishing them for conduct that you, yourself, are not able -logically to condemn. - -_Mr. F._: As ever, Socrates, you have succeeded in making me say what I -did not mean to say. - -_Soc._: Then, in order that you may extricate yourself, let us consider -this question of the prose. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. For, here at least, my position is impregnable. - -_Soc._: I, too, am certain of it, and, in order that I may know the true -nature of the offence, you will, I hope, permit me to ask you certain -questions. You say that the more stupid members of your form are in the -habit of copying the exercises of their more clever comrades? - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Now is it a rule that a boy may not give another assistance in -his Latin prose? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: The position is not the same as that of the Latin translation, -where two boys were permitted to co-operate? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly not. - -_Soc._: I presume that you have explained to your form the essential -difference that exists between the nature of Latin 'con' and Latin -prose. - -_Mr. F._: How do you mean, Socrates? - -_Soc._: Why, surely, if in the preparation of Latin 'con,' which is the -translation of Latin into English, two boys are allowed to co-operate, -and, if in the preparation of Latin prose, which is the translation of -English into Latin, they are not allowed to co-operate, it follows that -there must be some essential difference in the nature of the two -studies. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: It would certainly seem so, and this difference you have, no -doubt, made clear to your form, for, at present, I must confess myself -unable to discover in what it consists. The exercise of Latin prose as -of Latin 'con,' for each study is the translation of a language and the -correct rendering of the idiom of that language into the language and -idiom of another tongue, is no doubt intended to train, inform, and -quicken the intelligence. Each would appear to be branches of the same -study, and for each the same method of instruction should be employed. -You tell me, however, that there is between these two branches an -essential difference. - -_Mr. F._: You are right, Socrates, and, though I cannot explain the -difference in so many words, its nature is plain to me. - -_Soc._: Of that, Mr. Featherbrain, I am certain. I understand that you -apprehend this fine distinction as you apprehended the fine distinction -between the written and the printed 'crib.' We should consider, though, -whether this distinction is equally plain to your form. Such intuitive -knowledge may be denied to them, and, if they sin through ignorance, -their sin is slighter than if they sinned through knowledge. Tell me, -now, whether, if you overheard one member of your form say to another on -the way to chapel: 'I'm absolutely tied up with that piece of prose. -Shall I put it in O. R. or O. O.?' would you immediately report that boy -to the head master? - -_Mr. F._: I should not. - -_Soc._: You would no more report him than if you had overheard him -asking his friend to make clear to him a passage of Virgil that had -puzzled him. - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Do you not think, therefore, that the boy who knows he is -allowed to ask for help in his Latin 'con,' and who does not know for -what reason he is not allowed to ask for help in his Latin prose, who -has never, that is to say, been able to apprehend the fine difference -between the nature of the two studies, is likely to consider that the -same technique is permissible for both branches, and would not that -third party of whom we spoke and who is in the habit of getting his -Latin 'con' done for him by his friend, consider himself morally -justified in accepting the same assistance in his Latin prose? - -_Mr. F._: But I have told him that it is not allowed. - -_Soc._: Certainly, but good can only come from a reasoned knowledge of -what is good, and you have not explained to him in what his fault -consists. Moreover, if you have granted him permission to seek advice in -small matters, you must tell him at what exact point the thirst for -information becomes dishonest; a line must be drawn between what is good -and what is bad. Is a boy responsible for a percentage of his prose, -and, if so, for what percentage. Have you made these things plain to -him? - -_Mr. F._: I have not, O Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then how do you expect the unformed mind of a boy to draw this -line for himself. It would seem to me, Mr. Featherbrain, that you are -not training the youth as it should be trained, when you order its -conduct not by the results of logical deduction but by arbitrary ruling. -For if in your own mind you are not certain at what exact point the good -becomes the bad, and indeed are not certain of what the bad consists; -what confusion must you not expect to discover in the minds of those -that are taught by you. You must remember that on the football and -cricket field a boy is under orders which he accepts, but of whose moral -nature he is ignorant. He knows that if he is offside in football a free -kick is awarded to the other side; he knows that if he knocks the ball -forward with his hands a scrum is given. He has made a mistake. He has -committed a tactical, but not a moral offence. The rulings of the Rugby -Union are arbitrary and subject to frequent alteration; whereas the -rulings concerning what is good and what is bad are fixed and -irradicable. Is it not likely, therefore, that a boy will come to regard -your rulings in these matters of cribbing as arbitrary rulings that may -be altered. His life is a game, you must always remember that, and it is -on that basis that he accepts it. He knows that he will be punished if -he uses a crib; he knows that you appear to apprehend a distinction -between the written and printed word; he knows also that you have -discovered a difference in the nature of the studies of translation and -prose, and that while you will allow him to ask advice on certain points -you will not allow him to seek advice on the whole, though at the same -time you do not define the point at which these same certain points -cease to be certain points and become sufficiently part of the whole to -be called the whole. Can you expect him, then, to regard such a system -as anything but the complicated rulings of a game played between you and -him. And can you expect him to attach to these regulations any moral -significance. On the cricket field he places his leg in front of the -wicket and tries to hit a short length ball over square-leg's head. If -he misses the ball he is leg before, and goes to the pavilion. In his -study he prepares his translation with a crib; he is discovered by his -house master; he goes to the head master. And it is in this spirit, Mr. -Featherbrain, that your form deceives you. You have to make clear to the -young many things before you can expect them to attach a moral -significance to what has no logical proof. - - -There may be flaws in the argument, for the Socratic method is -insidious, but I have not, myself, been able to discover them. The -ethics of cribbing from the master's point of view are illogical. The -exact point where co-operation starts and cribbing begins is not fixed. - -Cribbing goes by form and houses. Its activities expand and contract -according to the demands of popular opinion. It is always communal. -There is a conscription of intellect and knowledge. No boy would -prejudice his chances of winning his house cap; but most boys would -assist their most dangerous rivals in promotion. We hear in chapel sad -stories of the large and brutal bully who cribs steadily throughout the -term and wrests the prize from the pure innocent who looked up every -word in a large Lewis & Short. But it rarely happens like that. No one -cribs for a prize, because few really want a prize. Occasionally -cribbing wins a prize, but it is usually through a fluke. - -A boy is particularly nervous about the results of a certain paper. He -takes elaborate precautions to make sure that he will not have to spend -the last Saturday of term rewriting the paper, and, in consequence, -unexpectedly discovers himself at the head of the list. I recall one -such instance in particular, and, because it seems to me so singularly -appropriate, I may be pardoned, I trust, for retelling a story that I -have incorporated elsewhere. - -Divinity in the army class was a casual affair; a knowledge of the Old -Testament not being considered a necessary part of the intellectual -equipment of a subaltern, the Sandhurst authorities did not examine -candidates on the subject, and both the form and its master regarded the -hour's lesson on Sunday morning as a pause in the exertions of the week. -The yearly divinity examination always occasioned, therefore, a measure -of panic among the soldiers, for the form master, when confronted with -irrefutable proofs of his own indolence, was in the habit of punishing -not only the form but himself by keeping in for two hours on the last -Saturday those of the form who had failed to score an adequate -percentage. During the preceding days feverish and spasmodic attempts -were made to cope successfully with the complicated relations of kings -and prophets. One year, however, the form was fortunate. - -A certain Mallaby, while searching in the class-room just before lock-up -for a book he thought he had left there, saw lying among the papers on -the master's desk, the rough draft of the questions for the divinity -exam. In surprised delight he copied them all down. According to the -popular conception of schoolboy honour, Mallaby, being a potential -thief, would have kept the information to himself. Being a boy, however, -he imparted it to his companions. The form entered the examination room -in a mood of quiet confidence, and left it in a mood of deep content. -Two days later, however, it was announced that this year the annual -interest of a bequest would be devoted to a series of divinity papers -throughout the school. The next day Mallaby learnt that he was head of -the army class in divinity. - -His conscience was fluttered. He could not, he felt, take a prize which -he would have won through cribbing. It would be dishonest. It would be -stealing. He announced his intention of explaining matters to the chief. -This announcement was not, however, received with the enthusiasm that -should have welcomed the imminence of so noble, so disinterested, so -sacrificial a performance. The form was indeed seriously perturbed. It -explained to Mallaby that, if he went to the chief, he would be queering -not only his own pitch, but theirs as well, and that there were certain -members of form who did not stand well enough in the eyes of authority -to be able to risk such an addition to their score of discovered crimes. -'And, after all,' they said, 'why shouldn't you take the prize? We all -knew the questions; you took the trouble to prepare them. You worked -hard, and prizes are the reward of hard work. You've worked for the -prize, harder than we did. Therefore you deserve the prize. And let's -have no more of this nonsense about confession.' - -In these matters each form and each house works out its own salvation. -In some houses cribbing is not general, and in some forms cribbing is -not general; and, in such cases, cribbing is anti-social. It might be -urged that boys from houses that do not crib find themselves at a -disadvantage in relation to boys from houses that do. But life usually -manages to adjust itself, and a boy's position in form is chiefly -important as regards the relation it bears to that of the other members -of his house. It does not matter much to a boy in the school house if he -is passed by a boy in Buller's. It will not affect his seniority in his -own house, and it is his seniority in his own house that matters. Only a -very few are concerned with the specialised rivalry of the Upper Sixth -that decides who will be the official head of the school. Scholastically -the ambition of few passes outside their house. In games it is -different. But then the eleven is not a fluid body like the Sixth; it is -a close corporation, and once the reputation of being the best slow -left-hand bowler is lost, the chance of a ribboned coat grows distant. - -I remember once a parson from the East End preaching a sermon in the -school chapel, in which he intimated that in comparison with the -loathsome atrocities that had for setting the Mile End Road, a schoolboy -merely played at sin. This was reassuring to certain genial sportsmen -who had hitherto been unable to view with any confidence the prospect of -immortality: and the phrase 'playing at sin' passed into the vocabulary -of the school. To such an extent, indeed, that the head master was -forced to deliver a special midweek address, in which he pointed out -that the degree of sin was relative to environment, and that the moral -offences of a man who had been nurtured in surroundings of bestiality -and filth were less grave than those of the boy who had spent his -childhood in the clean atmosphere of a decent home. The complacence of -the aforesaid sportsmen was broken. Not only were their offences as -serious as those of their less fortunately placed brethren, they were -actually more grave: a disquieting reflection. But I have often felt -inclined to question, not the irrefutable logic of the head master's -sermon, but the truth of that original contention about 'playing at -sin.' Are, that is to say, the vices of the lower orders actually more -startling than those of Mayfair? Are they more startling? I wonder: a -higher standard of civilisation refines our pleasures, quickens our -powers of appreciation, makes us more subtle, more complex; does it not -also sharpen the edge of misbehaviour? It is a point on which perhaps -Casanova would be able to enlighten us. But, certainly, in the matter of -cribbing, the methods of the lower forms are clumsy, unimaginative, -bourgeois in comparison with those of the Fifths and Sixths. - -A master who expects to discover in the Third the guile of the Fifths -will be disappointed; and, equally, the master who has successfully -combated the guile of the Lower Second may discover himself completely -outwitted by the Middle Sixth. In the Lower School the use of the actual -crib is rare. It is easy for the Sixth Former to possess himself of a -translation. The Everyman series contains excellent renderings of -Thucydides and Plato. The Loeb library is not useless. Gilbert Murray -may be a poet, but his translations of Euripides have proved of -assistance to many a harassed student. Jebb's version of Sophocles is to -be found in the shelves of the school library. It is a different job to -find a crib of Ovid and Livy. Dr. Giles has done some excellent research -work, but questions are apt to be asked about bona fide students; an -address such as 'The School House, Fernhurst,' is likely to wake -suspicion, and the Third Former has not read enough French novels to -appreciate the value of the _poste restante_. He considers that a crib -is more trouble than it is worth. And what is cribbing but laziness! -Moreover, he has a distrust of cribs. He is naturally stupid or he would -be higher in the school, and he knows that when a boy gives the right -meaning to the wrong words there are unpleasant investigations. He -prefers to rely on the inspiration of the moment: as a result the -offences of the Lower Second are trivial. They rarely reach the green -baize of the head master's study. One boy looks over another's paper, -another is prompted during 'con,' there is a strange similarity between -two Latin proses, an unusual mistake is repeated in several exercises. -The offender is beaten afterwards, and no more is heard about it. As a -matter of fact there is less cribbing in the Lower School than in the -Upper. Opportunities are rare and the example of hardened criminals is -absent. The second yearer only becomes a practised deceiver under the -influence of his seniors, and there are not many third yearers in the -Lower School. Higher up it is different. But it is to be doubted whether -the effects of cribbing are as serious as they are depicted. - -The case against them comes under two main headings: (1) The moral -issue; (2) The expediency issue. With the moral issue I have already -dealt. Most boys crib at school, but the public school man is straighter -in business than the self-made man and the American. Nearly all men will -boast in their clubs of the way they bamboozled 'old Moke,' of how they -pinned up the rep. on the back of the boy in front, and of how they used -to strip off the cover of the translation book and sew it round one of -Dr. Giles's publications; but the man who has forced a young inventor -into a hard contract remains silent. It is a matter that he prefers to -keep to himself. I do not believe that cribbing saps the moral sense. - -The expediency issue is more complicated. And, on the surface, it does -seem that the use of a crib is the very worst thing for a boy who hopes -to win scholarships and fellowships. It is a short cut. He does not -need to use his brain. His thinking is done for him. That is true, but -there are points on the other side. He is set fifty lines of Virgil to -prepare. If he comes into form next morning with those lines half learnt -he will derive little benefit from the hour's lesson. The whole time he -will be worrying at the sense. He will not be able to give his full -attention to the points of grammar and history that will arise in the -course of the hour. If, on the other hand, he is free from the anxiety -of failure he is able to give his full attention to what is perhaps the -more important part of the lesson. Also a boy remembers what he has -worked out for himself; and a crib used intelligently provides just -enough struggle to impinge the result of the effort on the memory. And -the wise do use a crib intelligently. They not only want to know their -'con' for the next day: they also wish to be able to remember it for the -examination. They, therefore, read a sentence over first in the -original. Some one wonders what a certain word means. The word is looked -up. Then a shot is made at the sense, not a very serious shot perhaps, -and speedy reference is made to the crib. The English is read out loud. -'Now, how does he get that out of it?' some one asks. There is a minute -of tussle and explanation--then all is clear. And the next sentence is -read out loud. - -That is the way to use a crib. And if one has worked out for oneself, -even if it be with the aid of a crib, the meaning of a long passage of -Virgil, one remembers that passage. I have forgotten now nearly all my -Greek and Latin, but I can still read currently and with pleasure the -Eclogues, for which I used a crib. Whereas the memory of other books, -through which I struggled honestly, but less successfully, has faded -altogether. For the average member of the Sixth I believe the -intelligent use of a crib is to be recommended. A greater number of -lines could be prepared at one time, and there would be leisure for -acquiring that knowledge that comes to us indirectly from the classics. -Plato is a window through which we see the gymnasiums of Ancient Greece. -But it will be shuttered for those to whom the struggle is ever with -correct rendering and syntax. - -The real scholar, whose life will be spent largely with the classics, -must avoid short cuts; he should glory in difficulties that will quicken -his wits: he has his whole life before him. He does not have to pass, as -the rest of us do, swiftly into a world of politics and business. And, -indeed, the real scholar realises this. I can recall few instances in -which a boy with a really fine brain has deadened his perceptions by the -use of translations. The scholar, when he reaches the Sixth, and is no -longer forced to write the proses and prepare the translations of his -less clever comrades, prefers to work alone, if not in the company of -boys who are equally brilliant. - -But the real scholar is the exception. This book is written for, and -about, the average schoolboy. I know that in the matter of cribbing I -am pleading a lost cause. Cribbing will always, of course, be a -forbidden thing; therein lies its charm. But it is important that master -and parents should realise in what light these questions appear to the -boy. A boy is frequently misunderstood. He is accused of dishonesty. He -resents the accusation, but he is unable to explain why his offence does -not deserve so stern a label. He is tempted to lose heart, to console -himself with the reflection that 'they don't understand,' and so further -estrange himself from sympathy and mutual understanding. The boy stands -before the house master and lets the wind of words flow over him. What -use is it for him to attempt an explanation. If he argues his punishment -will be increased. It is better to assume contrition; to say, 'Yes, sir, -I hadn't seen it in that light before,' and to be more clever another -time. It would be far more just were the master to regard cribbing as a -boy regards it: as a game, to be punished effectively when discovered, -but not to be associated with the welfare of the human spirit. - -If school authorities wish, however, to find a lasting cure they have in -their own hands the remedy. They will not achieve their ends through -increased vigilance; that will only make the boy more clever. They -should make work more interesting. There is little cribbing in form -where boys are interested in what they are learning. Boys are not -anxious to learn what a master is not anxious to teach. Laziness begets -laziness, and cribbing is a form of laziness. - -Systematic cribbing will not disappear till popular opinion regards as -important success or failure in the class-room. Success at games is -considered important; games are, in consequence played fairly. But, as -popular opinion sets no value on school work, it does not seem to matter -much what happens in school hours. Success in form needs to be brought -into some sort of relationship with success at football. Athletic -prowess will always, naturally, and perhaps rightly, be rated more -highly than intellectual achievement. But that is no reason why -intellectual achievement should be disparaged in the case of all save -the brilliant few whose feats are received with a mild enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst we used to have weekly examinations, and, as far as I -remember, there was no cribbing at all in these exams. To a certain -extent promotion depended on one's performance in them, and each G. C. -was anxious to work out the problems for himself so as to be able to -judge how much, or how little, progress he had made. This did not mean -that we were more interested in topography than late cuts, but that we -realised that, at this stage of our career proficiency in topography -would be of service to us. I believe that a similar state of affairs -would exist at a Public School were the social values to be readjusted. - -Cribbing, like so much else in public school life, is a side-shoot of -athleticism. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP - - -It is at this period, also, of a boy's development that the moral -question assumes a definite significance. There is no phase of school -life that is more generally misunderstood and misrepresented, and there -is no phase that a writer tackles with greater misgiving and -disinclination. He is confronted with the barricaded prejudices of a -vested interest, with the tremulous ignorance of mothers who seek to be -deceived, with the conspiracy of silence that exists between boys, -parents, and masters, and, last of all, with the wilful jealousy of the -yellow press that is only too ready to decry the value of what it is -pleased to call the 'trades union of snobbery.' There are times, indeed, -when it seems better to acquiesce in that conspiracy of silence rather -than to give those speculators in contention another opportunity of -mud-slinging. There are times when it seems hopeless to attempt to -explain the nature of public school morality to those who have not -themselves been to a Public School. It is like looking at a -stained-glass window from the outside. One reminds oneself that for many -years, without, perhaps, any very disastrous results, we have muddled -along in contented ignorance and self-deceit. Why not leave things -where they are? Why stir up trouble? And yet the moral question is such -an essential part of school life, it exercises such an influence on the -development of the boy; indirectly it colours so considerably the -attitude of the master to every other phase of school life, that it is -impossible to omit all reference to it in a detailed study such as this, -and, if it is impossible to avoid mention of it, it is fatal to content -oneself, as one may very well do in a novel, with stray suggestions and -inferences. - -A novel is an abstraction. One compresses into a few pages the action of -several years, so that one has to suggest rather than to state. One can -withhold one's own opinion, one is under no compunction to generalise -from the incidents one selects. One is telling a story or interpreting a -personality. Only rarely is one constructing a thesis. In a novel it is -not difficult to deal with the moral question. Most good school stories -have touched more or less indirectly on some side of it. Ivor Brown and -Compton Mackenzie have both dealt subtly with an intricate relationship. -Hugh Walpole, if less originally, faced the same situation more -courageously, while Arnold Lunn in _Loose Ends_ has interpreted the boy -as opposed to the official attitude to this issue with extreme -effectiveness. The novelist is constrained to discuss only that part of -the question that affects the action of the story. That is one of the -great charms of story-telling: one can touch lightly without need of -explanation on the most delicate situations. One can say only as much -as one wants to say, and say it, what is more, obliquely. In a book such -as this, however, one must deal with the subject thoroughly if at all. -One must tackle every side of it. One is bound to follow one's thought -through to the end. And that is a thing that no one cares to do in -public. It was said of a certain intrepid Rugby player that he had not -the brains to be afraid. It is certainly true that many soldiers lost -their nerve after they had been once wounded, and that few soldiers were -really frightened till they had seen what a shell could do; it may well -be that at twenty-three one has not sufficient experience of the world -to realise what risks one runs through honesty. - -The first difficulty, especially for those who, without having been to a -Public School themselves, are the fathers of present or prospective -public school boys, is to start investigations with a clear mind. This -feat the majority never manage to accomplish. For the moral question in -schools is concerned with the relationship of two members of the same -sex. Now such a relationship is counted in the world at large an -unmentionable and unforgivable sin. It is regarded with horror by the -average man. It is a penal offence. The man who enters into such a -relationship is abnormal, and, as such, is considered a menace to -society. But the same standards are not applicable to school life. - -A man was intended by nature to marry at eighteen. The average villager, -clerk, pit-boy, work-boy begins 'walking out' with a girl at the age of -fifteen or sixteen; the public school boy has no such opportunities of -courtship. Three hundred boys are spending three-quarters of their lives -in a monastic world; from the beginning of the term to the end the only -women to whom they have the opportunity of speaking are the matron and -the house master's wife. They have never any chances of seeing girls of -their own class and of their own age. At a particularly susceptible -period, therefore, they have no natural object for their affections. The -youngest boys are only thirteen, the eldest are between eighteen or -nineteen. - -In such circumstances it would be surprising if there were no -uncomfortable complications. The public school system is, in this -respect, unnatural; one must expect unnatural results. The trouble is to -discover what those results are. For, although people speak glibly -enough of immorality in Public Schools, it is extremely doubtful whether -they realise of what exactly that immorality consists. - -It is a convenient phrase, but beyond it there is the conspiracy of -silence. Schoolmasters prefer to deal with straight issues. They dislike -the subtleties of action and character which are of such charm to the -psychologist. They like to say, 'This is an offence.' Finer shades of -meaning trouble them. At least that is their official attitude. And so -it has come to be generally accepted that public school morality -resolves itself into one main issue: that is, the corruption of a small -boy by a big one. To protect the new boy from this danger elaborate -precautions are taken. It is on this point that a boy is given advice -before he goes to school. He is warned never to make friends with boys -bigger than himself; it is against this danger that the majority of -school sermons are directed. And, of course, this is a very convenient -attitude for the schoolmaster to adopt. The offence is obviously so -grave that there can be no cause to withhold complete official -condemnation; it is also so rare that the head master is able to assure -prospective parents of the excellent tone of the school. For I am -convinced that the deliberate seduction of a smaller boy is an extremely -rare occurrence. There are, of course, certain houses--probably there is -one at every school--in which a good-looking boy stands very little -chance of remaining straight. But I have not been in such a house and I -can speak with no authority. I have heard, certainly, some astonishing -stories of what can be tolerated in a really bad house; but, second-hand -reports, especially on such matters, can only be accepted with reserve. -Certainly in the average house cases of corruption are very rare. Few -boys have the nerve, the assurance, or the adroitness to attempt such a -task. A man of twenty-five will set out deliberately to seduce a -housemaid, but the schoolboy in such matters is a novice. If a senior -boy is casually attracted by the appearance of a smaller boy, he asks a -friend lower down in the house to make inquiries as to the morals of the -small boy. If the 'go-between' discovers that the small boy is -'straight,' the elder boy lets the matter fall from his mind. There are -others who are not. If, on the other hand, the attraction is more than -casual, the chances of seduction are even more remote. It is unlikely -that the affection will be reciprocated. And, if a boy is really fond of -another boy, the last thing he would wish would be to subject his friend -to unwelcome advances. When a boy first falls in love with a girl the -thought of sexual intimacy is, often, unattractive. It is only when his -love is returned that he really desires it. It is fatal to confuse the -processes of life at large with the processes of life in a monastic -system. Because young men seduce young women with regrettable frequency, -it is assumed that much the same sort of thing is happening at a Public -School. And, parents believing this, are reassured; they are certain -that their dear child when young will be strong enough to resist the -passive temptation; they are equally certain that their dear child when -nearly a man would not, for one moment, consider the possibility of -active sin. And this amiable delusion schoolmasters encourage. It saves -them a lot of trouble. They say one thing in public and another in -private. But the Jekyll and Hyde business breeds confusion. They forget -what they should believe and what they should not believe. They are -agreed only on this: that any attempt at criticism, at explanation, at -interpretation shall be counteracted with a concerted unanimity of -opinion. They will deny hotly the prevalence of any such practices, -they will make slighting references to the bad house in the bad school. -They will complete their defence by asserting that for what faults there -are the parents are alone responsible in that they had not sufficiently -warned their sons of the evils of a Public School--evils, be it noted, -that they had previously assured the parent did not exist outside the -perverted imagination of the critic. And yet it is amazing what these -same apologists will be prepared to believe about any institution other -than their own. - -Six years ago Sandhurst had an extremely bad name. Every kind of debauch -was rumoured to flourish there. Sobriety was only more unpopular than -purity. The G. C.'s secreted whisky beneath their beds, and actresses -within them. The glittering temptations of St Anthony allured the unwary -in the tea-shops of Camberley. And I remember being shown, before I went -there, a letter that had been sent to the parents of a prospective cadet -by his head master. 'I hope,' the letter ran, 'that Arthur is aware of -the temptations to which he will be subjected. Concupiscence seems to be -the chief topic of conversation and the sole Sunday afternoon amusement -of the cadets.' It all sounded fearfully exciting. But it proved very -tame. Indeed I am inclined to think that, on the whole, fewer -temptations presented themselves to me during the eight months I spent -at Sandhurst than during any other period of my time in the army. A -fellow could do what he liked. No pressure was put on him to drink or -gamble, or pursue loose women. He was none the less respected for being -straight, nor the more admired for being crooked. A community such as -this which exerts pressure on the individual in neither direction, I -should be prepared to call as moral as any that is likely to be found -this side of heaven, yet this head master, who would, no doubt, -repudiate hotly the least suggestion that immorality in his own school -was anything but a spasmodic and occasional phenomenon, was ready to -believe that Sandhurst was a cesspool of all the vices that flourished -so gracefully in the days of Petronius Arbiter. In our investigations we -are not likely to be helped far by schoolmasters. They are constrained -by the laws of exchange and mart to vindicate the quality of their -wares. - -It is generally assumed for the purposes of dialectic that there are two -classes of persons: the normal and the abnormal, and that all normal -people follow the same process of development from birth to death. To -disprove this Havelock Ellis collected at the end of certain volumes of -his psychology authenticated histories of men whose development he -claimed to be normal, but whose histories were as different from one -another as apples are from plums. In the face of such evidence it is -dangerous to dogmatise on the gradual discovery of the sexual impulse by -public school boys during adolescence. The most one can say is that the -majority of them come to a Public School innocent and ignorant, and -that they leave it certainly not ignorant and with a relative degree of -innocence. This at least is sure--that between the years of thirteen and -nineteen the impulse will have become powerfully defined and that each -boy will have had to come to terms with its direction and control. - -Now the important point seems to me to be this: the sexual impulse is a -force on the proper direction of which depends, to a large extent, the -happiness of a man's life; and marriage is the course into which it -should be directed. No one, I think, will deny that. We may talk of the -liberation of the sexes, of greater facilities for divorce, of the right -of each man and woman to repair a mistake caused by the first surprise -of a newly-awakened instinct; but there can be no questioning the -assertion that monogamy is the ideal, and that while nothing can be more -wretched than an ill-harmonised relationship, in the lifelong devotion -of man and woman is to be found the surest happiness. That is the -standard by which public school morality should be judged. But it is not -the standard by which it is officially, and indeed generally, judged. A -Public School is only a phase, a prelude in the sexual development of a -man. Head masters are inclined to mistake it for the completed rhythm. - -In the same way that the head master of a Preparatory School specially -coaches a boy for a scholarship, not realising that what for him is the -whole race is for the boy but a first lap, so the head master of a -Public School regards the preservation of innocence between the years of -13 and 19 as the entire battle. As far as I can make out this attitude -is adopted by nearly every unscientific writer on the subject. - -If the matter ended there it would, of course, be simple. Rigid -policemanship and supervision and a system of spies would probably be -effective. They might stamp out impurity to a large extent; they would -also destroy the discipline of independence, of trust and of authority -that one learns at a Public School. The matter is far less simple. The -public school system is unnatural. Through unnatural channels, -therefore, a natural impulse has to flow into a natural course. - -Let us see, more or less, what happens. - -We have assumed that an ignorant and innocent boy arrives at his Public -School at the age of thirteen, and, to simplify the matter further, we -will assume that the boy is not particularly good-looking, and is not, -therefore, likely to win the patronage of his seniors. For the first -weeks everything is so strange that he lives in a world of his own -fashioning. Later on, as he begins to enter the life of the school, he -is puzzled by references to an offence the nature of which he does not -understand. He hears some one described as being 'smutty.' He does not -in any way connect this with the elaborate address that was delivered to -him on the last day at his prep. Indeed I knew of a new boy who informed -his parents on a postcard that a rather decent chap in his house had -been nearly sacked for 'smut.' 'Is this,' he asked, 'anything serious?' -He received in reply a reassuring letter telling him that he need not -worry about such things just yet. - -It is the fashion nowadays to demand open discussion of all subjects; -there must be no secrets. Parents are told that they are guilty of -criminal negligence if they do not instruct their sons and daughters in -the physiology of sex. And, no doubt, it will be maintained that at this -point the father should have written his son a long letter explaining to -him the nature of the temptation to which he would be exposed. That is -the fashion nowadays. No doubt the Victorians suffered from an excessive -reserve. We have gone to the other extreme. We are trying to reduce love -to an exact science. - -On the whole, I suppose that the instruction of children by parents -depends entirely on the individual case. But at such a time it would be -very easy for the parents to become embarrassed and lose the boy's -sympathy. The number of boys who learn from their parents more than a -vague idea of motherhood is probably small. And at a Public School it is -the physiology of fatherhood that occupies the boy's attention. - -We are given to understand that in the first place a boy must be -corrupted by another boy. But this is not generally the case. A boy -usually manages to corrupt himself. He has overheard the conversation of -older boys, he has discussed different problems with his companions; -the atmosphere of school life with its continual references to -immorality in sermons and addresses, have made him precociously curious. -He evolves for himself the practice of private immorality. - -A boy's knowledge of sex necessarily is very fragmentary, and on many -points he is actually misinformed. He has a preposterous idea, for -instance, of the effects that this habit will have upon his health. -Syphilis is not more dangerous. His hair will drop out, he will go -blind, his brain will soften. Probably he will go mad. Numerical -considerations mean nothing to him: once a thief always a thief. The -idea of restrained disorder does not occur to him. He suffers from the -misery of an incommunicable grief. He is apart from his fellows. If he -told them his secret, he thinks that they would despise him. He becomes -morbidly introspective. He makes vows to break himself of the habit, -fails, and despises himself. He begins to search for the symptoms of his -approaching physical and intellectual collapse. If he makes a duck at -cricket, misses a catch in a house game, or fails badly in his -repetition, he tells himself that the process has begun. There are times -when he wants to steal away by himself like an animal that is sick. -There are others in which he wishes at all costs to mix with his -companions, to take part in any rag that is afoot; to this cause can be -invariably attributed the mingled rowdyism and moodiness of certain -boys. The idea that such practices are physically injurious is -encouraged by the master. It appears to him the most sure preventative. -There are, indeed, occasions when masters are so misinformed that they -actually believe in these terrible vengeances of the body. For -schoolmasters who, of all people, ought to know most of hygiene and -physiology, are, for the most part, woefully ignorant of them. It would -be indeed interesting to discover what percentage of public school house -masters have read any serious medical writing. They are only too willing -to believe that such habits have the disastrous results they prophesy. -And of course it has not, unless it is practised to excess and unless -the subject is particularly feeble. It is foolish to throw lighted -matches about the place, but the habit only becomes dangerous when the -matches are flung on inflammable material. - -It so happens that the greater part of active immorality in schools -takes place between boys of fifteen and sixteen; not, as is more -frequently imagined, between junior and senior boys. Such relationships -are usually of brief duration. They pass with the dawn of the romantic -friendship. And it is here that I feel most acutely the difficulty of my -task. It is almost impossible to explain to some one who has not been to -a Public School the nature of one of these romantic friendships. In a -book called _Pleasure_ I published a story dealing with such a -friendship. The majority of old public school boys who read it seemed to -like it. But none of the men who had not been to a Public School could -make head or tail of it. They told me in their reviews of it that it -was absurd, mawkish, and unhealthy. It may be so. It may be that I wrote -the story badly. I can only repeat that old public school boys liked it. -And indeed it is a difficult thing to explain. For what is a romantic -friendship but the falling in love of one boy with another. Such a -relationship seems preposterous. I can only repeat that the public -school system is unnatural, and that one must expect unnatural results -from it. What, after all, is to be expected? - -A boy of seventeen is passing through a highly romantic period. His -emotions are searching for a focus. He is filled with wild, impossible -loyalties. He longs to surrender himself to some lost cause. He hungers -for adventures. On occasions he even goes so far as to express himself -in verse, an indiscretion that he will never subsequently commit. And -what focus does a Public School provide for this eager emotionalism? -There are the fierce contests of the football field, but they are, when -all is said and done, the business of life, the cause for his existence. -They are an enthusiasm he shares with three hundred others. He longs for -something more intimate, more personal; he is, in fact, in love with -love; he does not see a girl of his own age, of his own class, from one -end of the term to the other; it is in human nature to accept the second -best. - -In this environment there is nothing unnatural about the attraction -exercised by a small boy over an elder one. A small boy is the nearest -approach possible to the feminine ideal. Indeed a small boy at a Public -School has many of the characteristics that a man would hope and expect -to find in a woman. He is small, weak, and stands in need of protection. -He is remote as a woman is, in that he moves in a different circle of -school life, with different friends, different troubles, different -ambitions. He is an undiscovered country. The emotion experienced is -genuine, and usually takes the elder boy by surprise. In a man's love -for a woman there is often a degree of premeditation. A man looks at a -woman and wonders if he could ever come to fall in love with her. As he -walks homewards from her drawing-room he asks himself whether or not he -is in love with her. He analyses his emotions; very often he persuades -himself he is in love with her when in reality he is not. Either way he -is prepared. - -But the schoolboy is taken off his guard. He has not realised it is -possible that he should fall in love with another boy. He has no -previous experience which will enable him to recognise the symptoms. He -has heard older boys spoken of as being 'keen' on some one or other, but -he has associated such an assertion with the references in sermons to -the corruption of a young mind. He does not, therefore, know what is -happening when he finds himself becoming increasingly interested in some -quite small boy. He has noticed him playing a plucky game on the Lower -and has congratulated him. They have happened to meet on the way up from -hall and have walked across together to the studies. They have smiled -when they passed each other as they changed from one class-room to -another in break. The elder boy is surprised: he is still more surprised -when he finds himself frequently walking into the smaller boy's study on -no very necessary errand, to borrow a book he does not want or to return -a book he has not borrowed; and that he should stop there to talk for an -indefinite period. The day on which he has not seen or spoken to his -small friend is empty for him. He does not understand his increasing -wish for the company of an admittedly inferior person. But it is all -very delightful. He is desperately anxious to appear in his best light. -He makes strenuous, and often successful, efforts to abandon certain -habits he had contracted. He may even work harder in form, and certainly -he will make superhuman efforts on the football field, feeling that -success will render him more attractive. He wonders what the small boy -thinks of him, and persuades one whose social position lies midway -between the two of them to make inquiries. The growing intimacy is a -rich enchantment. He becomes curious, and, in a way, jealous of the life -that his friend is leading; their standards, their environment, their -friends are so different. He knows instinctively that one has more in -common with one's contemporaries than with those who lie outside the -circle of one's immediate interests, and this knowledge distresses him. -There are times when he feels intensely miserable, others when he feels -radiantly happy. At any rate he is living more intensely and less -selfishly than he did before. He is on a distinctly higher plane of -emotional tension. - -Indeed in its beginnings such a friendship is certainly good for the -elder boy and probably for the younger one; at any rate there is the -comfortable knowledge that he has an elder friend to whom he can turn -for sympathy and advice; and he is protected thus from many of the -dangers to which his good looks might otherwise expose him. The -environment of school life does not allow, however, the friendship to -retain its first freshness. It becomes conscious of itself. It is -noticed by other members of the house: 'Hallo, Jones,' they say, 'seen -anything of Morrison this morning?' Jones, being the elder, is -embarrassed by what seems to him an accusation of weakness. Morrison is -flattered to think that others have recognised and perhaps envied the -patronage. Jones begins to make inquiries of his friends, and a series -of confidences convinces him that he has reached the condition of being -'keen' on Morrison. This conviction places his friendship on an entirely -different and, to a certain extent, official basis. If he had been left -alone it is not improbable that he would have made no such discovery. As -Morrison would never have more than liked him, his feeling for the -smaller boy would not have become defined. Their friendship would have -remained in the strictest sense of the word, platonic. But so frail a -flower could not hope to flourish for long in the rigid atmosphere of a -Public School. Everything in a Public School has to conform to type; -there are rules for the proper ordering of every situation. Friendship, -like personality, has to pass through the mint. - -In order to follow the technique of such relationships, the official -point of view towards them has to be understood. The house master on -this point finds himself in extreme difficulty. And, indeed, there is no -point on which schoolmasters as a whole waver quite so much. They -realise, for the most part, that it is natural, if unfortunate, for boys -to feel like this. At the same time they have to discountenance such -friendships. Where actual misconduct is concerned, they think themselves -to be on safe ground. And, as they believe that immorality in schools -consists in the main of the corruption of small boys by big boys, they -are able to speak with unrestrained violence against the majority of -such friendships. They adjure their prefects to suppress at once the -least sign of intimacy between a small and a big boy. They, themselves, -watch carefully to see whether any of their seniors are evincing an -interest in members of the day room. Every one in a school knows that a -friendship between two boys of different positions will be viewed -seriously by authority. A boy is given to understand that the romantic -emotion he feels for a smaller boy is an emotion that is unworthy of him -and of its object, and should consequently be suppressed. Such teaching -is absolutely wrong. The emotions that a boy has for a smaller boy are -as natural as those that he would feel for a girl were he not restrained -by an unnatural system. It is wrong to make a boy say to himself: 'I -ought not to feel like this.' Such teaching is responsible for many of -the mistakes that a boy will make when he becomes a man; it arbitrarily -defines the form which the romantic friendship takes. - -A boy is surprised by a new, delightful, interesting emotion. He feels -strangely happy. Under its inspiration he works better and plays his -games harder. He is told it is wrong to feel as he is feeling. But that -he cannot believe. The emotions that are condemned in the pulpit and in -confirmation addresses must in their essentials be different from those -that he is feeling. That must be lust, the mere desire for sensation. -This, on the other hand, is love. And so the public school boy of -sixteen makes the discovery that love is in its highest form unphysical. -The truth of this intuition is established for him by public opinion and -by the course of his own experience. - -The slightest suggestion of indecent conduct between the big and the -small boy is regarded by boys as well as masters as the unforgivable -offence. - -It is hard to know exactly how important a part these friendships play -in the life of a boy. It has often been said that the novelist falsifies -life by writing too much about love, that except at certain periods of a -man's life love occupies only a small part of his attention; he is -caught up by other interests. This argument, however, is no sounder than -the objection raised by an old lady against the number of nudes -displayed at the Paris Salon. 'It's so absurd,' she said, 'one-half of -these portraits are nudes, and think how small a part of our life we -spend without any clothes on.' A beautiful woman is most beautiful when -she is naked, and a man's life is most interesting when he is in love. -The condensation and indeed the actual elimination of whole periods must -in a novel always falsify life for those who demand a direct -transcription of it. If you were to record one average day of a man's -life on gramophone and cinema and exhibit the result at the Alhambra you -would empty the theatre in an hour. A story-teller recounts only what is -of interest. He is a good or a bad story-teller according to the degree -of his ability to discern what is, and what is not, of interest. He -merely indicates the passage of the unimportant. - -The man, therefore, who draws direct conclusions from a school story, -would imagine that a schoolboy spends his entire time in form ragging -masters, and, when not ragging, in cribbing, and that the rest of his -time is divided between the fierce rivalries of the football field and -the intrigues of romantic friendships. Such, it is needless to say, is -not the case. The story-teller has only written of what seemed to him to -be of interest. He has omitted, and he has expected his reader to -realise out of his own experience that he has omitted, the long, -tedious hours of good behaviour, the ordered harmony of routine. - -The romantic friendship has a modest place in the schoolboy's scale of -values, but its nature is curious enough. It has the great charm of the -forbidden. It is mixed with fear. Even after the first interest has -waned, its setting makes it a delightful toy that no one would willingly -throw away. It is the flavouring to the routine. There is usually a 'go -between' who carries messages from one to the other. And the glance -across a table stating that the intermediary has something of interest -to disclose is one of the exciting moments of the day, as exciting as -the post is to a recluse or the arrival of rations to a soldier. There -are jealousies and intrigues. There is the interchange of notes--the joy -of a secret. There are carefully arranged appointments. On Sundays there -will be meetings in some prearranged point outside the town, at which -each will arrive by a different route, and they will sit in a wood and -talk till the afternoon has waned and the chiming of the abbey clock -warns them that roll-call is imminent. It is not surprising that such an -adventure should appeal irresistibly to a schoolboy. When such a -friendship is ended either by the appearance of a rival, or more -frequently through the inclination of the smaller boy, who has risen in -the school and feels that such a position is beneath his dignity, the -elder boy feels an immense gap in his life. The immediate sense of -anticipation has gone. There is nothing particular to which he may look -forward. He is bored. Often he drifts into such another friendship out -of loneliness. - -Authority adopts towards these friendships a wavering attitude. It -realises that such a friendship does not necessarily imply the least -indecency, that it often, on the other hand, has a very salubrious -effect on the elder boy, but it still is vividly aware of the danger. -Suppose something went wrong; suppose there was a grave scandal, on -whose shoulders would the responsibility rest. We can well imagine a -resentful father asking a head master why, if he was aware of the -existence of such a friendship, he did not take immediate steps to stop -it. 'You knew about this,' he would say, 'while my son was still -innocent: why did you not protect him? Why should you knowingly subject -him to such a risk?' The head master has always to be thinking of what a -boy's parents will say. - -It is difficult for him to work on the plan of 'circumstances alter -cases.' He would thus lay himself open to the accusation of favouritism. -'You didn't stop Cartright and Evans, sir,' is a weapon for which a -master has no shield. There is usually a compromise.[5] - -The attitude of authority is one of nervous hesitance. The schoolboy, -as in all other cases, evolves his own standards from his own life. It -remains to be seen what are the actual effects on the partners in a -relationship that must have a large influence on their subsequent -development. - -The first objection raised by authority is that it is very bad for a -small boy to be petted and treated like a girl. And such is an undoubted -fact. The small boy who is taken up by a 'blood' makes a very good thing -out of it. He gets first-hand information on a number of disputed -points. He knows two or three hours before any one else in the day room -who is going to be given his house cap and who his seconds. He has a -position among his contemporaries. Favours are sought through him. His -friends get leave off house runs and are allowed to watch First Eleven -matches when others have to attend pick ups. He is immune from the -assaults of the swash-bucklers, for no one would willingly run the risk -of making himself unpopular with the bloods. He gets his 'con' done for -him, and, after football, he will sit in front of a warm study fire. He -has many privileges, and, of course, it is very bad for him. - -How far the effects last into manhood I cannot say with any degree of -certainty. I am inclined to think that they pass more quickly than is -popularly imagined. But the small boy who is taken up by his seniors -gets very little out of his schooldays. If he gets taken up by a 'blood' -he has a fairly good time while that blood is still at school. But it is -by no means certain that he will be taken up by a blood, and he may very -likely find himself an object of fierce jealousy between two fellows in -the Middle School, both of whom he likes, but for neither of whom he -feels any strong attachment. Neither of them is sufficiently important -to claim a monopoly. Between them they contrive to make his life -wretched for him. They worry him with notes and with pleas for an -appointment. Each tries to persuade him to have nothing to do with the -other. The whole of his spare time is divided between them. And the -small boy who is unable to see why he should not choose what friends he -likes, grows more and more impatient. At the end of a term's wrangling -he decides to speak to neither of them again. - -But the life even of the favoured-of-the-mighty has its disadvantages. -The hours that he spends in the day room are numbered, so that he makes -few friends among his contemporaries. The majority of them dislike him; -nearly all of them are jealous and distrust him. They are afraid to say -things in his presence for fear that they will be repeated. His only -friends are those who hope to be able to gain some advantages from him. -His life is made none too comfortable in the dormitory. He is accepted -as being in a higher social position than the rest of the room, which -is, of course, flattering to his pride; but it is not nice when every -occupant of the room only speaks when he is spoken to. He feels himself -apart. The evenings in the dormitory which, with their sing-songs, their -football matches, and long talks, provide such delightful material for -reminiscence, are for him cheerless. It cannot be too often repeated -that the biggest mistake a boy can make at a Public School is to form -friendships outside the circle of his contemporaries. - -The good-looking boy makes friends so easily among his seniors, and the -successful athlete can, if he wants, after a year or two choose his -friends among boys who have been at school a couple of years longer than -he has. It is very exciting for a boy to feel that he is outstripping -his contemporaries, to be able to nod to fellows in the Fifteen and -Eleven, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The big man leaves, and -the social aspirant is left stranded. I have seen it happen so many -times. One term a boy seems to be surrounded with friends. His life is a -continual course of tea parties and suppers. An arm always lies through -his as he walks down to the field, or to the tuck shop. And then, -suddenly, a generation passes; he is left an anachronism without his -friends. His contemporaries do not welcome him. They have made their own -friends. If he has reached his prominence as an athlete he will be able -to make friends in other houses, and, before long, in his own house. To -the athlete everything is forgiven. But the boy who has become the -associate of bloods not through any quality of his own, but merely -because he is good-looking, never makes friends with his contemporaries. -They have been jealous of him and have distrusted him a long time. There -was a time when they longed for the big boy to go, so that they could -'jolly well boot the little swine.' But members of the Sixth Form table -consider it beneath their dignity to indulge emotions that are the -exclusive property of fags. They remain coldly distant. It may be that -for the favoured small boy these years of loneliness adjust the balance -and teach him those lessons of fortitude and independence that he should -have learnt in the day room. But it is an unhappy time. He can hardly -look back on his schooldays without regret. He would wish things had -turned out otherwise. And it is not thus that we should look back on our -schooldays. Certainly I could wish nothing worse for any friend of mine -than to be taken up as a small boy. - -There remains to be considered the effect that such friendships have on -the elder boy. And it is generally conceded that though they may on -occasions do harm to the smaller boy, they usually prove of benefit to -the elder boy. Authority confines its objection to the secrecy that is -involved. An eyebrow is raised at the interchange of notes and the -carefully arranged Sunday afternoon walks. 'This is bad, this is bad,' -says Authority. 'There would be no need for all this secrecy if the -thing were honest and straightforward. They are both ashamed of -themselves really. They wish to hide the thing away from their masters -and their comrades. It is a bad thing for a boy, the harbouring of a -secret. It will prey upon his mind. He will be forced to lie within -himself. He will be unable to look us squarely in the face. He will -never be free from worry.' Now all this about the subtle poison of a -secret life is very true (though it is a fact seldom taken into account -in the question of self abuse), but it is not at all applicable to the -romantic friendship. The secret is an open secret. Neither party is -ashamed of it. And the pretence of a secret is little more than part of -a delightful game. A child in a nursery lays a deck chair on the blue -carpet and imagines he is sailing the high seas in a schooner, while -with a poker to his shoulder he shoots an albatross for breakfast. -Twelve years later he signs notes with a false name, rolls them into a -pellet, conveys them to a messenger and imagines he is a diplomat. The -sending of notes is nothing but a game. Otherwise no one would write -them, carry them, nor read them: for they are most unnecessary, and most -dangerous. People will drop them in the cloisters, or put them in their -waistcoat pockets and then leave their waistcoats in the matron's room -to have a button sewn on them. The writing of notes has upset more -careers than the rustling of silk or the creaking of shoes. And yet -they will always be written, for they are a prelude to adventure. - -Moreover, a certain measure of secrecy is prudent. If you have stolen a -man's greatcoat you do not call at his house next day wearing it; and -the schoolboy sees no reason why he should parade his affection before -his head master's study window. Only the ass courts trouble. Prefects -who are well aware of the existence of such a friendship do not wish to -have their attention called to it officially. There are things they -prefer not to notice. If a member of the Eleven and a new boy started -out together for a walk under the shade of the school buildings the -heads of their houses would reluctantly feel themselves forced to take -some sort of action. They would be extremely annoyed with the school -slow bowler for his lack of tact. A prefect is usually on the side of -the house. - -Masters, however, are pleased to imagine that a pact has been signed -between the schoolboy and themselves which binds the schoolboy to -confess to any fault he may have committed, and to answer any leading -questions that may be put to him. The schoolboy does not look on things -in this light. He knows that there is no such agreement. There are -certain things he wants to do, the doing of which, if known, will render -him liable to punishment. When the wish to do these overrides the fear -of punishment he takes all reasonable precautions to avoid detection, -and proceeds to break the inconvenient rule. It is up to the master to -find him out. If the master came down to the dining-hall one evening -and said: 'Now, look here, there have been complaints that some fellows, -I don't say you, but fellows in the school, have been getting out at -night and going down to the Eversham Arms. If any one of you here has -been getting out at night, I want him to come to my study afterwards and -tell me.' If a house master were to do that, the guilty one would not -feel himself under the least compunction to own up. He has run a big -risk in getting out of the boothole window at half-past eleven. It was -up to the master to catch him then. - -If a form master were to call a member of his form aside and say to him: -'Jones, last term you were bottom of the form; this term you have -reached single figures. Last term you had to write me a hundred lines -nearly every time I put you on to construe; this term you have not -failed once. I cannot understand it. Are you working honestly?' Jones -would reply: 'Yes, sir.' He would not feel that he was telling a lie. He -would feel, on the other hand, that his form master had taken an unfair -advantage of him in putting him a leading question. No one thinks a -murderer lies because he says, 'Not guilty, my lord.' It is the law of -England that the Crown has to prove the defendant guilty. A schoolboy -considers himself entitled to the same rights as the murderer and the -thief. A master has to find him out. And it is quite absurd to say that -a boy's soul is going to suffer because of the secrecy he imposes on -himself in the course of a romantic friendship. There are a lot of -things that a boy is not anxious that his house master should know, and -of which no one could expect him to be ashamed. To smuggle into the -dormitory a chicken, a loaf of bread, and a pound of cheese in -preparation for a midnight feast is a natural and, according to one's -point of view, a worthy act; but it is not a performance the success of -which one would be in a hurry to confide in one's house master. When a -schoolboy deceives a master he does not feel he is deceiving an -individual, but an impersonal body. In the same way do we call the -grocer's attention to the omission of a pound of butter on our weekly -books, but skilfully conceal from the income-tax assessor a number of -interesting facts. A lie is hardly a lie if the person telling it does -not consider it so. We may dismiss altogether the assertion that -romantic friendships are bad because they entail secrecy. - -If, then, the objection of secrecy is to be discounted, it would at -first sight appear that for the elder boy these friendships are, on the -whole, good things. The emotion experienced is a noble one; it is -unselfish, it makes considerable demands on the patience and -self-control of the subject; it encourages the bigger boy to work hard -and play his games harder; it protects him from many of the dangers of -school life, and yet I believe that its results are, in the long run, -more serious for the elder than for the younger boy. - -It is the worst possible prelude to the sexual life of a man. It sends -a boy into the world with an entirely false view of the normal sexual -relations of men and women; it is a hindrance to him in marriage. A boy -of sixteen experiences for a younger boy the emotion that he would -naturally at such a period feel for a girl of his own age. He is -surprised into a new relationship, and he is told that the relationship -can only remain worthy of him as long as it remains platonic. Sexual -emotion is, he is given to understand, unclean. During adolescence he -will be subjected to a force that he must, at all costs, resist. That is -the official attitude, and it is the attitude of nearly every -unscientific writer on the subject. A schoolmaster considers the moral -question from the point of view of the policeman. 'Here,' he says, 'is -something that must be suppressed.' Various writers suggest various -remedies. The popular idea is to sublimate the passions, to provide -another focus. Schoolmasters usually select the focus that is most near -to the boy's interests: namely, athletics. They encourage the athletic -worship, because a boy who really wishes to excel in this will not run -the risk of losing his proficiency by weakening practices. This panacea -has not worked too well, and the band of earnest idealists has begun to -clamour for a more spiritual focus: poetry, art, religion. Which is all -very jolly, but gets us no nearer to solving the main problem of how a -natural force is to be directed through an unnatural channel into a -natural one. It is no sort of use to place a lump of granite in front -of the unnatural channel and say: 'This is forbidden.' The stream will -only select another course, and very likely one that will not lead it to -the natural waters. - -It is, I admit, an extremely difficult question, but that does not alter -the fact that it is being treated in an entirely wrong manner. The boy -is told that sexual emotion is wrong; he assumes, therefore, that love -to be truly love must be sexless. He draws fine distinctions between -love and lust. A decent fellow, he says, would never want to do anything -like that with some one for whom he really cared. And nothing happens in -the course of his romantic friendship to make him reconsider this -opinion. It is probable that his affection will not be returned; and, -indeed, why should it be? Under such circumstances it is natural that a -big boy should be attracted by a smaller boy because the smaller boy is -the nearest approach to the feminine ideal. It would be quite unnatural -for a small boy to be attracted by a bigger boy who would be to him as -far as possible removed from femininity. The small boy likes the elder -boy, is grateful for his kindness to him, is perhaps even mildly fond of -him; nothing more. As, therefore, there is no response to the elder boy, -it is impossible for the natural rhythm of mutually felt emotion to -carry them out of the reach of conventional standards, and the -friendship is too sacred to the elder boy to allow passage to the itch -of sensation; while the small boy, even if he happened to be casual -among his contemporaries on such matters, would be restrained by the -shyness that he must always feel in the presence of a senior boy and by -the inevitable embarrassment at finding himself the object of an emotion -he does not understand. - -Nothing happens, therefore, to disabuse the conviction that love in its -purest form is sexless. As a boy is, however, on the whole an amoral -creature, he sees no reason why he should not misconduct himself with a -person for whom he has no respect. He is not sullying a fine romance. It -is a different thing altogether; this is a thing of sensation. A -bachelor refrains from prostitutes more often through fear of illness -than through reverence for a moral code. There is at school a type that -corresponds to the prostitute from whom boys refrain, when they do -refrain, for many mixed reasons, of which fear of expulsion is generally -not one. Boys are not afraid of punishments, nor do they think that a -punishable offence is necessarily a moral offence. That point must -always be kept in mind. Punishments to a boy's mind are part of the game -that is played between him and authority. The boy has his own scale of -values. He would think an immoral act highly reprehensible if he were at -the time engaged in a romantic friendship, but he could square his -conscience to it if he happened to be emotionally free. - -The reasons why a boy commits an immoral act are so many and so complex -that inquiry into them for the purpose of a generalisation is -unprofitable. It may be that he has had a quarrel with his small friend, -it may be that he is bored, or that he is curious; he may think it the -'blood' thing to do. If he is literary he may be in search of some -equivalent for the emotional reactions of decadent poetry. The -confessions that a boy makes himself must always be accepted with -reserve. The confessional is a subtle form of flattery. It titillates -the egotism; it is a self-indulgence. Madame Bovary used to invent small -crimes because she enjoyed the romantic atmosphere of the confessional, -and though most schoolboys would stand in no need of such invention, -they create the most ingenious setting for their offences. They feel -what they want to feel. They have derived emotion at second hand from -some book, or the confidence of an elder brother; they want to make -themselves believe that they are interesting. The most trivial affair is -embellished with a wealth of motive that would have delighted Henry -James. Sometimes they lie quite conscientiously. - -A boy was once asked by his house master whether he felt that -confirmation had been of any assistance to him. It had not, but the boy -felt that it was up to him to pretend that it had. The house master -obviously expected it; it was a social decency, on a par with the -assurance to a hostess that one had spent a most delightful evening. The -boy was inclined to think that he swore less than he had done. The -master's interest was aroused. Where had he learnt to swear? The boy -had, of course, acquired this knowledge in the day room. He realised, -however, that this was one of the things that one did not confess. He -said he had learnt it from some navvies in the holidays. More questions -were asked. 'Oh, yes,' the boy said, 'My people allow me to do more or -less what I like. I wander all over the place.' It was quite untrue, but -it confirmed the house master in his belief that all the faults of a -Public School could be attributed to the ignorance and foolishness of -parents. He developed the idea in a letter which he contributed to a -well-known weekly. - -It is never safe to generalise from a boy's confession, and house -masters would do well in such cases to base their conclusions on their -own experience and on their previous knowledge of the boy's character. -In their investigations, however, of the moral question, there is one -motive that they can almost certainly rule out: the motive of strong -personal attraction. Such an act would be opposed to the ethics of -school society, and a boy only rarely does what he, himself, feels to be -wrong. - -He is inclined to enter a world of women with the idea that the sexual -impulse can only be gratified with a woman he does not love. He realises -that in marriage it is necessary for the procreation of children. But he -regards it chiefly from his point of view as a 'remedy against sin,' and -on the woman's part an act of gracious compliance. It is thus that a man -comes to divide women into classes: one's sisters' friends, and the -rest. There is little need to elaborate the results of such an -attitude. The subject has been discussed exhaustively. On this rock many -marriages have been shipwrecked. It can do little in cases of strong -mutual feeling. Passion harmonises all things; the rhythm of love takes -its own course. But where the woman has not been deeply moved before -marriage, where she knows her future husband only slightly, and is timid -in his presence, then the preconceived formula of the 'pure girl' will -achieve havoc. The woman will sink herself in motherhood, and the man -will seek elsewhere diversion. A cynic has remarked that the man who -marries a girl because she appeals to his higher nature will spend the -rest of his life among those who appeal to his lower nature. And, like -all epigrams, that remark presents a facet of the truth. It is now -generally accepted that there is no more dangerous heresy than the idea -that one does not 'feel like that about a decent girl.' Much has been -written on the subject. But the causes of the heresy have not been -sufficiently investigated. It is said, 'Boys are badly brought up.' -Children, we are told, should be brought to regard their bodies as -temples, and there the matter is left. - -But this heresy is, I am certain, very largely the natural result of the -public school system. It is confined to the upper and upper-middle -classes, to those, that is, who have been to Public Schools. The collier -and the peasant have no such fanciful illusions. Divorce must naturally -be more common in circles where men and women have leisure to indulge -their emotions, where temptations are frequent, where the imagination is -most vivid, the longing for the unattainable most acute. But, even so, -any student of character cannot but feel that the married lives of -public school men are less happy than those of the lower classes. - -All through the discussion of this delicate subject I have used marriage -as the norm. It includes all other considerations. There are those who -are shocked to learn of the existence of immorality in Public Schools, -and the socialist press is only too ready for an opportunity of slinging -mud at the object of its envy. But, however a boy is brought up, it is -unlikely that he would pass unscathed through adolescence. Curiosity is -as irresistible as fear. It is the power of the unknown. The moral -offences of a public school boy are disgusting enough, but because they -are so entirely physical they have little lasting effect on him. They -play indeed a very casual part in his life. Nothing is at stake. The -romantic friendship, on the other hand, is the dawn of love; it is a -delicate and deep emotion; it is the most exciting thing that up to then -has happened to a boy; it touches his senses and his soul. And, because -he experiences this emotion for the first time in an unnatural -environment, his natural reaction is misdirected and misinformed. It is -important that we should find some remedy. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[5] It may here be mentioned that in girls' schools such friendships -would seem to be common, and no great objection taken to them. Unnatural -vice between women is not, of course, a criminal offence. Its existence -is not widely recognised. And it has never been treated very seriously -by men. But it was surprising to read a few months ago in a leading -London newspaper an article on 'schoolgirls,' which accepted such -friendships among girls as an amusing topic for popular journalism. The -editor would probably have had a fit if a similar article on romantic -friendships in Public Schools had been submitted to him. The attitude of -the man who has not been to a Public School to this side of school life -is a mixture of ignorance and astonished horror. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE MIDDLE YEARS - - -Desmond Coke has described in _The Bending of a Twig_, the middle years -of a public school career as being slow to pass, but swift in -retrospect. He devoted two chapters to them--'See-saw down' and 'See-saw -up.' And those chapter headings convey more clearly than a long analysis -the nature of that period. To begin with it is 'See-saw down.' The boy -is confused with his new-found liberty; the future stretches endlessly -before him. There is plenty of time. There is no need for hurry. And so -he rags and wastes his time and makes, on the whole, a pretty general -nuisance of himself. His house reports are worse at the end of every -term. His parents grow worried; they remember the bright promise of that -first term: the prize, the promotion, the glowing panegyric. The arrival -of the blue envelope during the second week of the holidays is the -occasion of considerable domestic stress. On such a morning one -remembers that one has promised to spend the day with a friend at -Richmond. - -And then suddenly, when the revel is at its height, some chance incident -or conversation forces a boy to realise that he has not so much time as -he had thought, that the weeks are passing, that, already, the end has -drawn close to him. Clifford Bax, in one of his many beautiful poems, -has described a man's first appreciation of the approach of age. - - - 'There is a certain mid-way hour in life - Which startles every man, when the tide turns - And, wave on wave, we hear death coming on.' - - -In the same way the boy discovers that the half of his schooldays are at -an end, that he has put them to little use. And, as the temporal quality -of life drives the epicurean to gather with what eager haste he may, -flowers that for him will soon have blossomed, the sense of passing days -defines and directs for the schoolboy the course of ambition. It is -perhaps the first moment of conscious thought, of objective reasoning. -The days of unreflecting action are at an end. He is no longer a child -playing in a nursery. He is a man, subject to the laws of time and -space, a mortal man aware of his mortality. - -Now this sudden change, which partakes of the nature of a conversion, -owes its existence, as often as not, to some perfectly trivial -occurrence. The stage is not set appropriately. There is no long heart -to heart talk with a schoolmaster, a parent, or a friend at the end of -which the boy leaps to his feet, claps his hand to his forehead, and -exclaims: 'I see the evil of my ways.' Such dramatic moments, I suppose, -take place occasionally, but they are the exception. The boy has -reached that stage of his development when the idea of time can become -an actuality to him, and some quite casual incident will bring this -actuality before him. - -It is possible, of course, that this reformation may be effected by a -conversation. But it will be an unrehearsed effect. One is walking down -to hall, and, through the open door of the changing room overhears some -uncomplimentary statement of one's worth. The statement need not be made -by a particular friend. Indeed, it will probably be more effective if it -is not. We accept with composure the criticisms of our friends, our -relatives, our enemies. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there -is friction. We know that, at times, we must be intensely annoying to -our friends, because they are at times so intensely annoying to -ourselves. Little tricks, traits of character, intonations of the voice -that we should hardly notice in those to whom we are indifferent, -exasperate us in those for whom we care. We expect our friends at times -to say nasty things about us. We are too conscious of our own -delinquencies. But impersonal criticism is unpleasant; it is like an -unfavourable review that is unsigned. If we cannot reassure ourselves -with the knowledge that our assailant is either jealous of us or -dislikes us, or thinks we pay too many attentions to his wife; if, that -is to say, we can detect in this criticism no ulterior motive, but -simply a dispassionate impersonal disapproval of ourselves and of our -work, then we do indeed feel that the need for drastic self-criticism -is immediate. - -When, therefore, Jones on his way down to hall overhears Ferguson, who -is in another form, who has never been brought into contact with him, -who has no possible reason for feeling envious or jealous, remark that -Jones is the sort of fellow whom the house could get on very well -without, he goes quickly to his study and communes with himself. - -At the beginning of my third year at school, when I was very happy, very -light-hearted, very boisterous, and, I suppose, rather obnoxious -generally, I was standing at the counter of the tuck shop waiting to be -served with a poached egg and a sausage. I experienced considerable -difficulty in catching the eye of the waitress, and for the better -announcing of my presence I took a knife out of the basket and beat it -upon the zinc covering of the counter. The waitress, who was harassed by -the number of orders, turned round impatiently: 'Oh, do be quiet, Mr. -Waugh,' she said, 'I don't know what's come over you lately. You used to -be such a nice quiet boy when you first came.' Several people laughed, -but her remark was a shock to me. I had not the slightest romantic -interest in her. I did not care greatly what opinion she held of my -moral worth, but I had not before realised that it was possible for a -change of which I was myself ignorant to take place within me, that a -process of degeneration could take its slow effect, altering me in the -eyes of others, leaving me unaltered in my own, that, like rust on -iron, environment could corrode temperament. That chance remark had a -most profound effect on me. It gave me a sudden insight into the secret -forces that lie under the surface of life. I do not know whether from -the outside I appeared afterwards a different person. One cannot focus -the impression one has of oneself and the impression one makes on -others. But to myself I know that I was different. And some such -revelation invariably comes to a boy during his period of school life. - -In novels and stories we attribute it to some emotional crisis. The -reason of the change is less important than that there should be change, -and that the reader should be able to realise that for such a change -there was a reason. But, actually, the reason is usually trivial enough. -It may be that a boy's pride has been rebuffed; some one has got a house -cap before him. He begins to reassure himself with the old dope: 'There -is plenty of time. It doesn't matter. I'll catch him later on.' But for -once the old dope does not work. He realises with a shock that there is -less time than he had thought. He has allowed his rival to get too far -ahead. A house cap is only two stages distant from a first. He may not -have time to catch him up. In the light of the discovery he revises his -whole career. He asks himself whither he is drifting. He sees that he -has passed beyond the stage of a vague promise into one of definite -rivalry and achievement. - -The prospects of the beginner are always golden. His wares are not yet -for sale in the open market. He has not entered into competition with -his contemporaries. A young professional makes a century during his -first month of first-class cricket and is immediately the object of -generous enthusiasm. The reporter can write of him as ecstatically as he -will. The professional has not yet reached representative cricket. At -school a slow left-hand bowler takes eight wickets for twenty-seven in a -house match. He is spoken of at once as the coming man. For another -season he will continue to take wickets in house matches to the delight -of every one. Then he will enter the lists of representative cricket. He -will play on uppers, and it will have to be decided, not whether he is a -good slow left-hand bowler, but whether he is better than Evans in -Buller's, and Morrison in Wilkes's. It is so easy to say of a boy of -fifteen: 'Some day he will be captain of the house.' We can all of us -exclaim at the beginning of a Marathon: 'What a beautiful runner that -fellow is.' It is after ten miles have been run and the runners have -sorted themselves out that the real race begins. It is the appreciation -of this moment that ends the 'see-saw down' period and sees the start of -the 'see-saw up.' - -It must not be imagined, however, that this process of see-saw up -involves a complete moral, spiritual, and intellectual reformation; it -sometimes does; more usually it means that the schoolboy looks at the -same life from a different angle. His standards, his scale of values -remain unaltered. He feels that he has not adjusted himself properly to -their demands. He has been making an ass of himself: he has been ragging -about, he has allowed opportunities to slip past him. 'It won't do,' he -tells himself. 'I must stop all this. I must settle down.' - -Such a resolution involves, to a certain extent, an appreciation of -imminent responsibilities; a boy realises that a series of desperate -escapades will prejudice his prospects of prefectship; it often results -in the exchange of a positive for a negative manner of life. The Sixth -Former, the potential scholar of Balliol, is spurred by such an -experience to really hard work. For him a turning-point has been -reached. It is different, however, for the second eleven colour who has -reached the Lower Fifth after three years of spasmodic cribbing. He has -been in the past a free-lance, an irresponsible ragster. He decides that -the time has come for him to settle down. If the Lower Fifth is, as it -often is, a comfortable backwater, he is content to rest there. He sits -on a back bench, and plays an occasional part in the life of the form. -While he was a ragster he had to work. A well-prepared lesson was his -armour. Now that he no longer rags he need no longer work; he is content -to be inoffensive, agreeable, somnolent. He considers that between -himself and his form master there is an unwritten pact by which each -agrees to leave the other alone. It is as though he said: 'Your time, -Mr. Featherbrain, is fully occupied between the ragsters and the -industrious. You have to keep a constant watch upon the ragster. You -have to teach the industrious. That is a whole-time job. Why worry about -me? You need not keep a watch upon me. It is agreed that I shall do no -ragging. And why try to teach me anything. Your energies are wasted upon -me. I don't want to learn anything. You may lead a horse to the water, -you know. Why worry yourself and me! There are all those other fellows -who want to learn.' And the master, usually, signs the contract. He is a -busy man. The temptation is very great. He excuses himself in the common -room by speaking of 'fellows like dear old Thomas; good-natured chaps, -but with absolutely no brains. Latin and Greek are flung away on them. -But they'll make fine empire builders.' And so the boy who has settled -down spends the greater part of his day wool-gathering in vacuous -laziness. To nothing that happens between chapel and lunch can he bring -the least enthusiasm. His thoughts are fixed on the more thrilling -encounters of the football field. His whole life, indeed, is centred on -sport, and on the most entertaining methods he can discover for the -better employing of his spare time. All his energy, all his enthusiasm, -is concentrated into one, or perhaps two, focuses. It is not surprising -that he should become tolerably proficient at games and a source of -moral anxiety to prefects and house masters. - -Is the pursuit of athletic success a sufficiently engrossing occupation -for such a boy? That is the question that a house master unconsciously -puts to himself. He must put it to himself, but his attitude to this -particular type of boy is based on a non-committal answer to this -question: the answer--'Perhaps; but it's up to you.' The house master, -therefore, does all in his power to persuade the boy that the acquiring -of a First Fifteen cap is his immediate object in life. He will not -state his case in words; but he will omit the uncomfortable topic of -form work in conversations, and discuss at length the prospects of the -house in the senior matches. If he does not succeed in directing the -entire energy of the boy on games, the results of such a failure may be -disastrous. A fellow of seventeen who has nothing particular to do is -bound to find himself in mischief. This fact is realised by both parents -and house masters, and those boys who are good neither at games nor work -usually leave at about this period. It is the falling out of the -unsuccessful runner in a long race. It is no good going on. The leaders -are too far ahead. The gap between the senior and the junior is thus -considerably increased. The stepping-stones have been removed. A boy of -eighteen at the start of his last year sees very few of his -contemporaries sitting at the Sixth Form table. Of the eight or nine -boys who came there with him, only three are left, and the Fifth Form -table is filled by fellows two or three years junior to himself, with -whom he has but a slight acquaintance. It is always the 'blood' who is -asked to stop on that extra year. The insignificant are encouraged by -silence to retire. - - - 'Thou shalt not kill, yet needst not strive - Officiously to keep alive.' - - -By the time the boy comes to be a prefect he is able to feel himself -supreme, not only because of the system that is at his back. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -PREFECTSHIP - - -Prefectship is the coping-stone of a public school education. The boy -who leaves without becoming a prefect has missed, we are continually -assured, the most important part of his school career. And yet what -percentage of an old boys' list, I wonder, reaches the dignity of house -prefectship. One gets the impression sometimes that every one, provided -he stays on long enough, becomes a prefect. All school stories follow a -convention. They open with the new boy closing behind him the -green-baize door of the head master's study, gazing wistfully down a -long corridor at the end of which is the oak door of the day room. From -behind that door comes to him the sound of laughter and eager -conversation. There is the unknown, mysterious world he has to enter. -That is how every school story opens. And every school story closes on -the departure of a hero crowned with athletic and academic honours. The -space in between is occupied with the 'see-saw up' process. How else a -school story is to be constructed I do not know. It has to be narrative -rather than dramatic. But it gives the impression that public school -life for the average boy is a slow voyage from fag to prefect. Indeed, -if _Peg's Paper_ printed school stories, 'From Fag to Prefect' would -probably be the title. Such a tale would, however, be little more -generally applicable than a tale of army life entitled 'From Bugler to -Brigadier.' The majority of schoolboys do not become prefects. But the -people in whose hands the framing of the convention lies think they do, -because they did themselves. The dwellers in Mayfair think London -consists of a few drawing-rooms and a few restaurants. The schoolmaster -naturally follows the conventional course, otherwise he would not be a -schoolmaster. If he had not reached the Upper Sixth he would not be in a -position to teach. If he had not reached the Eleven he would not be a -games master. The story-writer may not be an athlete, but it is hardly -possible that a man who can write an interesting book should have failed -to make some mark at school if he had stayed out his full time. And so -there has grown up a tendency to ignore entirely the careers of the -insignificant, which form the background for more striking exploits. And -yet, as always, the insignificant are in the majority. - -A couple of years ago I spent an afternoon in the company of some -friends at the school where their son was completing his second term. It -was a warm afternoon and we naturally walked down to the cricket field. -On the Upper a senior house match, which we should have liked to have -watched, was in progress. Our small guide assured us, however, that this -would be impossible. 'It isn't our house, you see, and the fellows -would think it awful niff of me to watch another house playing. But -there's a house game of our own going on down there.' Realising that it -was impossible to overcome the novice's fear of doing the wrong thing, -we reluctantly, slowly, and with backward glances, followed our young -friend to the far end of a big field, where a ridiculous junior house -game was being played on a sloping and bumping pitch. The small boy was, -however, more interested in his friends than in the cricket. Beyond this -game there was the pick up. - -Now I do not believe that I had ever before watched a pick up at all -closely. I had imagined that the cricket would be pretty bad, that -firm-footed batsmen would mow full pitches towards long on, that wides -would be only more frequent than the fall of wickets, that every third -scoring stroke would be in the nature of a chance. I had never, however, -anticipated anything approaching the complete impotence of that game. -The batsmen could not hit the ball hard, indeed it was only on rare -occasions that they managed to connect the bat with the ball. There was -no need for any fieldsmen, with the possible exception of long-stop, to -stand more than twenty-five yards from the wicket. The bowler's main -object appeared to be the keeping down of wides. Every game has its own -technique; this game was certainly not cricket as it is played -generally, and, no doubt, the victorious side was the one that bowled -fewest wides. For no other reason would any captain have kept on either -of those two bowlers for a second over. - -And I could not help wondering what a public school career stood for in -the lives of those pitiably ineffectual cricketers. It is possible that -one or two of them might be brilliant scholars, or that a few played -football successfully, though this I am prepared to doubt; for the true -sportsman is self-declared the moment that he walks on to a field. It -seemed to me incredible that any one who had played any game -successfully could tolerate the miserable travesty of sport that was -being enacted on that sloping, bumping pitch. But even if there were a -few exceptions, even if one or two were destined for privilege and -authority and a name upon the honour boards, the fate of the majority -was certain. They would remain inconspicuous, belonging to that large -tribe of those whose names on the old boys' list are vaguely familiar to -us, but with whom we can connect not one incident, anecdote, or -conversation. They pass and they leave no mark behind them. They never -rise to a position of responsibility. They never learn to wield -authority. They never acquire, that is to say, those qualities of -administration that have made English rule so tolerant and so -universally respected. What can public school life mean to such as -these? I put the question, but I cannot answer it. I do not know. Public -school life is designed as a slow voyage from fag to prefectship, and, -even if only a minority complete that voyage, it is the process and the -stages of that voyage we have here to represent and interpret. It -should, however, be here set on record that, be the advantages or -disadvantages of the public school system what they may, a great many -public school boys never partake of them. - -From the distance of early years the obligations of prefectship seems -slight in comparison with their enormous privileges. A prefect does not -have to answer his name at roll; he can wander round the studies without -leave during hall. He has fags to clean his study, to wash his plates, -to light his fire, to carry his books down to chapel in the morning. He -can inflict punishment without being liable to it. The new boy who has -recently been caned, in his opinion most unjustly, for whispering in -prayers, looks forward to his day of revenge. The life of a prefect must -be free from all the cares that so perplex him. Prefects can never be -troubled with impositions and imperfectly prepared exercises. He glances -up to the Sixth Form table and contemplates the majesty of Meredith with -his neatly-tied tie, and hair brushed back immaculately from his -forehead. What master would have the cheek to 'bottle' Meredith? The -very idea is unthinkable. Meredith has the invulnerable infallibility of -a god. The small boy reconsiders this view as he rises in the school. -The horizon narrows. But even when he reaches the Sixth Form table he -sees prefectship in terms of freedom rather than of service. And it -would, of course, be absurd to maintain that the obligations outweigh -the privileges. They do not: but they are none the less considerable. If -a prefect is found playing the ass, ragging in the studies, or cutting -lock up, he would be neither lined nor beaten; but the twenty minutes -interview with the Chief would be far worse than any caning. He would -feel humbled, he would feel thoroughly ashamed of himself, he would have -done a rotten thing. Punishments have ceased to be a pawn in a game -between boy and master. And, when a prefect realises this, he realises -also that this particular game is finished. - -The degree to which a prefect appreciates his obligation, depends a good -deal on the way his house master treats him. The boy who is trusted -usually proves himself worthy of that trust. I do not mean in -everything. If a master says to a boy: 'Now, Jones, I am going to let -you prepare your lessons in your study in future. I trust you to work,' -Jones feels himself under no obligation to work. By going to his study -he is sparing the master the irksome duty of supervision. That is a fair -bargain. He has saved the master work and the master has saved him work. -In matters of form work a boy will never cease to regard his -relationship with his master as that of the hunter and hunted. He will -find when he reaches the Sixth Form that instead of being told to -prepare fifty lines of Virgil, he is expected to prepare as much work as -is possible in the time at his disposal. If, when put on to construe in -form he states as an excuse for an unsuccessful effort, that the fifty -line limit has been passed, he will be handled roughly: 'My dear Evans,' -the head master will say, 'you have ceased to be in the Lower Fourth. -You don't work to scale. If you haven't had time to prepare the passage, -say so, and I won't put you on, but whatever you do don't bring forward -that middle school excuse about fifty lines.' The new arrival will look -abashed, but he will not feel that he has been put upon his honour to do -an hour's work every night. He may possibly prepare next time, with the -aid of a crib, an extra dozen lines, but he will do it as quickly as he -can. - -He feels differently, however, about what happens outside the -class-room. When an excuse is accepted because he is a prefect that -would not be accepted without a long cross-examination were he not a -prefect, a boy considers himself to have been put on his honour. I will -give an example. The O.T.C. was, with us, practically compulsory; -ninety-seven per cent. of the school was in it, and that three per cent. -was garrisoned with doctors' certificates. Like all compulsory things it -was extremely unpopular. We used to employ elaborate devices to get -leave off. In break we used to visit the matron and suggest that our -health required some castor oil. If possible we would retain the dose in -our mouths till we got safely into the passage and then deposit it in -our handkerchiefs. When this was impossible we swallowed it. A dose -alone was not a sufficient excuse. We had to assume faintness, -sickness, or some other indisposition during afternoon school. It was an -intricate business that rarely proved successful. The authorities were -prepared for it. Corps Parade was on Friday, and one Friday after I had -become a prefect, I decided that never before had I felt less like doing -squad drill. I had a headache, I had not finished my Latin Prose, we -were playing Dulwich the next day and I was anxious to be as fresh as -possible. I had also very, very slightly twisted my ankle. Remembering -my courage in the days of castor oil I thought it worth making an -attempt to get leave off. On this occasion I went to the head master. - -I informed him of my injury, and was about to embark on a lengthy -explanation of the accident when the head master cut me short. 'Oh, yes, -Waugh, of course, that'll be quite all right. I hope you'll be fit for -to-morrow.' I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. Because I was a -prefect, my word had been accepted without examination and without -proof. I was trusted to tell the truth. And yet I actually had produced -as feeble an excuse as a fellow in the Lower Fourth. I went on parade -that afternoon, and from then onwards I never tried to get off anything -unless I was absolutely certain that I could have got off it without the -influence of prefectship. And whatever may be urged against the inflated -opinion of himself that the power to exert authority may give a boy, I -can only believe that this sense of duty, this obligation to be true to -himself is an invaluable experience. It comes out in all sorts of ways. -I remember an old colour once telling me at the end of the season that -he had not enjoyed his cricket half as much as he had the previous year. -I was surprised. 'I should have thought you'd have enjoyed it much -more,' I said; 'you haven't had to worry about your colours; you've been -certain of your place; you've been able to play whatever sort of game -you liked.' - -'That's just what I have not been able to do,' he replied. 'Last year I -was a free-lance. I took risks. I had a dip when I wanted to, and when -we played unimportant matches against the town and the regiment, I -thought more about hitting a couple of sixes than making a big score. -But I can't do that now. I'm captain of my house. I spend half my -evenings trying to persuade those young asses in the junior side that -seven singles between cover and mid off are of more use to the side than -the most tremendous six. If they see me going in and chucking away my -wicket in a school match, they'd think me a pretty sort of captain, -wouldn't they? I've got to set an example of sorts.' And, though the -captious may maintain that it would have been more to the point if that -particular sportsman had worried a little less about the example he was -setting on the cricket field and a little more about the example he was -setting in the form room and the studies, virtue is virtue wheresoever -it is found and in whatsoever garb it is adorned. It is a good thing to -feel that an example has to be set and to decide to set it. It is the -high privilege of service. - -There are occasions when the setting of example grows not only irksome, -but pointless. Throughout one winter my whole dormitory and myself -subjected ourselves to the miseries of a freezing cold bath because -neither party had the face to own itself defeated. In the first warm day -of October the whole house ran cheerily to the shower bath down a long -passage that faced east and was filled with sunlight. But when the -November frosts came on, the long run down the passage in bare feet with -a small towel gathered round our loins became increasingly unattractive. -By the time we reached the bath we were thoroughly cold and the zinc -tubs under the cascade of water were not enticing. Each morning fewer -feet pattered down the passage. But my dormitory maintained its courage. -As long as I went on having a bath I knew that they would go on having -one, and as long as they went on having one I knew that I should have to -also. There were mornings when I longed to say: 'Look here, you fellows, -you don't want to have a bath. Nor do I. Let's chuck it.' The words were -sometimes on the tip of my tongue. But just as I was about to utter them -some one would rise from his bed, reluctantly divest himself of his -pyjamas, wrap a towel round himself, and run out into the passage. After -that retreat was hopeless. The thing had to be seen through. Not one of -us missed his bath throughout the term. It may have been good for us: I -don't know. Most things that are supposed to be are unpleasant. - -As so often happens with preconceived ideas, the only duties of -prefectship which present any terrors to the imagination of the new boy -turn out singularly simple. Most boys are self-conscious; they dread a -silence, they hate being conspicuous. They regard, therefore, the taking -of hall and the reading of the house list at roll as terrible ordeals. -They are not so really. One is a little nervous lest the pitch of one's -voice may sound curious as one shouts out the name of the top boy on the -list: but it doesn't: not unless one is very odd. And the taking of hall -is simple, unless one goes down there with an established reputation for -inefficiency. In such a case the prefect does stand a poor look-out, as -poor a look-out as the master who has proved himself weak. But such -reputations are not easily acquired, and the possessors of them are well -advised to bribe some hardier colleague to take their places. No attempt -is made to rag the average prefect. He goes down on his first night -fully prepared to inflict a violent punishment on any harbinger of -insubordination. He may even carry down with him his swagger stick as a -cautionary signal. But it is unlikely that he will be called upon to use -it. The chief embarrassment, indeed, of taking hall is the importunities -of small boys who come and ask one to help them with their translation. -One hums and hahs, looks at the notes and the vocabulary and discovers -how extremely hard it is to translate Livy without a crib. - -To a great extent the proficiency of the prefectorial system depends on -the house master. If prefects admire and respect their house master, the -tone of the house will almost certainly be a good one. If they dislike -him the tone may very likely be a good one. It is a toss up. Dislike and -fear often go together. And a prefect who dislikes, and thinks he is -disliked, by his house master may very well decide out of affronted -dignity to perform his duties thoroughly. 'The old beast hates me,' he -says; 'he thinks I'm no good. I'll jolly well show him!' Dislike is, at -any rate, a positive emotion. It will produce something. Nothing, on the -other hand, is more fatal than the sort of genial, indifferent -good-natured friendship that so often exists between a house master and -his prefects. - -In Chowdler, G. F. Bradly has drawn just such a house master. Chowdler -pretends to be the elder brother: he talks of 'good old Jones' and 'dear -old Joe.' He has the prefects up in his study for heart to heart manly -talks. And the prefects listen, agree with what he says, echo, when they -speak, his own sentiments, and generally hoodwink him. They treat him as -he treats them. They call him 'good old Chowdler,' and leave it at that. -When there is a conscientious and an officious head of the house things -go fairly quietly; when the head of the house is a lazy, sociable -creature, the house runs itself, and with results that would cause -little pleasure were they published to the mandarins of the common -room. No new house master, Arnold Lunn says, has to face a more -difficult task than he whose predecessor has earned the reputation of -being a sport. The house master who always announces to the head boy his -intention of visiting the studies is popular enough, but he has a rotten -house. - -Yet, however badly the prefectorial system may on occasions work, it is -impossible to dispense with it. It is not so much the need for a heavy -hand as the need for a scapegoat. Some one must be responsible to the -supreme authority for any disturbance that may take place. If a house -master enters the day room during 'prep.' and finds that an impromptu -concert is in progress, he knows that it would be impossible for him to -disentangle the muddled evidence of interested witnesses. He could never -find out what it was all about, how it started, who started it, what -happened next. He makes, therefore, one person responsible for the -maintenance of order in the day room during 'prep.' He puts a house -prefect there on duty. When, therefore, he interrupts an unseemly brawl, -he does not concern himself with the incidents of the affair; Brown's -face may be plastered with red ink, the head of Evans may be slowly -extricating itself from the wastepaper basket, Ferguson may be -withdrawing a battered compass from the unprotected quarters of an -enemy. He does not notice that. He does not punish Brown and Ferguson -and Evans. He asks the prefect in charge for an explanation. If the -explanation is not satisfactory that prefect is relieved of office. It -is the knowledge of this fate that inspires the industry of prefects. - -This system is the basis for all administration, for the delegation of -all responsibility. It rarely fails. When I shared a study with another -prefect we divided eight fags between us. The best of these eight we -appointed fag-master. 'You will do no fagging yourself, Marston,' we -told him. 'To each of the other seven fags will be allotted one day of -the week. You will see that they do their job. If the fire goes out, you -will be beaten.' During the whole of that winter our fire never went out -once. It is a regrettable fact, but a true one, that human beings will -only work under the influence of a bribe, or of a threat. In the wide -world it is usually a bribe. One may not threaten the foreman of an oil -works. He has his union behind him. But there are no trade unions for -fags: a judicious threat works wonders. And, when all other forces -weaken, the wish to retain office helps the prefect to his task. Were -there no prefects, no scapegoats, there would be no order. They are the -exchange of hostages. - -Suppose an attempt was made to run a house without them? How long do you -imagine that it would last? Five days, six days, a week? Yes, perhaps as -long as that: not longer: certainly I would not give it longer than a -week. Such an experiment might be tried at the end of a long and -unsatisfactory term during which several of the prefects had, at some -time or another, come into collision with official ruling. And the -climax might have been reached, shall we say, on the last Tuesday of the -term, when the head of the house was discovered during 'prep.' playing -the organ in the big school. - -Next day, after lunch, the house would be astonished by the following -announcement: 'I don't know,' the house master would say, 'whether I -approve of the prefectorial system or not--that's neither here nor -there. At any rate it has not worked well with my present set of -prefects, and, for the rest of the term I propose to dispense with them. -I shall occupy during preparation the small study at the end of the -passage, and the house tutor will supervise preparation in the day room. -I shall occupy the small single dormitory by the fire escape. That is -all.' It is possible, is it not, as the sudden resolution of an -overworked, exasperated man who had not paused to consider the results -of his decision. - -Well, what would happen then? We can guess to a certain extent. It is, -at least, a subject of interesting speculation. What would happen to a -house that had no prefects? - -For a couple of days all would go smoothly, I imagine. The house would -behave like a whipped dog. Its tail would be tucked between its legs. -The prefects would make an ineffectual stand upon their dignity. Then -the possibilities of the situation would become apparent. Authority -spreads a veneer over the boisterous spirits of a boy of eighteen. But -at heart he remains a ragster. In a couple of years' time, as an -undergraduate or a medical student, he will be destroying furniture and -organising preposterous bonfires. And, when authority is taken from him, -he feels once again the old itch to enter the lists, to try one last -throw with the marshalled forces of officialdom. It may, for instance, -occur to Morcombe, the head of the house, that, though he has ceased to -be a house prefect, he remains a school prefect, and that, outside the -precincts of his house, he is still a force. When, therefore, he sees -Jones mi. flinging stones against the cloisters, he orders Jones to -appear before him that evening after roll. It is after roll, during the -silence of first hall, that punishments are inflicted. And, that night, -the house master, sitting in his narrow study at the end of the passage, -will be astonished to hear the silence broken by a series of resounding -bangs. He hurries down the passage and discovers Jones mi. straightening -himself beside the water pipes, one hand ruefully stroking his trousers, -while the head of the house proudly surveying his handiwork, delivers a -last word of admonishment and taps his cane against his boots. - -'But what on earth, Morcombe, is the meaning of this?' says the house -master. - -'I had occasion, sir, to beat a boy.' - -'But you've no right to beat a boy. You're not a prefect any longer.' - -'I was punishing him, sir, for a school and not a house offence. He was -throwing stones against the cloisters. As a school prefect I felt myself -bound to take official notice of his action.' - -'But you know quite well, Morcombe,' the house master would answer -hotly, 'that you've no right to do anything of the sort. You are only -quibbling.' - -'Then am I to understand, sir, that I have ceased to be a school -prefect.' - -'You are to understand you have no authority over any one in this -house.' - -'But that will make it difficult for me, sir; if I were to discover a -boy in this house and a boy in another house smoking on a Sunday -afternoon, I should be able to order the boy from another house to put -out his cigarette and return to school at once, but the boy in my own -house I should have to leave where he was. It would be suggested that I -was favouring my own house.' - -It is unlikely that the house master will have a reply; he will order -Morcombe to return to his study and to cease being impertinent. It -depends on the courage of Morcombe and the respect he has for his house -master whether five minutes later there will be a tap on the door of the -narrow study at the end of the passage and a quiet voice will ask: -'Please, sir, I hope you'll excuse my worrying you, but I am not quite -certain whether you said I was, or was not, a school prefect. You see, -sir, it's my turn to read the lessons in chapel to-morrow. I wondered -whether I ought to run round and tell the head master that I am no -longer privileged to read them.' - -There will be several such imbroglios. - -Whether or not the term will end without an actual conflagration is -problematic. On the whole I should say that the chances were even. It is -the end of the term. Spirits run high, constant supervision is -impossible. On the last morning but one, for instance, there is no early -chapel. There is a long lie in bed. The house master will return to his -own part of the house to shave, bathe himself, and dress. There is no -one left in the dormitories with any authority. Every one is -good-tempered and excited with a surplus store of animal spirits. There -is a lively exchange of compliments which terminate in a pillow being -flung across the room. There is a moment's nervous hush. The power of -the prefectorial system dies hard: a week ago such an act would have -been dealt with instantly and severely. And, even now, a single word -would be sufficient to restore order. - -But the prefect takes no notice. He sees no reason why he should exert -himself in the interests of one who considers his services to be of no -further use to him. He feels justifiably aggrieved. The house master -considers he can run the house himself--well then, let him run it. He -has asked for no assistance from his prefects. He can therefore expect -none. The pillow is returned. It is inaccurately flung, however, and the -contents of a water jug streams across the floor. Again there is a -brief embarrassment. But the prefect reassures his dormitory. - -'My dear fellows, don't worry about me,' he says, 'I have no authority -over you. There is no need for you to take the slightest notice of -anything I say or do. Indeed I'm not at all certain that I shan't take a -hand in it. Ferrers, you brute, take that.' - -And with the sudden flick of the forearm that in the cricket field had -proved so disastrous to the batsman who had risked a short run to cover, -the unerring discharge of a pillow has prostrated the startled Ferrers. -From that moment mischief is afoot. It takes what course it will. And -that course will probably involve the overturning of a good many jugs, -the stripping of innumerable beds, the splitting of several pillows. In -a brief while the air will be filled with feathers, the floor with -mattresses and soaking sheets. And when, an hour later, the house master -is summoned by an indignant matron to view the battlefield, who will be -held responsible? To whose account is he to debit the broken jugs and -the torn pillows? Whom can he deprive of office? He will, no doubt, -collect the house in his study; every one will spend the last day -inscribing a georgic or an eclogue. But the house will feel that it has -triumphed. What, after all, can the house master say? If he begins to -criticise Morcombe the reply is obvious. - -'But I tried to stop it, sir, I did my best. But they wouldn't take any -notice of me, sir. I had no authority over them.' - -If the house master is wise he will say as little as possible. He will -announce the punishment, and the next term place more trust in his -prefects. However bad an individual set of prefects may be, without them -things would be a good deal worse. - -S. P. B. Mais in his first, and perhaps best, book dealing with Public -Schools, devoted a chapter to the various types of prefects, the effect -that office had on each type, and the use each type made of its -privileges. He maintained that certain types were unfitted for -authority, and that no boy who had not a view of life that passed beyond -the limits of school should be given such authority. That is no doubt -the ideal, but it is impracticable. A house master has to make the most -of the material at his disposal: if he is dissatisfied he must blame -himself. He has had his five years in which to fashion the malleable -substance to his fancy. If a boy is high in form and a school colour and -has been several years in the house, it is impossible to pass him over -in favour of a junior boy who is lower in form and a less successful -athlete. Prefectship has to go by seniority. The moment it was felt that -office went to the boys in whom the house master happened to have most -faith, the word 'favouritism' would be run like a corroding poison -through the system of the house. The favourite would be universally -distrusted and disliked. A certain class of boy would develop the -'conspiracy complex' that every hand was against him, and, in time, he -would become what he imagined others took him for. - -Such a system would encourage endless sycophancy. If the house master -were married, his wife would play too large a part in the politics of -his house. There would be those who would not hesitate to ingratiate -themselves with her in the hope that at the critical moment her -influence might turn the scales in their favour. - -When a boy whom his house master dislikes reaches the point where, in -course of seniority he would have to be made a prefect, the house master -has only two courses open: either he must make the boy a prefect, or he -must write to the father saying, though he has nothing definite against -his son, he does not feel that he is the sort of boy who ought to be -made a prefect, and he must ask the father, therefore, to remove his son -from the school at the end of the summer. - -He can do nothing else. He cannot keep on a boy whose claims he has -passed over deliberately and without cause. What house master, on the -other hand, is going to write such a letter to a parent. The parent is -bound to object. He will appeal to the head master. - -'You have nothing against my son,' he will say. 'During the four years -he has been at school he has never been in any serious trouble. He has -worked hard and he has played hard. I have always regarded prefectship -as the crown of a public school education. I sent my son to you rather -than to some other educational establishment because I wished him to -have the invaluable experience of being a prefect in a Public School. -And now, at the end, when he has reached this position, you say, without -giving any reason, that he is not a fit person to occupy it. It is -scandalous.' - -And even were the head master to endorse his subaltern's verdict, were -he to say: 'That is all very true, Mr Evans, but a house master is the -best judge of the type of boy that he wants to have as a prefect. I am -very sorry, but we must abide by his decision,' the reputation of the -school would suffer. - -Old boys would discuss the verdict in their clubs. - -'That's no school for my son,' they would say. 'Prefectship depends on -the caprice of a house master. And, if by the time one gets high in the -house, one's told one's got to go--why, if that had happened in my case -I know I'd never have become captain of the Eleven. My house master -would have got rid of me long before I had got my colours.' - -Gray heads would shake seriously over the port; the numbers of the -school would sink. Seniority may, now and again, bring most unsuitable -persons to authority, but it is a far more satisfactory system than any -that would be based on the choice and dislike of one person. - -Certainly many unlikely people reach the high-backed chair of the Sixth -Form table. And a house master must often wonder how will taste the -strange stew that is simmering--a compound of so many unknown -ingredients. In spite of experience, he is always guessing. But the -changes are less considerable than might be expected, or it would be -truer to say, perhaps, that the changes follow a more or less ordinary -course. - -A boy's attitude on reaching office is ordered by what he has read and -by example. The ragster usually becomes a martinet. He has read of the -reformation of Prince Hal; the epigram about Kildare ruling all Ireland -is the one piece of Elizabethan history that his memory has retained. -How nice he feels it will be to surprise every one. What a shock it will -be to his old companions. Every one must have said of him: 'Oh, Park'll -be all right. He's such a ragster himself, he's sure to go pretty easy!' -In his first week, therefore, he canes a quite senior boy for playing -the piano too loudly in the changing room. He becomes in a short while -extremely unpopular and a general terror. If on the start of the school -year one were asked to tell which of the new prefects one would be best -advised to avoid, one would almost certainly place one's finger on the -boy who had been most frequently in trouble during the previous term. - -There is no sign, however, by which we can detect the officious type of -prefect who speaks solemnly of his responsibilities and makes life -extremely unpleasant for his house and for his old companions. It is -impossible to tell on whom this germ is going to settle. It need not be -the reformed rake: perhaps because rakes reform so seldom. It is not -necessarily the religious boy, or the intellectual boy. But on some one -that germ is sure to settle, and it is of all the germs the most -annoying. - -There is nothing more exasperating than the officious prefect. On the -third evening of the term he walks into the study of a former associate, -looks confoundedly uncomfortable, seats himself on the table, and then, -after a moment's embarrassed silence, permits his features to assume an -expression of austere dignity, and says:-- - -'Jones, you confided in me two terms ago a little secret, you'll -remember what it was. Well, I feel that it is my unpleasant duty, now -that I am a prefect, to report this matter to the head of the house. He -will take what action he thinks fit.' - -Jones sits back in his chair, a look of horrified disgust upon his face. - -'But, my dear fellow,' he says, 'you couldn't possibly--I mean I told -you that in confidence. You couldn't be such a sneak!' - -The prefect would shake his head. - -'You do not understand. It is not sneaking. You would not call it -sneaking on the part of a policeman if he arrested an old friend whom he -found breaking into a house. This is an official duty that has nothing -to do with our personal relationship.' - -Jones is tempted to say that in another minute personal relationships -will have a good deal to do with the matter, but he appreciates the -necessity for tact. He talks, he argues, he cajoles; his patience is -tried to the last degree. It is difficult to discuss a matter on -grounds of personal and practical expediency when the other party -refuses to desert the platform of high morality. In the end probably -Jones is promised silence in return for reformation, and, as the door -closes behind his old friend, he murmurs: 'Put not your trust in -princes.' - -The officious prefect is not content with the exposure of confidences -received during his period of probation, he endeavours to unearth -present scandals, and this is a point on which popular opinion is very -strong. The moral tone of the house is not considered to be the concern -of the house prefect. That is the province of the house master and the -head boy. - -The position of the head boy is a little difficult to define. He is the -intermediary between mortality and Olympus. He is supposed to be above -suspicion. He is the only person who is allowed to do anything out of 'a -sense of duty.' If a house prefect interferes in the private affairs of -another, an ulterior motive is always suggested, and the suggestion is -probably justified. Whether or not a head boy is justified in unearthing -scandal is an open point. There are those who will maintain that he -should only take notice of what actually hits him in the face. The -reason being that what hits the head of the house in the face will, -sooner or later, inflict a similar shock to the physiognomy of the house -master. And this should be avoided. In the first place, the house master -will lose his high opinion of his head boy; in the second, a scandal -that might have been prevented will reach official notice. - -Indeed, there are not a few who will go so far as to assert that the -function of a head boy is that of the taster, the impersonal critic who -says: 'No, that is going too far.' He is the aeroplane photograph of a -strategic position, that shows what gun emplacements are obvious and -which are not. And, according to this line of argument, head boys should -only concern themselves with the obvious; what was not apparent to them -would certainly not be apparent to a house master; there is no need for -them to play at Sherlock Holmes. - -But this is a point on which the vote has not been taken. There are -several schools of thought: all schools of thought are, however, joined -in the denial of the right of the head boy to report to the house master -anything save a case of insubordination or disloyalty on the part of a -brother prefect. A head boy, it is felt, should be able to deal with the -discipline and conduct of the house himself. To report is to confess a -failure. - -To the house prefect no such fine shades of motive are ascribed. He is -not considered to be above suspicion, and he is allowed to indulge -certain corresponding weaknesses. His business is to see that order is -kept; the new prefect forms numberless resolutions. He is acutely -conscious of his dignity, his bearing partakes of the solemnity of -Malvolio. He wonders whether he ought to remain on terms of such easy -familiarity with certain rowdy elements in the house. A prefect should -not have too many friends. He should be the calm, implacable judge, -impersonal, impartial, with bandaged eyes. He is very haughty for a day -or two. But within a fortnight he has recovered. He becomes sociable -once more. He walks down to the field with his old friends. He does not -wonder whether it is wise or unwise to exchange confidences with those -whose conduct one day he may be forced to view with official -disapproval. He takes notice of, and deals with, only those problems -that crop up from time to time. He acquires a wholesome tolerance of -other people's business, a tolerance that slips over the border of -indifference, but remains an admirable social lubricant. - -It is this indifference, this refusal to be upset about trivial matters -that can be left to adjust themselves, that is the secret of the success -of British administration. Other nations and classes do not seem to -possess it. The artisan when put in a position of authority bothers -about the unimportant, he gives himself no peace, and he gives those -under him no peace. There is constant friction. Troops almost invariably -prefer to be under the command of public school men rather than of -'rankers.' - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE LAST TERM - - -The last year, and especially the last term, is popularly supposed to be -the happiest of a public school career. And it is possible that this may -be so in the case of an industrious, worthy, but not particularly -brilliant fellow who reaches in his last year the privileges of house -prefectship, the immunities of the Lower Sixth and the social hall-mark -of a second fifteen cap. At last, after a struggle of five years, he has -extricated himself from the rut. - -For the 'blood,' however, for the double first who has stayed on an -extra year to be captain of the Eleven, these last terms are a -disappointment. He has reached the limits of ambition. For a while he is -attracted by the charm of his new offices, but he can discern beyond -them no fresh fields to conquer. He is embarrassed by the finality of -his position. He cannot value what he possesses. He wonders what is -coming next. He scores tries in school matches, he makes centuries on -the upper, but he had already done that before. 'The doing savours of -disrelish.' He is expected to score tries and make centuries. The cheer -that greets him as he grounds the ball between the posts has not the -surprised enthusiasm that rippled down the touchline two years ago when -he amazed every one by giving two consecutive dummies and beating the -whole defence. He is expected to do well, and when he is a little below -his form, there is a feeling that he has lost the school the match. - -Interest is focussed on the performance of the new men. A century by -Shepherd causes more excitement than a century by Hobbs. Hobbs is -established. The world has formed its estimate of his qualities. There -is little new to be said about him. He belongs to the present and the -past. Shepherd belongs to the future. He is a subject of speculation. - -And so the double first at the end of the match hears far less talk of -his own performances than he did a year earlier. He is taken for -granted. It is all: 'What a beautiful drop that was of Smith's, he'll be -a fine player in two years' time.' He would not analyse his discontent. -But it is there the whole time. There is no longer a life of marked -stages in front of him. He can peer now over the wall of school. He is -worried, too, by the increasingly acute demands of his physical nature, -by the restraints that are imposed on it. Very often a quite popular boy -makes himself generally disliked during his last year on account of this -irritation that expresses itself in bad temper, jealousy, and outbursts -of unreasoning vindictiveness. - -The last term is especially difficult. A boy finds himself freed from -the conditions that had for the five previous years directed his -conduct. He had always thought of 'next term.' Now he realises suddenly -that there is going to be no next term. He is no longer leading the -normal life of his companions. On all sides of him preparations are -being made for the future. Jones has decided to share the games study -with Evans instead of Smith. Plans are being made for the arrangement of -the dormitories. Ambitions are carefully tended, careers are nursed. So -and so is worried because some one else has got his firsts before him. -Dunston is distressed because he has been caught cribbing: 'There goes -my chance of house prefectship.' And the boy who is about to leave -slowly realises that these considerations have no longer any meaning for -him. - -If he is caught cribbing he is concerned only with his immediate -punishment. If some one gets his colours before him it does not matter. -He has done with the troubles of seniority. The old life is falling from -him. He is perplexed, not seeing clearly what lies in front of him. Six -years seemed such a long time. He had not paused to wonder what lay -beyond them. He had come to regard that last Sunday in the school chapel -as a final stage. School stories always ended there: in the same way -that romances always closed on marriage, or on death. And, though now he -would be no doubt ready to admit that a man's life did not end at the -altar, and might even be prepared to consider the possibility of an -existence beyond the grave, he had not considered such speculation -profitable or entertaining. - -And, in the same way that at a later point of his career he will awake -with a start six months after marriage and ask himself whether it is all -over: 'Heavens!' he will say, 'I can't be finished with; what's going to -happen now?' So, during his last term, he discovers that this stage has -not the finality he had supposed. Something has got to happen next. -School life was, after all, no more than a prelude. He had valued too -highly the enticing emoluments it had to offer. And he does not see what -new prizes life will hold for him. - -If he is going to Oxford he may toy with the prospect of athletic -honours. But unless he is particularly gifted, or particularly -conceited, he will appreciate the vast degree of specialised rivalry to -which he will be subjected. If he is going into business he will -envisage, perhaps, the days of affluence and power, of private -secretaries and private telephones; but all that is a very long way off. -There is no immediate focus for his ambition. There is no particular -reason why he should not, if he wishes, make as big a nuisance of -himself as his fancy pleases. He is passing from one phase of discipline -to another; and because the nature of neither is definite, he considers -himself free. A last term is often indeterminate and ineffectual. - -Now if the discovery that school life is only a prelude is made by an -unimaginative athlete during these last weeks, we can confidently assume -that it will be made a good deal sooner by a boy of originality and -independence, especially by one who has not entered with any great zest -into the conflict of athletic distinction, and has, therefore, been in a -sense above the battle. He realises a good year and a half before he has -to leave that life in its fullest is to be encountered beyond the limits -of a cloistered world. The discovery does not contribute to his content. -He knows that if he wishes to win a scholarship he will have to stay on -his full time, and he feels that he is marking time, that he is sitting -in the stalls of a theatre waiting for the curtain to go up. Now that is -a most unsatisfactory position to be in. In the theatre we kick our -heels, read our programmes, turn round to see if we can recognise a -friend, speculate on the possibility of innocence in the lady who is -sitting in the front row of the dress circle. One does anything to make -the quarter of an hour pass quickly. The imaginative schoolboy behaves -in a similar fashion. He frets and grows impatient. He assumes an -intellectual snobbery. He despises the majority of his companions and -labels them as Philistines. He disparages the values of athletics and -exalts in essays and in the debating society the literary standards of -the nineties. - -It is possible that on Saturday evening he will leave a carnation -standing in green ink in the hope of emulating his divinities. He is -encouraged in his rebellion by the indignant astonishment of the master, -who refuses to regard his outburst as a very natural and, on the whole, -harmless pose. He is lectured severely on the dignity of his position. -He replies in a cryptic epigram. He even criticises the public school -system--an unforgivable offence. Being unacquainted with the ways of -systems, and feeling that his personal liberty is curtailed, he -considers that for this curtailment the public school system is solely -and peculiarly responsible. He will not allow that all systems oppress -the individual, that systems are made for the service of the many, and -that it is for the individualist to decide whether the privileges he -will receive by consenting to remain with the mass compensate for the -unpleasant restrictions that are placed on the free play of his -personality. It is, after all, the first system with which he has -contracted an intimate relationship, and in the same way that a -monogamist considers his wife worse than anybody else's, the schoolboy -delights, in spite of a deep affection for his own school, in hurling at -the public school system all manner of accusations, in which the word -sausage machine is not infrequently repeated. - -There are such boys in every school. Age is an arbitrary definition of -development. Many boys reach the age of seventeen, and stay there for -the rest of their lives; others are twenty-five years old before they -have done with their teens. When a boy is tired of school he has -outgrown school. And there is only one sure remedy--to take him away. - -But there are the claims of a university career; there is the parent's -natural wish that his son should gain a scholarship; it is often -impracticable for the boy to leave: in such circumstances we can only -recommend on the part of the masters a general leniency. Such outbursts -should not be taken seriously. The school, as a whole, is not concerned -with the unusual behaviour of those who, by the possession of brains, -are already considered slightly abnormal. And the jester who is -disregarded may well become a monk. If, however, a boy feels that notice -is being taken of him, he allows his flattered vanity to dictate to him. -He cultivates his pose; he wonders how best he may shock the -mid-Victorianism of the common room, and there is the danger that the -pose may, in the course of time, become part of his intellectual -equipment. - -Sermons and addresses inform us that in the last term is to be found the -significance of school life. But, as I have previously tried to show, -the last term is no more significant than the first. The new boy is -outside school, pausing on the fringe, his eyes full of a sheltered -curiosity. The boy who is about to leave is equally outside school; he -looks backwards and he looks forwards; the continuity of his life is -about to be broken; its rhythm is temporarily suspended. He is no longer -leading the same life as his companions. And it is vain to compare the -new boy with the boy that is about to leave, and by analysing and -examining the change that there is between them to arrive at the meaning -of school life. - -They are two entirely different people. One is a child; the other is a -man. The change that must necessarily have taken place during this -passage is so considerable that it is impossible to say how much of it -is due to environment and how much to physical growth. You might send a -man of thirty to Timbuctoo, recall him at the end of four years, and, -examining the change in him apprehend the significance of Timbuctoo -society. He went a man and he returned a man. What change there was in -him could be attributed directly to the wholesome, or unwholesome, -atmosphere of Timbuctoo. - -You cannot follow this line of reasoning with a public school boy. A -parent cannot say: 'Six years ago I sent you a young, innocent boy, -industrious, honest, truthful. You have returned to me a young man who -knows more than I consider it proper that he should know, whose sole -object appears to be to extract from life as much pleasure as is -commensurate with a minimum of work, a young man, moreover, who -considers that a lie told to an official is not a lie. Look what you -have done!' But that is not a fair attitude. Anyhow, during those six -years, a boy must to a certain extent have lost his innocence; most -young men of nineteen place the claims of personal indulgence before -those of work. Most young men look on life as a game that is played -between themselves and a perfectly ridiculous antiquated body which is -called 'government,' and whom it is permissible to hoodwink, misinform, -or otherwise deceive whenever the opportunity is presented. The -corroding forces of knowledge must make themselves felt during those six -years. It is unreasonable and absurd to attribute their effects solely -to the public school system. - -One can, however, by examining the mental state of a boy a week after he -has left school, form some estimate of what he has learnt at such -considerable expense to his parents. - -In the first place, he has acquired an extremely valuable social -technique. A public school education is a passport. Its assailants would -describe it as the membership of a select trades union. An old public -school boy can enter a new mess without feeling any great embarrassment. -He knows how to comport himself in the more superficial of the -situations in which he will from time to time discover himself. All of -which is distinctly valuable. - -He has also learnt to understand the type of man with whom he will have -most dealing. He is admitted, that is to say, to terms of good -fellowship with a very large number of persons. He will be treated by -them as a decent chap till he proves himself otherwise. He will have -enough in common with them to be able to bridge superficially the -uncertain moments that precede friendship. If he were introduced to a -man at his club, he would have no difficulty in finding a congenial -topic of conversation, during which conversation he would be able to -decide whether or not the man to whom he had been introduced was likely -to prove a sympathetic companion. - -He would have learnt, through the exercise of these qualities in a -communal life, patience and tolerance of a certain kind. A tolerance, -that is to say, that might condemn a man on the cut of his coat, the -colour of his ties, or the use of an incorrect idiom, but would allow -each man to lead his own private life provided he wore the conventional -uniform. Such a tolerance may be described as snobbish and narrow, but -is an admirable social lubricant. An old public school boy would be -unlikely, for instance, to cause trouble to a mess or company or cricket -club by injudicious interference. He will have learnt that it is not -easy for an assorted collection of men to live together without -occasionally getting on each other's nerves, and he will have learnt, in -consequence, the value of tact and compromise. - -He will also have learnt a version of his duty towards his neighbours. -He would not tell a lie to a friend unless it was absolutely necessary, -and he would never let a friend down. He has the sense of loyalty -developed to a high degree. All of which goes down on the credit side of -the ledger. On the debit side, however, there are enough entries to make -the cashier wonder whether, or no, the account is overdrawn. - -It is amazing how little knowledge the average public school boy has -managed to acquire. He has rushed from one class room to another, -learning French for one hour, and history for another, and science for a -third. He has worked at each of these subjects spasmodically according -to the particular form and set in which he has happened at the time to -find himself. For a whole year on end he may have neglected French -because he was under a lazy master. Then, at the end of the year, on -finding himself in a higher and more strenuous form, he may have made -feverish efforts for a couple of terms, to the detriment of his -mathematics and history, with the result that there is an enormous gap -in his knowledge. Whole periods of history are a blank to him. He has -acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. Within a few -years what little connection there was between the appreciation of these -isolated facts will have slipped away. There will remain a few phrases, -a few catchwords, a few dates--an admirable framework indeed for social, -moral, and political prejudice. - -The average public school boy knows, I imagine, a great deal less than -the continental school product. Not only has he learnt little, but he -has not been encouraged to use his brains. He does not, indeed, regard -his brain as a possession to be valued highly and carefully trained. He -will get out of bed five minutes earlier than he need do in the morning -to wave his legs about his head and do exercises with his arms that will -improve his physical condition, but he would never think of learning a -dozen lines of English verse to improve his memory. No one ever appears -to have impressed on him the fact that at thirty-five he will have to -abandon football; that, by the time he is fifty, he will be bowling very -slow stuff indeed, and will be grateful to the opposing captain who -offers him a runner. Yet, at sixty, his brain will, if properly cared -for, be as powerful as it has ever been. - -Now I do not want to suggest that boys should devote their whole spare -time to the reading of poetry; literature is only a part of life; but I -do maintain that every public school boy should take some part in the -intellectual life of the world, that he should be able to discover as -much interest in his mind as in his body. At present he does not. He has -very little inner life. He depends far too much on outside interests, on -games during the term, and theatres during the holidays. If he has to -rely on his own devices, he is woefully deficient. - -This fact was brought home to me vividly by my experience as a prisoner -of war in Germany. The average officer had no resources of his own; he -could draw no sustenance from the contemplative side of life. He mooned -round the square, wondering how soon he could decently set about his -next meal, longing sadly for the lights of Piccadilly. In the evenings, -when he had to return to his room, he spent the three or four hours -before lights were extinguished engraving rather aimless pictures on the -lids of cigar boxes. It was a pathetic sight to see a man of -twenty-eight, in the prime of life, sitting down night after night to -fiddle about with a knife, a piece of wood, and a box of paints. He -derived no pleasure from it. It was a narcotic. As long as his hands -were employed his brain could go to sleep, and he needed to contemplate -no longer the tedious procession of days that lay before him. Every man -should have sufficient part in the intellectual interests of life to be -able to keep his intelligence active for eight months in surroundings -that provide no physical outlets. - -The public school boy has derived little satisfaction from his work. He -has laboured spasmodically with expediency as the goal. Promotion has -promised certain attendant privileges, and the historical Sixth lies, -calm and pleasant, like a lake in the desert. - -There is to be found a rest 'for all who come.' It is a sure port after -the shipwrecks of the fourths and fifths. The traveller need work no -more; he has laboured faithfully, let him enter into the joy of his -lord. He returns one holidays having gained his second eleven colours. -Paternal pride is flattered, and the spirit of welcome is only partially -relaxed by the accompanying report. About a week later the following -conversation takes place over a glass of port. - - - _Son_: I say, father, don't you think all these classics are rather - a waste of time? - - _Father_: Well, I don't know, my boy. I did them myself, you know. - - _Son_: Of course, father, of course; but things were a bit - different then, and besides you were so much better at them than I - am. - - _Father_: Oh, well, if you put it like that, my boy, well, - perhaps---- - - _Son_: You see, father, I thought it would be rather a good idea - for me to read history. - - _Father_: History, my boy, whatever for? - - _Son_: Well, I was thinking of taking up politics, father, and - anyway, history scholarships are awfully easy to get. That ass, - Kenneth, got one--you know, the fellow in the School House with the - yellow hair. If you'd just drop a line to Chief, father, I'm sure - he would be only too glad.... - - -One more pilgrim has arrived at Mecca. - -The higher up the school one goes, the less work one does. After a few -terms the habit of work is lost, and the only real diligence is -displayed by that melancholy type of scholar who is trained like a pet -Pomeranian. - -This is not an ideal apprenticeship for life. It starts a boy with an -entirely false idea of the position that his work should occupy in his -life. I do not wish to seem parsonic, but, if the experience of -practically every big man that has ever lived means anything to us, we -do know that a man's happiness, or unhappiness, depends in the main on -whether his employment is congenial to him. Work is the finest antidote -to boredom. And a public school boy has not realised this by the time he -is on the threshold of his career. He does not consider that the choice -of his career should be the expression of his temperament. He drifts -into the most accessibly remunerative job. He brings to it no -enthusiasm. - -The trouble is that school life lasts too long and is far too jolly. Six -years is a long time. A boy of thirteen can hardly be expected to -realise that it is only a prelude. The years pass so happily, the -pursuit of ambition is so engrossing that he has no time to consider -whether the prizes he is winning have any lasting value. As the new boy -he longs to be captain of the school: and, having set himself a task, he -does not shrink from the contest. School life is so vast, so varied, so -many-coloured that it would be difficult for a boy to relinquish his -hold upon the ambition that lies close to him in favour of the shadowy -ambitions of the life that lies beyond it. School life is too big a -pedestal for the statue that is to be placed on it. It dwarfs what it -should present. The boy finds on leaving school that an entirely -different technique is required. It is not that the standards are -changed, but the whole manner of life is altered. - -His school career was divided neatly into stages. He could at any moment -consult a house list and see how he was progressing on the road to -authority. At such a period he should have reached the Fifth table. If -he were one day to get into the Fifteen, he should by his sixteenth -birthday have got his house cap. Everything was mapped out. The rungs of -the ladder were labelled. Colt's Cap, House Cap, Seconds, Firsts, Fourth -Form, Fifth Form, Sixth. - -In business he finds no such ladder. His abilities are placed upon the -open market. He is fighting an intangible foe. He has to come to terms -with himself. He feels that he is driving into the void. He also finds -that he has to rearrange his scale of values. Athletic distinction is -not greatly prized in Wall Street, and the young man who, when asked to -present his qualifications, remarks that his batting average was over -thirty, without a single not-out score to help it, is likely to receive -a rude shock. I spent a few months before I went to Sandhurst in the -Inns of Court O.T.C. (a corps that had, by that time, ceased to be -composed of ex-public school men), and it was a blow to discover that -the fact that I had been in my school eleven and fifteen made not the -slightest impression on any of the N.C.O.'s. - -It may be that a readjustment of one's standards is a healthy -experience. But that is hardly the attitude that officials could safely -adopt. The public school system is supposed to produce trained citizens, -who are in harmony with their environment. And that is exactly what the -public school boy is not. He tries to tackle life with the scale of -values that he learnt to apprehend at school. And it is not an easy -task. Some, indeed, never accomplish it. They never readjust themselves. -They surround themselves with old friends, revisit their old schools, -endeavour to recapture the old atmosphere. They regret vaguely that -something has passed. Like Jurgen, they return in quest of their youth, -but the distorted shadow of Sereda prevents them from entering -completely their former selves. In _The Harrovians_ Arnold Lunn makes -two of his characters discuss this question. - -'There's West, for example,' Peter said, 'he'll never be such a blood -again. He hasn't any brains. He couldn't even struggle into the Upper -School, but he's a mighty man here. Rather a pity, I think, that life -should reach its highest point at nineteen. This ought only to be a -beginning.' - -That states the case. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT - - -Fears for the future and regrets for the past are alike forgotten during -the last week. There are sad moments, but, as Arnold Lunn remarked, -'there is a world of difference between the pleasant sorrow of sentiment -and the more real depression that coincides with an overdraft at the -bank.' The last week is passed in a mood that I once heard described as -'happy-sad.' On the last Sunday in chapel the boy who is leaving -endeavours to summon the appropriate emotion. He knows how he ought to -feel. He has been instructed by so many stories. He is, in a way, an -actor in a drama. He knows that the fag on the other side of the aisle -is looking at him, is saying to himself: 'This is Jones's last chapel. -What is he feeling?' And, like an actor, Jones does not want to -disappoint his audience. He feels as he should feel. There is a lump at -the back of his throat. But, on the whole, leaving is an exciting -experience. - -There is the auction of study furniture, when pictures that cost five -shillings when they were new, fetch seven and six in their fourth year -of service. There are the calls to be paid to masters, the 'good-byes' -and 'good lucks.' It is the abdication of office when one is at the -height of one's authority. It is a fine gesture that 'immeasurable -power, unsated to resign,' to be able to step straight out from the -lighted room, before the corroding forces of change have begun to work, -and before habit has dulled applause. The exit is made at exactly the -right moment. The curtain falls on a dramatic climax. And how rarely -that happens. - -In a temper of wistful sentimentality and self-satisfaction, arrayed in -the colours of the old boys' society, the ex-public school boy leans out -of the carriage window, waves good-bye to the friends who are catching a -later train, makes and extracts promises to write, and watches as the -train moves out of the station the familiar landmarks slip one by one -behind him. - -A sentimental, that is to say, a superficial emotion passes quickly. And -it depends on the kind of life which awaits a boy, whether or not this -sentimental regret will be followed by an acute sense of loss. - -If he is going up to the university or to some remunerative and -interesting employment, it is probable that he will forget school -altogether in the fascination of a new life. If, however, he is destined -for some dull unromantic post in the city, the thought of school will -for a long time wake in him a deep, hopeless nostalgia. He will bring no -enthusiasm to his work, and, as he sits at his high desk, balancing -ledgers, computing insurance policies, adjusting income-tax returns, he -will compare the monotony of his routine with the coloured movement and -variety of school. As he walks to his office he will remind himself that -at this moment the morning chapel is just ending. The school will be -pouring across the courts. If he were there he would be walking arm in -arm with some friend of his to the class-room, stopping on the way some -intelligent friend to demand the elucidation of certain tiresome -theorems. As he returns to the office after lunch he will say to -himself: 'If I were there now I should be changing for football. I -should have before me the prospect of a hard game and a bath afterwards, -and a long, lazy evening in front of the games study fire.' And, at the -end of the day, on his return to his home or diggings, he is lonely with -the recollection of how often at such a time he has sat in the -class-room waiting impatiently for the clock to strike, waiting for the -moment of freedom when he can gather his books under his arm and rush -back to the house to tea, to the four delightful hours of friendship and -discussion that lie in that enchanted period between lock-up and lights -out. School life never means so much to a boy as it does during his few -months after he has left it. For he sees it transfigured in his -imagination; he remembers nothing of the tiresome demands of routine, -nothing of the friction between boys and masters, nothing of the long -boring hours in form when he watched the patch of sunlight drift across -the wall, nothing of the anxieties, the annoyances, the restrictions of -a cloistered life. He sees it purged of the accidental, a city of his -own fashioning. - -It does not last, of course, this intense nostalgia. No young man can -live for very long in the past. New interests come to him, he finds new -fields for his ambition. He makes friends in his office. He joins a -tennis club, he takes dancing lessons. He sets out in search of life. He -ceases, at every vacant moment of the day, to compute what he would be -doing were he at school instead of at an office. He thinks of the -innings he intends to play next Saturday: his eyes pick out on the -carpet an imaginary spot ten feet away from him, and he considers what -shot he would play to a ball that pitched on it; he also perhaps wonders -what exactly that charming lady with whom he had danced the night -before, had meant when she had said, with a peculiar inflection in her -voice: 'You're growing up.' - -His correspondence with his old friends becomes spasmodic. He no longer -writes to his house master once a month. The arrival of a letter with -the school crest on it ceases to excite him as it did. The school -magazine becomes full of names that are meaningless to him. He notes -with disgust that Baxter, in his day a miserable little squirt, has got -into the Eleven; and that that goggle-eyed ass, Barton, is head of the -school. He asks himself at Christmas whether it is worth his while to -renew his subscription, and decides that it is not. From time to time he -reads in _The Sportsman_ of the feats of his school Fifteen, and -remarks without enthusiasm that 'Fernhurst must be pretty strong this -year.' His school life has dropped from him as a coat that he has -outgrown. It belongs to the past, and he is living in the future. School -will not mean much to him for another twenty years, till the time comes, -that is to say, when he will have to send his son to school. - -Then will he recover his youth, and live again his school days in his -son, only more intensely, because he will be living them in his -imagination. In the achievements of his son he will recognise the ghost -of his old ambitions. His son's career will be more personal to him than -his own. He will take more pleasure in his son's successes than the boy -will himself. Indeed a great deal of a boy's pleasure in his success -lies in his appreciation of the happiness that it will bring to his -father. At no time in their lives do father and son come so close to one -another as during these years. And it is at first sight surprising that -this intimacy should not produce that common ground on which -difficulties may be openly discussed and quarrels healed. For in spite -of this intimacy, the relations between father and son are very often -superficial. - -This statement may appear self-contradictory, but a little examination -will show that this is not so. We do not necessarily confide in the -people we love best. Let any man think of his friends and acquaintances, -and he may be surprised to discover that he knows a great deal more -about his acquaintances than his friends. I do not lay it down as a -fact that he will make this discovery. I merely say that he may make it; -certainly a great many will. - -At school, where one has a vast number of acquaintances and a few -friends, I used to wonder sometimes how best one could draw the dividing -line between a friend and an acquaintance. And I decided that the -difference lay in silence, that with a friend one could be silent, -whereas with an acquaintance one could not. If a friend walked into -one's study when one was busy, one smiled and went on with one's work; -the friend picked up a book and read. But if an acquaintance came in, -one immediately stopped what one was doing; one felt that silence would -become embarrassing. - -In the same way one does not, in the company of a real friend, feel the -need of personal confidences. One likes being with him. That is enough. -One sits over a fire and talks spasmodically, with long silences -drifting into the conversation. But with a person of whom one is not -particularly fond, such desultory conversation is not adequate. An -acquaintance is not, in himself, sufficiently interesting--he is -interesting in what he has done, or is doing. The need for confidences -is essential. And so it is that most of us have acquaintances to whom we -recount all our discreditable exploits, our romances, our financial -enterprises, with whom we seem, in fact, remarkably intimate, but whose -absence, were they to pass out of our lives, we should not greatly -regret. The man who knows most about us very often matters least to us. -This is not a generalisation. One cannot generalise about an abstraction -like friendship, that has a different meaning and a different message -for every individual man. But such relationships are a common -experience; they are the more common in the degree that their subjects -are the more reserved. And there is no more reserved class than that of -past and present public school boys. - -This is, at any rate, the only explanation that I can find for the -superficial relations between son and father that are spread over so -deep a trust and intimacy. They accept without appreciating this -superficiality. The father comes down at half term, and he goes for a -walk arm in arm with his son, along the slopes. They discuss home -affairs and the external activities of school: football shop, cricket -shop, house politics. They rarely touch on the boy's inner life; the -father can only guess at what his boy is doing and thinking. Underneath -their love for each other they are strangers. - -On the important issues of school life they are both driven to accept -the verdict of the house master or head master. And he, although he is -working in the dark on both sides of him, is their only intermediary. - -But the relationships between parents and children are too intricate for -so short a book as this. Indeed, I doubt whether it is possible ever to -tackle satisfactorily a subject, the nature of which alters with every -individual case. One would be lost at once in a labyrinth of -generalisations and exceptions; Lytton Strachey made no attempt to write -a history of the Victorian era. He selected and analysed a few -specimens; that is, I believe, the only way in which to deal with the -complex subject of parenthood. And it can only be thus dealt with by the -story-teller, by the man who says: 'I care nothing for general -principles. But this is how things went for one family.' In a general -study such as this, it is quite impossible to dogmatise from individual -cases. But I would submit this facet of the relationship between father -and son as an important one in the study of school society. It throws -the need for co-operation almost entirely on the schoolmaster. It makes -his responsibility greater than he knows. - -Now there are three types of men to whom the scholastic profession makes -its chief appeal. There is the brilliant scholar, the man with the -double first, who will turn out to be either completely incompetent, or -will become a head master. There is the athlete who takes a third, or at -best a second in mods, and on the strength of a blue, returns as games -master to his old school. Lastly, there is the idealist, the man who -regards teaching as a calling and not a trade, the man who may be either -an impossible crank or, in his own line, a genius. - -The first class of master plays, on the whole, a small part in the -politics of school life. If he is incompetent he is ragged in form and -his opinion carries no weight in the common room. If he is successful, -he is a bird of passage, on his way to some rich head-mastership. He may -become a house master for a while, but he is always looking beyond his -immediate surroundings. He is ambitious. He does not regard one school -as his compass. Always he is just outside the drama. - -The second class, however, forms the backbone of tradition. The old boy -comes back to his old school with an intense loyalty and with the -intention of staying there for the rest of his life. His ambition is to -have the best house in the best school in the best county. He is usually -a very fine fellow indeed, but he represents eternally the spirit of -reaction. He lives in the standards of his youth. He has had no -opportunity of testing those standards in another environment. His whole -life has moved within the circle of one school. - -He imbibed as a boy the public school spirit, and he did not outgrow -that spirit at the university--hardly a proof of mental elasticity. He -has no sense of progress or of change in the world for which he is -training the young. As things have been, so shall they be. The old boy -turned house master is the most powerful force in the common room. He is -the chief obstacle that the enthusiast has to face. - -With regard to the enthusiast, one is tempted to put an asterisk against -the heading and a footnote, '_Vide_ the novels of S. P. B. Mais -_passim_,' and leave it at that. For Mr. Mais knows more about the -reception of this type of master than any other man in the kingdom. He -has himself a genius for teaching. I cannot imagine a better English -master. He inspires enthusiasm in the confirmed slacker. He is an -invaluable asset to any staff, and yet nearly everywhere he has been met -by opposition. His own story, as set forth in _A Schoolmaster's Diary_, -is typical of the young movement. Only there is this difference, that, -whereas Mr. Mais has never yielded to the reactionary influences, the -majority of young masters conform to the custom of the country. Their -position is extremely difficult. - -They leave Oxford with high ambitions. They have dissected and analysed -the system, they have discovered the vital spot; they are eager to put -their reforms into action. They have wonderful schemes for inspiring -boys with a love of the beautiful, with an interest in politics and -life. They are prepared to be ruthless in their battle; they will -neither ask nor give quarter. They will not be fettered to the -reactionary indolence of the intolerant and the effete. They have a -mission and a purpose. They bring a sword. They arrive at school with a -quenchless ardour. - -Like the small boy home for the holidays, they want to do everything on -the first day. Before they have had time to look round they are -suggesting schemes for founding literary and dramatic circles: they want -to open a political debating society where there shall be files of _The -Nation_ and _The Daily News_. They start a mile race at the speed of a -hundred yards and find themselves alone in the void. Every one else is -going at a very leisurely pace. There is no need for hurry. Their whole -life is before them. The school has been in existence a very long while. -It is moving in its own time to its duly appointed ends. The young -enthusiast grows impatient: like most intense people he is tactless and -makes mistakes. He ignores his colleagues, or interferes with their -arrangements. He creates an atmosphere of opposition. This is, of -course, what he has anticipated. The fight, he feels, is going to begin. -But the nature of the fight is very different from what he had expected. - -It is not waged with the intolerant and the effete, but with men whom he -cannot help admiring. He cannot make himself hate his enemies. The old -boy house master, it cannot be too often repeated, is a very fine -fellow. And his point of view is reasonable. He has given his youth, his -energy, his ambition to his school. He has cared for nothing else. He -has allowed many of the good things of life to pass him because of this -unwavering devotion, and it is natural that he should resent the -intrusion of a young fellow who has not had time to learn to love the -school, but who wants to overturn the most cherished privileges. - -And his methods are so impeccably direct and honest. He does not go -behind the young man's back to the head master. He has the young man -into his study for a chat; he looks him straight in the face. He says: -'Come now, we've got to have this out.' And the young man finds it so -desperately hard not to admire him. He endeavours to open a discussion: -he states his case. For a moment he seems to forget the personal issue -in the case. Confidence comes back to him. He develops his argument, and -then, just when he feels that his grip is closing on the contest, he is -beaten by that disarming sentimentality which is the most powerful of -all the old boy's weapons. - -'My dear fellow,' he will say, 'you have your point of view and I have -mine. We are both in our own ways working for the good of the school; -why must we quarrel? We are fighting the same fight. But we can do -nothing unless we stand together. I've given my whole life to the cause; -you are just beginning.' - -The acceptance of this offer of friendship and co-operation means -defeat. The young man knows it. But it is so hard to refuse. The rebel -in any sphere of life has no harder task than the cutting adrift from -his own caste and the subsequent alliance with men of different -upbringing and different standards. He sees, on the one hand, a vast -number of noble, if bigoted men, men whom he can trust and admire. And, -on the other side, as a setting for the few idealists in whose -principles he believes, the arrayed forces of envy, greed, and malice. -The temptation to cling to what he knows and what secretly he admires -is too great. Most of the young enthusiasts give way soon. They join the -forces of reaction. - -And those that stand out are inevitably broken. What chance have they -after all? The modern intellectual is something of a negativist. His -tolerance is composed of indifference and uncertainty. He sees life in -the words of Jurgen as a 'wasteful and inequitable process,' and does -not discern clearly how to alter it. His philosophy is a series of -disappointments. He is bound to go down before a bigotry that is certain -of itself. The forces of reaction are so powerfully entrenched. The old -boy house master knows exactly what he wants and how he proposes to get -it. He advances down a straight road. His enemies pause and wonder and -question themselves. - -The bigot usually makes the best administrator. He is not worried by -abstractions. He is certain of his ends and can devote all his attention -to the means. The tolerant head master, the man who sees both points of -view, is overcome in the end by preponderating faith and sincerity of -reaction. The new man is invariably subjugated, or else is made to go. -No head master would be anxious to take his side. - -The games master type is intensely popular with parents and old boys. He -represents for them the public school spirit. He is a fixed, immutable -principle in which they can place their trust. They would be intensely -worried were they to learn that the head master had taken the side of a -new man against their old friend. The subject would be discussed in the -clubs: 'There's trouble brewing at Fernhurst,' they would say. 'This new -head master is a liberal. He's quarrelling with old Aiken. I don't like -the look of it.' And the position of the school would be shaken. Parents -would send their sons elsewhere. The numbers would drop. Unpleasant -questions would be put to the head master at the next meeting of the -governors. It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods. Parents -have to be placated. They have been assured that 'all is for the best in -the best of all possible schools'; and, when they hear rumours of -dissension they naturally imagine that something must be wrong with that -particular school. It is not so everywhere. They remind the head master -of his own official utterances. And it is not easy after prophesying -smooth things to satisfy the complaints of those who find them hard. - -A head master has to reach his ends through infinite tact and patience -and through a long series of compromises. He has to be something of an -opportunist. He has to give reasons other than the true ones for what he -does. He has to promote progress secretly, while he advocates -conservatism. And it is hard to remain true to oneself while playing the -Jekyll and Hyde game. Motives become involved; there is too much -diplomacy, and the forces of reaction, whatever else they be, are -distinctly honest. Certainly he cannot allow the clumsy enthusiasm of a -young man to complicate his vexed existence. And the young man has -either to break or bend. Usually he bends. He has, after all, to -consider his own career. He compromises with himself. He manages to -persuade himself that he is not really yielding, but that he is adopting -different tactics, attacking the enemy from another side. He decides to -do his work of reform quietly, without ostentation. Other people can do -their own way if they like. - -That compromise is the start of a long process of self-deception. When -he becomes a house master it will be so simple to put off parents with -excuses. He will be able to justify himself, to say: 'These are stupid -folk. They will worry me if I encourage them. I have my work to do. I -must pacify them and get on with it.' And so the circle completes -itself. The young man who sets out to reform school life, who brought to -the task a fine, untried energy, ends in evasion, compromise and -self-deception. Boys, parents, and masters are working at cross -purposes. - -There are certainly a large number of entries on the debit side of the -ledger. It remains to be decided what hand has written these entries and -whether it is possible to erase them. To a large extent they are due to -four things: the moral issue; the cult of athleticism, which is regarded -as an antidote to immorality; the conspiracy of silence that exists -between parents and boys and masters, and the long period a boy spends -at school--the six years that separate so unduly the junior from the -senior, that accentuate the blood system, that erect a wall shutting out -the world at large. School life is too much of a walled garden, too much -of a world in itself. It has remained monastic, it has not established -contact with the movements of the hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO MORALS - - -The ardent idealists with their thousand pretty schemes for the -regeneration of mankind, find no difficulty in allotting a few panaceas -to the Public School. We hear of the 'new world' and of the 'new -spirit,' and there is glib talk about the phoenix and the ashes. A few -laws have to be passed, a few peasants educated and there will be an end -of competition. 'The strong will support the weak, the clever work -unselfishly for the general good. Wealth and intellect will be placed at -the service of the state. The relations of the sexes will be ordered by -eugenics.' - -It is all very jolly, and unless to-day one subscribes unfalteringly to -this belief in a new world, one is called a reactionary and a -materialist. The millennium, we are told, is round the corner. The -finest intellects of thirty centuries may have failed to find it, but -the farm labourer has only to spend a few half-hours with an English -grammar to discover it at his feet. It must be very nice to believe all -that, to be able to comfort oneself in dark moments with the assurance -that for one's children's children life will be a happy hunting ground. -It must be a drug more potent than laudanum, more sweet than hashish. -But it is of small avail in the dust and traffic of humanity. In the -case of the Public Schools we shall do well to examine what is at hand -and prescribe what cures we may, without the indulgence of distant -speculation. - -The four main objects of criticism, then, are the moral question, the -evil of athleticism, the false scale of values that is inculcated at a -Public School, and the subsequent conspiracy of silence. On the moral -question the advanced idealists have talked more and to less purpose -than on any other phase of school life. They have written of the -discovery of the soul, of the unfolding of the flower. They have -maintained that through art and literature the boy's emotional nature -will be directed to a higher, a nobler conception of life. The -psycho-analyst speaks of 'sublimation,' and they have fastened on to -this cliché. Was not this what they had been saying so long, in other -words--the sublimation of the sexual impulse? - -Now, in the case of a celibate priest or a maiden lady it is, no doubt, -highly desirable and perhaps possible to sublimate an impulse which has -been and in all probability will be, denied natural satisfaction. But it -is a pretty hopeless job to sublimate an impulse that has every hope and -prospect of complete, direct, and natural realisation; and that is the -task that the advocates of flowers and poetry and the dawn have set -themselves. If we are to change the moral tone of a Public School we -shall have to find either an alternative system, or we shall have to -modify in some way the existing system. - -Two alternatives are offered: co-education and the day school. In -neither case should immorality be general or serious, and the number of -romantic friendships correspondingly slight. It seems hardly possible -that a normal healthy boy would be attracted by a smaller boy when, at a -school like Bedales, he would be constantly in the company of young and -charming scholars. And though the day boarder lives for the greater part -of his day in a monastic society, he spends the majority of his spare -time outside it. And during the week-ends he has full opportunity to -continue any romance on which he may have embarked during the previous -holidays. Although it is only possible for me to speak here from -second-hand information, it can be assumed, I think, that at the -co-educational and day school the moral question must sink to -comparative unimportance. It has to be considered, however, whether this -relegation compensates for the consequent disadvantages. - -Co-education is, of course, a new game, and it is difficult to write of -it with confidence. At a lecture that I gave about three years ago, a -young woman rose from the back of the hall and asked 'what Mr. Waugh -thought about co-education?' I had, as a matter of fact, thought about -it very little, but I felt that I could hardly confess as much. I said, -therefore, something about 'co-education being excellent for delicate -and sensitive boys who would find Public Schools too rough for them.' -The young woman then indignantly demanded what the girls had done to -deserve the companionship of only delicate and sensitive boys. It was an -unanswerable protest, but having since then thought the matter over more -carefully, I believe that, if the same question were put to me to-day I -should make the same reply. It may be that such a reply would be based -only on prejudice and a preconceived idea. But, after all, the evil that -one knows is better than the evil that one does not know. And who would -wish away his school days. - -If you were to ask a small boy of thirteen whether he would prefer to go -to Uppingham or Bedales, he would promptly reply 'Uppingham.' If, two -years later, you were to say to him: 'Would you rather have gone to -Bedales than Uppingham?' he would reply: 'Lord, no.' If at the end of -his last term, when it was all over, you were to ask him whether he -regretted his choice, he would say: 'Good God, no!' And, twenty years -afterwards, when the time had come for him to decide where he should -send his son, were you to ask him yet again: 'Bedales or Uppingham?' he -would reply without hesitation, 'Uppingham.' - -Why, after all, should he depart from an old allegiance. He knows -nothing of Bedales, nothing of the troubles and adversities that his son -will have to face there. He will be unable to help him, he will be -denied that greatest privilege of fatherhood, the unquestioning trust -of the son who knows that his father has trod every inch of the way -before him. Father and son rarely come so close to one another as they -do during those five years at a Public School. They are living -practically the same life; the father finds his lost youth in the son. -Is it likely that he will abandon such a certainty for a supposed and -uncertain good. The public school system was formed round certain -distinct traits in the British character. It is the expression of the -national temperament. Nearly every one is happy at a Public School. It -is the manner of life that we enjoy, that is in sympathy with our tastes -and customs. The reformers may say what they will. You cannot turn a dog -from the food it loves. This attitude to co-education may be illogical, -it may be prejudiced, it may be reactionary--I do not know. One can only -restate the fact that we are content to be old-fashioned people. - -The case of the day school cannot be so summarily dismissed. At a first -sight indeed it appears to possess all the advantages and none of the -disadvantages of a Public School. A boy acquires _esprit de corps_, but -is saved from wild partisanship. He strengthens the qualities of courage -and independence as fully as he would at a Public School, and the home -influence is maintained. His moral lapses, if any, are likely to be -occasioned by the attractions of the other sex. My friend, Mr. Oscar -Browning, has indeed often assured me that the day school is the only -possible solution of the difficulty, and in a symposium on the English -Public Schools he wrote that 'House rivalries and the overwhelming -importance of house matches cannot exist in day schools where boys live -with their families, nor is school life likely to be so communal.' Many -other educational authorities, whose testimony one must respect, have -expressed their faith in day schools. Certainly the claim of the day -school must be carefully examined. And it is with diffidence that I -approach the task. - -At most boarding schools the day boy is looked down upon. For some -obscure reason the day boy always seems to be inferior to the boarder. -He is rarely prominent in games or work. One ceases, indeed, to regard -him as a member of the school. He comes into form, he writes his prose, -he attends corp parade, he plays his games. But, at six o'clock, when -the bell rings for tea and the intimate life of the day begins, he -collects his books and hurries across the courts and passes into another -life. - -The period between lock-up and lights out is in retrospect the most -charming part of the day. The troubles of the day are over. Lessons have -to be prepared in prep., but they will not be heard till the next -morning. Time enough to worry about that after breakfast. It is after -tea that one packs twelve people into a study measuring eight feet by -four and discusses the prospects of the house in the Two Cock, the -'latest case,' and Evans's chance of getting into the Fifteen. Prep. is -but a pause in the discussions of these momentous trivialities. After -prayers there is an hour in which to brew coffee and renew the -endlessly attractive conversation. These are the times of friendship and -good feeling, and they are lost to the day boarder. Like the new boy, he -is outside the life of the school. He moves in a different environment; -he has different interests, he cannot enter into the eager loyalties and -aversions of house politics. In a school such as Clifton, where there -are a large number of day boys, the position is, of course, different. -The day boy there occupies a definite social status. Instead of being -attached to a house for games, he is grouped into that sector of the -town in which he happens to live. His friends are leading much the same -life as he is. But it can scarcely be denied that the day boarder loses -a great deal of the charm of a communal life. - -What does he gain to compensate for that loss? - -He is protected to a large extent from the moral lapses peculiar to a -Public School. He will develop through normal channels. Though, as he -will in chapel and in his school listen to addresses that are based on -the accepted official attitude, it is a little doubtful whether he will -find himself in this respect much more satisfactorily educated than the -boarder. At any rate he should be saved the disquieting experiences of a -romantic friendship, and he will be less of a slave to the partisanship -and house feeling. But does he gain anything else? - -We hear a great deal about the value of home influence, but what does -home mean for the day boy? He rushes home at the end of the day, has -his tea, and then settles down to prepare his lessons. By the time he -has finished them it is time for him to go to bed. He has had little -opportunity for talking either to his father or his mother. In the -morning he has only time to rush his breakfast and hurry off to school. -It must be remembered also that the parents who send their sons to day -schools are usually not particularly well off. It is one thing to come -home at the end of a hard day to the quiet seclusion of a warm and cosy -study where everything will be quiet and undisturbed. It is another -thing to come back to a house that is making strenuous efforts to get -things straight before the master of the house returns. Middle-aged -business men expect to find things made snug for them; they do not want -schoolboys kicking about the place at the end of the day. - -Nothing is more uncomfortable than breakfast in the average suburban -family. There is the flutter over the post, the opening and shutting of -the paper, the constant glances at the clock. There is a banging of -doors, and running up of stairs, and the shouting over banisters. A sigh -of relief is heard when the front door closes behind the wage-earner. - -In a large, well-run house the domestic machinery moves so smoothly that -it is unnoticed. In a small suburban villa these moments of arrival and -departure provide constant friction, and it is from the small suburban -villa that the majority of day boarders are recruited. - -In consequence the day boy starts his day's work at a disadvantage. It -is like playing a cricket match on an opponent's ground. One arrives a -little jaded. The boarder is on the spot. He has twenty-five minutes' -leisure between chapel and breakfast. It is possible, of course, that he -will pass these twenty-five minutes in a feverish attempt to prepare the -'con' for which he had been allotted an hour on the time-table of the -previous night. But that is his own fault. He has every chance of -starting the day fresh. - -I cannot think that the rush of getting off in the morning and the -journey to school can be good for a boy of fifteen. It is a strain for a -full-grown man. That twenty minutes' jolt in tubes and lifts is -exhausting. No one arrives at the office perfectly fresh. By the time -one gets back at night one is really tired. The tube journey at the end -of a hard day completes one's weariness. And on top of that weariness -the day boarder has to do an hour and a half's preparation. It is not -the ideal setting for successful work. - -The day boy is also leading two lives at the same time. He cannot shut -them away in watertight compartments. They overlap. It is, no doubt, for -the business man a great privilege and a great relief to be able to -return at the end of the day to a quiet evening in his wife's company. -But then he has not got to work at home, and work implies friction. The -worker wants an absence of outside influences. He wants the company of -quiet folk who make no particular demands on his energy and patience, -with whom his relations are superficial and for whom he does not -particularly care. - -Many writers make a failure of marriage because they put their study too -near their nursery. The imaginative worker wants to be alone, not only -while he is working, but for an hour before he starts working and for an -hour after he has finished working. In many ways the army is the ideal -career for a writer. He can do his two hours' writing after tea, have -his bath and change, and go down to the ante-room, where he can read his -paper quietly and chat superficially with people who make no demands on -him. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there is friction. The -proper adjustment of his work to his personal life is the most delicate -task a man has to tackle. It is beyond the compass of a small boy. For -the very reason that a boy loves his parents there will be friction; a -strain will be placed, that is to say, upon his energy and patience. The -boarder has fewer worries and, in consequence, is happier than the day -boy. - -The advocates of 'home influence' must also remember that the day boy -takes his home for granted. We cannot appreciate the value of anything -till we have either lost it, or become separated from it. Home means a -great deal to the boarder. Holidays mark for him a complete change of -life, to the day boy holidays mean little save the pleasurable cessation -of certain irksome duties. He can stay in bed longer in the morning, he -has not got to hurry his breakfast, a free day lies in front of him. He -will not have to waste his time over Latin Prose and Thucydides. During -the term-time he has, except during week-ends, very few opportunities of -intimate conversation with his parents, and because he has come to -regard their presence as a natural environment he does not, during the -holidays, make, as the boarder does, special efforts to see as much of -them as possible. The influence of a place need be no more effective -because one happens to live in it than the influence of a person because -one happens to be in his, or her, company. It depends on the value set -on the place or person. The boarder values his home more highly than the -day boy. The influence of home is more likely to be felt by him than by -the day boy. Letters from home are an event in the boarder's life. They -mean more than a walk on Sunday morning, and the hours are counted to -the half-term visit. - -The day boy also comes far less into contact with masters than the -boarder does. Indeed the head master of a school can only have a -superficial knowledge of the boys that are entrusted to him. He sees -them in the form room and on the cricket field. But he does not watch -the development of the boy's character through his reactions towards and -away from the intrigues, romances, and jealousies of house politics. -There is no constant theme, only a few uncertain _motifs_. The head -master has not sufficient material upon which to work. The discovery of -so many clues is denied to him. Every boy at some time or other must -pause and wonder how much his head master really knows about him. It is -a subject, for most of us, of disquieting conjecture. But the day boy -can dismiss it with an easy conscience. School for him is a place in -which he works and plays, but does not live. Indeed he is a child of no -man's land, passing between two countries, a true citizen of neither. - -There are those who say that parents are the only people who understand -their children, and will maintain that it is criminal to take young boys -away from their parents at an impressionable age and place them in -charge of schoolmasters who can know nothing about them. But parents -are, as a matter of fact, as likely to make mistakes as any one else. - -We find in anything what we bring to it. And parents expecting their -sons to be brave, truthful, obedient, clever, find them so. An outside -opinion is of extreme value, and a house master or a head master is the -ideal person to give it. When a house master and a father meet on equal -grounds and discuss the son's welfare honestly, the auspices could -hardly be more fortunate. They so rarely meet, because parents and -schoolmasters do not trust each other, because they have adopted the -false position of buyer and seller; the combination remains, however, -none the less ideal. - -I do not myself see what advantages the day school possesses over the -boarding school, save those that are concerned with a particular facet -of morality, and beyond the weakening of a partisanship that is inclined -to put a boy in blinkers. There are some very fine day schools in the -country, but the day school, especially of recent years, has tended to -become an alternative for parents with large families who cannot afford -to send their sons to expensive boarding schools. And, after all, the -suggestion that day schools should be generally substituted for boarding -schools is obviously impracticable. - -Many of the finest Public Schools are situated in remote parts of the -country, others in small towns that were once honoured with a monastery. -How are these venerable institutions to be converted into day schools. A -few retired colonels might possibly form a colony in Shoreham and send -their sons to Lancing. A convenient train would take them to Brighton, -where they might walk on the promenade and recall the reckless -adventures of their youth. But civilisation draws us to big towns for -our livelihood. However much the stockbroker might wish to send his son -as a day boarder to Shrewsbury, he would find it quite impossible to do -so. The town of Shrewsbury would provide no scope for his activities. He -could not possibly settle there. A scheme that would involve the -complete alteration of the public school system can only be called a -revolution. A reformer has to work on his existing material. He cannot -say--wash it out and start again. He cannot put back the clock. - -Mr. Oscar Browning has said that when he went to Eton in 1851 only five -schools could lay claim to the dignity of being called a Public School. -There must be at least fifty first-class Public Schools to-day; they are -nearly all boarding schools, and every few years a comparatively unknown -school proves itself a worthy competitor to older foundations. It is not -the slightest use to say, even if we believed it, that day schools are -better than boarding schools and leave the matter there. A politician -might with equal ability draw up an elaborate defence of the feudal -system. It may very well be that we should be all more happy if we could -reconstruct society on a feudal basis: we might just as well express a -belief that our efficiency would be increased were a kindly providence -to dower us with wings. It may be, though I doubt it, that the advocates -of the day school are in the right, that under such a system of -education immorality and the blood system would pass. But it is for us -to discover some method by which the existing system may be so modified -as to produce of itself the required change. - -Now it is very tempting for a controversialist, when he has completed -the arraignment of his enemies, to slip hastily over the policy he -himself proposes to adopt. I wonder how many letters have been addressed -to the press during the last seven years in which the writer, having -stated in strong terms the calamities to which a certain line of thought -or policy has reduced the country, has demanded in a final paragraph -that 'something should be done before it is too late.' He suggests -perhaps a 'change of spirit.' - -It is a good weapon that 'change of spirit.' We can all of us, when -occasion demands, indulge in spirited invective; we can all detect -numberless flaws and inequalities in the existing social system. Why, -for instance, does our income run to three instead of to four figures. -Why are we paying away a third of that small sum in income-tax? The flow -of indignation is swift, and by the time we have written our 950 words, -it is not hard to devote the remaining '50' to a general appeal for -'some one to do something before it is too late.' Every contributor to -the press has saved his argument like that some time or another. And, in -the case of Public Schools, the trouble is that we can do little save -repeat the parrot cry of 'a change of spirit.' For it is 'a change of -spirit' more than anything else that is needed. - -We are kept wondering, however, how that change is to be effected. S. P. -B. Mais used to say that 'Literature would save us.' But literature is -only a part of life, one channel of self-expression, and in the case of -Mr. Mais one is troubled by the knowledge that he, himself, is in many -ways the ideal schoolmaster. He has a genius for teaching. He happens to -have taught literature and mathematics, and because he taught them so -successfully he has imagined that they are the panacea. He is too modest -to realise any subject that he taught would have assumed the qualities -of a panacea, that it was he and not his subject that was important. He -could rouse his form, if he wished, to a high pitch of enthusiasm by a -lecture on the properties of Cherry Boot Polish. But 'he is alone, the -Arabian Bird.' - -Martin Browne suggests religion. And, no doubt, for the truly religious -boy many of the difficulties of school life would be smoothed out. -Unfortunately, however, religion plays, and will play, a small part in a -boy's life at school. A boy has been told to believe certain things by -his parents, and he has accepted these beliefs unquestioningly and -without enthusiasm. They have not been tested by experience. They are -not real to him. Religion, in its truest form, rises out of the conflict -of a man's life. Faith is subconscious thought. I do not think you can -expect the average small boy to be deeply influenced by religion. His -religion, if he has one, is an unswerving devotion to his house and -school. He would be ready to sacrifice himself for what he considered to -be the school's service. - -Forty years ago a captain of my old house died after a kick on the head -received in the Three Cock, the big house match of the year. The brass -on the chapel wall which is dedicated to his memory,-- - - - 'Te duce, care Puer, pueri cum lusimus olim - Optimus in cursu quem sequeremur eras - Caelestem exacto tetigisti limite metam; - Fratribus ab, fratrem detur ad astra sequi.' - - -appealed far more to our imagination than the story of early martyrs. -Action rather than contemplation is the essence of school life. - -I am aware that many will disagree with this assertion. Both Martin -Browne and Jack Hood made in their books a great point of religious -teaching and early confirmation, but I cannot help feeling that in this -respect they are exceptional; certainly if they had not been exceptional -they would not have written books; religion has meant a lot to them, and -they feel that it should do the same for others. It is a mistake we all -make in our different spheres. The poet thinks he will reform the world -by placing the poems of Shelley in the hands of trade union officials; -and the small craftsman sees life redeemed by hand weaving and hand -pottery. We all think that the prop that has supported us will support -others. It is part of our egotism. For the many, to whom faith is not -intuitive, religion needs a solid foundation of experience. - -A change of spirit requires a change of setting, and I am inclined to -think that this would be provided were boys to leave school at seventeen -instead of nineteen. - -It would not, perhaps, from the point of view of the moral question, -cause a very great diminution in the actual immorality between boys of -the same age and the same social position. But it certainly would -improve matters. As things are at present, the boy of fifteen and a -half occupies a pleasantly irresponsible position. He has left behind -him the anxieties of the day room, and the responsibilities of seniority -are still far distant. His peccadilloes are not taken seriously. He can -rag in form and smash windows in the studies without prejudice to his -future. He has imbibed the example of Prince Hal. For a while he may -rollick with Falstaff at the Boar's Head. Time enough to settle down -when the privileges of power draw nearer him. For a good year and a half -he may make merry. - -The lowering of the age limit would telescope events; it would reduce -the period of revelry to a couple of months. No sooner would a boy have -ceased to be a fag than he would be under the eye of authority as a -candidate for responsibility. A display of rhodomontade would prejudice -his future. He would play for safety; and such considerations would -certainly place a check on his moral lapses. He would think twice. If he -was discovered he would have no time to recover his position by -subsequent good behaviour. He would be passed over in the struggle for -promotion. - -To a certain extent the lowering of the age limit would prevent that -type of immorality that takes place between boys of the same age and -same position, but only to a certain extent. There always will be such -misconduct in schools; it will never be possible to stamp it out -entirely, but it is possible to overrate its seriousness. Certainly the -romantic friendship is more important, and it is because of the -romantic friendship that I advocate so strongly the lowering of the age -limit. - -I have said that the romantic friendship is the natural growth of an -unnatural system; but even a natural growth develops soon or late, -according to the soil in which it is planted and the climate by which it -is nourished. The presence of boys of 18 to 19, by their example, force -this growth like a hot-house atmosphere. In a boy of eighteen the sexual -impulse has become defined. He understands the implications of its -symptoms. He is old enough to be married. But the boy of sixteen is not -so sure of himself. In him the impulse is wavering and undetermined. He -does not understand the nature of the emotions that are moving him. And -he only comes to understand it through the example of elder boys. If a -boy were told nothing of the existence of romantic friendships, of their -technique, of the complicated moral code that allows this and denies -that, if his curiosity were not continually quickened by stray -references in sermons and addresses, I believe that he would not, at the -age of seventeen, have realised that the friendship he felt for a -smaller boy was essentially different from that which he was feeling for -his contemporaries. It would be a deeper, an intenser friendship, but he -would not see that it possessed a different nature. Why should he? The -schoolboy has read _The Hill_. He expects every Verney to find a -Desmond. So much has been written about the lasting friendships of -school life. Every boy must have his 'special friend.' Why should he be -any different from his fellows? There would be moments when he might -wish to caress his friend, but he would immediately smother such a wish, -feeling it to be foolish, girlish, unworthy of him. He would be too -young, he would not have the intellectual independence to be able to say -to himself: 'This is what I want. And what I want is natural to me. Damn -anything else!' Shadowy imaginings would haunt his reveries, but they -would never become defined in action. - -For a boy of eighteen it is different. His impulses are strong; he knows -now exactly what he wants. And he is prepared to get what he wants. He -knows that the emotions he feels for a small boy are of a different -nature altogether from the friendship that he feels for his -contemporaries, and the fact that there are boys in the school old -enough to have defined these emotions, provides a hot-house atmosphere -for the development of younger boys. - -To most people life comes at second hand. They learn from books, -cinemas, and plays what are the appropriate emotions and the correct -procedure for any given situation. The public school boy is no less -conventional than his elders. He allows his inclinations to be directed -into the accepted course. He is surprised, in the first place, by a -delightful and unexpected emotion; but the surprise soon passes. He has -formed just such another attachment as has been formed by practically -every senior boy in his house. He exchanges confidences, he seeks the -advice of some older boy, and follows the convention. If there were no -senior boys, no example, and no convention, the first surprise of -charmed bewilderment would endure. In the course of time it might very -well be that out of that first romantic story would grow a deep, mutual, -and lasting friendship. But such a development is hardly possible in an -unnatural society where children and fully grown men are herded -indiscriminately together. - -The example of elder boys, moreover, not only defines the nature of -half-perceived emotions; it also forces emotions that would otherwise -remain a long while in bud. There are many who consider it is the blood -thing to have a _jeune ami_; that such a relationship is the privilege -of a house colour. They want to be talked about. They have themselves -spoken when juniors with bated breath of supposed 'cases.' They would -like to be spoken of like that themselves, to feel themselves moving in -an atmosphere of conjecture and intrigue, to gather an added sense of -their own importance. - -Besides this itch, a natural one, to occupy the limelight by copying the -customs of the great, there is the subtle influence of indirect example. -In the same way that a boy who goes often to the theatre and the cinema -and observes there the charming processes of love, begins to long for -tenderness, and caresses, and endearments, so does the schoolboy who -hears on all sides romantic confidences, find himself drawn into the -glittering circle. This lure would at least be removed by the lowering -of the age limit. That it would solve all the difficulties I would not -for a moment maintain. - -We cannot imagine a world in which men and women will not desert or -betray each other; in which husbands will remain faithful and the -unmarried chaste. Why should we expect school life, which is the world -in little, to be so startlingly different. Parents refuse to believe -that their own children are mortal: 'These things,' they say, 'may -happen to our neighbour's children. They do not happen to our own.' And -schoolmasters are only too anxious to reassure them. Parents have such -faith in their sons that they will believe in the most superficial -testimonials. They are so anxious to be deceived. - -For this reason I believe that a mere statement of facts has value. -There is much clamour to-day for reconstruction, and the -controversialist who has not a cut and dried scheme for regenerating the -world is looked on with disfavour. But on sex questions, which are after -all intensely personal questions, which concern the individual in the -first place and society in the second, only the superficial will -dogmatise. - -I cannot do better than quote from Havelock Ellis's General Preface to -_The Psychology of Sex_:-- - - - 'A resolve slowly grew up within me,' he writes, 'one main part of - my life-work should be to make clear the problem of sex. That was - more than twenty years ago. Since then I can honestly say that in - all that I have done that resolve has never been far from my - thoughts.... Now that I have, at length, reached the time for - beginning to publish my results, these results scarcely seem to me - large. As a youth I had hoped to settle problems for those that - came after; now I am quietly content if I do little more than state - them. For even that, I now think, is much. It is, at least, the - half of knowledge. In this particular field the evil of ignorance - is magnified by our efforts to suppress that which can never be - suppressed, though in the effort of suppression it may become - perverted.' - - -If this is the conclusion at the end of his work and of his life, of -perhaps the greatest living authority on sex, by what right does the -amateur produce cheerful remedies. - -In the case of the Public School it is indeed something to state the -problems. There is so much ignorance to dispel; the ignorance of -mothers, the ignorance of fathers who have themselves not been to a -Public School, the conspiracy of silence of boys, old boys and masters. -Too much and, at the same time, too little, is made of immorality. -Schoolmasters assure us that its appearance is occasional, but their -attitude to it is that of a doctor who suspects that his patient is -suffering from a malignant disease and watches all the time for signs of -it to appear. The schoolmaster is always afraid lest he may be sitting -on a volcano. He encourages the athletic cult as a preventative, in the -belief that the boy who is keen on games will not wish to endanger his -health, and that the boy who has played football all the afternoon and -has boxed between tea and lock-up will be too tired to embark on any -further adventures. It does not occur to him that the boy will be -equally too tired to do his prep. - -Such encouragement of the athletic cult is a confession of failure. It -is as though the master were to say: 'I know I cannot interest you in -your work. I know that unless I look after you, you will land yourself -in all manner of mischief. A man must have a god of sorts, therefore -make unto yourself whatsoever manner of god you choose, and I will see -that it receives a fitting reverence.' - -The public school code of honour, the majority of the standards, indeed, -of school life are dependent on the athletic worship, and the athletic -worship is in its turn largely dependent, not so much on the moral -question, as on the official attitude to the moral question. Too much -energy has been devoted to the damming of trickles, while on another -side of the hill the main stream has passed into the valley, laying -waste the plains. - -Greater honesty between boys, parents, and masters would undoubtedly -achieve much. But more than a change of spirit is required. If no boy -was allowed to stay on at school after the term in which he became -seventeen years old, I believe that the moral question would, to a large -extent, simplify itself. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS - - -But it is not only on account of the moral question that I would -advocate the lowering of the age limit. Such a reform would, I believe, -make its influence felt on every side of school life. It would not -alter, but it would modify certain conditions. The blood system would -still exist, but less acutely. The gap between the junior and senior -would be small. At present a man of nineteen who has been tried for his -county eleven appears to the junior as a gorgeous giant. He and his -friends live in a world apart, and they know it. A good three years -separates him from the anxieties and indignities of the day room. No -one, save his actual contemporaries, remember him as being anything but -a blood. He is, and has been, a prince among mankind. He idles through -his last two years, a very splendid, a very attractive figure; but, as -we have already seen, his is hardly the ideal apprenticeship for life. - -If the leaving age were fixed at seventeen instead of nineteen, so proud -a position would be unattainable. There would still be bloods, still -elegant creatures to saunter across the courts, languidly arm in arm. -But a certain refinement would be missing. The languor would be less -certain of itself, it would seem to fear a sudden assault and a fierce -shout of 'Jones, you young swine, what right have you to shove on side?' -There is a difference between the blood of eighteen and the blood of -sixteen. It is only four terms since the blood of sixteen was suffering -the last exaction of the law. He remembers vividly being beaten for -ragging in the dormitories; it is not so long since he was a fag. If we -were suddenly transplanted on a magic carpet into the luxury of an -Eastern court we should stand for some time in dazed bewilderment, -marvelling at what had happened to us, wondering who were these comely -Ethiopians that prostrated themselves before us. For quite five minutes -we should lack the courage to give an order. The blood of sixteen feels -like this; can he have achieved so swiftly his ambition? It is only -yesterday that he was trembling in the presence of the great. By the -time he has recovered from his bewilderment and is preparing to exert -his authority his year of office is at an end. - -Not only, moreover, is the sixteen year old blood unable to hold so -exalted an opinion of his own importance, but his immediate juniors -refuse to recognise him as the gilded figure of romance. The men on the -Fifth Form table remember when the head of the house helped them to -wreck Bennett's study. They cannot feel him to be so vastly superior to -themselves. It is different for the blood of eighteen. He has passed -slowly through many circles to the dignity of an Olympian. He has -served his period of probation. He was not a colt's cap one season and -the next a colour. He took a year to pass from house cap to seconds, and -another year from seconds to firsts. He discovered himself gradually. He -rose slowly to his greatness. By the time he has reached his last year -the days of conflict are infinitely remote. He can hardly believe it -possible that he was ever caned. He is, in fact, a great deal too old -for a Public School. And as things are now it is impossible for any, -save the exceptional boy, to reach a position of authority till he is -eighteen, or at least seventeen. - -A great many boys do undoubtedly leave between the ages of sixteen and -eighteen, but by doing so they lose the most valuable lessons they -should learn at school. A boy who leaves before he has been a house -prefect fails to put the coping stone to his education. The -responsibilities of prefectship are an invaluable experience. And when -the house master begs the parent to let 'Arthur stop on another year,' -the parent naturally gives way. And it is, of course, always the wrong -type of person who stays on that extra year. It is the clever, the -brilliant, the athletic boy, the boy who already stands out above his -contemporaries and in the course of the next year will be even more -prominent, that is encouraged to remain. It would not matter if the dull -boy stayed on another year. His natural talents would not be sufficient -to lift him to the rarefied atmosphere of Olympus. It is the second -eleven colour who is urged to stay on to get his firsts. The fast bowler -who is asked to captain the side next year, the exhibitioner who hopes -that another year's work will win him a scholarship at Balliol. The -great become more great, and, as their undistinguished contemporaries -fall out of the race, the gap between the prefect and the fag grows more -pronounced. The intermediate steps are few and dimly seen. It is not -surprising that the blood system should gloriously flourish. It would -not so flourish were the leaving age to be fixed at seventeen. We have -the proof of this in the knowledge of what happened during the war, when -the big men left suddenly in August, 1914, when boys of sixteen sat at -the Sixth Form table, and when no one stayed on at school after his -eighteenth birthday. - -War conditions were, of course, abnormal. It was inevitable that at such -a time the rewards of school life should lose their value. It was -impossible to feel the old excitement about the result of a house match -when the morning paper had brought with it the story of Neuve Chapelle. -The winning of cups and the gaining of colours ceased to be an end in -themselves. For the boy who was prevented by lack of years from joining -the army in 1914 school life became a period of probation, of marking -time. Life in its fullest sense was waiting for him on the other side; -no prefect ever looked forward to Oxford more eagerly than those of us -who were still at school in 1915 looked forward to the day when we -should join the army. Our imagination was quickened by the stories told -us by old boys returning from depôts and from the front. Was it possible -that Smith, who had played with us only eight months earlier in the Two -Cock, should be in charge of a company in the front line trenches? We -fretted at our tether; our eyes were fixed on the future. We scorned the -prizes that lay to our hand. We began to reconstruct our scale of -values: it was not only the giants of the football field who were -winning honours for themselves and for the school in France. Queer, -insignificant fellows who had never risen above the Upper Fourth, and -had never been in the running for a house cap, came home on leave with -the blue and white riband of the military cross. We began to realise -that it was not only the blood that was entitled to our respect. The -blood system received a rude shock in August, 1914. It will never, -unless we become involved in social revolution, receive such another. I -believe, however, that it would be considerably modified were the -leaving age to be altered. - -There would be also less hooliganism and less bullying. The third yearer -would no longer be in a position of reckless freedom. Studies would -still be stripped, scholars would still be ragged, but the process would -be compressed. The swash-buckling element would find itself sooner in -authority. The scholar would reach sooner the immunity of the Sixth. And -the prefect would be no less capable of keeping order. For, after all, -the prefect owes his power as much to the system that is behind him as -to himself. - -But perhaps the greatest difference that the change would effect would -be in the boy's attitude to his own life. Six years is a very long time -to be in one place. I remember at the end of my first year overhearing a -conversation between the barber and a boy who was leaving the next day. - -'Well, Mr. Meredith,' the barber was saying, 'I suppose this is the last -time I shall cut your hair. I have cut it a good many times.' - -'I have been in this town,' said Meredith, 'for ten years: five years at -the prep, and five years at the school. I'm jolly well sick of it.' - -It is certainly a mistake to send a boy to the prep. of the school to -which he will one day go. Ten years is too long. But six is too long, -too--at that age. - -It is not easy for any one under thirty to picture himself in six years' -time. We look back and remember ourselves six years ago in the -discomfort and disquiet of khaki. What a lot has happened since then. -Who can tell what the next six years may hold? Very few men under thirty -can look far ahead, and the new boy at a Public School who can see his -life mapped out for six years naturally does not look beyond them. He -hardly realises that there is a world outside. He will have to travel so -far before he reaches it. He comes to consider his Public School not as -a prelude, but as the whole sphere in which his personality has to move. -Certain prizes and certain honours await him. He does not pause to -think whether those prizes and those honours will be of much or little -service to him after he has put the cloistered world behind him. Not -only is he incapable of viewing his life under the hard light of -eternity, he is incapable of viewing it under the light of the fifty odd -years of traffic that wait for him among phenomena. He accepts -unquestioningly the standards and values of his school. He does not feel -that he is preparing for a contest. That phase of endeavour belonged to -his 'prep.' He has started the race. - -There is a big difference between four years and six. It is a wall over -which even the fag can peer on tiptoe. The passage of ambitions and -loyalties and jealousies is much more swift. It is possible to consider -four years as a prelude; and as soon as public school life is regarded -as a prelude the scale of values becomes changed. The boy begins to -wonder whether he is doing his best to fit himself for after life. He -will cease to be contented with the honours that come to him on the way. -Because his school is a fixed institution, because the scope of his -masters is fixed within its walls, there is a tendency to regard him as -an inhabitant and not a sojourner there. That is what the schoolboy -should never be allowed to forget--that he is passing through one phase -of his life into another; it is because he has forgotten that that he so -often pauses bewildered and irresolute on the threshold of life. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -CONCLUSION - - -Were the moral question to be tackled sensibly, and were the reduction -of the age limit to modify the 'blood' system, and insist upon the fact -that school life is only a prelude, I believe that athletics would -occupy their proper place in the life of the school. The social force of -religion depends, to a large extent, on the appreciation of the -importance of what will follow the 'here and now.' During the war, when -the future was insecure, and no one could see anything certainly beyond -the limits of a fortnight's leave, the country plunged recklessly in -search of pleasure. No one looked ahead. No one paused to consider what -would be the harvest of their sowing. - -The eyes of the preparatory school boy are fixed upon the future. He -knows that the successes and failures of the moment are unimportant. He -knows that a strenuous contest lies in wait for him. In consequence -there is at a Preparatory School little of the fanatical devotion that -colours the fabric of public school life. I remember a house master once -saying that it was impossible for a member of a house side to do much -work while the house matches were in progress. And, as the house matches -covered a period of six weeks, this was a pretty generous allowance. At -the same time the house master only spoke the truth: it was practically -impossible to do much work during the house matches term; we could think -of little else. Every evening we would discuss at considerable length -the afternoon's punt-about and the morrow's match. We would devise -schemes for the better outwitting of our opponents. We would discuss the -weakness and strength of individual players. And the majority of -masters, certainly of house masters, shared this fervour. It is true -that a certain house master, when presented with the excuse for an -indifferent prose that house matches were too exciting, remarked: 'I -don't know whom they excite, they don't excite me.' But this assertion -was belied by his subsequent behaviour on the touchline. During house -matches there is an educational moratorium. In peace time the energies -and interests of a nation are directed into a thousand different -channels, but in war time every interest is secondary to that of war. -And, while house matches are in progress, the atmosphere of a house is -not unlike that of a nation that is at war. Individual members may have -their private troubles, but they realise that these troubles are of -small account at such a time. And, though it is no doubt admirable for -the individual to feel himself of less importance than the community, it -will hardly be conceded that self-negation in such a cause is likely to -prove of any very permanent value to him. - -Now there are those who will urge that boy nature cannot be altered, -that it is natural for a boy to worship games, and that you cannot -expect him to be otherwise. But that I shall never believe is so. For -myself, I know that I play cricket and football as keenly as I did seven -years ago, that I spend a great many evenings with a Wisden in my hands; -but that I manage to get through a fair amount of work between each -January and December. That is not in itself a fair argument. One cannot -arraign the enthusiasms of sixteen before the enthusiasms of -twenty-three any more than one can arraign the enthusiasms of -twenty-three before those of forty. There is no more fallacious argument -than the 'when you have reached my age, young man.' At different stages -of our life we are vexed by different problems. At twenty-three our -sexual life is of vast importance; it stretches before us, a wide field -for courage, enterprise, adventure. In the man of forty, curiosity has -been satisfied. He has settled many of the problems that perplexed him -when he was a young man. And he says: 'My dear fellow, all this that is -worrying you does not really matter.' But he is wrong. It does matter to -a young man of twenty. And nothing is trivial that has ever exercised -deeply the human spirit. - -In a world that is in flux the permanence or impermanence of any emotion -is of less matter than its intensity while it lasts. Sooner or later -everything must desert us. Is the brain a useless possession because it -will one day soften. Are teeth less efficacious now because one day -they will decay. Is a young man of twenty going to listen to the -impotent man of sixty who mutters: 'Young man, the charms of woman are a -snare and an illusion. When you have reached my age you will be no -longer moved by them.' For that is where the 'when you are my age, young -man,' argument finally lands us. And it is not fair to say to a boy of -seventeen: 'This mad excitement about games is absurd. In six years even -you will have outgrown it.' It is for us to decide whether this mad -excitement is the natural expression of a boy's temperament, or whether -it is the peculiar growth of a peculiar environment. - -I will take as an example Sandhurst as it was in the autumn of 1916. It -was composed almost entirely of boys straight from the Public Schools, -and I should imagine that the average age of a company was about -eighteen, the age, that is to say, at which most of them would have been -about to start on their last year. They brought with them the standards -of public school life. One would have expected them to establish their -standards at Sandhurst. They did nothing of the sort. There was nothing -that bore the least approach to a blood system. There were seniors and -juniors, that was all. There was no fierce cult of athleticism. The G.C. -who scored tries in company matches was not granted a general permission -to drive his bayonet through college furniture. In the daily life games -played a prominent part. Indeed, the under officer whose company did not -make use of the ground allotted to it would have had to face an -unpleasant half-hour with the commandant. But games never became the -business of life. They were played for their own sake. They were -untouched by professionalism. If a three-quarter missed a pass five -yards from the line he did not bury himself in a far corner of the -anteroom, apart from the gaiety of his companions. The average company -side played just as keenly as a house fifteen at school. While we were -on the field we were as desperately anxious to win. But we did not spend -the morning in a state of nervous irritation, nor did the issue of the -contests drive us to deep despondency, or to hysterical elation. A -certain intensity had passed. Yet I do not think that ever before had I -derived such pleasure from the actual playing of the game as I did at -Sandhurst. - -One would not, of course, hold up a military institution as the model -for an educational system. But, from the point of view of athletics, the -Sandhurst that I knew in the winter of 1916 and the spring of 1917 -possessed all the merits and none of the faults that one associates with -the average Public School. And yet that Sandhurst was composed of the -same boys that a few months earlier had, at their Public Schools, -rigidly observed the exacting ritual of the great god of sport. - -Reasons for this change are not difficult to find, and it may be noticed -that they are in line with the improvements suggested in an earlier -chapter. There is no blood system, because there is little disparity of -age between the G.C.'s. Juniors belong to a lower caste than the -seniors, but they inhabit that lower world without worrying much about -what is happening in the superior world. Contact between the two is not -established. There is a hard dividing line. A junior may not sit on a -certain side of the anteroom. There is no social fluidity. One is one -thing or the other. Athletic worship in school was due largely, I -suggested, to the absence of any other focus for a boy's enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst several such focuses were provided. To begin with, the work -was interesting. The morning was not a mere succession of tiresome hours -relieved by a quarter of an hour's break. The G.C. did not listen to -lectures and tactics with the listless condescension that he had paid -formerly to the Greek syntax; he realised that the knowledge of the -subjects he was studying would be of practical value to him at a later -date. He was anxious to be a good officer. He was, therefore, interested -in his work. He was also at Sandhurst for a very little while. He -regarded Sandhurst quite definitely as the anteroom to a career; he -never imagined it to be anything else. In a few months he would have -joined his regiment. The honours he won at Sandhurst would be of little -value in themselves, and were only worth the gaining in as far as they -would enhance the reputation which he would take with him to his -regiment. A Sandhurst cadet was always looking beyond the present. - -Nor did the officers in charge of companies feel any compunction to -prescribe athleticism as an antidote to immorality. In the first place, -they were not responsible for the G.C.'s moral welfare, nor was there, -indeed, any occasion for alarm. The amount of immoral conduct between -G.C.'s, if there was any, must have been extremely small. Such conduct -is essentially _faute de mieux_: women were abundantly available for -those who wanted them. And in a town such as Camberley there were -endless opportunities for innocent romance. - -The three main causes for athleticism were removed, and in consequence -there was no athleticism. Now it is obviously impossible for all these -conditions to be introduced into a Public School. There must be a -disparity of age, schoolmasters must feel some anxiety about the morals -of the boys that are to be entrusted to them. But, if we can show that -the complete removal of certain conditions of public school life can -entirely remove certain evils, we can only assume that the modification -of these conditions would cause considerable improvement. The smaller -the disparity of age between the eldest and the youngest boy, the less -intense will be the blood system. The shorter the period that a boy -spends at school, the less will be the tendency to regard school life as -the complete compass of his life. The supply of another focus for a -boy's enthusiasm will diminish the strength of his athletic ardour. The -greater the honesty in tackling the moral question, the less will -masters feel themselves forced to recommend athleticism as an antidote -to immorality. And these changes are, I believe, possible without -altering appreciably the principle of public school education. The -supply of other focuses may, at first glance, seem a highly difficult -job. It may, indeed, be advanced that were there another focus, -athleticism could not exist in its present state, and that there would -be no need for a reduction of the age limit. But I am inclined to think -that it would be hardly possible to run any school which contained boys -of thirteen and boys of nineteen and not have a blood system and an -athletic worship. The forces of a natural inclination are too strongly -entrenched behind the barricade of six years. The masters do not stand a -fair chance. But the weakening of one force means the strengthening of -another. A lowering of the barricade by a couple of years would give the -other side a chance of contending equally. The moment a boy realised -that the prizes of school life had only a temporary value, he would -question his blind devotion to the religion of athleticism. He would -wonder whether other things were not worth while. His allegiance would -be divided. - -But the passing of regulations cannot in themselves effect a -reformation. They can be of great assistance; they can support and they -can protect. They cannot build. And, in the study of public school life, -we have to return in the end to the point from which we started. Boys -and parents and schoolmasters must meet on a common ground and discuss -their mutual welfare. They can do nothing till they are honest with -each other, till they face the facts together. When they had once done -that they would not find the road hopelessly barricaded. The solutions -that I have, from time to time, suggested in these chapters, would, I -believe, prove beneficial. But it is as a statement of facts, an -analysis of certain conditions, tendencies, and lines of thought, that I -would chiefly submit this book to the consideration of parents and -schoolmasters and those others who are interested in these questions. -For nothing can be done till the conspiracy of silence, the policy of -evasion and self-deception, the diplomacy of the merchant and his goods -is broken down, till, that is to say, parents and schoolmasters meet on -the common ground of co-operation, till they can look each other in the -face and say: 'Things are so, and it is for us to find a remedy.' - - -GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD. - - - - -Some New Publications - -_from_ MESSRS COLLINS' LIST - -Published from their London Offices, 48 PALL MALL, S.W. - - NOTE.--_Messrs Collins will always be pleased to send lists of - their forthcoming books to any one who will send name and address._ - - -Old England BERNARD GILBERT - -Royal 8vo, Cloth, 20/- net - -A God's-Eye view of a village. This book is unique in English literature -both in conception and treatment. The author presents a whole community -to the reader, taking for his subject our largest social unit--an -English village--where everybody knows everything about every one. He -has taken a typical village during one day of the war and given a camera -obscura presentment of the multitudinous intrigues, ambitions, desires, -disputes, relationships, and interests which thread its fabric so -closely. There is no hero or heroine, for the author presents some -hundreds of characters, each all important to himself. These speak their -own thoughts, throw startling sidelights on their neighbours; and from -the whole, a picture of a village community takes definite shape. The -author has snapped his village at one instant on one day, so that there -is no 'action.' The village is frozen motionless whilst the reader -inspects each inhabitant. There is no sentimentalism, no 'kailyard' -gloss; the villagers expressing themselves with immense force from the -Earl to the mole-catcher. Mr Gilbert has done intensely for the English -countryside what Balzac did for his nation on a great scale. Not only is -each of the great array of characters set forth vividly, but the larger -problems of the countryside are illuminated from various angles. A map -of the village shows every cottage, some fifty genealogical trees -explain the relationships of the villagers, and a 'Who's Who' gives full -information about each inhabitant. The author has taken three years to -write this book, and it is the fruit of a life-time's close observation. -All who were born in the country or have any interest in rural life and -problems must be interested in _Old England_. - - -The Carpenter and His Kingdom - -DR ALEXANDER IRVINE - -Crown 8vo, Cloth, 7/6 net - -Dr Irvine has already secured a very high place in the affections of the -people of this country through his books, _My Lady of the Chimney -Corner_ and _The Souls of Poor Folk_. _The Carpenter and His Kingdom_, -as the name denotes, is a Life of Christ, a re-interpretation of His -life as seen by a very simple yet very subtle, very human yet very wise -idealist and Christian. No writer on social tendencies after the war has -failed to point out the great loss of prestige suffered by the Churches. -Speaking broadly, they are regarded with a disinterested tolerance -almost amounting to contempt by the great majority of people, and this -attitude has as its general effect a marked decrease in 'belief' in -Christianity. Dr Irvine's book may prove a very real antidote to that -progressive agnosticism, for he still believes that the Life of Christ -is the greatest example mankind has ever been given, and that the -influence of His message is vastly greater than that of any other single -influence in history. But to show that he has to draw a new picture of -Christ emphasising His Humanity as well as His Divinity, and make His -teaching intelligible to a Society still hardly approaching -convalescence after a prolonged and virulent disease. It is an original, -beautiful, and timely book. - - -A London Mosaic W. L. 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EVANS C.B., D.S.O., R.N. - -Demy 8vo, Cloth, 10/6 net - -With photogravure portrait of Captain Evans - -Captain Evans was second in command of the British Antarctic expedition -commanded by Captain Scott, and took over Captain Scott's position as -leader after his death. It will be remembered that, during the war, -Captain Evans was in command of H.M.S. _Broke_, which, together with -H.M.S. _Swift_, engaged six German destroyers, sinking two and -torpedoing a third. It is an interesting, intimate, racy, and absorbing -account of the expedition compressed into a comparatively small compass, -and fully brings out the intense difficulties the expedition had to -face, the heroism displayed by every member of the party, and the -magnificent scientific results obtained. - - -Labour: The Giant with the Feet of Clay - -SHAW DESMOND - -Demy 8vo, Cloth, 10/6 net - -Mr Shaw Desmond is very well known as a versatile writer and as a great -champion of the Labour Cause. His book, therefore, is of singular -interest at the present time. It is a critical and sympathetic analysis -of the Labour Movement from the inside, by a man who, after being a -member of the Labour Party for fourteen years, is frankly disillusioned. -In what amounts to a sweeping but reasoned indictment, the writer shows -the 'feet of clay' of the Labour Movement, and claims that though -outwardly united the movement is split from crown to heel by -fundamentally opposed ideals, tactics, and objectives, that it might -collapse at any moment, and that such 'success' as has been obtained has -been purchased at the price of principle. In so doing he gives many -vivid and revealing portraits of great Labour figures of the last -generation, from Keir Hardie to Rosa Luxemburg, 'the Red Tigress.' The -book is not merely destructive, the latter portion is given over to a -constructive examination of the problems facing democracy with a very -interesting foreshadowing of what the writer calls 'The New Democracy' -or 'The Spiritual Democracy.' He shows not only how Labour may set its -house in order but how the House of Society itself may be saved from -that 'unrest' which is slowly destroying it. Mr Desmond's writing is at -once stimulating and suggestive, instructive and illuminating, and will -certainly be widely discussed. - - -The Island of Youth EDWARD SHANKS - -Author of _The Queen of China_, _The People of the Ruins_, etc. - -Small Crown 8vo, Cloth, 5/- net - -_The Island of Youth_ is the fourth volume of verse by a poet whose -powers have been steadily maturing. Two years ago Mr Shanks's _The Queen -of China_ won the Hawthornden Prize, and the present volume contains all -the poems he has since written. 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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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p> -<p>Title: Public School Life</p> -<p> Boys Masters Parents</p> -<p>Author: Alec Waugh</p> -<p>Release Date: March 9, 2016 [eBook #51409]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org/details/americana">https://archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/publicschoollife00waug"> - https://archive.org/details/publicschoollife00waug</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> - -<p>COUNTRIES OF THE MIND<br /> -<span class="smcap">Middleton Murry</span><br /> -Demy 8vo. 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net<br /> -<br /> -IBSEN AND HIS CREATION<br /> -Professor <span class="smcap">Janko Lavrin</span><br /> -Cr. 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net<br /> -<br /> -THE RETURN<br /> -<span class="smcap">Walter de la Mare</span><br /> -Cr. 8vo. 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<h1>PUBLIC<br />SCHOOL LIFE</h1> - -<p class="bold">BOYS PARENTS MASTERS</p> - -<p class="bold"><i>by</i></p> - -<p class="bold">ALEC WAUGH</p> - -<p class="bold">Author of 'The Loom of Youth,' 'Pleasure,' etc.</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold">LONDON: 48 PALL MALL<br /> -W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.<br /> -GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">Copyright, 1922</p> - -<p class="center space-above"><i>Manufactured in Great Britain</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>A DEDICATORY LETTER TO<br />ARNOLD LUNN</h2> - - -<p class="right"><i>December 6, 1921</i>: </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Arnold</span>,—It was with genuine surprise that I read the other day, -while turning over the pages of <i>The Harrovians</i>, the date 1913 upon the -title-page. Only eight years ago, and since then so much has happened. -What a long while it seems since <i>The Harrovians</i> was the most borrowed -book in the house, and we passed the hours of evening hall, that should -have been spent in the study of irregular verbs, in eager discussions on -your book. It was a revelation to us—we schoolboys of 1913. It -explained us to ourselves. We thought then that the last word on the -subject had been said.</p> - -<p>But one can never say the last word on such a subject as the Public -Schools, especially in a novel. In a novel one is constrained to tell a -story or to reveal a character. In <i>The Harrovians</i> you dealt with the -Public School System only in as far as it effected the development of -Peter, and in <i>Loose Ends</i> you found yourself equally fettered with -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span>regard to Maurice. It is for this reason that I feel there is still -room for a book such as this, which, though a narrative, has for its -object simply the analysis and presentation of public school life. At -any rate I hope that you may think, when you come to read it, that it -was worth doing. If you do not, well then at least here is your name -after the title-page in grateful tribute to many pleasant hours spent in -the company of yourself and of your books, and in the hope of many more -such hours.</p> - -<p>For their sake, if not for its own sake, please accept this book, and -believe me,</p> - -<p class="right">As ever, your sincere friend,<span class="s3"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Alec Waugh</span>.</p> - -<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="left"><span class="smaller">CHAP.</span></td> - <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> INTRODUCTORY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL</td> - <td><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> THE NEW BOY</td> - <td><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left"> THE SECOND YEAR</td> - <td><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>V.</td> - <td class="left"> ATHLETICISM</td> - <td><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VI.</td> - <td class="left"> THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING</td> - <td><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VII.</td> - <td class="left"> MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP</td> - <td><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>VIII.</td> - <td class="left"> THE MIDDLE YEARS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IX.</td> - <td class="left"> PREFECTSHIP</td> - <td><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>X.</td> - <td class="left"> THE LAST TERM</td> - <td><a href="#Page_198">198</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XI.</td> - <td class="left"> THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT</td> - <td><a href="#Page_215">215</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XII.</td> - <td class="left"> SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO MORALS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIII.</td> - <td class="left"> THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS</td> - <td><a href="#Page_256">256</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>XIV.</td> - <td class="left"> CONCLUSION</td> - <td><a href="#Page_263">263</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">INTRODUCTORY</span></h2> - -<p>Twenty years ago a father said to his son, who had just come down from -Oxford with a batting average of 35.7: 'For ten years, my boy, you have -been playing cricket all through the summer at my expense. You can now -either come into my business and play first-class cricket during your -month's holiday in August, or, if you want to continue to play cricket -all through the season, you can go down to the Oval and apply to be -taken on as a professional.' The moral, the obvious moral, that is to -say, is admirable. And the elderly gentleman whom I overheard repeating -this story in the pavilion, leant back in his seat and affirmed proudly, -though with a deep sense of the passage of good things, that it was in -such a spirit that the game had been played when he was young. 'That's -what cricket meant to the Studds, the Lyttletons, the Fosters. We didn't -have any of these amateur professionals, none of these fine fellows who -get found soft jobs by their county committees. What's the difference, I -should like to know, between the fellow who gets paid five pounds a -match and the fellow who is presented with the directorship of a ladies' -corset factory at a comfortable salary, and who has only to go to the -office once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> a week to sign his name in the directors' attendance book?' -The elderly gentleman shrugged his shoulders with disgust.</p> - -<p>He was quite right, of course. There are too many cricketers who make as -much money out of the game as any professional, yet are entitled to put -initials before their name upon the score card. And the father was quite -right when he insisted on the industry of his son. He was none the less -right because things probably failed to turn out as they had been -planned. They rarely do. We can guess what happened.</p> - -<p>For a year the son worked hard. During his month's holiday he made a -couple of centuries in first-class cricket, and various papers -commenting on this achievement expressed their regret that so promising -a cricketer should only be available in August. It is needless to add -that the other members of the family saw to it that these references did -not escape the attention of their father. Next season the county started -so well, that by the end of May it stood at the head of the -championship, and the young financier was entreated to turn out for the -Yorkshire match in the middle of June. On such an occasion parental -discipline was naturally relaxed. And an innings of 87 on a tricky -wicket was followed by an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -Parental pride was flattered. Next season the same thing happened, only -more frequently. There was, in fact, an understanding that he was -available for all the important matches, and very soon not only the -fixtures with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> Middlesex, Kent, and Surrey, came to be regarded as -important, but also those with Hampshire, Gloucestershire, Somerset, and -Worcester. Indeed, in five years' time the son found himself playing -county cricket steadily from May to August and as an amateur. Things -happen like that. Still the pact, as the elderly gentleman in the -pavilion asserted, had been made in the right spirit. And it was, after -all, a family affair.</p> - -<p>But the fine distinction between the amateur and the amateur -professional is defined only by the obvious moral to this story, and the -subtler moral had passed unnoticed by the elderly reactionary in the -pavilion. A young man, twenty-three years of age, has been expensively -educated for some ten to twelve years. And he is faced at the end of his -education, when it is assumed, that is to say, that he is equipped with -the knowledge and trained ability that will enable him to take up that -portion of the world's work for which he is best fitted, with two -alternatives. Either he can go into his father's business, or else he -can lose his caste and sign on as a professional cricketer. It occurred -neither to the father nor to the son nor to the elderly gentleman who -repeated the story in the pavilion that any other alternative was -possible, or, indeed, desirable. The son was not in a position to say to -his father: 'Of course I wouldn't become a pro. But I'm really not keen -on your business. I shouldn't be a success at it. I'd rather do -something else.' He could not say that, because there was nothing else -for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> him to do. Six years earlier he could have gone to Sandhurst. If he -had worked harder at school he might possibly have passed into the -Egyptian civil service. It is possible that his blue would have obtained -for him a schoolmastership, but his gulf in mods, would have limited his -choice of schools. And the prospects of a junior master at a second-rate -Public School are not inviting. So, whatever his own inclinations might -have been, he had to accept his father's offer. It is here that we find -the true moral of the story; and we ask ourselves whether this young man -was, in spite of his ten years at Oxford and at a Public School, really -educated. He had learnt how to make centuries in county cricket, and he -had acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. But he had -not developed the ability to perform properly the type of work for which -he was best fitted, nor, indeed, had he discovered what that type of -work might be. As likely as not his father's business was the last that -he should have chosen. We all react from our surroundings, and he had -probably become heartily sick of his father's particular form of 'shop.' -He had so often sat wearily at the dinner table, fingering his bread, -piling the salt into pyramids on the edge of the cruet, while his father -had explained to his mother the minute details of his latest deal. 'You -see, my dear, I bought in at twenty-six....' Of all hideous employments -the buying and selling of shares had seemed to him the weariest. And yet -there was nothing for him but to accept a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> desk beside a telephone with -the files of the <i>Financial News</i> spread out before him.</p> - -<p>He can have brought no enthusiasm to his work. Out of a sense of duty, -and in order to improve his own position, he may have worked hard during -the winter months, but he must have worked without pleasure, with his -work not as an end but as a means.</p> - -<p>Yet nothing in a man's life is of more importance than his profession. -If he does not enjoy his work he values too highly the privileges that -success in it will bring to him. He asks too much of his private life, -and if he is disappointed, he embarks on a desperate search for -pleasure. Half of the discontent of modern life, the discontent that -expresses itself in endless parties, dances, and entertainments, can be -traced to the reactions of men and women engaged in uncongenial -employment. And so we return again to that first question. Can we call a -man educated who has not discovered in what capacity he is most likely -to be of service to society, or who, having discovered it, has not taken -steps to qualify himself for that profession. That, in a sentence, is -the case against the English Public School. A system stands or falls by -its products.</p> - -<p>And it is only natural that parents who are not particularly well off, -and who have no private business into which they can draft their -children, should ask themselves whether or not a public school education -is worth the considerable personal sacrifice that will be entailed if -their sons are to be sent to Wellington, Clifton, or Uppingham.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> 'We -want to do the best for Tommy,' they say. 'But after spending £250 a -year on him for five years what do we get in return? Tommy is not clever -enough to pass into the civil service; he may get a mastership on a -salary only slightly better than that of a Metropolitan policeman. Is it -worth it?' When the head master to whom these doubts are carried, -commences to enlarge on the moral qualities that are revealed and -strengthened by 'the honest give and take of public school life,' the -parent is still unsatisfied. 'Are you quite sure?' they say. 'Of course -we know it's all exaggerated, but where there's smoke, you know, and one -has heard....' Is it surprising that under such circumstances the -mandarins of the public school profession should have erected a -barricade of prejudice between themselves and criticism. Their -maintenance is at stake. They have to persuade the parent that he is -getting his money's worth. Otherwise he will send his son to a day -school, or, worse still, to some pension in Rome or Brussels.</p> - -<p>And so it has happened that any critic of the Public Schools is -immediately driven into a false position. For so long the Public Schools -have been accepted with an unquestioning reverence—for so long, that is -to say, the authorities have been able to persuade the world that the -goods they are selling are the best, in fact the only goods upon the -market—that if any one breathes a word against them now he is labelled -a revolutionary; it is assumed that politically he is a Socialist, that -he wishes to substitute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> co-operation for competition, that he is a -harbinger of red ruin, concealing a bomb intended for William of -Wykeham's Tower or the green sward of Agar's plough; that his programme -involves the complete destruction of the existing fabric, and that he -proposes to erect about its ruins some bizarre construction of eugenics -and modernity. Nothing, as a matter of fact, is further from the truth.</p> - -<p>The majority of assailants are anything but socialists. They consider an -enlightened oligarchy the ideal form of government, and their chief -quarrel with the Public Schools is the absence of that enlightened -oligarchy. No one wants to destroy the Public Schools. No one would be -so foolish. But we do maintain that the public school system—a very -old, a very magnificent, a very venerable mansion—stands in drastic -need of repair. It is some years since the drains were attended to; -electric light is more serviceable than gas; the tapestries are a little -moth-eaten; the books in the library are dusty. The house wants to be -spring cleaned.</p> - -<p>It is easy, of course, to say that, but it is very difficult to know how -to set about it. Our institutions are mirrors in which are reflected our -personal imperfections. They can be no better than ourselves; and the -merchants of panaceas take for granted a world which has left behind it -envy, greed, malice, and desire. To that degree of perfection we shall -never attain, but we can at any rate be honest with one another. And -there is no side of English life about which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> rulers and ruled, fathers -and sons, old and young have been so consistently dishonest with one -another in the past as they have been about the standards and ideals of -the English Public Schools.</p> - -<p>It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods, and though the -English Public Schools do not insert double-column advertisements in the -daily papers, they are at least beholden not to prejudice the value of -their stock. The greengrocer does not inform you that, on the whole, his -potatoes are not bad, considering that he bought them from a farmer with -a leaking shed. A head master does not tell a parent that, if he is -going to send his son to a Public School, his own school is not worse -than any other. Yet the same man who views with grave suspicion eulogies -of a patent medicine, accepts complacently the house-master's assurance -that Tommy is improving enormously both morally and intellectually under -his care. A schoolmaster spends a large part of his life boosting the -value of his goods, and in time, of course, he comes to believe that -every word of what he says is true. The commercial traveller of two -years' experience will wink his eye: 'I spun him the tale!' But the -commercial traveller of ten years' experience has a solemn countenance. -'People know good stuff when they see it.'</p> - -<p>A few weeks ago I was staying in the country with some friends, and was -taken over by them to the prize-giving of the Preparatory School at -which their sons were being educated. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> ceremony was enacted in the -gymnasium. The staff sat at the end of the room on a raised dais, in the -centre of which was a table covered with 'calf-bound mementoes of -industry.' Behind this table stood the head master. He was a large, -genial, middle-aged man, rubicund with a surfeit of golf, and he smiled -down upon the school and upon its parents. 'Well, you boys,' he said, 'I -want to tell you how pleased I am with the way you've backed me up this -term. You've worked hard and you've played hard: I don't really know how -long it is since we've had such a thoroughly satisfactory term: of -course there are one or two young gentlemen'—and at this point a -twinkle appeared in the corner of his eye—'who have been a little, -well, shall we say, difficult; but that's past history, we won't say -anything more about it; and, as a whole, as I've already said, I don't -think I've ever had such a satisfactory set of fellows.' There were a -few more remarks of mutual congratulation, and then he proceeded to the -distribution of the prizes.</p> - -<p>Afterwards I had a chat with one of the assistant masters, with whom I -happened to be on fairly intimate terms.</p> - -<p>'A wonderful fellow, the Head,' he told me. 'Do you know he's made that -same speech at prize-giving for the last twenty years. Hardly a phrase -different. He wants to send the parents away in a good temper. They'll -get their account to-morrow. Of course he doesn't know that's why he's -doing it. But it's the reason right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> enough. And how clever that bit is -about the young gentlemen who've been a little troublesome. It makes -every mother feel that her boy is better than her neighbour's.'</p> - -<p>I suggested that such an opinion was likely to be revised under the -influence of the terminal report. 'Not a bit of it,' he answered. 'All -our reports are strictly censored. We write them out on a piece of -foolscap and the Head gets them typed; but where we write "lazy and -unintelligent," the parents read "moderate." You can take my word for it -that the boy who gets "moderate" in his report from here is one of -earth's best dunces.'</p> - -<p>That was, of course, at a private school; but, even at the most -prosperous Public Schools there is a tacit understanding that parents -should be stroked down after the manner of refractory cats. The -half-term report contains frequently enough a quantity of pungent -critical writing, but the parental visit to the school is invariably the -occasion for much conversational flattery. Freddie, unless he has become -involved in any particularly unfortunate adventure, is the object of -restrained, perhaps qualified, but still potential commendation. The -father is assured by the house-master that everything is going on -splendidly: 'A little low in form, perhaps, rather too boisterous at -times in the day room, but a sound fellow at heart, the sort of fellow -that the house will be proud of one day.' And the mother's qualms are -put at rest by the house-master's wife. 'The tone of the house is so -excellent, you see.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> No bullying at all, and Freddie's manners are so -charming. Every one likes him.'</p> - -<p>It is possible that if the house-master were taken to task in the -privacy of his own study, he might be persuaded to confess himself a -pragmatist. 'One has to keep them quiet,' he might say. 'The young -rascal'll get on all right as long as they don't start meddling with -him.' But it is hard to be honest with oneself. The schoolmaster cannot -help regarding the parent in much the same way that the junior subaltern -regarded the brigadier. We all know what happened when the runner -brought the news that at such an hour the brigadier would visit -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements. Lieutenant Jones specially called -the brigadier's attention to what he knew would please him. He put his -smartest men on guard. He assured the brigadier that everything was -going quite all right, that the men were perfectly comfortable and that -the supply of rations was adequate; Lieutenant Jones did everything, in -fact, to get the brigadier into the next trench as soon as possible.</p> - -<p>Which was, of course, all very rational. The brigadier's interest in -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements was remote and theoretical, and -either way was of small importance. But it is a different thing -altogether when house-masters wave parents out of the way with -comfortable excuses. It establishes at once a dishonest relationship. -The schoolmaster does not trust the parent. He regards him as a nuisance -that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> periodically has to be appeased. And, as long as things go -smoothly, he is content to leave him in the dark. There is no -co-operation. And that is absolutely fatal. It means that the two people -who are chiefly responsible for the boy's welfare are working at cross -purposes.</p> - -<p>The trouble does not end there. For between the parents themselves there -is frequently an incomplete mutual appreciation of the difficulties of -school life. Women, in the nature of things, can only know about Public -Schools what men choose to tell them. That is usually remarkably little. -Many a husband encourages in his wife the illusion that before he met -her his life was a vague, indeterminate, ineffectual thing, the -incidents of which are unworthy to be recorded. And many others on such -matters as public school life consider that a lie that saves friction is -justifiable. It is so easy to see how it happens.</p> - -<p>Husband and wife are sitting after dinner on either side of the -fireplace. The wife has just finished reading <i>The Harrovians</i>, and she -looks up with a puzzled, unhappy look. 'Harold, dear,' she says, 'it's -not like that really, is it? If it were true I couldn't think of sending -Freddie to such a place.' And what is Harold to say? He has read <i>The -Harrovians</i>. He knows that substantially it is true, but equally well he -knows that if he acknowledges this to his wife his domestic life for the -next six years will be complicated by incessant arguments and anxieties. -To begin with he will have to spend many evenings of discussion before -he can persuade his wife of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> the advisability of sending Freddie to -Rugby. And afterwards there will be constant uneasiness. His wife will -fret. She will want to pay visits to Rugby, to interview the head -master, to ask her son uncomfortable questions. His own life would -become unbearable. And a lie smooths out so much. 'Oh, no, dear, quite -unlike the Rugby of my day. An exaggerated picture of a bad house in a -bad school, that's all it is.'</p> - -<p>Such a situation must arise fairly frequently. And at least one instance -of it has come within the circle of my own experience. While I was a -prisoner in Germany I lent a copy of my school story, <i>The Loom of -Youth</i>, to a fellow-prisoner, who had expressed a wish to read it. A few -days later he returned it to me with such a flattering display of -enthusiasm that, in a moment of unusual generosity I promised to send -him a copy on our return. The sequel reached me a few days later. He had -returned to his room and remarked that Waugh had promised to give him a -copy of that book of his, 'the thing that's all full of oaths. I don't -know what I shall do with it,' he said. 'I shall have to be jolly -careful that my wife doesn't read it.'</p> - -<p>If one may generalise from such an incident, and I believe that one may, -for it has its root in the eternal indolence of human nature, then not -only schoolmasters and parents, but fathers and mothers are working at -cross purposes. And so the boy finds himself alone, stranded in a -society the nature of which he has to discover for himself. He never -regards his house-master<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> as one working in co-operation with his -parents for the welfare of his soul. Schoolmasters will be to him a -separate caste. And although he will never reason this out with himself, -he will appreciate it intuitively in the natural cunning with which he -will exploit one or the other in the furtherance of his own ends. I do -not mean that he is deceitful. But he may want to specialise in History, -or to abandon German in favour of Greek, and he will think whether he -would do better to approach his father or his house-master. There is a -sort of dual monarchy, and if one sovereign is opposed to a favourite -scheme, it is but natural to try one's fortune with the other.</p> - -<p>His parents' interest in his school life must appear to him superficial. -When his father comes down at half term, he has to answer innumerable -questions as to his prowess on the cricket field; and very often indeed -the chief pleasure that his athletic successes brings him is the thought -of the delight that his father will experience. But the intimate side of -his school life, his thoughts, his friendships, his troubles, his -ambitions, do not enter into his relationship with his parents. In the -same way his house-master's interest in his home life seems to him -superficial. On his return to school he is asked a few questions about -the theatres he has visited; whether he is in training for the football; -has he done any private work? not a word of his intimate life. The boy -ceases to regard his school life as a continuation of his home life. The -two are entirely separate, and it depends on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> temperament of the -individual as to which of the two he will consider the more important. -We hear a great deal of talk about the influence of the home; it is, -indeed, the stock argument of the pedagogue who would shelve his own -responsibility on to other shoulders, but I believe that its influence -is greatly overrated. Home and school present to the average boy two -watertight compartments. They are different lives, a different technique -is required. And human nature has at least one property of the -chameleon.</p> - -<p>A schoolboy sets out, therefore, to discover school life for himself. He -knows what his parents expect him to make of it; he has a fairly shrewd -idea of what his schoolmaster expects him to make of it. It remains for -him to investigate school life as his companions have made it. Naturally -he does not announce his investigations. He lets his parents think what -they like and his schoolmasters think what they like. He goes his own -way. And it is thus that school life as it is, differs so enormously -from the traditional concept of it. There must be always a gulf between -the reality and the imagined idea. But in public school life the gulf is -between, not the schoolboy reality and his idea of it, but between the -schoolboy reality, and the confused idea of it that is held by parents -and masters. It is two degrees from the truth. In consequence, when any -one does attempt to tell the truth there is an outburst of indignant -protest. And the worst of it is that it is an honest outburst. When head -masters write to the Press<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> and say 'these accusations are entirely -false,' they honestly believe what they say. That is what makes -everything so difficult. They have forgotten their own schooldays, and -for so long they have been persuading parents of the value of a public -school education that they have come to believe in their own -advertisements. And yet what they have come to believe is far more -remarkable than the truth. In sermons and addresses they assure the boy -and his parents that school life is a miniature of the larger world; -which is the statement of a fact: yet every subsequent act and utterance -is in contradiction to this initial axiom. For, if that larger world did -really resemble the official concept of school life, what a bizarre, -what an extravagant affair it would be. It would be filled with high -lights, with breathless escapades, with impossible heroics. It has been -accepted as quite credible that a boy should be capable of the most -extreme and loathsome brutalities, that a percentage of every school -should spend its life in gambling and heavy drinking, that at least one -prefect in every school should contract inconvenient liabilities at the -Baron's Arms, and that to extricate himself he should forge his -house-master's signature. Indeed, anything may happen provided that the -course of life follows a simple process of right and wrong which leads -to the triumph of virtue and the downfall of vice. It is something like -a Lyceum melodrama. And, though we can all manage to enjoy for a couple -of hours the fine sensationalism of <i>The Beggar Girl's Wedding</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> we -should hardly accept its values as a philosophical background for our -daily life. And yet that has actually happened in the case of the Public -Schools. Mr P. G. Wodehouse, in his delightful <i>Mike</i>, makes Psmith say -to a new acquaintance: 'Are you the Bully, the Pride of the School, or -the Boy who is led astray and takes to drink in Chapter Sixteen?' Such -figureheads exist in the popular imagination. The world believes in -bullies, in villains, in straight heroes and in the weak character who -goes wrong, but is saved through the influence of either the hero or the -head master, or the head master's daughter, or through the sermon of an -occasional preacher. It is all very jolly, of course, and no doubt the -world would be a far more comfortable place if it were possible to label -and pigeonhole all our friends and acquaintances. But life cannot be -simplified by any arbitrary process. We have our standards of conduct, -but they are shifting and relative. They are the measures that each -successive society arranges for what it considers to be its convenience. -And we accept them for what they are. At a Public School, however, a -traditional conception has formed a code of rules for the convenience of -a society that does not exist. Which is confusing: and when Desmond Coke -wrote in <i>The Bending of a Twig</i> a very entertaining skit on the -behaviour of a boy who had read a number of school stories, and went to -Shrewsbury expecting to find bullies behind every cloister, -schoolmasters laughed over the book,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> but did not read into it any -criticism of themselves.</p> - -<p>And yet there is nothing that we need more than an honest facing of the -facts of public school life. Facts are a solid neutral ground on which -parents and boys and masters may meet to discuss their ideals and their -difficulties. And, in the course of that discussion, they may discover, -as likely as not, a way out of their troubles. The hope of this book is -to provide that statement of facts. It does not set out as an -educational treatise. It accepts the Public Schools as the system best -suited to the material with which it deals. It suggests no new system of -teaching. It does not advocate co-education. It does not advance any -plea for Montessor methods. It will contain no discussion of the -advantages of Greek over German. There will be no appendix with -time-tables and suggested curriculum. For, as things are now, it does -not matter whether Sanscrit is substituted for mathematics: the boy will -learn equally little of either. It is intended as a human study of -public school life, as an attempt to break down that conspiracy of -silence, that relationship of evasion and deceit that exists officially -between parents, boys, and masters; and from time to time it will -suggest solutions.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, only an attempt. For no one person can see more than a -side of the truth. However impartial we try to be, we can see in a -situation only what the limitations of our personality allow us. We are -all at tether.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> During the last three years many public men have visited -Russia; they have been honest men, and we know quite well that they went -there with the firm intention of telling nothing but the truth. But, -before they went, we could have told them exactly what they would say on -their return. Yet the analogy does not quite hold good. For we, too, -have gone, each of us, to a Public School with a preconceived idea of -what school life would be, and each of us in turn has had that -conception destroyed by actuality, and each in turn has had to create -for himself his own picture. It follows then that there must in each -picture be a certain measure of truth.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL</span></h2> - -<p>We hear much of the embarrassed misery of a boy's first week at school. -And, certainly, it is pretty wretched. Mr Vachell compared it to the -first plunge into an ice-cold swimming bath: the sudden shock, and, -afterwards, the glory of a swim. But it is the inaction, the loneliness -of the first week that is so difficult. It is more like standing on the -edge of the swimming bath on a cold day waiting for the signal that will -start the race. And yet the change must have been a great deal more -difficult for our parents than it was for us. The preparatory school -system is of more or less recent growth, and, when one considers how -much one learnt at a Preparatory School, in <i>esprit de corps</i>, in -patience, in sportsmanship, in the give and take of a communal life, one -wonders how an earlier generation managed to survive the first term. -School life by all accounts was a fairly barbarous business in the -eighties, and by what strange roads our parents came to those rough -waters. Some came straight from home, some from private tutors: the -majority from the old-fashioned dame school. It is not surprising that -the Preparatory Schools should have so increased in number and improved -in quality.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>For the Preparatory School fulfils a most important function, and it -fulfils it extremely efficiently. It is what it sets out to be, a school -that will take a small boy almost from the nursery, and train him in the -course of four or five years to take his place in a large Public School. -The task that the head master of a Preparatory School has to tackle is -not, however, anything like so hard as that which confronts the head -master of a Public School. For a Public School has to equip a boy for -life; and life is vast, indeterminate, a swiftly moving river that is -never the same from one moment to another. The Preparatory School, on -the other hand, has only to equip a boy for a Public School, and the -Public School is a fixed quantity. As regards curriculum, the task is -simple. The required standard of education is known. A certain -percentage in the common entrance examination has to be obtained. The -school has not to discover the career for which its individual members -are best suited. It has merely to decide which of them are good enough -to be trained specially for scholarships. The main object of the -Preparatory School, however, is to produce presentable specimens of -society, boys who will do the right thing in the right circumstances. -And this the Preparatory School does admirably well.</p> - -<p>It is at a Preparatory School that boys learn manners, courtesy, the -proper behaviour in the presence of ladies. But these things, you may -say, a boy will learn at home. No doubt he ought to, but any preparatory -schoolmaster will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> disabuse you on that point. How many small boys of -seven who have not been to a school will, when they are handed a plate -of cakes, take the one nearest to them rather than the one of which they -fancy the appearance. How many small boys will think of opening a door -for a lady, of offering her his chair when she enters the room, of -apologising to his hostess if he arrives late for breakfast. These are -the little things that a boy learns at a Preparatory School and that he -will learn nowhere else; at all good schools a great value is placed on -these points of etiquette; if anything, 'good manners' are rather -overdone, and the precipitate charge of twelve or thirteen urchins -towards a door handle is likely to prove embarrassing to the lady -visitor who has risen from her chair.</p> - -<p>At my own school, for instance, music lessons always took place -immediately after lunch; so that, if lunch was a little late, the first -boys were allowed to leave the table before grace. It was a rule, -however, that no boy should ever leave the dining-room till he had asked -the permission of the ladies. And many visitors were much perplexed by -the repeated inaudible apologies of nervous small boys who came -stumbling towards them between two close-packed tables. The good manners -of a preparatory school boy are indeed slightly pedagogic. Their elbows -are pressed into their sides when they eat, their wrists are raised -above the table, and, in a precise voice, they request permission to -trouble their next door neighbour for the salt. They are like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -critics who insist that a sonnet is not a sonnet if the last lines of -the sestet form a couplet. But it is a fault on the right side. For -manners, as well as morals, relax in the greater freedom of a Public -School, and at the age of fifteen one has managed to substitute ease for -stiffness.</p> - -<p>It is, indeed, impossible to say how much one learns at a Preparatory -School. At the age of ten one has not the necessary detachment to view -oneself as an objective reality. It is impossible, for instance, to -remember where, or when, was learnt the spirit of comradeship and -sportsmanship that is, perhaps, the most lovable quality of the old -public school boy. It is hardly inherited. For the average small boy is -greedy, selfish, and acquisitive; and, when one is given leg before to a -left-hand round the wicket bowler who is turning the ball from the off, -the temptation to protest against the umpire's decision is natural. The -primitive man, indeed, would have uprooted a stump and walked to the -other end of the pitch. Where does one learn to turn straight round and -walk towards the pavilion? I think it is at the Preparatory School. A -small boy knows that he has got to play cricket like a sportsman; he -knows that a sportsman does not question the umpire's decision; and he -is terribly afraid of doing the wrong thing in the presence of his -schoolfellows. The first time he is given out caught at the wicket off -his pad, a blind anger seizes him. His mouth opens to make a protest. -The same thing happened last year when he was playing cricket in the -garden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> with his brother and sister, and, when they insisted that he was -out, he sat down in the middle of the field and howled till they told -him he could continue his innings. The temptation to repeat the -experiment is considerable. But he dare not make any exhibition of -himself. He would be mercilessly ragged; and so he returns to his seat -under the trees and contents himself with the announcement that Jones is -a mean sneak who was trying to get a revenge for the kicking he got that -morning. And of course the incident will be repeated. Umpires make -mistakes in first-class cricket: small boys make them with a melancholy -frequency on lower grounds, and few batsmen are satisfied with an l.b.w. -decision. The young cricketer has many opportunities of displaying the -Christian qualities of patience and restraint, and every time the -temptation to sit down in the middle of the pitch and howl grows weaker. -'The monster custom is angel yet in this,' and, by the time he goes to -his Public School, his features have learnt to assume a good-natured -smile, and he says something about it being all in the game and that -last week he had a decision in his favour.</p> - -<p>I am inclined to think that in that example can be found the essence of -preparatory school life; the habits of courtesy and sportsmanship are -acquired till they become a second nature. We are told that man is a -logical creature, that when he has been properly educated it will be -possible for forty million people to live in one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> country without -competition; that in an enlightened society there will be no need for -policemen, for every man will instinctively appreciate what is right. It -may be so. No one knows what the world will be like two thousand years -hence. But, in the meantime, I think we do wisely to train small boys as -we train an animal. We thrash our dog if he plays havoc in our -neighbour's chicken run, and we rag the small boy who disputes the -umpire's decision. The dog does not chase chickens again, nor does the -small boy argue in the middle of the pitch.</p> - -<p>It is a strange business, though, this acquiring of social habits, and, -though preparatory school life has been only dealt with in a small way -by educationalists and novelists, the process is certainly interesting. -Everything, to allow for the subsequent relaxation at the Public School, -is slightly overdone, and the small boy tends to become a prig. It is -only natural that he should. By nature he is at that time a somewhat -poisonous little beast. He is the victim of numberless petty faults and -jealousies; and when he becomes reformed he is self-righteous. He would -never think of sneaking, of course, but he would not hesitate to whisper -just as a master is coming into the class-room, 'Oh, shut up, Jones.' He -always enjoys putting some one else in the wrong, and Arnold Lunn has, -in <i>The Harrovians</i>, an incident that provides an admirable example of -this attitude. A member of the school has just died. He was not a -popular boy; he was not distinguished in games or work. No one really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -minded, but the school felt bound to present a countenance of -appropriate melancholy. A certain Clayford, however, had a set of stamps -he wished to sell, and he accosted cheerfully a couple of boys who were -discussing the last hours of their lost comrade. 'I say, you chaps, like -to buy a complete set of Borneos surcharged Labuan?'</p> - -<p>'Not to-day, thank you,' said Peter stiffly.</p> - -<p>'We're not much interested in stamps <i>to-day</i>,' added Morgan.</p> - -<p>It is a perfect picture.</p> - -<p>And as there is no stricter moralist than the potential rake, there is -no one with a more rigid code of honour than the preparatory school boy. -'Owning up' becomes a fetish. Popular opinion drives the wretched urchin -into the head master's study. I remember once that on the eve of a -school match a member of the eleven went sick with a headache. There was -immediate consternation. Ferguson might not be a good bowler, his -batting was indifferent and he missed his catches more often than not, -but he was a distinct improvement on Evans, the twelfth man. The chances -of a victory were prejudiced: and then some one recollected that that -morning Smith had smacked Ferguson's head in the changing room. It also -happened that, for the moment, Smith was extremely unpopular. Morison's -people had just paid their half-term visit to the school, and when the -Head had brought Morison's mother into the room, Smith had not stood up. -It had been a direct insult to Morison's mater. Every one had said so,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -and none of us would listen to Smith's excuse that he had had his back -to the door, and was filling his fountain pen, a combination of -circumstances that rendered a sudden leap to the feet impossible.</p> - -<p>'Don't argue, Smith; you're a cad.' That's what every one had said; and -when it was remembered that Smith had punched Ferguson's head that -morning, the fury of popular opinion knew no limit.</p> - -<p>'You've lost the match, I hope you know; you'll have to own up, of -course,' we said.</p> - -<p>Smith was resentful. He did not see why he should.</p> - -<p>'Because, Smith, that is what a gentleman does under such -circumstances.'</p> - -<p>Smith was still obstinate. He did not see why Ferguson should have got a -headache just because of this. People had had their heads punched before -without getting headaches. There was a murmur of contumely.</p> - -<p>'But that wasn't an ordinary punch, Smith; you hit him with all your -force.'</p> - -<p>The suggestion that it was not an ordinary punch flattered Smith's -pride. He, too, was inclined to think that there had been about that -punch a certain something. He grudgingly admitted that it had been a -pretty hard smack.</p> - -<p>'Even so, though, I don't see how things are going to be made any better -by my owning up.'</p> - -<p>Such an attitude was opposed to every idea of preparatory school honour. -There was a shudder of supreme contempt.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p><p>'Perhaps <i>you</i> don't, Smith.' And there the argument stopped. But for -the rest of the day Smith's life was made miserable. Every time any one -passed him they said: 'Owned up yet?' No one would talk to him at -tea-time; when he joined a group afterwards the group dispersed and he -was left alone. Finally, of two evils, confession appeared to him the -less, and, after prayers, he pushed open the door of the head master's -study and blurted out to the accompaniment of big quivering sobs that he -had punched Ferguson's head in the changing-room and given him a -headache, and, perhaps, lost the match.</p> - -<p>A couple of years ago I went down to my old school, and, just before -lunch, when the whole school was collected in the hall, the head master -announced that he wanted the name of the boy who had left the tap -running in the bathroom. There was a slight commotion in a far corner; -one boy was being nudged and pressed forward. There was a whisper of 'Go -on, Hunter.' All eyes were turned in his direction. There was no course -for Hunter but to come forward into the open and confess.</p> - -<p>And yet, as likely as not, some one else was the offender. It was the -sort of offence that any one might commit. It is not easy to remember -what one has forgotten. No doubt he thought he had turned off the tap, -otherwise he would hardly have left the bathroom; yet he might very -likely have done it. His companions told him that he had, and his faith -in their loving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> kindness was not sufficient for him to have wondered -why they had not repaired his mistake. If Hunter had not owned up he -would have had to say definitely that he had not left the tap running, -and that he could not truthfully have done. So he owned up.</p> - -<p>The fear of being thought a coward very often makes the preparatory -school boy confess to sins that he has never committed, and it is -usually the ones who are most often in trouble who find themselves in -this position. After all, if you are always getting into scrapes, are -always engaged in some misadventure, it is very hard to tell whether, on -a particular occasion, you are innocent or not. The head master comes -into a class-room in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>'Now look here, you fellows,' he says, 'you know I've told you that I -won't have you running down that steep path to the football field. You -are bound to fall down; you must walk. I've told you that a hundred -times. Now the matron tells me that she saw one of you running down -there this morning. I want to know that boy's name.'</p> - -<p>What is Jones mi. to do? He has run down that path so often. Whether or -not he did so that morning he cannot remember. He has had so much to -think about since then. Yet, suppose he did run down the hill, and -suppose that some one saw him. If he does not own up, he will be called -a coward all over the school. Far better 'own up,' and receive some -small punishment. Indeed, it may be said that the Jones mi.'s of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> the -world form a rule for themselves, that they own up to every offence of -which they are not dead certain that they are innocent. Head masters, -like batsmen, have to have the benefit of the doubt.</p> - -<p>It is equally difficult to acknowledge innocence in the midst of crime. -At my old school there was an excellent rule that for half an hour after -lunch we should sit in our class-rooms and read quietly. One afternoon -this peaceful siesta was disturbed by a loud and fierce and general -discussion of the superiority of Yorkshire cricket over that of -Lancashire. The particular class-room unfortunately happened to be -situated beneath the nursery of the head master's children, and the -angry voices of the disputants roused from her slumbers a recent -addition to the family. The complaints of a very indignant nurse forced -a very busy master to disturb the repose of that restful half-hour after -lunch. On this occasion the usual formula was reversed. He did not ask -the names of the boys who had been talking, he asked for the names of -the boys who had not been talking. Now, as it happened, I had taken no -part in the argument. I am a Middlesex supporter, I had just received as -a birthday present a bound volume of <i>Chums</i>, I was also, at the time, -in popular disfavour. So I had seated myself in a far corner of the room -and read steadily, with my fingers pressed into my ears. But I did not -dare to say so. I should never have been forgiven. It would have been -the action of a conscientious objector. No one would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> believed me. -I realised how hopelessly out of things I should feel while the rest of -the school were receiving their punishment. Suppose a half-holiday was -stopped—what on earth should I do with a half-holiday all to myself? I -should be much happier working out theorems in a class-room. And it was -also possible that I might have said something that some one had -overheard—at any rate, I was not going to risk it. I sat silent at my -desk and accepted meekly the common lot.</p> - -<p>From the outside a Preparatory School looks very much like a miniature -Public School. It presents the same features, the same routine, the same -curriculum; there is even some attempt at a prefectorial system. -Superficially they have much in common. But there the resemblance ends. -The scale of values is altogether different. Indeed the Preparatory -School is very like the Public School of traditional conception. Talbot -Baines Reed is only read by boys of under thirteen; and boys of under -thirteen have moulded themselves after his image. There are, of course, -none of the high-lights, the heroism, the sacrifice. There are no -nocturnal visits to ostlers; but otherwise it is not unlike <i>The Fifth -Form at St Dominic's</i>. The smallest boys do resemble the 'Tadpoles' of -that popular romance. In spite of frequent visits to the bathroom their -hands and collars are continually smeared with ink; when they go for -walks at least one of them falls into the ditch and cuts his trousers; -they are all dog-eared except at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> meal times and at the start of the -morning's work. And they have the same attitude to life. They are -continually forming rival gangs; they are on the brink of feuds and -jealousies. They side against one another. Each boy in turn becomes the -object of general dislike. There is a certain amount of bullying, a -great deal more than there is at most public schools. New boys, for -instance, are subjected to an inquisition. They are asked what their -father is, and whether they would rather be a bigger ass than they look, -or look a bigger ass than they are. At a Public School only one boy in -every twenty gets really ragged, and usually for obvious reasons. But at -a Preparatory School every one has to put up with a certain amount of -persecution. There is a good deal of sycophancy, and the independent -learn many lessons.</p> - -<p>But when all is said and done, the really big difference between the -Preparatory and the Public School is the absence of the cult of -athleticism. The scholar is entitled to and receives as much respect as -the cricketer and for obvious reasons. The Preparatory School has to -contend with a far more competitive system than the Public School. -Schools have their ups and downs. Numbers rise and fall, but a Public -School that has a name can be always certain of the support of its old -boys. It has a firmly established tradition. Only a few Preparatory -Schools, on the other hand, possess this questionable advantage. The -name of only a few are familiar. None of them would justify the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -journalist in the employment of his cliché 'a household word.' The -Preparatory School depends largely on the energy and personality of one -man, and the scholars are, after all, his exhibition blooms. He may -produce cricketer after cricketer, but the Public School will take all -the credit. We speak of Hedges and Chapman and Stevens as products of -Tonbridge, Uppingham, and U.C.S. respectively. We do not know where they -learnt the groundwork of the game. The scholar, however, comes into -prominence while he is still at his Preparatory School. The name of the -school is put after the name of the successful candidate. It is the -scholar, not the cricketer, who advertises a school. If the head master -of a Preparatory School told you that seven of his old boys were at that -time playing in their Public School Eleven, you would not feel that he -was entitled to any extravagant credit. If, however, he told you that in -one year seven of his boys had won scholarships you would be -considerably impressed. The boys themselves naturally, of course, are -more interested in cricket than in Greek, but they appreciate that -scholastic triumph has a marketable value, and the school officially is -prouder of its Winchester scholar than of its slow left-hand bowler. The -small boy who goes home for the holidays knows that he can impress his -uncle by the announcement that Hughes got the second Eton scholarship, -but that the statement that they beat Southdown by 100 runs and that -Evans took seven wickets for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> twenty-three will elicit only a polite -'really.' It is exactly the opposite at a Public School. The new boy -will proudly announce that the captain of his house had played for -Notts. There is a standard by which one can judge public school cricket -and football; there is no more a standard for the performances of -preparatory school athletes than there is for the startling figures of -the village fast bowler. Naturally there is more excitement when a new -boy shows an uncanny apprehension of the theorems of geometry than over -a new boy who brings the ball back naturally from the off. As a result -the preparatory master is inclined to push the clever boys on too fast. -It is the one real mistake that the Preparatory School makes, and it -should be noticed. For it is serious.</p> - -<p>A boy of eighteen can stand the strain of systematic coaching; a boy of -twelve cannot. The preparatory scholar is more often than not a -hot-house product. He has drawn on his reserves too early; his mind has -been forced into a groove at the start. He is trained like a pet -Pomeranian, and he is kept in blinkers; he is not allowed to explore -bye-paths that are of interest to him. That would be prejudicial to his -chances. He has to keep on the straight road of scholarship. He may get -his scholarship; he probably will, for such Preparatory Schools are -specialists at the game, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The boy -has been forced too soon and he is stale by the time he gets to his -Public School.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>It is very interesting to note how often, in the course of a year or -two, boys who did not get scholarships are higher up in the school than -their successful rivals: a man who starts the half-mile at a hundred -yards pace leads at the end of the first lap, but he does not win the -race. And the preparatory school master is inclined to forget that, -while a Winchester scholarship is the whole race for him, it is only the -first lap for the boy. He naturally wants the credit of the scholarship -for his school, but on the other hand he has to be unselfish. He has to -ask himself whether, in the long run, it is not better for the boy to -carry on with the general routine and take the scholarship examination -in his stride. If he succeeds well and good; if not, there is plenty of -time. And the wise parent will insist on this.</p> - -<p>The boy himself, however, realises that his world is that of the green -leaf and the bud. It is a time of sowing. And the fruits will show -elsewhere. He knows that his career will only start when he reaches his -Public School. The fact is always being forced upon his attention. 'This -sort of thing is all very well here,' his masters will tell him, 'but it -won't work at your Public School.' In the same way the commandant at -Sandhurst used to adjure us in his speeches, 'to keep always before you -the thought of the day when you will join your regiment.'</p> - -<p>There is the fear and the attraction of the unknown future. And, for the -sake of it, a boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> will work far harder than he would otherwise have -done. He looks beyond the rewards and position that his own school -offers. It is not enough to be in the highest form, not enough to be in -the first eleven. He must improve himself so as to be able to take a -high place in the next stage of his career. A public school boy, on the -other hand, regards the honours that his school has to offer as an end -sufficient in themselves. In occasional addresses he is adjured to think -of the day when he will have to step out of that cloistered peace into -the rush and traffic of life; but that day is distant. He has little -ambition beyond 'a ribboned coat' and a seat at the high table. His -horizon is contracted, and his behaviour is that of those who do not -believe in a survival after death. He places an undue value upon the -immediate and the present. The preparatory school boy always looks ahead -to a future stage of life. And so it is that, when the last day at -school comes, he is not the victim of the surprised sentimentality that -overcomes the public school boy. He has begun to feel that he has -outgrown his surroundings. He has chafed at the restraint of childhood. -He has felt that success or failure is of little importance: so soon he -will be making a fresh start. He has lived in the future. He has spent -long summer evenings reading the history of his new school. He has -studied photographs of its buildings; he has pored over old numbers of -the school magazines, and has formed a romantic conception of the giants -of whose prowess he has read. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> future opens before him with -limitless opportunities, and he can face it with an eager confidence -after his five long years of discipline. How long they have taken in the -passing, and yet in retrospect how flat they appear, how colourless, how -tiresome. Nothing has happened; day has followed day. Ah, well, that is -over now. Life is to begin. The new boy sets out hungry for experience. -On the last day at his Preparatory School he is addressed, in company -with the other boys who are leaving, by the head master. His egotism is -flattered by the assurance that the honour of his old school lies in his -hands. He is told that he will need a firm upper lip and a stout heart. -He listens to a recommendation of honesty, truthfulness, and -courage—all this he has heard before. He has read so many school -stories. And then, suddenly, he is startled by a warning against -temptations, the nature of which he imperfectly understands. His -curiosity is roused. He learns that if he yields to these temptations -his career will be spoilt, his health and brain will be ruined. How this -fate is going to be brought about he is not certain, but he agrees with -his head master that it is a fatality at all costs to be avoided. He -asks a friend for enlightenment and receives a superior answer of: 'Oh, -don't you know!' which makes him think that his friend knows even less -about it than he does. At any rate this particular temptation has not -yet presented itself, and the acknowledgment of its existence fades from -his contemplation of a golden future.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">THE NEW BOY</span></h2> - -<p>Alpha and Omega are the most widely known letters of the Greek alphabet. -And the first and last weeks of a public school career have inspired -more essays and sermons than the other two hundred and fifty weeks put -together. Yet in neither the beginning nor the end is to be found the -essence of school life. The last week is a period of agreeable -sentiment. The first of embarrassed loneliness. The new boy feels that -he has no part in the life of the school. On that first afternoon, when -he has said good-bye to his parents, and turns to walk away from the -station, the school buildings, chapel, studies, cloisters, assume in the -mellow September sunlight the prospect of a distant city that one day he -may be privileged to enter. At present he is outside it, as he stands at -the edge of the courts, forlorn in his black tie and wide brimmed straw -hat, while the stream of boys in bowler hats and gaily coloured ties -pours up from the station. On all sides he hears shouts of welcome, -snatches of eager conversation. No one takes the least notice of him. He -is an unrecognised foreigner.</p> - -<p>During supper, he sits silent and nervous among the new boys at the -day-room table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> From time to time he casts hesitating glances at the -raised table where the prefects sit. What giants they seem. He wonders -which is Featherstone, the head of the House?<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Is that imposing figure -with the black hair brushed back from his forehead, the G. O. Evans, who -made 121 in the Public School's match at Lords? Can it be possible that -he and they are members of the same society?</p> - -<p>A prefect rises from the high table and leaves the hall. Immediately -forms are pushed back and the long narrow passage leading to the -dormitories is filled with sound. The new boy is taken with the stream. -What will happen to him now, he wonders? He has always understood that -most of the ragging takes place in the dormitories. Will all new boys be -subjected to some common lot? In a way he almost hopes that they will. -He may thus be given an opportunity of showing his courage. He will be -marked down at once as 'a bit of a sport.'</p> - -<p>But nothing happens. He walks timidly into the large airy room with its -bare boards, its row of wash-hand stands and red-quilted beds. He sees -his bag lying in the middle of the floor. Three hours earlier when he -and his parents had been shown round by the house-master's wife, he had -placed his bag on the corner bed. It had seemed to him a good idea to -reserve that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> particular bed. He would then be open to attack only on -one side. Memories of Horatius Cocles had stirred his imagination. But -some one else is already undressing there. He picks up his bag, and is -about to place it on the bed nearest him when a warning voice informs -him that Jones has bagged that bed. He looks round him in dismay. There -are only two vacant beds. 'May I have that one?' he asks. The boy with -the warning voice looks surprised at being questioned. 'I should think -so,' he says, 'unless Hughes wants it. He had it last term.' The new boy -does not know whether or not he dare begin to undress beside the bed -that Hughes may possibly commandeer. He stands irresolute; then decides -to take the risk. There is nothing to choose between the two positions, -and Hughes would probably prefer a change.</p> - -<p>He begins slowly to undress. No one takes the least notice of him. No -one evinces the slightest inclination to test the courage of the new -man. No hardened bully enters with a blanket. It is possible that two -blasé young gentlemen from another dormitory will stroll in 'just to -have a look at the new men,' will make a cursory examination, and having -expressed their disgust at 'such an appalling crew,' will seek better -fortune elsewhere. That will be all. The inquisition of preparatory -school terrors is a myth. This generation is not more timid than its -predecessors, but it is more subtle. The boy who has just ceased to be -labelled 'new' wishes to impress his importance on the new boy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> Forty -years ago he achieved this object by putting the new boy on a chair and -throwing boots at him. The appeal to physical force was not, however, -invariably successful. Sometimes the small boy retaliated, and there is -no reason why a boy of thirteen should not be a match for one of -fourteen. At any rate the 'year older' has accepted the twentieth -century doctrine that the easiest way to impress a person is to ignore -him. And so the boy of a year's standing assumes an air of Olympian -superiority. The new man is beneath his notice. He prefers to lean in -the doorway of the dormitory, and talk of the days when 'Meredith had -that far bed, and Johnstone had the wash-hand stand beneath the window.' -He will casually let fall the names of the mighty and note their effect -on the young. In the daytime he is probably quite an insignificant -person, low in form and a funk at football. He can only appear great in -the presence of his juniors during the quarter of an hour between supper -and lights out. He therefore takes enormous pains to secure the -admiration of those whom he affects to despise.</p> - -<p>It is the same everywhere. At Sandhurst, on the first night of each -term, the seniors used to cluster round the piano and sing till 'rooms' -with incredible violence and discord. It was done entirely to impress -the juniors, and on the whole I am inclined to think it was successful. -The junior is a shy person, and the din has on him an effect not unlike -that of an intensive bombardment. As the junior sits in a far corner of -the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> anteroom, cowed and unhappy by an exhibition that is being -conducted, though he does not know it, entirely for his benefit, so does -the new boy lie back in bed on his first night, wondering what it is all -about.</p> - -<p>The jargon puzzles him; the attitude to life puzzles him. The boy with -the warning voice is lamenting that he has got his 'budge.'</p> - -<p>'Rotten luck,' he says. 'I should like to have stopped in old Moke's for -at least a year. I did just well enough in each paper to avoid being -bottled. Fourteenth I came out, and now they've started a new form, so -we've all got shoved up.' The rest of the dormitory express sympathy. -Then some one wonders whether Davenport will turn 'pi' now he's a 'pre'; -the opinion is expressed that Ferguson will find himself pretty lonely -now that Wodehouse has left. A lot of people have apparently been -waiting a long time to kick him with impunity. Some one says, 'Let's -make up the Fifteen,' and the rival claims of Bradshaw and Murray are -carefully weighed. And all the while four wretched new boys listen in -silent, confused wonderment.</p> - -<p>The conversation gradually becomes spasmodic. There are longer and -longer pauses between the conclusion of one topic and the introduction -of another. 'Well,' says the senior boy, 'about time we were going to -sleep. Good-night all.' There is a murmur of 'good-night': silence: and -then again the warning voice. 'Oh, but I say, Stewart, what about the -new men's concert?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> There is immediate interest among the senior -members. Of course, they had forgotten that ... the new men's concert.</p> - -<p>'Too late now,' says Stewart. 'Let's have it on Sunday.'</p> - -<p>'Hear that, you new fellows; you must all have a song by Sunday. -Good-night.'</p> - -<p>But there is little sleep for the new boy. Where is he? What has -happened to him? Such a little while ago he was secure, garrisoned, -sheltered by his home. Only twelve hours. He begins to wish that he had -not been so anxious to leave his prep. Why hadn't he stayed on there -another year? He would have been head of the school. At this very moment -if he had not been so absurdly impetuous he would be turning over to go -to sleep, having wished his dormitory 'good-night.' Just as Stewart had -done. The thought of the concert terrifies him. He is a bad singer. Will -they make him stand on a chair? will they throw boots at him if his -voice quavers, or if he forgets the words? It will be a long-drawn -agony.</p> - -<p>And for a couple of days he is made wretched by the prospect of this -ordeal. It allows him no peace of mind. In form, on the football field, -as he walks up to the tuck shop, the disquieting thought descends to -torture him. But in the end it is a very tame affair. It takes place -after lights out, and new boys, as well as lovers, win a strange courage -of the darkness. Moreover, the object of the concert is to amuse the -senior members of the dormitory, and bad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> singing amuses no one. Myself, -I remember being stopped before I had completed one verse of 'The -British Grenadiers,' whereas the boy next to me, who had an agreeable -treble voice was made to sing, 'Put on your ta-ta, little girlie,' every -other night for the rest of the term.</p> - -<p>The concert is practically the sole direct ordeal that a new boy has to -face: yet it is probable that he would, on the whole, prefer the -old-fashioned methods. It is better to be ragged than to be ignored. And -he spends most of his first week wondering whether he has done the right -thing. It is especially difficult if he finds himself placed high in the -school. The lower forms are mainly composed of new boys, companions in -calamity, and the master in charge of the second is lenient during the -early days. It is different for the boy who finds himself in the Lower -Fifth, or Upper Fourth. As likely as not there is only one other new boy -in his house in the same form, and, when he cannot find that particular -boy, there is no one to whom he may turn for advice. He soon learns that -it is not wise to carry his troubles to his seniors. He may find himself -in his house-master's study, waiting to hand in the list of books he -will require, and suddenly he remembers that he has forgotten to put -down his Latin prose book on the list; he has also forgotten what Latin -prose book his form uses. He casts a despairing eye round the room and -recognises, leaning against a bookcase the languid, supercilious figure -of Watney. What luck, he thinks, Watney has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> been in the Upper Fourth -two years. He is sure to know. The new boy edges towards him. 'Please,' -he asks, 'what Latin prose book do we use?'</p> - -<p>His query is met by a look of amazed, outraged disapproval. Watney looks -him up and down. Then at last: 'Who are "we"?' he says. The experiment -is not repeated. The new boy arrives in form without his Latin prose -book and is threatened with an imposition.</p> - -<p>The geography of the school is very puzzling.</p> - -<p>No new boy could be expected to gather much help from the information -that his class-room is 'under the library, up on the right, next to -Uncle Ned's.' For at least a week he is always entering the wrong form -room. In the lower forms it is customary for the master to glance round -the class, see that five boys are missing, and send the senior member in -search of them as a matter of course. Indeed the first week of term is -very pleasant for the senior member of the lower forms. He spends most -of his time searching for lost lambs, and he is in no frantic haste to -complete his task. But that is in the lower form, and, in the middle and -upper schools, form masters do not care to have their time wasted. The -absence of Jones mi. is not regarded as a joke.</p> - -<p>Nicknames are confusing.</p> - -<p>The new boy does not realise that 'Crusoe' and Mr Robinson are the same -person. And, when he finds himself a quarter of an hour late in Mr -Robinson's class-room, his excuse that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> thought he had to go to 'Mr -Crusoe' is not an official success. He is always on the brink of a -mistake.</p> - -<p>Probably his life is further complicated by the fact that he is playing -Rugby football for the first time, and, for at least a month, his -performances on the field can give him little satisfaction and less -amusement. In the course of two or three puntabouts he is taught by his -house-captain how to pack and how to take a pass. He is then drafted on -to pick ups and house-games to fare as best he may. He fares extremely -badly. He hangs about on the edge of the scrum. He catches hold of his -opponents when they are dribbling and attempts an Association barge when -they are running. For a long time he never touches the ball with his -hands at all, and on the rare occasions when he discovers it at his -feet, he takes a terrific rout at it and is contemptuously informed that -he is not playing soccer. He is playing with boys older and heavier than -himself. He has little chance of acquiring self-confidence: no -footballer is really any use till he has scored a try, and that day is -slow in coming. The new boy's chief anxiety on the field is to avoid the -notice of any house caps that may be on the touchline. At half-time he -will rub worm-casts on his knees to present an appearance of muddy -valour. He is terribly afraid he will be reported and beaten for -slacking. This fate rarely, as a matter of fact, overtakes a small boy. -A beating for slackness is usually reserved for the boy about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> half-way -up the house who has committed no definite offence, but has been making -a nuisance of himself generally.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> Slackness on the field is the excuse -for an official reprimand, and its effect is usually salutary. This, -however, the new boy does not know. Games, when the house-captain is on -the touchline, become a misery. During his first term he looks forward -to the First Fifteen matches chiefly because on those days he will not -himself have to play.</p> - -<p>But it is in his spare time that he most acutely feels himself outside -the general life of the school. He is oppressed by liberty. He does not -know what to do with it. At his Preparatory School an elaborate -time-table was posted on the notice-board, and every moment of his day -was pigeonholed. A boy had no excuse for not knowing at any given time -what he ought to be doing, and where he ought to be doing it. There was -constant supervision. But, at a Public School, provided a boy answers -his name at roll-call, and fulfils his social engagements in the form -room and on the football field, no one worries much what he is doing -during the rest of the time. He can search for plovers' eggs, or hunt -for fossils, or develop photographs, or overeat at the tuck shop. He is -his own master, and this the new boy cannot understand. When he has -changed after football on a half-holiday he asks himself: 'What ought I -to be doing now?'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> The answer is, of course: 'Nothing in particular. -Whatever you like.' A disconcerting answer, for there is nothing in -particular that he wants to do. The day room is inhospitable. The big -chairs round the fire are occupied by the mighty. The library is only of -less interest to him than the museum. The tuck shop at such an hour is -full of bloods in whose presence he feels embarrassed. He wanders -disconsolately round the courts. All the other new boys seem to have -found something to do (a common delusion this). In the end he succeeds -in finding some one equally lonely with whom he goes for a walk: and a -walk, unless one is a botanist, is such a strange way of spending an -afternoon, that I have since wondered whether any one after his first -term ever goes for a walk at school without an ulterior motive, except -when he is in training.</p> - -<p>It is a strange business that first term, and its importance is, I -think, overrated. It is not public school life. It is composed of the -hesitations, the reactions of a novice. School life is on the other side -of it. The new boy sees that life in fragments. It puzzles him. He tries -to fit it into shape with the scale of values he acquired at his -Preparatory School. And fails. The Preparatory School belongs to -childhood, the Public School to adolescence. The new boy understands -little of what is going on round him. Indeed there is no person whose -testimony can be less relied upon than that of the new boy of four -weeks' standing. He never knows what he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> should, and what he should not, -believe. The new life is so strange to him that he is prepared to accept -any absurdity for the truth. The veriest nincompoop can pull his leg.</p> - -<p>The following story is true.</p> - -<p>It was the custom in my house for the matron to put out clean -underclothes for each boy on Saturday evening. On my first Saturday I -noticed that no clean pants had been put out for me. I asked an elder -boy why this was. 'Oh, don't you know?' he said, 'we only have clean -pants twice a term.' I believed him. The matron thought that I, in -common with many others, did not start wearing pants till well into the -winter. In consequence I wore the same pair till the second week in -November. It is the same with regard to the more serious issues of -school life. Mischief is often caused by the mistaken ideas that new -boys give their parents of what does and what does not go on in their -house.</p> - -<p>I was provided the other day with a good example. At a certain house in -a famous school it was the practice of the house-master's wife to sit at -the day-room table for lunch. The idea was admirable. The house-master's -wife was a sympathetic woman who wished to recall to the small boys the -regenerating atmosphere of their homes. The results, however, were -unfortunate. The small boys became communicative. In their innocence -they repeated stories of which the true significance had escaped them. -In their ignorance they misinterpreted stories of which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> the nature -happened to be direct. In neither case did the reputation of certain -light-hearted sportsmen on the Va. table rise in the official esteem. -Indeed of that particular house there was composed a limerick, the exact -wording of which has more humour than propriety, to the effect that the -house reports of the Sixth Form table were written by the fags. Few -parents, however, would accept this explanation.</p> - -<p>Officially the first term is usually an unqualified success. The new boy -is not distracted from his studies by the stress of house politics nor -by the ambitions of the football field. The weekly form order is his -chief excitement. And it would be surprising, considering the qualified -enthusiasm with which the majority of the form welcome this occurrence, -if the new boy did not soon find himself in the running for promotion. -There is, indeed, little else for him to do.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> He lives in a world of -his own. He sees a good deal of new boys in other houses, and the usual -question in break on Saturday morning is: 'Where were you this week?' -His offences against discipline are inconsiderable. It is 'side' for a -new boy to rag in the day room, in the changing room, and in the -dormitories. That is the privilege of his seniors. He is not hardened -enough to rag in form. He still regards work as important. I remember -once seeing a very small and inoffensive scholar crumple up a sheet of -paper and fling it at the head of his chemistry master. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> maintained, -however, that he was aiming at the waste-paper basket, and, though the -excuse was not accepted, the offender's subsequent performances on the -cricket field have inclined me to think he spoke the truth. At any rate -this is the sole piece of audacity on the part of a new boy that I have -witnessed. Indeed the new boy who does not return home with a thundering -good report is a well-placed candidate for expulsion. Most of us start -well. How many public school boys would have to confess that they won -their only prize in their first term. The new boy returns home as from a -Roman triumph. The indulgent father is prodigal of largess and -theatre-tickets. His secretary is instructed to type out the report and -send copies of it to aunts and uncles and his former head master. It is -a great occasion, and we do well to make the most of it. It does not -come twice.</p> - -<p>The change begins, I suppose, on the first evening of the second term, -when the novice, clad appropriately in bowler hat and coloured tie, is -accosted by a member of the form into which he has been promoted and -informed that he will be expected to do the 'con' for them that term. -There is no threat. It is merely the announcement of an arrangement for -mutual help. The old stagers who have slowly moved up the school, with -the danger of superannuation camping on their trail, consider that their -last terms should pass in a soft tranquility. They expect the newcomer -to provide them with that peace. 'Here,' they say, 'is a smart lad who -has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> got his promotion straight away; he can be of great service to us.' -It is a form of practical communism of which the scholar is particularly -the victim. There is a general conscription of intellect. Scholars are -expected to do the work of the bloods. 'You are paid to come here,' say -the great men, 'you must prove yourselves worthy of your hire.' Arnold -Lunn has described how the captain of his house used to hold an -educational raffle. Slips of paper on which were written: 'Greek Prose'; -'Latin Prose'; 'Essay,' were placed in a hat and the scholars took their -chance of drawing a blank. I can still hear the voice of the school -fast-bowler shouting over the banisters to a wretched goggle-eyed youth, -'No. 69, Becke, and shove it in my study before prayers.'</p> - -<p>But the scholar is an exceptional person, and the novice who is accosted -in the courts has an easier fate. He does not have to do other people's -work. He merely has to do his own out loud. He is, moreover, a -privileged person. He does not have to look the words up in a -dictionary. That is the task of another member of the combination. He is -spared the hack work of translation. It is for him to discover the -sense. At a first glance it would seem that this arrangement would be to -the advantage of the new boy; certainly it will ensure his industry. -There is no chance of his scamping his work. The fate of others depends -on his efficiency, and it does not pay him to guess at the sense. I -remember once translating <i>Remotis arbielis, surrexit e lectulo</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -'having kicked off his bedclothes he rose from his bed.' No one -questioned the interpretation, so I proceeded to the next sentence. None -of us luckily was put on to translate that passage, but I can recall now -the icy looks of the other members of the combination when the sentence -was correctly rendered. I made a bolt for it afterwards, but they caught -me. I did not guess again.</p> - -<p>The form interpreter is never able to say to himself: 'I went on to con -yesterday, and I went on the day before, there's not the least -likelihood of my being put on to-day. I shan't prepare it.' He has to -labour for the general good, and probably, by the end of the term, he -knows the Latin and Greek books pretty well. But he has not only learnt -the correct rendering of certain obscure classical passages; he has -learnt also, through contact with older boys, the correct public school -attitude to work and the relative importance of football and -mathematics.</p> - -<p>This is what he learns.</p> - -<p>It is the business of the school to win their matches and to produce -first-class footballers and cricketers; it is the business of the house -to win their house matches and to produce as many colours as possible. -It is the business of every individual member of the school to subscribe -to this creed. The value of scholastic achievements is relative. It is a -feather in the cap of a double first to be privileged to wear the dark -blue ribbon of the Sixth. But it is not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> a necessary achievement. -Scholars, on the other hand, should work. They are no use to the school -at games. It is for them to do what little lies within their power; a -scholarship has its value. The school likes to get scholarships. It is a -side show, of course, but a creditable side show. And the Fourth Former, -after recounting the feats of Lewis in the big school match, comments on -the fact that Bevan won a Balliol scholarship in the same way that the -village greengrocer will say: 'Oh, yes, sir, we have a drapery -department, too.' Real brains are accorded a sort of grudging -admiration. They are entitled to respect. A Fellow has done his job -well. It may not be an important job, but he has done it. Our Fourth -Former remembers the parable of the talents. The Balliol scholar has -converted his one talent into two.</p> - -<p>The boy, however, who, without being a scholar, shows unusual signs of -industry, is a swot. Valuable time is wasted. The school is divided into -two parts: the scholars and the rest. The rest brings to its work -whatever energy is saved from its more arduous activities. No one thinks -any the less of a man for being low in form. Slackness on the football -field is anti-social. In the long category of an unpopular boy's offence -the final evidence of worthlessness is the statement: 'He doesn't even -work.' Even that resort, 'that last infirmity,' is denied him. What -purpose has his existence? These are the articles of faith; these are -the conventions. And the new boy who is ambitious, who wishes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> to win -the respect and admiration of his comrades realises that athletic -prowess will win him a position that is beyond the reach of the -liveliest intellect. He begins to look on his work as a side show. It -does not particularly matter what happens to him in the class-room. It -would be nice to reach the Sixth. There are agreeable privileges. But it -is not of first importance.</p> - -<p>No sooner has he decided this, than he discovers that his form work is -intolerably dull. Of course he does. He brings no enthusiasm to it. The -masters who can inspire the indifferent are rare. And the mind wanders -from the inky desks, the hunched row of shoulders, and the far voice of -a master droning monotonously, to the swimming bath and the cricket -field. Will Butler get the cricket cup? Did Frobisher get his firsts -because he was worth them, or because he was in the Captain's house? -These topics offer inviting prospects; speculation follows speculation -till suddenly the tired voice breaks into the day-dream: 'Will you -continue now, please, Dunkin?' There is a scuffle as Dunkin collects his -books and thoughts. There is a whisper of: 'Where's the place?' 'What -does <i>crates favorum</i> mean?' And the delinquent begins to stumble -through his lines in a fashion that may, or may not, result in an -imposition. To the unresponsive the atmosphere is one of intolerable -listlessness.</p> - -<p>He makes another discovery, namely, that during his first term he did -far more work than was strictly necessary. That he should discover<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> the -idiosyncracies of certain masters was a matter of course. Sooner or -later he would have been bound to learn that in Old Mouldy's he could -pin the repetition on to the back of the boy in front of him, that the -Moke's mathematical class provided him with an admirable opportunity for -writing the imposition that his house-master had given him the evening -before. A good batsman soon sizes up the opposing fieldsmen; he knows -whether he can risk a single to cover, or whether there is one for a -throw when the ball goes slowly to third man. That is part of the game. -The new boy makes more important discoveries than that. He comes to -understand the intricacies of the set system by which the middle and -upper schools learn French, German, Science, and Mathematics.</p> - -<p>For the days have passed when a boy learnt only Latin and Greek and a -little French grammar. A liberal education is supposed to give him a -general idea of a wide number of subjects. A choice of subjects is -allowed, and it is hard to arrange a fair system of marking that will -bring the boy who does German into line with the boy who does Greek. -Each school tackles the situation in a different way, but each system -probably leaves a loophole for the idle. It could hardly be otherwise, -and it is enough to describe one system and the tactics that are adopted -to cope with it.</p> - -<p>This particular system works as follows: It is accepted that the only -universal subjects, that is, the only subjects that are studied by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> -whole form under the same master, are Latin and English, and, under -English, are to be included History, Literature, Geography, and -Divinity. On the marks earned in these subjects the form order and -promotion depends. All other subjects, Greek, German, French, Science, -and Mathematics are treated independently of the form order and are -taught in sets of varying standards. It would seem to be a very sound -scheme. A boy, for instance, may be a bad historian and a poor classic, -but a fine mathematician. If all subjects were included in the same -order he would be kept back by his bad English and Latin and would have -to do algebra that he had long outgrown, yet at the same time his -mathematical ability would place him in a form where the English and -classics would be too difficult for him. Under the set system it is -possible for the boy to reach the highest set in the school at -mathematics and yet remain in the Shell or Lower Fourth.</p> - -<p>During his first term the new boy worked with equal industry at form and -set subjects. During his second term he realises that he is wasting his -energy. Proficiency in Greek will not help him to secure his promotion -into the Lower Fifth; whereas, if he takes things easily at Greek, he -will be able to spend more time on History and Latin. Indeed, it might -be said that the wily one 'makes a book' in form and set subjects. He -appreciates the need of reserve strength. He ought always to have a -little in hand. He casts his eye down his time-table. There is no -reason<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> why he should not spare himself during the hour in the -laboratory. The time might be so much more profitably devoted to his -Latin 'con'; and at the time, of course, he will not consider the -possibility of allowing such an arrangement to divert in any way his -classical activities in 'prep' on the previous night. Far from it. He -will have an opportunity to revise. He again studies his time-table. -French with 'Bogus.' A little relaxation there is possible. Greek with -'Crusoe,' however, presents difficulties. Crusoe is something of a -martinet; he expects lessons to be prepared, and he has a way of -remembering what impositions he has set. He will have to work hard for -Crusoe. Indeed it would be as well if he tried an honest, or the -equivalent for an honest term's work for Crusoe. Is not the next set -conducted by the Moke on admirably communal grounds. In the Moke's every -one helps every one. There is no haste, no envy, no striving for -position. A few scholars hurry through on their way to Balliol -scholarships. They do not matter. They are only ripples on the surface -of that calm, deep pool.</p> - -<p>Sometimes 'the book is made' the other way. A member of the school -eleven has at last reached the Lower Fifth, and is content for a term or -two to rest upon his achievements. He decides to do just enough work to -avoid being bottled. He realises, however, that it will be as well for -his father's peace of mind if a few single figures appear after his name -in the report. And so he devotes himself to Chemistry and French.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> Two -subjects appear on the time-table for each evening's preparation. And it -is a bad day when it is impossible to dismiss at least one of them in a -quarter of an hour.</p> - -<p>Examinations present difficulties. And it is here that the new boy, at -the end of the summer term, makes his first serious compromise with the -rigid code of ethics that he has brought with him from his Preparatory -School. Why should he not crib in set subjects. They are unimportant. -Promotion does not depend on them. He is not taking an unfair advantage -of any one else. He will only do just well enough to avoid having to do -the paper again. Why should he have to spend hours sweating up a useless -subject. It is absurd. Besides, cribbing is rather an exciting game. It -is a daring feat to smuggle the principal parts of the irregular verb, -into a waistcoat pocket. It needs courage to open a French dictionary -beneath the desk. He will be able to talk about it afterwards, and -fellows will say he is a sport. It is the first step, and afterwards the -compromise becomes increasingly easy.</p> - -<p>He returns home at the end of his first year fortified with a deal of -worldly wisdom. He looks forward to the next year hopefully. He knows -where he is now. He has learnt the tricks of the trade. It is all going -to be splendid fun.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> I have used throughout this book the idiom of my own -school. The Head of a house or of the school is the head boy in work. -The Captainship of a house or of the school is a term applicable only to -athletic prominence.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> I am speaking of the average house. There are frequent -occasions, of course, in bad houses where this privilege of the -house-captain is abused.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> It has even been known for a new boy to work in his spare -time.</p></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">THE SECOND YEAR</span></h2> - -<p>And it is splendid fun. Let us make no mistake about that. It is -splendid fun. For the ordinary boy, for all those, that is to say, who -have not been designed by nature for the contemptuous entertainment of -their companions, nothing is much better than the second and third -years. It is a light-hearted, swash-buckling period. The anxieties of -the fag have been forgotten, the responsibilities of the Sixth Former -are still remote. The second yearer can rag, and his ragging is not -taken seriously. At the end of the term house-masters do not address him -solemnly and appeal to his better nature. They beat him, and that makes -it a square fight. He knows where he is. He has to remain on the right -side of the law. If he passes the limit, he knows what to expect. Later -on the issue will be complicated by his position: for a while he can -afford to be an irresponsible free-lance.</p> - -<p>It is a happy time of eager unreflecting action. There is a good deal of -noisiness and 'showing off.' But it is harmless. A boy has just begun to -find himself. He is free at last. At his Preparatory School he was -always under the eye of authority. His freedom was enmeshed by a network -of regulations. His first year at his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> Public School his freedom was -fettered by nervousness and prejudice. That is over now. I sometimes -think that we love Charlie Chaplin so dearly because he does all the -things we have not the courage to do ourselves. When a waiter hurries -past us with a pile of plates, how delightful it would be, we think, to -drive our feet between his legs; who would not love to hurl a brick at a -retreating foe; who is not tempted to crook his walking-stick round the -ankles of the pompous. We never do these things; not as we should like -to do them. But we come as near as we ever shall come to the attainment -of this desire during our second year at school. On a small scale it is -permitted us to destroy furniture. We can pull chairs from beneath an -unsuspecting foe. The strings of a hammock have been cut to the -discomfiture of the occupant. The terminal bill for breakages is often -considerable, but no one is ever really hurt.</p> - -<p>For what little bullying exists nowadays the second and third yearers -are in the main responsible. The effect of a new-found freedom is -intoxicating. And there is always a boy in every house who is an -irresistible butt. There is a compound German word that means -'face-that-invites-a-box-on-the-ear.' And such a physiognomy is the -invariable possession of at least one scholar; in its own way the -magnetic influence of such ugliness is as irresistible as the charm of a -pretty woman. One has only to see that particular brand of face to want -to heave a boot at it. One refrains seldom. It used to be held that -every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> house contains one bully. It would be truer to say that every -house contains one boy who is bullied. Most boys go through their -schooldays without being subjected to any bullying, but most boys -indulge in a little spasmodic bullying themselves. It is a sort of bull -baiting, and it is in the main good-natured.</p> - -<p>Four or five fellows are sitting in a study after tea. There are still -twenty minutes before lock-up, and the conversation has grown desultory. -They all feel a little bored. One of them suggests that they should go -and see how that ass 'Sniffy' is getting on. It is a popular suggestion, -and a raid is made upon Sniffy's study. Sniffy is discovered working. -This is considered to be a disgrace to the house, and Sniffy is informed -of the fact. He invites his guests to get out. 'But, my dear Sniffy, -what hospitality! Surely you are going to offer us a chair! No? Then we -must teach you manners!' Sniffy's chair is suddenly jerked from under -him and Sniffy is flung forward on to his table. He jumps up and lets -fly at one of his assailants. It is no fun ragging some one who does not -retaliate, and proceedings are soon less cordial. In the end Sniffy's -study is pretty effectively wrecked. This happens about once a -fortnight, but, beyond this, I am inclined to think that, except in a -bad house, there is very little bullying now in Public Schools.</p> - -<p>The tone of a house changes far more quickly than the tone of a school. -And, in every school, there is usually a thoroughly bad house. As a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -house-master grows old he tends to leave the management of the house -more and more in the hands of his prefects. As long as his prefects are -efficient all goes well; but, sooner or later, a weak head is bound to -come, and then the swash-buckling element gets out of hand. One of the -houses when I first went to school had got into this state. The head boy -was easy-going, and there were in the day room two members of the First -Fifteen who had in school failed to reach the Lower Fourth and who were -thorough 'wrong 'uns.' Terrible tales of refined torture used to be -repeated in the upper dormitories, and I can well believe that life -there was pretty wretched. But I always distrust second-hand accounts. -Nothing is more easily distorted than the story of atrocities, and, for -my part, I have neither been a victim, nor the witness of any serious -bullying. The only case that reached official notice during my time -savoured strongly of the ludicrous.</p> - -<p>A parent had complained that his son had been ill-treated, and all the -house prefects were summoned into the head master's presence. The -offenders were leaning nervously against the wall; their victim was -enduring tortures of self-consciousness; the head master was fingering -his pen, and the avenging father blocked up the entire fireplace. There -was a dead silence. We were all hard put to it not to smile. The -offenders looked so much smaller than the prey. At last proceedings were -opened by the boy's parent. He followed the traditional line. He had -been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> a boy. He knew what boys were. He knew the public school code of -honour. He loathed sneaking. His boy had not sneaked. The confession had -been dragged out of him. What he, the father, wanted, was not -punishment, but the assurance that such a thing would not happen again. -'And now, John,' he concluded, 'show the head master that bruise upon -your arm.' Very sheepishly the boy drew off his coat, rolled up his -sleeve and revealed a bruise, certainly of extensive proportions.</p> - -<p>'How did they do that?' asked the chief.</p> - -<p>'By flicking him with wet towels, head master,' said the parent.</p> - -<p>A simultaneous denial came from both offenders. 'We didn't make that -bruise, sir.'</p> - -<p>'But did you flick him?' asked the chief.</p> - -<p>'Well, sir; yes.'</p> - -<p>'Then how on earth can you tell that you did not make that bruise?'</p> - -<p>There was a moment's silence, during which the smaller of the offenders -surveyed the wound with an almost envious eye.</p> - -<p>'It couldn't have been me, sir,' he said at last. 'I can't flick well -enough to have done that.'</p> - -<p>I hope I may be pardoned for retelling this story, which I have already -told elsewhere. But it seems to me to interpret perfectly the attitude -towards bullying that exists in most houses. No doubt there was a great -deal of bullying fifty years ago. And people think that what was true of -the Rugby of <i>Tom Brown's Schooldays</i> is true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> of the Shrewsbury of -to-day. They still think that the three chief sins of a Public School -are bullying, stealing, and midnight escapades into the town. But those -days have passed. In Desmond Coke's <i>The Bending of a Twig</i> the new boy -who sought for bullies behind every cloister quickly won the nickname of -Don Q.</p> - -<p>It is usually during the course of his fourth term that a boy first -begins to swear. For swearing is, on the whole, confined to members of -the Middle School. It is side for a fag to swear, and an oath, except on -rare occasions, is considered beneath the dignity of a blood. He is -supposed to dwell in an Olympian fastness beyond the reach of -inconvenience, where the need for violent language is infrequently -presented. For the second yearer, however, life is full of emotion that -demands to be registered forcibly.</p> - -<p>I can never quite see why so many people refuse to believe that a -schoolboy's conversation is punctuated with 'damns' and 'bloodys.' We -employ the idiom of our surroundings. A boy does not swear at home; at -school he does. And there is no particular reason why he should not. An -oath means little to him. He knows that some indecency is implied. But -the meaning of the word is not defined by his use of it. He rarely -employs it appropriately. He recommends the most contradictory -performances. A powerful expression is needed. He wishes the world to -know that he has been moved powerfully either to anger, or to delight. -That is all. Any word<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> that would have this effect would suit him, and I -remember a dormitory captain insisting that the only expletive to be -used in his presence should be 'daggers'; this crasis satisfied every -one. The language a boy uses is no index to his character. Swearing and -'talking smut' are very different things.</p> - -<p>It is also in his fourth term that a boy who is anything of an athlete -begins to discover himself on the football field. He finds himself -scoring tries in home games. He is noticed by the bloods as a coming -man. He makes friends among his seniors. He is no longer outside the -life of the school. The road of ambition lies clear and straight before -him. It is marked out in distinct stages. He learnt, of course, during -his first term that a house cap may put one hand in his trouser pockets, -that a seconds may put both, that a first may walk across the sixth form -green in break; but these facts were distant in the imagination like the -ritual of a mediæval court: they now become realities. In a year, he -reminds himself, he will be in his house fifteen. The year after he -should get his house cap. In four years he should be a first. It might, -indeed, be maintained that the blood system is at the same time the -magnet and the expression of the second yearer's ambition. The blood -would not value his performances so highly were he not encouraged by -others in the belief that he is of supreme importance. And, at fifteen, -one idealises the future. It seems splendid to be a blood, to play for -the school<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> against Blackheath, to saunter across the courts with one's -hands in one's pockets, one's books stuck under one's arms; to be on -terms of friendly intercourse with masters, to be beyond the reach of -punishment. And, because the future seems so glorious, the second yearer -idealises the dwellers in it. In the same way that in Chelsea the latest -poet or draughtsman can disregard the social laws of property and of -propriety, in the eyes of the junior the blood can do no wrong. His -voice is hushed when a blood passes him in the cloisters. If one should -speak to him, he blushes and stammers and feels proud of it for days. -The blood naturally endeavours to realise the popular conception of -himself. He owes his position to it. For the higher up the school we go, -the less important the blood appears, and, when our time comes to sit at -the high table, we can hardly believe that we are occupying the same -chair that Meredith sat in four years ago. It is absurd. How the house -must have come down. To think of that little ass, Barton, being a -prefect. How short a time since he was playing in junior house games and -getting cursed for funking. And for ourselves—it is only yesterday that -we were trembling, a diffident new boy, at the far corner of the -day-room table. We cannot but believe our generation to be vastly -inferior to those that have preceded it, and we do not think otherwise -even when we win the senior cricket cup, although in Meredith's year the -house was beaten by an innings in the first round. It is not in our -nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> to desire, or even value highly, what we possess. The last year -is often a disappointment.</p> - -<p>No such foreknowledge mars the enjoyment and anticipation of the second -yearer. It is indeed hard to imagine a more fortunate combination of -circumstances. From an agreeable present he surveys the prospect of a -delightful future. The days may pass slowly, or swiftly, as they -will—their passage will be a long enchantment.</p> - -<p>It is during this period that a boy gets through the majority of his -ragging in form. Now the ragging of masters is a very specialised art. -The master holds all the cards. He has behind him the marshalled forces -of the law. He can cane, he can give lines. He has every implement, -physical and moral, for the preservation of order. He ought to be able -to keep order. Yet the boy usually wins. Indeed, I often wonder how a -master, who has once begun to be ragged, can ever hope to regain order. -He is fighting a confident foe. The new boy learns during his first week -that 'one can do anything one likes in Musty's.' Musty stands no chance. -He enters the form room nervously; he is on the lookout for trouble; he -is afraid to turn his back on the class when he is working on the -blackboard. For ten minutes there is silence, a suspicious silence, -perhaps, but still a silence. Musty tells himself that if any one -attempts to break that silence he will make him sorry for it. He will -punish the first whisper: that is the only way. And then, suddenly, from -the back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> of the room, comes an ominous sound. It is not a cough: it is -not a sneeze: it is a hideous nasal and vocal croak that Musty has -learnt to recognise as the prelude to rebellion. He observes that some -one is cramming a handkerchief into his mouth, and is choking in the -subdued manner of one who is unsuccessfully stifling a laugh.</p> - -<p>Musty decides on action. 'Jones, take that handkerchief out of your -mouth immediately, and you'll spend the afternoon doing me a hundred -lines.' Jones withdraws the handkerchief from his chin, and his face -assumes an expression of outraged innocence. 'But, sir——' he begins.</p> - -<p>'A hundred and fifty lines,' snaps Musty.</p> - -<p>At this point the democracy of the class feels that its independence has -been violated. There is a murmur of disapproval. And a tall, cadaverous -youth rises from the front desk.</p> - -<p>'Please, sir——'</p> - -<p>'Silence, Evans.'</p> - -<p>'No, sir, but really,' Evans persists, 'I must explain to you, sir, that -the younger Jones is suffering from a very severe cold.'</p> - -<p>'Yes, sir, I am,' blurts out the victim. 'And the matron said I was not -to play football this afternoon.'</p> - -<p>At this point Musty should, of course, be firm.</p> - -<p>'I am sorry,' he should say, 'but, at the same time, that will allow -you, Jones, to do me two hundred lines instead of a hundred and fifty. -And perhaps you, Evans, will do me a hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> and fifty. Thank you. We -will now proceed with the lesson.'</p> - -<p>Such tactics might succeed. But Musty hesitates; for a moment he wonders -whether Jones is telling him the truth. And the delay is fatal. Already -other members have started to produce testimonials to Jones mi.'s -integrity and disease. 'He really is awfully bad, sir. My study's next -door to him, and he was coughing all last night. He made such a noise -that I was only able to do you three problems instead of six!'</p> - -<p>A general conversation begins. Members cease even to address the chair. -When Evans assures Musty that 'Jones would never tell a lie,' Power -retorts that the other day Jones sold him a watch as new which went -smash at once. 'Dirty little liar, I call him!' 'You wait till -afterwards,' is Jones's reply. And, by the time honour has been -vindicated, there is no chance of restoring order that day. The class is -already out of hand. Jones mi. has the general permission to sneeze as -often as he likes, a permission of which he generously avails himself.</p> - -<p>Such a disturbance should have been quelled by a firm hand. Masters have -to run the risk of being unfair. There is, of course, the possibility -that Jones's cold may have been genuine, but his previous record should -preclude it to a 100 to 1 chance. At any rate, it is unlikely that Jones -would be anxious to carry the case to the head master. Criminals avoid -Bow Street.</p> - -<p>It is not usually, however, so easy to distinguish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> the preliminary -manœuvres. When, for instance, a boy walks quickly up to the master's -desk and says that he thinks there is a peculiar smell in the room, the -master is taken off his guard. He assumes interest. He walks to where -the boy was sitting and sniffs. A polite boy rises and asks respectfully -if anything is the matter. 'No, nothing,' says the master, 'Jones -thought there was a curious smell where he was sitting.' The interest of -the form is quickened. There is a general sound of sniffing. 'Well, sir, -now that Jones comes to mention it, I do seem to recognize—I don't -quite know what it is, sir.'</p> - -<p>'Come, come,' says the master, 'that'll do.'</p> - -<p>'No, but really, sir, I don't know if it's quite healthy. Do you think -the drains are all right?'</p> - -<p>The information is hazarded that there have been several cases of -typhoid recently in the town.</p> - -<p>'It must be the drains.'</p> - -<p>Then some one suggests that it may be the gas. The school custos is -notoriously careless in these matters. The suggestion is welcomed. At -any rate it deserves investigation. And such investigations, when -conducted by twenty clumsy boys, whose clumsy feet are shod with heavy -boots, are a long and noisy business. Books fall with a clatter on to -the floor. The hindquarters of the inoffensive are accidentally kicked. -Smith endeavours to jump from one desk to another, misses his footing -and crashes on the desk. Musty is lost.</p> - -<p>He stands in the middle of the room. He says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> 'Come, now!' a great many -times. He varies it occasionally with 'That'll do.' He asks Smith -whether he considers that what he is doing 'is really necessary.' At -last a piping unrecognisable voice rises from the far corner. 'It isn't -the gas. It must be Musty himself. He never washes.'</p> - -<p>In most schools there are at least two masters who are the continual -victims of such treatment. Such ragging, however, is too simple to -content the truly adventurous. The Mustys of the scholastic world are -objects of contempt, and we prefer to respect our enemies. It is far -more entertaining to rag a disciplinarian. One has to guard oneself. The -master has all the weapons. Among other things the ragster has to work. -If he is unexpectedly put on to con, flounders through a couple of lines -and breaks down completely at the third, he has played into his -opponent's hand. He has deserved the imposition that he will most -certainly get. The ragster must prepare his work. That is part of his -defence. He cannot say to himself: 'I have been on twice running. I -shall not go on to-day.' If he makes a cheeky remark in form, the -master's just retort is: 'Jones, you seem to like talking. I think you -had better translate the next passage.' And, if Jones translates the -passage successfully he feels that he is one up. Such ragging is very -different from the general rag of the complete incompetent. It is a -free-lance affair. It is an art. The majority of masters meet it in some -form or other. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> only a few who are subjected to displays in which -the whole form take part.</p> - -<p>Yet it is a puzzle to find out how exactly this ill-fortune selects its -particular victims. Personality is limited. There are only a few who -have a real genius for teaching. The majority are merely competent. And -competence must fall before invention. Why is it that some are ragged -and others not. The ragged master may be an excellent fellow. He may be -good at games; he may be just as exemplary a member of society as his -colleagues, and yet he is selected for this refined torture. There are -some masters for whom one never works hard; one does enough and no more -to avoid being bottled. One sits in the class-room for long, sultry, -tedious hours; the insipid sunlight moves across the wall. One watches a -fly crawl up the window-pane. One writes 'is a fool' upon the desk after -the inscribed name of an enemy. One sticks a compass into the back of -the man in front. Perhaps one revises the next hour's lesson. It may be -that there is an imposition to be completed. The minutes pass slowly; -one longs for the strike of the clock. And yet no one attempts to -enliven the hour with some geniality. The few attempts that are made are -spasmodic and unsuccessful.</p> - -<p>We had a master who was nicknamed, I never knew why, Marchand. And, one -day, a boy who was doing translation paused at the French word -<i>marchand</i>. 'Please, sir,' he said, 'I don't know what <i>marchand</i> -means.' There was no laugh, not even a titter. We were all too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> -surprised. The master's face did not alter. 'It means merchant, Smith,' -he said, 'and you will stay behind afterwards and speak to me.' He -received six of the best. And it was, no doubt, such a master who made -the historic retort to the boy who, during an hour that was devoted to -the discussion of Old Testament history, inquired what 'harlot' meant. -'A harlot, Jones,' the master answered, 'is a lady who finds herself in -unfortunate circumstances, and you will take two hundred lines.'</p> - -<p>If such an answer had been made by Musty, the boy would have -expostulated freely; other members of the form would have interested -themselves in the cause of justice. As it is, Smith gets his half-dozen -and Jones his two hundred lines, and the world says 'silly ass!'</p> - -<p>There are certain masters who inspire neither industry nor -insubordination, and yet I suppose that once they, too, had their hour -of trial. So much depends on the first impression. Arnold Lunn has -recounted in <i>The Harrovians</i> the story of one Crabbe, who was so -unmercifully ragged that he had to leave at the end of his first term. -'He went on to another school where his reputation had not preceded him. -He opened his first lesson by setting a boy a hundred lines for -sneezing. After having successfully established a reputation for -unbridled ferocity, he was able, by slow degrees, to relapse into his -natural kindly self.' It is typical of much. The master who has once -allowed himself to be ragged is lost for ever. He may beat, he may line, -he will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> never restore order. His only chance is to try elsewhere.</p> - -<p>The ragging of prefects is of very much the same order. There is less of -it, because the head of the house has a way of jumping suddenly on the -turbulent. 'I hear you were ragging Beetle last night in hall. You've -got to stop it—see? and you're going to get six as a warning!' The head -of the house has more authority than an assistant master. If a boy felt -that an assistant master was unjust he might very well complain to the -head master. But no boy would care to appeal against a boy—that would -be sneaking. A good head of the house sees to it that none of the -prefects are indiscriminately ragged, but there is always one of them -for whom the rest of the house has but little respect, and to whom the -taking of prep is always an anxiety. He beats and lines more than the -rest of the prefects put together. But it has small effect. Indeed the -second yearer acquires a hardened hide. Punishment is no deterrent to -him; it is merely a pawn in the game.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">ATHLETICISM</span></h2> - -<p>By this time the new boy may be truly said to have reached the inner -circle of a public school philosophy. He knows to what gods he must bow -the knee. And he serves dutifully before the altar of the god of sport.</p> - -<p>The cult of athleticism has been for a long while the target at which -the enemies of the Public School have launched their abuse. And until -this cult is understood, it is impossible to understand the standards -and the scale of values of a Public School. Every community must have a -religion of sorts, a faith to which all faiths are subservient, a -service which makes the first demands. A man, when called to decide -between two claims, must be able to know which way his duty lies. He may -not follow the claim of duty, but he should be able to distinguish which -it is. In some communities it is the observance of social custom, in -another the making of money is all important, in one the honour of the -regiment, in a second the teaching of the Scriptures. At a Public School -it is athletic prominence.</p> - -<p>The position of a school is decided by its performances on the field. If -two men in a club are discussing the merits of a certain school,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> the -first consideration will be athletics. 'Oh, yes,' they will say. -'Fernhurst stands very well just now. It beat Tonford and Merton last -season, and it's got two fellows in the Varsity eleven.' The social -status of a school is judged, not by the number of Balliol scholars it -has produced, but by the quality of the schools it plays. 'Oh, Marestone -can't be much of a place,' you will hear said. 'They only play a few -grammar schools.'</p> - -<p>This fact the new boy realises at once. His father's friends are -impressed when he can tell them that his school has beaten Haileybury. -They display a mild interest at his casual reference to Bennett's -scholarship. The new boy reads in the daily papers enthusiastic articles -on the performances of the school eleven, and he learns that Haslett is -being watched by the county authorities. There is an air of publicity -about every school match. There will be reports in the newspapers. The -new boy feels himself to be participating in a function of considerable -general interest. All over the country people will be wondering what -will chance in this particular encounter. He is on the spot. The Press -accentuates his keenness. How could he, in the face of such a testimony, -doubt the supreme importance of athletics. We believe in the goods that -are most widely advertised. Who ever read an article on the prospects of -the various competitors for a certain exam. Who has read in the <i>Times</i> -that 'enormous interest is being taken in the approaching scholarship -examinations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> Clifton has several promising scholars. Marston may be -poor at unseen, but he is very deft in his handling of Latin prose, and -he has a good ear for hexameters. Haileybury, on the other hand, place -their faith in Johnson, a steady, industrious worker who can be trusted -to perform consistently in all subjects....' Yet, two or three times a -week, we can read in the <i>Sportsman</i> that Fernhurst has a vastly -improved side and that with Evans back again in the three-quarter line, -is hopeful of emerging triumphantly from the approaching contest with -Tonford.</p> - -<p>Public School sport is awarded at the present moment a preposterous -amount of publicity. It is bad for the schools; it is bad for the boys -themselves, and, as far as one can gather, it has not helped English -sport to any appreciable degree. It encourages in schools the belief -that games matter more than anything else. Very often it makes boys -swelled-headed, certainly it makes them think they are bigger than they -are, and is preparing for them a big disappointment. It is so easy to -appear a giant among pigmies. In my own short experience I can remember -more than one player who was described while at school as being an -England batsman in the making, and who now experiences a difficulty in -getting into the county side. Every summer we know by name a whole host -of public school cricketers that are never heard of afterwards. They -have averages of sixty during their last term; their exploits are -described in fervid journalese. They go up to Oxford, fail to reach<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> -double figures in the Freshmen's match, and are quickly submerged in -college cricket. Others go up with enormous reputations, making -centuries in the trial match, and then find that there is a difference -between club and county cricket. They just get their blue with a batting -average of twenty-five; they play for the county during August and do -nothing exceptional. They are just average cricketers, useful members of -a side and nothing more. In the meanwhile the journalists are shrieking -of the natural offbreak of a sixteen-year-old Rugbeian. This particular -type of writer resembles the literary critic who hails every new poet as -a 'second Keats,' and every new novelist as 'a second Hardy,' but loses -interest in his discoveries after the appearance of their fourth book.</p> - -<p>There is no need to dive back into past history. We can find enough -examples in post-war cricket. N. E. Partridge in 1919 had a batting -average of 43, and took 71 wickets for under 12 runs each. He had a -magnificent press. Next to Stevens, and perhaps Hedges, he was the most -discussed boy cricketer of the year. On the strength of this boosting he -very nearly received an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -As a matter of fact, I am not certain that he did not actually receive -an invitation, and that his head master refused to let him go—but on -that point I am not certain. At any rate his claims were seriously -advanced by a great many reputable judges of the game, among whom I -think Sydney Pardon has to be included. He went up to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> Cambridge with a -tremendous reputation; he did only moderately. At one time, indeed, it -seemed improbable that he would get his blue. Last season he did nothing -exceptional for Warwickshire. I may, of course, be misjudging a -cricketer whom I have never seen play, but everything would seem to -suggest that Partridge will develop into nothing more exciting than the -average county cricketer.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - -<p>We could also take the example of L. P. Hedges. I spent the summer of -1918 in a German prison camp; but even to that distant city came news of -the brilliant Tonbridge batsman who was greater even than Hutchings. -During the summer of 1919 the assiduous student of the <i>Sportsman</i> heard -much of him. Every week appeared the score of some fresh triumph, and, -to crown it all, came that brilliant 163 at Lords. It was a gorgeous -show. I was thankful not to be fielding at coverpoint. But, let it be -whispered gently, the bowling did not look particularly difficult, and, -though Hedges's innings was dazzling, a quite ordinary batsman should, -off the same bowling, have been able to help himself to a generous -allowance of fours.</p> - -<p>That particular innings marked, I suppose, the height of Hedges's career -from the point of view of press publicity and popular esteem; the height -had been reached, that is to say, before his qualities had been placed -on the open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> market and tested by the stress of three days' cricket and -the accuracy of professional bowling. We do not hear much of Hedges -nowadays. He has played useful cricket for Oxford and for Kent; but he -has done nothing sensational. And yet, when I saw him last summer make a -50 against Middlesex at Lords, I could not help feeling that he is a -better bat to-day than he was in 1919, and that that 50 in an important -match, against confident bowling, and while Woolley was scratching -uncomfortably at the over end, was in every way a finer performance than -his 163 of two years earlier. He drove Haig and Durston through the -covers as easily as in 1919 he had plastered the ring with boundaries. -And yet the pressmen remained calm.</p> - -<p>It is vain and it is unfair to attempt to form a judgment of a person -whose wares are not upon the open market. No one can tell who is, and -who is not, going to prove a test match cricketer. Equally it is -impossible to tell from public school form which boys are potential -cricketers. Who, for example, who saw in 1910 F. H. Knott and D. J. -Knight batting in the Public School's match at Lords realised that -Knight was going to develop into an incomparably greater batsman than -Knott. And yet sportsmen continue to write about boy cricketers with the -seriousness that they devote to Hobbs. They draw the most ridiculous -comparisons. I discovered last summer in one of the most influential -daily papers the following passage in the account of the Public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -School's match at Lords: 'There is probably no cricketer, with the -exception of R. H. Spooner, who sees the ball more quickly than J. L. -Guise.' Now anything much more ridiculous I can hardly imagine. It is -like the literary critic, who shall be nameless, who described the work -of a minor poet, who shall be also nameless, as having given him more -pleasure than anything since the first flights of Swinburne. It is -preposterous to speak of Guise, who is an extremely promising cricketer, -as seeing the ball more quickly than any batsman except Spooner. It all -depends on what manner of ball he is seeing. In the Eton match he, no -doubt, saw Allen's deliveries with considerable speed. Spooner, however, -was in the habit of seeing in this manner the deliveries of Cotter, -Tarrant, and Schwarz. Speed of eye is relative to the quality of the -bowling. I should hesitate to call myself a batsman, but there is a type -of ball that I can see with incredible rapidity. It is bowled to me, -alas, too occasionally, in village matches. It is medium paced, it -pitches on the middle stump, a little more than half-way down the pitch, -and it turns away ever so slightly towards the leg. Any one can look a -good bat who is opposed to bad bowling. And I maintain that it is no -sort of sense indulging in wild panegyrics about schoolboys who have -never been tested by first-class bowling.</p> - -<p>If a boy seems promising the county authorities should give him a trial, -and, if he does well, then let the pressmen get busy. Every one is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> so -terrified lest a good man may be overlooked. But how unlikely that is if -the county authorities are at all keen. Trial matches can be arranged. -Visits can be paid to schools. There is no need for this hectic -discovery of twenty Spooners every season. The school figures of players -like Stevens and Chapman and Hubert Ashton would have been quite -sufficient to ensure a proper trial for them. And the fact remains that -in spite of this press work amateur cricket is at a lower ebb now than -it has ever been before. The Gentlemen and Players match has become too -one-sided to stimulate interest in anything save individual -performances. Very few amateurs are good enough to play for England. -Douglas is; and he was not one of the marked men of cricket articles. -His entrance was as untheatrical as his batting. D. J. Knight, is on his -form of 1919, the second best batsman in the country; Stevens, at his -best, is a great match-winning factor; Tennyson and Fender are useful -players. But it is impossible to maintain that there are to-day any -amateur batsmen comparable with Maclaren, Spooner, Fry, Stoddart, and -Jackson, than the cricketers, that is to say, who passed unheralded on -their merits into first-class cricket. The low standard of amateur -cricket cannot be argued away. And this trumpeting of the press could -only be excused, could it be proved to further the interests of amateur -sport in England. Instead of furthering those interests, it works -against them. It makes games at a Public School too much of a business -and too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> little of a sport. It introduces professionalism. And I am -prepared to wonder how far one really enjoys one's games at school.</p> - -<p>One is frightfully excited about them; one is very pleased when one does -well and depressed if one does badly. One works oneself into a state of -nervous misery before a match, and one of hysterical excitement after -it. Victory and defeat mean a great deal. And it was with a real -surprise that I realised a few months ago at the end of a very pleasant -season that, although I should continue to play football for another ten -years, and cricket, I hope, for another forty, I should never again -really care whether the side for which I am playing wins or loses—care, -that is to say, as I cared at school about a house match. In club -cricket and football one asks for a good game in pleasant company, and -victory is incidental. While one is playing, of course, one is keen, but -one will not brood afterwards over one's mistakes,—not as one does -after a school match. There is, I suppose, no public school man under -the sun who does not now and again on some winter evening drop his paper -on his knees and curse himself because, fifteen years ago, he missed a -catch at an important crisis—that is one of the things one never ceases -to regret. That awful moment when one picks up the ball with tingling -fingers and tosses it back to the bowler; it is for all time a vivid -memory. One does not feel like that about an ordinary catch in an -ordinary club game. One is annoyed with oneself; one is sorry for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> -bowler; one apologises to the captain, but one remembers that one is -out, after all, to enjoy oneself.</p> - -<p>That is the difference between school and club cricket. At school one is -not out to enjoy oneself. It is a business, this getting of runs and -taking of wickets. There are cups for house matches, and there are cups -for batting and bowling averages, and it is a sin to miss a catch. There -are few worse things than the anxiety attendant on those who play on the -fringe of a school side. Not only is one worried about one's own -performances, but about one's rivals. If one has made a duck oneself one -cannot, in spite of one's patriotism, be anxious for a particular rival -to retrieve the fortunes of the side with a century. A first eleven cap -is valued far too highly for such unselfishness. It is equally little -fun to be a member of a bad fifteen. One is subjected to a series of -complaints and recriminations. One grows sick of the whole business. And -I can remember during the first winter of the war the relief with which -we learnt that the Tonbridge match had been scratched. We had a poor -side. We knew that we should be thoroughly trounced, and that, for the -next week, the lives of those who had not distinguished themselves would -be made wretched. We never for a moment questioned the justice of this -tyranny. The Lord our God was a jealous God. We had to serve him. But we -were not sorry that an occasion for his wrath should be removed. I very -much doubt whether the actual playing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> of games was as pleasant at -school as it is outside it.</p> - -<p>The intensity and rapture are irrecoverable. There is nothing to compare -with the elation that follows a victory over a stronger side. But in the -long run I find cricket more enjoyable to-day than I did six years ago. -It is less complicated. One takes a day off from one's work and spends -it in agreeable company. One can field out all day and never take a -wicket, miss a couple of catches, and then crown everything by making a -duck, and yet thoroughly enjoy oneself. At school that would have been a -rotten day, and one would have spent the evening in deep despondency. -Yet everything is in favour of one enjoying one's game at school. It is -so simple. One strolls down after lunch in a leisurely fashion to the -field. One changes one's boots in the pavilion. A hot bath is waiting -for one afterwards. But, in order to play football after one has left, -one has to rush off to catch impossible trains from impossible stations. -One has no time for lunch. The train always seems to start at 1.18. -There is as likely as not a long walk from the station. One changes in a -converted army hut; one is more than a little tired before the game -starts. There are no proper baths afterwards, and one has to hurry, or -one will miss the only train to town: for it is amazing the number of -football fields which are on loop lines with trains at hourly intervals. -And yet, personally, I enjoy my football now a great deal more than I -ever did at school.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>It would not be just, however, to lay the blame of this professionalism -to the account of the sporting press. Journalists are rarely responsible -for anything. They do not lead public opinion. They follow it or, if -they are clever, they anticipate it. Had not the worship of athleticism -been already firmly established in the schools themselves it would never -have occurred to them to run it as a stunt. The journalist spends most -of his time searching for a town of blind men over which he, with his -one eye, may rule. And the journalist discovered that the Public School -had enthroned an unofficial king who had not received his due of public -recognition. The journalist decided to officialise his position. To this -king was paid extensive homage; and, as there is no more pleasant -reading for ladies-in-waiting than court gossip, he commenced a column -of court news. But he did not set up the court, or crown the king. He is -only a herald. And we must regard these tiresome articles as a proof, -but not a cause of this peculiar ritual. The trumpeting of the herald -adds certainly to the glamour of the court, but his absence would not -start a revolution. If not another article appeared on public school -sport, the cult of athleticism would still continue; it would continue -because as things are at present there is no other focus for the -enthusiasm and partisanship of a boy of seventeen. There is really -little else about which a schoolboy could reasonably become excited.</p> - -<p>Indeed it is hard to see what other results<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> could have been expected -from such a combination of circumstances. Four hundred boys are divided -into ten houses. They are encouraged to feel an intense loyalty for -their house and for their school. They are told that it is up to them to -make their house the best house in the school, and their school the best -school in the country. They set out in all good faith to accomplish -their task. In what, they ask themselves, does the goodness of a house -consist. It is not much sense to speak to them of the moral tone of a -house or school. They desire a tangible manifestation of virtue, 'an -outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.' And the only -available outward and visible sign is the row of silver challenge cups -on the dining-hall mantelpiece. It is natural to assume that the house -which has the most cups is the best house; a school can only prove its -superiority over another school by victory on the football field. -Scholarships are an indirect form of competition. For the best boys from -one school may not come into touch with the best boys of another. But a -victory by 30 points is a direct statement of a fact. The victorious -school is superior to the defeated school. It is in athletic contests -alone that a house or school can express a united will, can become -indeed one person. The loyalty of a boy for his house or school is a -fine thing, but it renders athletic worship almost inevitable. Were -there not this intense house and school feeling individual boys would -cultivate their individual tastes; forty boys would be grouped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> together -for convenience of boarding—that is all a house would be. But as soon -as a boy comes to regard himself as a member of a fine community, he -feels a natural pride and loyalty in its performances and in its -welfare. There is no other focus for partisanship: form work is -uninteresting. Boxing, fives, the corps, and the gymnasium are side -shows. Cricket and football are what count. A boy must have a religion -of sorts. He must have some ideal to which the demands of his own -temperament may become subservient.</p> - -<p>On this worship of games is based the scale of social values. The ethics -of cribbing, for example, are based entirely on the assumption that a -success in form is of inconsiderable importance; it is permissible for a -boy to crib in order to save his energies for worthier causes. The blood -system is built on an intense admiration for those who are upholding the -honour of the house, and is an expression of the small boy's longing to -reach such a position himself. The attitude to morality on the part of -masters is intimately connected with athletics, and on the boy's part, -the belief that a member of a school side is, <i>ipso facto</i>, an -invaluable asset to the school, allows the blood to do very much what he -likes; as long, in fact, as a boy can satisfy his companions and himself -that he is exerting all his power on the football field, he can amuse -himself in other ways as he thinks fit.</p> - -<p>There is no other criterion for a boy's worthiness, or unworthiness, as -a member of a house,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> and the half-bloods consider that a very big -responsibility has descended on them. They have to keep the house up to -the mark. The big men cannot bother themselves about individuals. But -the half-bloods who are, as it were, emissaries between heaven and -earth, can investigate closely the behaviour of the coming generation. -They can notice who is showing signs of slackness. They individually -give themselves enormous airs. They form a sort of improvement society.</p> - -<p>I remember that, in the course of one term, our house lost every -challenge cup that it had possessed. This was considered a disgrace. And -several of us decided that it was for us to reform the house. We did not -consider ourselves to stand in any need of improvement. But we used to -wander round the studies between tea and hall inquisitioning fags and -scholars, asking them what use they thought they were to house or -school, and informing them that they would be well advised to make more -strenuous efforts. It was, I suppose, a form of bullying; or rather -perhaps an aid to vanity. What we really needed was for some one to kick -us hard. No one did, however. It seemed to occur to no one else, any -more than it did to us, that there were objects of a public school -education other than the acquiring of caps and cups. You might as well -expect an Indian priest to doubt the omnipotence of Buddha.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> The proofs of this book were corrected in April. Should -anything unforeseen change during the cricket season, before its -appearance, I can only plead the fallibility of the prophet.</p></div></div> - -<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING</span></h2> - -<p>The boy who thus exhausts in ragging the residue of energy that the -football field allows him, has, it follows, to be careful not to burn -the candle at both ends. He has to spare himself, and to spare himself -he abandons the spasmodic cribbing of his first year's summer -examination for sustained, systematic methods. Now the true ethics of -this subject are as little understood as those relating to any other -sphere of public school life. Cribbing is generally regarded as a -dishonest practice to which only the ignoble few have regular resort. -The habitual cribber is as morally lost as a thief. For what, after all, -is cribbing, say our aunts, but the stealing of marks from your -companions. 'When you crib,' they tell us, 'and say that you are not -stealing, you argue from the standpoint of the housemaid who would -return conscientiously the sixpence you have left on your -dressing-table, but would not think twice of filling a medicine bottle -with your best brandy and handing it over to her young man.' While we -are at our Preparatory Schools we are inclined to agree with this. We -ourselves would never think of cribbing. At a Preparatory School it is -not done. But at a Public School we learn otherwise. To the public<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -school boy cribbing is not dishonest. It is not wrong, because it is not -anti-social. There are no doubt somewhere, if we could discover them, -fixed immutable standards of righteousness. But we have not found them -yet. In the meantime we are content to frame conventions that alter with -each generation to safeguard what we consider to be our comfort. We put -a thief in prison because we are anxious to protect our property. His -actions are anti-social. They are only anti-social, however, because we -happen to value our property. We should not object if he took from us -what we did not prize. It is thus indeed that the dustman earns his -living. And the public school boy does not usually set much greater -value on his marks than the housewife on her egg-shells.</p> - -<p>I remember reading several years ago a short story that appeared in <i>The -Captain</i>. It was about an American who came to an English Public School. -On the result of a certain examination depended the position of head boy -in the house, and the American broke into the head master's study and -extracted the examination paper. The theft was, however, discovered, and -the American summoned to the head master's study for an interview that -was the certain prelude to expulsion. This fact was made known to him. -'Waal,' he said, 'I guess that's fair. My father often said to me when a -big bluff fails, it's down and out for the guy that misses.' The head -master was surprised. He appreciated the difference between a big bluff -and a piece of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> calculated deceit. He saw that the American had, because -of the atmosphere of business in which he had been brought up, a -standard different from his own. The American had honestly believed -himself to be attempting 'a big bluff.'</p> - -<p>Now, in the world at large, ignorance of the law is no excuse. If it -were, law court procedure would be infinitely complex. At school, -however, the intention matters more than the result. The means are set -before the end. The head master in the story realised that the -American's offence was actually far less serious than it appeared, and -the American was not expelled.</p> - -<p>In this case, of course, the theft of the examination paper was -definitely anti-social. It was a real theft. The American was -endeavouring to acquire a position that others valued through means not -at the disposal of his competitors. But this story, which appeared in a -paper the moral tone of which has necessarily to be above suspicion, -establishes officially the principle that the seriousness of an offence -depends largely on the attitude adopted to it by the offender. And -therein lie the true ethics of cribbing. What public opinion approves -cannot be anti-social. Only a few recognise the distinction between the -immoral and the anti-social. And public opinion is, on the whole, -inclined to condone cribbing.</p> - -<p>Every boy is anxious to be a power in his house; he wants to be a -prefect, he looks forward to the day when he will be safe from -authority, will be, indeed, authority itself. But he knows that, without -unduly exerting himself in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> class-room, he will be able to achieve -prominence through success at football. A house cap has to sit at the Va -table: as a second, probably, and certainly as a first, he will be -raised to the dignity of the dais; thence the process of seniority will -carry him quickly to his prefectship. It is assumed that by that time -the same process of seniority will have carried him to the Upper Fifth. -(It is hard to avoid being promoted once a year.) The hours spent in the -class-room are a dull setting for the vivid hues of the life that lies -outside it. Occasionally the setting is relieved by a bright patch of -colour—an ingenious rag, a successful piece of cribbing—but, on the -whole, it is dull and monotonous. A boy works spasmodically, sometimes -to get a promotion, sometimes to secure the good-will of a master he -admires, sometimes to reach a form where it will be only rarely -necessary for him to prepare his work. And he cribs more or less -consistently out of laziness, to avoid being bottled, to save himself -trouble, to be able to devote as much of his evening as is possible to -more sympathetic forms of employment. He does not consider he is doing -anything wrong. He knows that, if he is caught, he will be punished. But -then he sees the relationship of boys and masters as a long, -intermittent struggle, a game played in good faith, with fixed rewards -and penalties. He does not expect his conduct to be condoned officially. -His form master has set him so many lines of Virgil to prepare. It is -assumed that he will take an hour to prepare those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> lines properly. -However, with the help of Dr Giles's translation, he has managed to -prepare those lines satisfactorily in twenty minutes. He has gained, -therefore, forty minutes; naturally the master demands, and exacts, a -reparation. But his companions do not mind. And he regards as -anti-social only what will offend them. If he were a thief it would be -in their eyes that he would be guilty. But a theft only becomes criminal -when the injured party has taken proceedings against the offender. In -this case no proceedings have been taken. He has not been reported to -the head master, nor has he been kicked round the cloisters. He -considers himself to be innocent. Indeed, popular opinion is far more -likely to be directed against the boy who is scrupulously honest. His -behaviour may be anti-social.</p> - -<p>There was a form, for instance, in which it was the custom for the boys -to correct their own papers and give up their own marks. They would pass -their papers to the next boy but two. The answers would be read out and -the marks awarded. When all the answers had been given the marks would -be added up. 'Any one over 90?' a couple of hands would rise. 'Any one -over 95?' one of the hands would sink. 'Right,' said the master. 'Divide -all marks by 11.' The names of the boys would then be read out in turn, -and the marks earned by each would be delivered by the corrector.</p> - -<p>Now the correction of exercises and the addition of marks entails a -measure of labour,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> and no one does unnecessary work. It had become the -custom, therefore, to doze pleasantly while the answers were being given -out, to insert various hieroglyphics in the margin, and to return at the -conclusion an average total. The system had been in existence a long -while, and it was known that the top mark usually lay somewhere between -100 and 90; a top mark of over 110 or beneath 80 would rouse comment, -perhaps inspire investigation, and that was, of course, the last thing -the form desired. So that, when the form master said any one 'over 90' -some one on the front bench raised a hand. It happened in rotation more -or less; at the end of the term there was little to choose between the -top ten in the marks for those particular exercises. Certainly whatever -difference there was could be easily counteracted by superior -proficiency in some other field.</p> - -<p>All went well till a certain Miller was promoted into this particular -form. Miller was a prig: he came from an undistinguished house. He was -excessively industrious. He had the prude's morality. He was desperately -honest. He corrected the papers passed to him accurately and gave up the -right mark.</p> - -<p>During his first week in the form, when the top mark was 91, Miller gave -up 63. The form master was surprised; Miller had corrected the paper of -quite a senior member of the form. 'Really, Jones,' he said, 'I'm -surprised.' Jones also was surprised. After the lesson he expressed his -surprise with a well-aimed kick that landed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> Miller at the foot of the -second landing. He considered that no further explanation was required. -He was wrong.</p> - -<p>The next day, when the top mark was 103 he received 57. On the occasion -of this second essay in originality the whole form decided to interest -itself in Miller's welfare. There was an informal meeting at the end of -the hour, in which Miller was given to understand that on this system -exercises had been marked in the Middle Fifth for upwards of twenty -years. Tradition had approved the system. The form was conservative. It -meant to uphold that tradition. In earnest of its intention it proceeded -to demonstrate what defensive method it would adopt. Miller made no -answer, but the next day he not only returned Jones's paper with 65 at -the head of it, but when a certain Burton announced that the paper he -had marked was worth 103, Miller said something to the effect that the -maximum was 93.</p> - -<p>Such a thing had never happened before in the Middle Fifth. It was an -orderly form, but there was very nearly a popular demonstration. -Burton's honour had been questioned. The form master agreed that such an -imputation had not been made upon a boy during the five-and-twenty years -that he had sat in that class-room. 'We'll go through the questions one -by one and see what the maximum is.'</p> - -<p>Now, luckily for Burton, the master had not kept a check upon the marks. -He had gone through question after question, saying after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> each: 'Now -let me see, I think that should be worth 10,' or 'that 15.' So that, -when he went through the questions again, he appealed, on each occasion, -to the head boy of the form. 'How many did I give you for that, Evans?' -And, on each occasion, Evans was generous.</p> - -<p>Once Miller timidly suggested that for Question 6, 15 marks and not 30 -had been the maximum, but there was a complete unanimity of opinion -among the rest of the form. 'Thirty, sir, certainly it was 30. It must -have been—I've got 23 down to Firth for that, sir.' Miller was -overruled.</p> - -<p>The maximum was finally discovered to be 130. 'So you see, Miller,' said -the master, 'you've not only questioned Burton's word, but you've been -inattentive during the lesson. You will do me 200 lines, and if you will -hand me up Jones's paper I will correct it myself.' With this generous -addition to the maximum Jones received a heavy mark.</p> - -<p>After such a disaster the form felt certain that Miller would bow to the -convention; but there is no limit to the obstinacy of the martyr: Miller -continued to mark according to order. He was kicked, but kicking was of -no avail. His own paper was undermarked. This, too, was unavailing. -Finally the form decided to accept him as an inevitable affliction. They -ceased to kick him. Each of the ten top boys took it in turn to sit two -places away from him so that no one person should suffer unduly from the -general evil. And the one who sat two places on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> other side of -Miller had instructions to over-mark his paper so that he should be got -out of the form as speedily as possible. At the end of the term Miller -was promoted; and the Middle Fifth relapsed into its placid communal -existence.</p> - -<p>Now Miller's conduct would no doubt appear worthy of the most intense -approval. He had behaved like the hero of the school sermon. He had done -what every new boy is adjured to do. He had taken a firm stand against a -dishonest practice. He had been bullied, but he had remained firm. His -honour had withstood the shock of his opponents. Such a splendid example -would shine like a candle in a dark cathedral, and from this simile the -preacher, as a runner reaching the straight, can stride into the rounded -periods of his peroration. 'If only others of you would light your -candle from that flame; if only in that large cathedral there were a -hundred burning candles instead of one, how soon would not the whole -building be filled with light. The beautiful tracery of the roof would -emerge from shadow. A soft glow would be shed on the strong carved -pillars. The brasses would glimmer on the wall. The splendid -architecture of the building would be plain. So is it with the human -soul.'</p> - -<p>We have heard that sermon many times. Miller is a splendid handle for -rhetoric, but his behaviour remains anti-social. If it is wrong to place -oneself in a position of inequitable advantage, it is equally wrong to -place a rival in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> position of inequitable disadvantage: and that is -what Miller had done. Jones had done his work as thoroughly and as -conscientiously as the others, but he had received lower marks for it, -because Miller had chosen to apply to it a standard that was not imposed -on that of his companions. It is not unfair in a hundred yards' sprint -to start a second before the pistol is fired if you know that the other -runners are going to do likewise, but it is hard lines on the one runner -who is compelled to wait for the proper signal. True morality plays an -insignificant part in business and competition. We all have different -ideas of what is sport. If W. G.'s much-criticised running out of Jones -in the Test Match of 1880 had taken place at a house match at school, we -can assume that W. G., whatever his batting average, would not have been -invited to play for the school again. What is moral and what is -anti-social become practically synonymous terms as long as every one -starts fair and plays the game by the same code of rules. No one must be -allowed opportunities that are not at the disposal of his opponents. -And, in the case of the Middle Fifth's corrections, the rules of the -game ordered generous marking and no great gulf between the first and -last. Miller played the game by different rules. The form was -righteously indignant. It is doubtful even whether Miller's immortal -soul drew sustenance from the conflict. It was probably confirmed in its -priggishness. Certainly Miller became, in the course of time, a highly -officious prefect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> I do not know what fortune the 'romance of destiny' -may hold in store for him, but I can imagine that he will occupy some -post of prim, precise officialdom. He will create nothing. Whereas -Evans's opportunism is largely responsible for the rapidly increasing -market for Messrs. ——'s patent cookers.</p> - -<p>The schoolmaster asserts that between himself and his form there exists -a compact of square dealing. But the signature of the form has not been -obtained, and it is an agreement every clause of which is very clearly -to the advantage of the schoolmaster and to the disadvantage of the -form. The form does not recognise the treaty. It refuses to commit -itself, and indeed in this singular document the true nature of cribbing -has not been defined. The exact line between cribbing and co-operation -has not been drawn. We are safe when dealing with 'con,' that is to say, -the translation of Greek or Latin into English. We know, for instance, -that boys are allowed to prepare their work together. Two brains are -better than one. Well and good. But, if two soldiers have to dig a -trench one uses the pick and the other the shovel. So it is with Latin -'con.' One boy looks up the meaning of the words in a dictionary; the -other unravels the sense. That means that the boy who looks up the words -never brings his mind to bear on the translation of the text. Yet such a -combination is accepted as fair by any master. And, once this -combination has been accepted, a master's position becomes logically -impossible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> For it must be remembered that a schoolboy has a fairly -sound grasp of consecutive reasoning. He studies the theorems of -geometry. He struggles with the dialectic of Plato. He is capable, that -is to say, of following out to their logical conclusion such lines of -argument as will, in the end, assuage his conscience. He could -construct, for instance, an imaginary conversation between Socrates and -his form master.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: You object, Mr. Featherbrain, to the cribbing that is prevalent -in your form?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now, as I am inexperienced in this matter, never having been -myself to a Public School, perhaps you will be so kind as to make me -better acquainted with the methods adopted by these members of your -form.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly. Some of the boys use English translations with -which to prepare their Virgil and Homer. Others copy the Greek prose of -their more clever companions, inserting, from time to time, certain -gross errors that they expect will throw me off the scent.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: I understand. Now, in this matter of English translations: you -expect each boy to prepare his Virgil by himself, and to produce in form -the results of solitary unaided labour?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: If, therefore, you discovered one boy asking another to explain -to him a difficult passage, you would punish him severely?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: No. You have misunderstood me. I should not.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p><i>Soc.</i>: But how is that? Have you not just told me that each boy must -produce in form the results of solitary, unaided labour?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly, but we allow boys to prepare their 'con' together.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: I understand. On the assumption that two brains are better than -one, you permit two boys to unravel the sense together.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now, if two people attempt a certain task, what procedure would -they follow? Would they not divide the task into two portions. If two -men are building a house one man stands at the top of a ladder and lays -the bricks that his companion, who is standing below, throws up to him.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Time would be wasted were each man to do the same work: that is -to say, were two ladders to be placed against the wall and were the two -men to descend and ascend the ladder carrying bricks to the top?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Therefore, we may assume that in all tasks that are undertaken -by two persons, the work is divided into two duties?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: But I do not see, Socrates, that this line of reasoning has -any bearing on the subject we are preparing to discuss.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: That may very well be, for, as I have told you, I am ignorant of -these matters and have come to you for guidance. It does seem to me, -however, that in this matter of translation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> which is the discovery of -an unknown thing, the unknown may be divided into two parts.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: How is that?</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: When a boy reads over the passage that he has to translate, two -things are unknown to him: the general meaning of the passage and -certain words in the passage. That is so, is it not?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then do you not think that two boys, before setting out to -translate a passage, would make some arrangement by which one of them -should be responsible for unravelling the sense, while the other should -look up the unknown words in a dictionary.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It is possible.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: And to which of the two would be entrusted the task of -unravelling the sense.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: To the cleverer, undoubtedly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Therefore the less clever would do the drudge work: that is to -say, he would never bring his mind to bear upon the passage: and the -imaginative work would be done for him by his companion.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Yet the system is approved as an honest one by the authorities -and the work of the drudge is accepted as solitary and unaided labour.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: That is so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now, is this task of translation limited to the co-operation of -two persons, or may three or more persons take their share in it?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: As many persons may take their share<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> in it as may -conveniently be crowded into a study measuring eight feet by four.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: I understand. Suppose now that three persons are preparing a -passage together. We have agreed, have we not, that this work can be -divided into two duties only?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: That is so.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then what share of the work will the third partner take?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: He will act as a reserve and will bring assistance to either -party when it is necessary.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: But, to whom have we allotted the task of unravelling the sense: -to the cleverest, have we not? If the help of the third party, then, is -only requested when the cleverest finds himself in difficulties, does it -seem to you likely that the third party will succeed where one cleverer -than himself has failed?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It is unlikely.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: And, if this third party is higher and more important than the -second party, it is unlikely, is it not, that he will content himself -with what we have admitted to be the drudge's work of looking up words -in a dictionary?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It is unlikely.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then the third party will do nothing save profit by the industry -of his two companions, and the work that he will produce in the -class-room next day will, strictly speaking, be not his at all, but -theirs.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now, let us take a further example. For I am anxious to discover -at what exact point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> the work that a boy produces in form will cease to -be, in the official eye, the result of solitary and unaided labour. -Suppose that the third party is a member of the Eleven, who has various -social duties: it is possible, is it not, that he would prefer to spend -over his translation less than the three-quarters of an hour that his -two companions require?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It is possible.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then, is it impossible that he might arrange for the cleverer of -the two to come to him after breakfast and explain to him in twenty -minutes the meaning of the passage?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It is possible.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: And such an arrangement would be accepted by you?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: I do not see that I could object.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now let us suppose that the cleverer of the two finds that he -will have to clean his corps clothes during the twenty minutes between -breakfast and chapel. He will feel himself bound in honour, and also by -fear, to translate the passage to the third party, but he will obviously -be unable to do it in person. Is it not likely, therefore, that he will -write out the meaning of the passage and hand it to the third party? -Would such conduct be unacceptable to you?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: I do not know, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: But, surely in your own mind you have clearly defined the line -that separates what is honest from what is dishonest. Surely that is -your profession—to teach the young to distinguish between what is good -and what is not good?</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p><i>Mr. F.</i>: That is so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then do you see any real difference between hearing a -translation and reading a translation? Is there any difference between a -meaning that is apprehended through the ear and a meaning that is -apprehended through the eyes; for are not both eyes and ears channels -through which meanings are carried to the brain?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem so, and, when you put it that way, I can -distinguish no essential difference.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Very good: then we have established that it is fair for a boy to -come to his study after breakfast, find in his hand a written -translation of his Virgil, and, with that written translation, prepare -in twenty minutes his morning's lesson.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: If, however, he were to take from his drawer a printed -translation of Virgil, and with that prepare his morning's lesson, you -would consider him capable of dishonest behaviour and you would report -him to the head master.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Most certainly, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: In what, then, lies the essential difference between the printed -translation and the one that was copied out for him by his companion?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: But that is surely obvious.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: It is not to me, and it is for this reason that I seek -enlightenment of you. For to me it seems that the work produced in form -by the boy who has studied the printed translation is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> every bit as much -the result of solitary and unaided labour as that which is informed by -the study of a written translation. But is it that you appreciate a -difference between the written and the printed word?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Perhaps that is it, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then would you allow a boy during the holidays to copy out one -of Dr. Giles's aids to the classics?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Most certainly not.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then it is not between the written and the printed word that the -difference lies?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem not.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then where does it lie?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: I do not know, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then we must surely assume that there is no difference; and we -must further add that you have not dealt honestly with your form in so -severely punishing them for conduct that you, yourself, are not able -logically to condemn.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: As ever, Socrates, you have succeeded in making me say what I -did not mean to say.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then, in order that you may extricate yourself, let us consider -this question of the prose.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly. For, here at least, my position is impregnable.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: I, too, am certain of it, and, in order that I may know the true -nature of the offence, you will, I hope, permit me to ask you certain -questions. You say that the more stupid members of your form are in the -habit of copying the exercises of their more clever comrades?</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p><p><i>Mr. F.</i>: That is so.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Now is it a rule that a boy may not give another assistance in -his Latin prose?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: The position is not the same as that of the Latin translation, -where two boys were permitted to co-operate?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: Certainly not.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: I presume that you have explained to your form the essential -difference that exists between the nature of Latin 'con' and Latin -prose.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: How do you mean, Socrates?</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Why, surely, if in the preparation of Latin 'con,' which is the -translation of Latin into English, two boys are allowed to co-operate, -and, if in the preparation of Latin prose, which is the translation of -English into Latin, they are not allowed to co-operate, it follows that -there must be some essential difference in the nature of the two -studies.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: It would seem so, Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: It would certainly seem so, and this difference you have, no -doubt, made clear to your form, for, at present, I must confess myself -unable to discover in what it consists. The exercise of Latin prose as -of Latin 'con,' for each study is the translation of a language and the -correct rendering of the idiom of that language into the language and -idiom of another tongue, is no doubt intended to train, inform, and -quicken the intelligence. Each would appear to be branches of the same -study, and for each the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> same method of instruction should be employed. -You tell me, however, that there is between these two branches an -essential difference.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: You are right, Socrates, and, though I cannot explain the -difference in so many words, its nature is plain to me.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Of that, Mr. Featherbrain, I am certain. I understand that you -apprehend this fine distinction as you apprehended the fine distinction -between the written and the printed 'crib.' We should consider, though, -whether this distinction is equally plain to your form. Such intuitive -knowledge may be denied to them, and, if they sin through ignorance, -their sin is slighter than if they sinned through knowledge. Tell me, -now, whether, if you overheard one member of your form say to another on -the way to chapel: 'I'm absolutely tied up with that piece of prose. -Shall I put it in O. R. or O. O.?' would you immediately report that boy -to the head master?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: I should not.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: You would no more report him than if you had overheard him -asking his friend to make clear to him a passage of Virgil that had -puzzled him.</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: That is so.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Do you not think, therefore, that the boy who knows he is -allowed to ask for help in his Latin 'con,' and who does not know for -what reason he is not allowed to ask for help in his Latin prose, who -has never, that is to say, been able to apprehend the fine difference -between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> the nature of the two studies, is likely to consider that the -same technique is permissible for both branches, and would not that -third party of whom we spoke and who is in the habit of getting his -Latin 'con' done for him by his friend, consider himself morally -justified in accepting the same assistance in his Latin prose?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: But I have told him that it is not allowed.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Certainly, but good can only come from a reasoned knowledge of -what is good, and you have not explained to him in what his fault -consists. Moreover, if you have granted him permission to seek advice in -small matters, you must tell him at what exact point the thirst for -information becomes dishonest; a line must be drawn between what is good -and what is bad. Is a boy responsible for a percentage of his prose, -and, if so, for what percentage. Have you made these things plain to -him?</p> - -<p><i>Mr. F.</i>: I have not, O Socrates.</p> - -<p><i>Soc.</i>: Then how do you expect the unformed mind of a boy to draw this -line for himself. It would seem to me, Mr. Featherbrain, that you are -not training the youth as it should be trained, when you order its -conduct not by the results of logical deduction but by arbitrary ruling. -For if in your own mind you are not certain at what exact point the good -becomes the bad, and indeed are not certain of what the bad consists; -what confusion must you not expect to discover in the minds of those -that are taught by you. You must remember that on the football and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> -cricket field a boy is under orders which he accepts, but of whose moral -nature he is ignorant. He knows that if he is offside in football a free -kick is awarded to the other side; he knows that if he knocks the ball -forward with his hands a scrum is given. He has made a mistake. He has -committed a tactical, but not a moral offence. The rulings of the Rugby -Union are arbitrary and subject to frequent alteration; whereas the -rulings concerning what is good and what is bad are fixed and -irradicable. Is it not likely, therefore, that a boy will come to regard -your rulings in these matters of cribbing as arbitrary rulings that may -be altered. His life is a game, you must always remember that, and it is -on that basis that he accepts it. He knows that he will be punished if -he uses a crib; he knows that you appear to apprehend a distinction -between the written and printed word; he knows also that you have -discovered a difference in the nature of the studies of translation and -prose, and that while you will allow him to ask advice on certain points -you will not allow him to seek advice on the whole, though at the same -time you do not define the point at which these same certain points -cease to be certain points and become sufficiently part of the whole to -be called the whole. Can you expect him, then, to regard such a system -as anything but the complicated rulings of a game played between you and -him. And can you expect him to attach to these regulations any moral -significance. On the cricket field he places his leg in front of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> -wicket and tries to hit a short length ball over square-leg's head. If -he misses the ball he is leg before, and goes to the pavilion. In his -study he prepares his translation with a crib; he is discovered by his -house master; he goes to the head master. And it is in this spirit, Mr. -Featherbrain, that your form deceives you. You have to make clear to the -young many things before you can expect them to attach a moral -significance to what has no logical proof.</p> - -<p class="space-above">There may be flaws in the argument, for the Socratic method is -insidious, but I have not, myself, been able to discover them. The -ethics of cribbing from the master's point of view are illogical. The -exact point where co-operation starts and cribbing begins is not fixed.</p> - -<p>Cribbing goes by form and houses. Its activities expand and contract -according to the demands of popular opinion. It is always communal. -There is a conscription of intellect and knowledge. No boy would -prejudice his chances of winning his house cap; but most boys would -assist their most dangerous rivals in promotion. We hear in chapel sad -stories of the large and brutal bully who cribs steadily throughout the -term and wrests the prize from the pure innocent who looked up every -word in a large Lewis & Short. But it rarely happens like that. No one -cribs for a prize, because few really want a prize. Occasionally -cribbing wins a prize, but it is usually through a fluke.</p> - -<p>A boy is particularly nervous about the results<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> of a certain paper. He -takes elaborate precautions to make sure that he will not have to spend -the last Saturday of term rewriting the paper, and, in consequence, -unexpectedly discovers himself at the head of the list. I recall one -such instance in particular, and, because it seems to me so singularly -appropriate, I may be pardoned, I trust, for retelling a story that I -have incorporated elsewhere.</p> - -<p>Divinity in the army class was a casual affair; a knowledge of the Old -Testament not being considered a necessary part of the intellectual -equipment of a subaltern, the Sandhurst authorities did not examine -candidates on the subject, and both the form and its master regarded the -hour's lesson on Sunday morning as a pause in the exertions of the week. -The yearly divinity examination always occasioned, therefore, a measure -of panic among the soldiers, for the form master, when confronted with -irrefutable proofs of his own indolence, was in the habit of punishing -not only the form but himself by keeping in for two hours on the last -Saturday those of the form who had failed to score an adequate -percentage. During the preceding days feverish and spasmodic attempts -were made to cope successfully with the complicated relations of kings -and prophets. One year, however, the form was fortunate.</p> - -<p>A certain Mallaby, while searching in the class-room just before lock-up -for a book he thought he had left there, saw lying among the papers on -the master's desk, the rough draft of the questions for the divinity -exam. In surprised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> delight he copied them all down. According to the -popular conception of schoolboy honour, Mallaby, being a potential -thief, would have kept the information to himself. Being a boy, however, -he imparted it to his companions. The form entered the examination room -in a mood of quiet confidence, and left it in a mood of deep content. -Two days later, however, it was announced that this year the annual -interest of a bequest would be devoted to a series of divinity papers -throughout the school. The next day Mallaby learnt that he was head of -the army class in divinity.</p> - -<p>His conscience was fluttered. He could not, he felt, take a prize which -he would have won through cribbing. It would be dishonest. It would be -stealing. He announced his intention of explaining matters to the chief. -This announcement was not, however, received with the enthusiasm that -should have welcomed the imminence of so noble, so disinterested, so -sacrificial a performance. The form was indeed seriously perturbed. It -explained to Mallaby that, if he went to the chief, he would be queering -not only his own pitch, but theirs as well, and that there were certain -members of form who did not stand well enough in the eyes of authority -to be able to risk such an addition to their score of discovered crimes. -'And, after all,' they said, 'why shouldn't you take the prize? We all -knew the questions; you took the trouble to prepare them. You worked -hard, and prizes are the reward of hard work. You've worked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> for the -prize, harder than we did. Therefore you deserve the prize. And let's -have no more of this nonsense about confession.'</p> - -<p>In these matters each form and each house works out its own salvation. -In some houses cribbing is not general, and in some forms cribbing is -not general; and, in such cases, cribbing is anti-social. It might be -urged that boys from houses that do not crib find themselves at a -disadvantage in relation to boys from houses that do. But life usually -manages to adjust itself, and a boy's position in form is chiefly -important as regards the relation it bears to that of the other members -of his house. It does not matter much to a boy in the school house if he -is passed by a boy in Buller's. It will not affect his seniority in his -own house, and it is his seniority in his own house that matters. Only a -very few are concerned with the specialised rivalry of the Upper Sixth -that decides who will be the official head of the school. Scholastically -the ambition of few passes outside their house. In games it is -different. But then the eleven is not a fluid body like the Sixth; it is -a close corporation, and once the reputation of being the best slow -left-hand bowler is lost, the chance of a ribboned coat grows distant.</p> - -<p>I remember once a parson from the East End preaching a sermon in the -school chapel, in which he intimated that in comparison with the -loathsome atrocities that had for setting the Mile End Road, a schoolboy -merely played at sin. This was reassuring to certain genial<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> sportsmen -who had hitherto been unable to view with any confidence the prospect of -immortality: and the phrase 'playing at sin' passed into the vocabulary -of the school. To such an extent, indeed, that the head master was -forced to deliver a special midweek address, in which he pointed out -that the degree of sin was relative to environment, and that the moral -offences of a man who had been nurtured in surroundings of bestiality -and filth were less grave than those of the boy who had spent his -childhood in the clean atmosphere of a decent home. The complacence of -the aforesaid sportsmen was broken. Not only were their offences as -serious as those of their less fortunately placed brethren, they were -actually more grave: a disquieting reflection. But I have often felt -inclined to question, not the irrefutable logic of the head master's -sermon, but the truth of that original contention about 'playing at -sin.' Are, that is to say, the vices of the lower orders actually more -startling than those of Mayfair? Are they more startling? I wonder: a -higher standard of civilisation refines our pleasures, quickens our -powers of appreciation, makes us more subtle, more complex; does it not -also sharpen the edge of misbehaviour? It is a point on which perhaps -Casanova would be able to enlighten us. But, certainly, in the matter of -cribbing, the methods of the lower forms are clumsy, unimaginative, -bourgeois in comparison with those of the Fifths and Sixths.</p> - -<p>A master who expects to discover in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> Third the guile of the Fifths -will be disappointed; and, equally, the master who has successfully -combated the guile of the Lower Second may discover himself completely -outwitted by the Middle Sixth. In the Lower School the use of the actual -crib is rare. It is easy for the Sixth Former to possess himself of a -translation. The Everyman series contains excellent renderings of -Thucydides and Plato. The Loeb library is not useless. Gilbert Murray -may be a poet, but his translations of Euripides have proved of -assistance to many a harassed student. Jebb's version of Sophocles is to -be found in the shelves of the school library. It is a different job to -find a crib of Ovid and Livy. Dr. Giles has done some excellent research -work, but questions are apt to be asked about bona fide students; an -address such as 'The School House, Fernhurst,' is likely to wake -suspicion, and the Third Former has not read enough French novels to -appreciate the value of the <i>poste restante</i>. He considers that a crib -is more trouble than it is worth. And what is cribbing but laziness! -Moreover, he has a distrust of cribs. He is naturally stupid or he would -be higher in the school, and he knows that when a boy gives the right -meaning to the wrong words there are unpleasant investigations. He -prefers to rely on the inspiration of the moment: as a result the -offences of the Lower Second are trivial. They rarely reach the green -baize of the head master's study. One boy looks over another's paper, -another is prompted during 'con,' there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> is a strange similarity between -two Latin proses, an unusual mistake is repeated in several exercises. -The offender is beaten afterwards, and no more is heard about it. As a -matter of fact there is less cribbing in the Lower School than in the -Upper. Opportunities are rare and the example of hardened criminals is -absent. The second yearer only becomes a practised deceiver under the -influence of his seniors, and there are not many third yearers in the -Lower School. Higher up it is different. But it is to be doubted whether -the effects of cribbing are as serious as they are depicted.</p> - -<p>The case against them comes under two main headings: (1) The moral -issue; (2) The expediency issue. With the moral issue I have already -dealt. Most boys crib at school, but the public school man is straighter -in business than the self-made man and the American. Nearly all men will -boast in their clubs of the way they bamboozled 'old Moke,' of how they -pinned up the rep. on the back of the boy in front, and of how they used -to strip off the cover of the translation book and sew it round one of -Dr. Giles's publications; but the man who has forced a young inventor -into a hard contract remains silent. It is a matter that he prefers to -keep to himself. I do not believe that cribbing saps the moral sense.</p> - -<p>The expediency issue is more complicated. And, on the surface, it does -seem that the use of a crib is the very worst thing for a boy who hopes -to win scholarships and fellowships. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> a short cut. He does not -need to use his brain. His thinking is done for him. That is true, but -there are points on the other side. He is set fifty lines of Virgil to -prepare. If he comes into form next morning with those lines half learnt -he will derive little benefit from the hour's lesson. The whole time he -will be worrying at the sense. He will not be able to give his full -attention to the points of grammar and history that will arise in the -course of the hour. If, on the other hand, he is free from the anxiety -of failure he is able to give his full attention to what is perhaps the -more important part of the lesson. Also a boy remembers what he has -worked out for himself; and a crib used intelligently provides just -enough struggle to impinge the result of the effort on the memory. And -the wise do use a crib intelligently. They not only want to know their -'con' for the next day: they also wish to be able to remember it for the -examination. They, therefore, read a sentence over first in the -original. Some one wonders what a certain word means. The word is looked -up. Then a shot is made at the sense, not a very serious shot perhaps, -and speedy reference is made to the crib. The English is read out loud. -'Now, how does he get that out of it?' some one asks. There is a minute -of tussle and explanation—then all is clear. And the next sentence is -read out loud.</p> - -<p>That is the way to use a crib. And if one has worked out for oneself, -even if it be with the aid of a crib, the meaning of a long passage of -Virgil,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> one remembers that passage. I have forgotten now nearly all my -Greek and Latin, but I can still read currently and with pleasure the -Eclogues, for which I used a crib. Whereas the memory of other books, -through which I struggled honestly, but less successfully, has faded -altogether. For the average member of the Sixth I believe the -intelligent use of a crib is to be recommended. A greater number of -lines could be prepared at one time, and there would be leisure for -acquiring that knowledge that comes to us indirectly from the classics. -Plato is a window through which we see the gymnasiums of Ancient Greece. -But it will be shuttered for those to whom the struggle is ever with -correct rendering and syntax.</p> - -<p>The real scholar, whose life will be spent largely with the classics, -must avoid short cuts; he should glory in difficulties that will quicken -his wits: he has his whole life before him. He does not have to pass, as -the rest of us do, swiftly into a world of politics and business. And, -indeed, the real scholar realises this. I can recall few instances in -which a boy with a really fine brain has deadened his perceptions by the -use of translations. The scholar, when he reaches the Sixth, and is no -longer forced to write the proses and prepare the translations of his -less clever comrades, prefers to work alone, if not in the company of -boys who are equally brilliant.</p> - -<p>But the real scholar is the exception. This book is written for, and -about, the average<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> schoolboy. I know that in the matter of cribbing I -am pleading a lost cause. Cribbing will always, of course, be a -forbidden thing; therein lies its charm. But it is important that master -and parents should realise in what light these questions appear to the -boy. A boy is frequently misunderstood. He is accused of dishonesty. He -resents the accusation, but he is unable to explain why his offence does -not deserve so stern a label. He is tempted to lose heart, to console -himself with the reflection that 'they don't understand,' and so further -estrange himself from sympathy and mutual understanding. The boy stands -before the house master and lets the wind of words flow over him. What -use is it for him to attempt an explanation. If he argues his punishment -will be increased. It is better to assume contrition; to say, 'Yes, sir, -I hadn't seen it in that light before,' and to be more clever another -time. It would be far more just were the master to regard cribbing as a -boy regards it: as a game, to be punished effectively when discovered, -but not to be associated with the welfare of the human spirit.</p> - -<p>If school authorities wish, however, to find a lasting cure they have in -their own hands the remedy. They will not achieve their ends through -increased vigilance; that will only make the boy more clever. They -should make work more interesting. There is little cribbing in form -where boys are interested in what they are learning. Boys are not -anxious to learn what a master is not anxious to teach. Laziness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> begets -laziness, and cribbing is a form of laziness.</p> - -<p>Systematic cribbing will not disappear till popular opinion regards as -important success or failure in the class-room. Success at games is -considered important; games are, in consequence played fairly. But, as -popular opinion sets no value on school work, it does not seem to matter -much what happens in school hours. Success in form needs to be brought -into some sort of relationship with success at football. Athletic -prowess will always, naturally, and perhaps rightly, be rated more -highly than intellectual achievement. But that is no reason why -intellectual achievement should be disparaged in the case of all save -the brilliant few whose feats are received with a mild enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst we used to have weekly examinations, and, as far as I -remember, there was no cribbing at all in these exams. To a certain -extent promotion depended on one's performance in them, and each G. C. -was anxious to work out the problems for himself so as to be able to -judge how much, or how little, progress he had made. This did not mean -that we were more interested in topography than late cuts, but that we -realised that, at this stage of our career proficiency in topography -would be of service to us. I believe that a similar state of affairs -would exist at a Public School were the social values to be readjusted.</p> - -<p>Cribbing, like so much else in public school life, is a side-shoot of -athleticism.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP</span></h2> - -<p>It is at this period, also, of a boy's development that the moral -question assumes a definite significance. There is no phase of school -life that is more generally misunderstood and misrepresented, and there -is no phase that a writer tackles with greater misgiving and -disinclination. He is confronted with the barricaded prejudices of a -vested interest, with the tremulous ignorance of mothers who seek to be -deceived, with the conspiracy of silence that exists between boys, -parents, and masters, and, last of all, with the wilful jealousy of the -yellow press that is only too ready to decry the value of what it is -pleased to call the 'trades union of snobbery.' There are times, indeed, -when it seems better to acquiesce in that conspiracy of silence rather -than to give those speculators in contention another opportunity of -mud-slinging. There are times when it seems hopeless to attempt to -explain the nature of public school morality to those who have not -themselves been to a Public School. It is like looking at a -stained-glass window from the outside. One reminds oneself that for many -years, without, perhaps, any very disastrous results, we have muddled -along in contented ignorance and self-deceit. Why not leave things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -where they are? Why stir up trouble? And yet the moral question is such -an essential part of school life, it exercises such an influence on the -development of the boy; indirectly it colours so considerably the -attitude of the master to every other phase of school life, that it is -impossible to omit all reference to it in a detailed study such as this, -and, if it is impossible to avoid mention of it, it is fatal to content -oneself, as one may very well do in a novel, with stray suggestions and -inferences.</p> - -<p>A novel is an abstraction. One compresses into a few pages the action of -several years, so that one has to suggest rather than to state. One can -withhold one's own opinion, one is under no compunction to generalise -from the incidents one selects. One is telling a story or interpreting a -personality. Only rarely is one constructing a thesis. In a novel it is -not difficult to deal with the moral question. Most good school stories -have touched more or less indirectly on some side of it. Ivor Brown and -Compton Mackenzie have both dealt subtly with an intricate relationship. -Hugh Walpole, if less originally, faced the same situation more -courageously, while Arnold Lunn in <i>Loose Ends</i> has interpreted the boy -as opposed to the official attitude to this issue with extreme -effectiveness. The novelist is constrained to discuss only that part of -the question that affects the action of the story. That is one of the -great charms of story-telling: one can touch lightly without need of -explanation on the most delicate situations. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> can say only as much -as one wants to say, and say it, what is more, obliquely. In a book such -as this, however, one must deal with the subject thoroughly if at all. -One must tackle every side of it. One is bound to follow one's thought -through to the end. And that is a thing that no one cares to do in -public. It was said of a certain intrepid Rugby player that he had not -the brains to be afraid. It is certainly true that many soldiers lost -their nerve after they had been once wounded, and that few soldiers were -really frightened till they had seen what a shell could do; it may well -be that at twenty-three one has not sufficient experience of the world -to realise what risks one runs through honesty.</p> - -<p>The first difficulty, especially for those who, without having been to a -Public School themselves, are the fathers of present or prospective -public school boys, is to start investigations with a clear mind. This -feat the majority never manage to accomplish. For the moral question in -schools is concerned with the relationship of two members of the same -sex. Now such a relationship is counted in the world at large an -unmentionable and unforgivable sin. It is regarded with horror by the -average man. It is a penal offence. The man who enters into such a -relationship is abnormal, and, as such, is considered a menace to -society. But the same standards are not applicable to school life.</p> - -<p>A man was intended by nature to marry at eighteen. The average villager, -clerk, pit-boy, work-boy begins 'walking out' with a girl at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> the age of -fifteen or sixteen; the public school boy has no such opportunities of -courtship. Three hundred boys are spending three-quarters of their lives -in a monastic world; from the beginning of the term to the end the only -women to whom they have the opportunity of speaking are the matron and -the house master's wife. They have never any chances of seeing girls of -their own class and of their own age. At a particularly susceptible -period, therefore, they have no natural object for their affections. The -youngest boys are only thirteen, the eldest are between eighteen or -nineteen.</p> - -<p>In such circumstances it would be surprising if there were no -uncomfortable complications. The public school system is, in this -respect, unnatural; one must expect unnatural results. The trouble is to -discover what those results are. For, although people speak glibly -enough of immorality in Public Schools, it is extremely doubtful whether -they realise of what exactly that immorality consists.</p> - -<p>It is a convenient phrase, but beyond it there is the conspiracy of -silence. Schoolmasters prefer to deal with straight issues. They dislike -the subtleties of action and character which are of such charm to the -psychologist. They like to say, 'This is an offence.' Finer shades of -meaning trouble them. At least that is their official attitude. And so -it has come to be generally accepted that public school morality -resolves itself into one main issue: that is, the corruption of a small -boy by a big one. To<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> protect the new boy from this danger elaborate -precautions are taken. It is on this point that a boy is given advice -before he goes to school. He is warned never to make friends with boys -bigger than himself; it is against this danger that the majority of -school sermons are directed. And, of course, this is a very convenient -attitude for the schoolmaster to adopt. The offence is obviously so -grave that there can be no cause to withhold complete official -condemnation; it is also so rare that the head master is able to assure -prospective parents of the excellent tone of the school. For I am -convinced that the deliberate seduction of a smaller boy is an extremely -rare occurrence. There are, of course, certain houses—probably there is -one at every school—in which a good-looking boy stands very little -chance of remaining straight. But I have not been in such a house and I -can speak with no authority. I have heard, certainly, some astonishing -stories of what can be tolerated in a really bad house; but, second-hand -reports, especially on such matters, can only be accepted with reserve. -Certainly in the average house cases of corruption are very rare. Few -boys have the nerve, the assurance, or the adroitness to attempt such a -task. A man of twenty-five will set out deliberately to seduce a -housemaid, but the schoolboy in such matters is a novice. If a senior -boy is casually attracted by the appearance of a smaller boy, he asks a -friend lower down in the house to make inquiries as to the morals of the -small boy. If the 'go-between' discovers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> that the small boy is -'straight,' the elder boy lets the matter fall from his mind. There are -others who are not. If, on the other hand, the attraction is more than -casual, the chances of seduction are even more remote. It is unlikely -that the affection will be reciprocated. And, if a boy is really fond of -another boy, the last thing he would wish would be to subject his friend -to unwelcome advances. When a boy first falls in love with a girl the -thought of sexual intimacy is, often, unattractive. It is only when his -love is returned that he really desires it. It is fatal to confuse the -processes of life at large with the processes of life in a monastic -system. Because young men seduce young women with regrettable frequency, -it is assumed that much the same sort of thing is happening at a Public -School. And, parents believing this, are reassured; they are certain -that their dear child when young will be strong enough to resist the -passive temptation; they are equally certain that their dear child when -nearly a man would not, for one moment, consider the possibility of -active sin. And this amiable delusion schoolmasters encourage. It saves -them a lot of trouble. They say one thing in public and another in -private. But the Jekyll and Hyde business breeds confusion. They forget -what they should believe and what they should not believe. They are -agreed only on this: that any attempt at criticism, at explanation, at -interpretation shall be counteracted with a concerted unanimity of -opinion. They will deny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> hotly the prevalence of any such practices, -they will make slighting references to the bad house in the bad school. -They will complete their defence by asserting that for what faults there -are the parents are alone responsible in that they had not sufficiently -warned their sons of the evils of a Public School—evils, be it noted, -that they had previously assured the parent did not exist outside the -perverted imagination of the critic. And yet it is amazing what these -same apologists will be prepared to believe about any institution other -than their own.</p> - -<p>Six years ago Sandhurst had an extremely bad name. Every kind of debauch -was rumoured to flourish there. Sobriety was only more unpopular than -purity. The G. C.'s secreted whisky beneath their beds, and actresses -within them. The glittering temptations of St Anthony allured the unwary -in the tea-shops of Camberley. And I remember being shown, before I went -there, a letter that had been sent to the parents of a prospective cadet -by his head master. 'I hope,' the letter ran, 'that Arthur is aware of -the temptations to which he will be subjected. Concupiscence seems to be -the chief topic of conversation and the sole Sunday afternoon amusement -of the cadets.' It all sounded fearfully exciting. But it proved very -tame. Indeed I am inclined to think that, on the whole, fewer -temptations presented themselves to me during the eight months I spent -at Sandhurst than during any other period of my time in the army. A -fellow could do what he liked. No pressure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> was put on him to drink or -gamble, or pursue loose women. He was none the less respected for being -straight, nor the more admired for being crooked. A community such as -this which exerts pressure on the individual in neither direction, I -should be prepared to call as moral as any that is likely to be found -this side of heaven, yet this head master, who would, no doubt, -repudiate hotly the least suggestion that immorality in his own school -was anything but a spasmodic and occasional phenomenon, was ready to -believe that Sandhurst was a cesspool of all the vices that flourished -so gracefully in the days of Petronius Arbiter. In our investigations we -are not likely to be helped far by schoolmasters. They are constrained -by the laws of exchange and mart to vindicate the quality of their -wares.</p> - -<p>It is generally assumed for the purposes of dialectic that there are two -classes of persons: the normal and the abnormal, and that all normal -people follow the same process of development from birth to death. To -disprove this Havelock Ellis collected at the end of certain volumes of -his psychology authenticated histories of men whose development he -claimed to be normal, but whose histories were as different from one -another as apples are from plums. In the face of such evidence it is -dangerous to dogmatise on the gradual discovery of the sexual impulse by -public school boys during adolescence. The most one can say is that the -majority of them come to a Public School innocent and ignorant,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> and -that they leave it certainly not ignorant and with a relative degree of -innocence. This at least is sure—that between the years of thirteen and -nineteen the impulse will have become powerfully defined and that each -boy will have had to come to terms with its direction and control.</p> - -<p>Now the important point seems to me to be this: the sexual impulse is a -force on the proper direction of which depends, to a large extent, the -happiness of a man's life; and marriage is the course into which it -should be directed. No one, I think, will deny that. We may talk of the -liberation of the sexes, of greater facilities for divorce, of the right -of each man and woman to repair a mistake caused by the first surprise -of a newly-awakened instinct; but there can be no questioning the -assertion that monogamy is the ideal, and that while nothing can be more -wretched than an ill-harmonised relationship, in the lifelong devotion -of man and woman is to be found the surest happiness. That is the -standard by which public school morality should be judged. But it is not -the standard by which it is officially, and indeed generally, judged. A -Public School is only a phase, a prelude in the sexual development of a -man. Head masters are inclined to mistake it for the completed rhythm.</p> - -<p>In the same way that the head master of a Preparatory School specially -coaches a boy for a scholarship, not realising that what for him is the -whole race is for the boy but a first lap,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> so the head master of a -Public School regards the preservation of innocence between the years of -13 and 19 as the entire battle. As far as I can make out this attitude -is adopted by nearly every unscientific writer on the subject.</p> - -<p>If the matter ended there it would, of course, be simple. Rigid -policemanship and supervision and a system of spies would probably be -effective. They might stamp out impurity to a large extent; they would -also destroy the discipline of independence, of trust and of authority -that one learns at a Public School. The matter is far less simple. The -public school system is unnatural. Through unnatural channels, -therefore, a natural impulse has to flow into a natural course.</p> - -<p>Let us see, more or less, what happens.</p> - -<p>We have assumed that an ignorant and innocent boy arrives at his Public -School at the age of thirteen, and, to simplify the matter further, we -will assume that the boy is not particularly good-looking, and is not, -therefore, likely to win the patronage of his seniors. For the first -weeks everything is so strange that he lives in a world of his own -fashioning. Later on, as he begins to enter the life of the school, he -is puzzled by references to an offence the nature of which he does not -understand. He hears some one described as being 'smutty.' He does not -in any way connect this with the elaborate address that was delivered to -him on the last day at his prep. Indeed I knew of a new boy who informed -his parents on a postcard that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> rather decent chap in his house had -been nearly sacked for 'smut.' 'Is this,' he asked, 'anything serious?' -He received in reply a reassuring letter telling him that he need not -worry about such things just yet.</p> - -<p>It is the fashion nowadays to demand open discussion of all subjects; -there must be no secrets. Parents are told that they are guilty of -criminal negligence if they do not instruct their sons and daughters in -the physiology of sex. And, no doubt, it will be maintained that at this -point the father should have written his son a long letter explaining to -him the nature of the temptation to which he would be exposed. That is -the fashion nowadays. No doubt the Victorians suffered from an excessive -reserve. We have gone to the other extreme. We are trying to reduce love -to an exact science.</p> - -<p>On the whole, I suppose that the instruction of children by parents -depends entirely on the individual case. But at such a time it would be -very easy for the parents to become embarrassed and lose the boy's -sympathy. The number of boys who learn from their parents more than a -vague idea of motherhood is probably small. And at a Public School it is -the physiology of fatherhood that occupies the boy's attention.</p> - -<p>We are given to understand that in the first place a boy must be -corrupted by another boy. But this is not generally the case. A boy -usually manages to corrupt himself. He has overheard the conversation of -older boys, he has discussed different problems with his companions; -the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> atmosphere of school life with its continual references to -immorality in sermons and addresses, have made him precociously curious. -He evolves for himself the practice of private immorality.</p> - -<p>A boy's knowledge of sex necessarily is very fragmentary, and on many -points he is actually misinformed. He has a preposterous idea, for -instance, of the effects that this habit will have upon his health. -Syphilis is not more dangerous. His hair will drop out, he will go -blind, his brain will soften. Probably he will go mad. Numerical -considerations mean nothing to him: once a thief always a thief. The -idea of restrained disorder does not occur to him. He suffers from the -misery of an incommunicable grief. He is apart from his fellows. If he -told them his secret, he thinks that they would despise him. He becomes -morbidly introspective. He makes vows to break himself of the habit, -fails, and despises himself. He begins to search for the symptoms of his -approaching physical and intellectual collapse. If he makes a duck at -cricket, misses a catch in a house game, or fails badly in his -repetition, he tells himself that the process has begun. There are times -when he wants to steal away by himself like an animal that is sick. -There are others in which he wishes at all costs to mix with his -companions, to take part in any rag that is afoot; to this cause can be -invariably attributed the mingled rowdyism and moodiness of certain -boys. The idea that such practices are physically injurious is -encouraged by the master. It appears to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> the most sure preventative. -There are, indeed, occasions when masters are so misinformed that they -actually believe in these terrible vengeances of the body. For -schoolmasters who, of all people, ought to know most of hygiene and -physiology, are, for the most part, woefully ignorant of them. It would -be indeed interesting to discover what percentage of public school house -masters have read any serious medical writing. They are only too willing -to believe that such habits have the disastrous results they prophesy. -And of course it has not, unless it is practised to excess and unless -the subject is particularly feeble. It is foolish to throw lighted -matches about the place, but the habit only becomes dangerous when the -matches are flung on inflammable material.</p> - -<p>It so happens that the greater part of active immorality in schools -takes place between boys of fifteen and sixteen; not, as is more -frequently imagined, between junior and senior boys. Such relationships -are usually of brief duration. They pass with the dawn of the romantic -friendship. And it is here that I feel most acutely the difficulty of my -task. It is almost impossible to explain to some one who has not been to -a Public School the nature of one of these romantic friendships. In a -book called <i>Pleasure</i> I published a story dealing with such a -friendship. The majority of old public school boys who read it seemed to -like it. But none of the men who had not been to a Public School could -make head or tail of it. They told me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> in their reviews of it that it -was absurd, mawkish, and unhealthy. It may be so. It may be that I wrote -the story badly. I can only repeat that old public school boys liked it. -And indeed it is a difficult thing to explain. For what is a romantic -friendship but the falling in love of one boy with another. Such a -relationship seems preposterous. I can only repeat that the public -school system is unnatural, and that one must expect unnatural results -from it. What, after all, is to be expected?</p> - -<p>A boy of seventeen is passing through a highly romantic period. His -emotions are searching for a focus. He is filled with wild, impossible -loyalties. He longs to surrender himself to some lost cause. He hungers -for adventures. On occasions he even goes so far as to express himself -in verse, an indiscretion that he will never subsequently commit. And -what focus does a Public School provide for this eager emotionalism? -There are the fierce contests of the football field, but they are, when -all is said and done, the business of life, the cause for his existence. -They are an enthusiasm he shares with three hundred others. He longs for -something more intimate, more personal; he is, in fact, in love with -love; he does not see a girl of his own age, of his own class, from one -end of the term to the other; it is in human nature to accept the second -best.</p> - -<p>In this environment there is nothing unnatural about the attraction -exercised by a small boy over an elder one. A small boy is the nearest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -approach possible to the feminine ideal. Indeed a small boy at a Public -School has many of the characteristics that a man would hope and expect -to find in a woman. He is small, weak, and stands in need of protection. -He is remote as a woman is, in that he moves in a different circle of -school life, with different friends, different troubles, different -ambitions. He is an undiscovered country. The emotion experienced is -genuine, and usually takes the elder boy by surprise. In a man's love -for a woman there is often a degree of premeditation. A man looks at a -woman and wonders if he could ever come to fall in love with her. As he -walks homewards from her drawing-room he asks himself whether or not he -is in love with her. He analyses his emotions; very often he persuades -himself he is in love with her when in reality he is not. Either way he -is prepared.</p> - -<p>But the schoolboy is taken off his guard. He has not realised it is -possible that he should fall in love with another boy. He has no -previous experience which will enable him to recognise the symptoms. He -has heard older boys spoken of as being 'keen' on some one or other, but -he has associated such an assertion with the references in sermons to -the corruption of a young mind. He does not, therefore, know what is -happening when he finds himself becoming increasingly interested in some -quite small boy. He has noticed him playing a plucky game on the Lower -and has congratulated him. They have happened to meet on the way up from -hall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> and have walked across together to the studies. They have smiled -when they passed each other as they changed from one class-room to -another in break. The elder boy is surprised: he is still more surprised -when he finds himself frequently walking into the smaller boy's study on -no very necessary errand, to borrow a book he does not want or to return -a book he has not borrowed; and that he should stop there to talk for an -indefinite period. The day on which he has not seen or spoken to his -small friend is empty for him. He does not understand his increasing -wish for the company of an admittedly inferior person. But it is all -very delightful. He is desperately anxious to appear in his best light. -He makes strenuous, and often successful, efforts to abandon certain -habits he had contracted. He may even work harder in form, and certainly -he will make superhuman efforts on the football field, feeling that -success will render him more attractive. He wonders what the small boy -thinks of him, and persuades one whose social position lies midway -between the two of them to make inquiries. The growing intimacy is a -rich enchantment. He becomes curious, and, in a way, jealous of the life -that his friend is leading; their standards, their environment, their -friends are so different. He knows instinctively that one has more in -common with one's contemporaries than with those who lie outside the -circle of one's immediate interests, and this knowledge distresses him. -There are times when he feels intensely miserable, others when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> he feels -radiantly happy. At any rate he is living more intensely and less -selfishly than he did before. He is on a distinctly higher plane of -emotional tension.</p> - -<p>Indeed in its beginnings such a friendship is certainly good for the -elder boy and probably for the younger one; at any rate there is the -comfortable knowledge that he has an elder friend to whom he can turn -for sympathy and advice; and he is protected thus from many of the -dangers to which his good looks might otherwise expose him. The -environment of school life does not allow, however, the friendship to -retain its first freshness. It becomes conscious of itself. It is -noticed by other members of the house: 'Hallo, Jones,' they say, 'seen -anything of Morrison this morning?' Jones, being the elder, is -embarrassed by what seems to him an accusation of weakness. Morrison is -flattered to think that others have recognised and perhaps envied the -patronage. Jones begins to make inquiries of his friends, and a series -of confidences convinces him that he has reached the condition of being -'keen' on Morrison. This conviction places his friendship on an entirely -different and, to a certain extent, official basis. If he had been left -alone it is not improbable that he would have made no such discovery. As -Morrison would never have more than liked him, his feeling for the -smaller boy would not have become defined. Their friendship would have -remained in the strictest sense of the word, platonic. But so frail a -flower could not hope<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> to flourish for long in the rigid atmosphere of a -Public School. Everything in a Public School has to conform to type; -there are rules for the proper ordering of every situation. Friendship, -like personality, has to pass through the mint.</p> - -<p>In order to follow the technique of such relationships, the official -point of view towards them has to be understood. The house master on -this point finds himself in extreme difficulty. And, indeed, there is no -point on which schoolmasters as a whole waver quite so much. They -realise, for the most part, that it is natural, if unfortunate, for boys -to feel like this. At the same time they have to discountenance such -friendships. Where actual misconduct is concerned, they think themselves -to be on safe ground. And, as they believe that immorality in schools -consists in the main of the corruption of small boys by big boys, they -are able to speak with unrestrained violence against the majority of -such friendships. They adjure their prefects to suppress at once the -least sign of intimacy between a small and a big boy. They, themselves, -watch carefully to see whether any of their seniors are evincing an -interest in members of the day room. Every one in a school knows that a -friendship between two boys of different positions will be viewed -seriously by authority. A boy is given to understand that the romantic -emotion he feels for a smaller boy is an emotion that is unworthy of him -and of its object, and should consequently be suppressed. Such teaching -is absolutely wrong. The emotions that a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> boy has for a smaller boy are -as natural as those that he would feel for a girl were he not restrained -by an unnatural system. It is wrong to make a boy say to himself: 'I -ought not to feel like this.' Such teaching is responsible for many of -the mistakes that a boy will make when he becomes a man; it arbitrarily -defines the form which the romantic friendship takes.</p> - -<p>A boy is surprised by a new, delightful, interesting emotion. He feels -strangely happy. Under its inspiration he works better and plays his -games harder. He is told it is wrong to feel as he is feeling. But that -he cannot believe. The emotions that are condemned in the pulpit and in -confirmation addresses must in their essentials be different from those -that he is feeling. That must be lust, the mere desire for sensation. -This, on the other hand, is love. And so the public school boy of -sixteen makes the discovery that love is in its highest form unphysical. -The truth of this intuition is established for him by public opinion and -by the course of his own experience.</p> - -<p>The slightest suggestion of indecent conduct between the big and the -small boy is regarded by boys as well as masters as the unforgivable -offence.</p> - -<p>It is hard to know exactly how important a part these friendships play -in the life of a boy. It has often been said that the novelist falsifies -life by writing too much about love, that except at certain periods of a -man's life love occupies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> only a small part of his attention; he is -caught up by other interests. This argument, however, is no sounder than -the objection raised by an old lady against the number of nudes -displayed at the Paris Salon. 'It's so absurd,' she said, 'one-half of -these portraits are nudes, and think how small a part of our life we -spend without any clothes on.' A beautiful woman is most beautiful when -she is naked, and a man's life is most interesting when he is in love. -The condensation and indeed the actual elimination of whole periods must -in a novel always falsify life for those who demand a direct -transcription of it. If you were to record one average day of a man's -life on gramophone and cinema and exhibit the result at the Alhambra you -would empty the theatre in an hour. A story-teller recounts only what is -of interest. He is a good or a bad story-teller according to the degree -of his ability to discern what is, and what is not, of interest. He -merely indicates the passage of the unimportant.</p> - -<p>The man, therefore, who draws direct conclusions from a school story, -would imagine that a schoolboy spends his entire time in form ragging -masters, and, when not ragging, in cribbing, and that the rest of his -time is divided between the fierce rivalries of the football field and -the intrigues of romantic friendships. Such, it is needless to say, is -not the case. The story-teller has only written of what seemed to him to -be of interest. He has omitted, and he has expected his reader to -realise out of his own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> experience that he has omitted, the long, -tedious hours of good behaviour, the ordered harmony of routine.</p> - -<p>The romantic friendship has a modest place in the schoolboy's scale of -values, but its nature is curious enough. It has the great charm of the -forbidden. It is mixed with fear. Even after the first interest has -waned, its setting makes it a delightful toy that no one would willingly -throw away. It is the flavouring to the routine. There is usually a 'go -between' who carries messages from one to the other. And the glance -across a table stating that the intermediary has something of interest -to disclose is one of the exciting moments of the day, as exciting as -the post is to a recluse or the arrival of rations to a soldier. There -are jealousies and intrigues. There is the interchange of notes—the joy -of a secret. There are carefully arranged appointments. On Sundays there -will be meetings in some prearranged point outside the town, at which -each will arrive by a different route, and they will sit in a wood and -talk till the afternoon has waned and the chiming of the abbey clock -warns them that roll-call is imminent. It is not surprising that such an -adventure should appeal irresistibly to a schoolboy. When such a -friendship is ended either by the appearance of a rival, or more -frequently through the inclination of the smaller boy, who has risen in -the school and feels that such a position is beneath his dignity, the -elder boy feels an immense gap in his life. The immediate sense<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> of -anticipation has gone. There is nothing particular to which he may look -forward. He is bored. Often he drifts into such another friendship out -of loneliness.</p> - -<p>Authority adopts towards these friendships a wavering attitude. It -realises that such a friendship does not necessarily imply the least -indecency, that it often, on the other hand, has a very salubrious -effect on the elder boy, but it still is vividly aware of the danger. -Suppose something went wrong; suppose there was a grave scandal, on -whose shoulders would the responsibility rest. We can well imagine a -resentful father asking a head master why, if he was aware of the -existence of such a friendship, he did not take immediate steps to stop -it. 'You knew about this,' he would say, 'while my son was still -innocent: why did you not protect him? Why should you knowingly subject -him to such a risk?' The head master has always to be thinking of what a -boy's parents will say.</p> - -<p>It is difficult for him to work on the plan of 'circumstances alter -cases.' He would thus lay himself open to the accusation of favouritism. -'You didn't stop Cartright and Evans, sir,' is a weapon for which a -master has no shield. There is usually a compromise.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>The attitude of authority is one of nervous hesitance. The schoolboy, -as in all other cases, evolves his own standards from his own life. It -remains to be seen what are the actual effects on the partners in a -relationship that must have a large influence on their subsequent -development.</p> - -<p>The first objection raised by authority is that it is very bad for a -small boy to be petted and treated like a girl. And such is an undoubted -fact. The small boy who is taken up by a 'blood' makes a very good thing -out of it. He gets first-hand information on a number of disputed -points. He knows two or three hours before any one else in the day room -who is going to be given his house cap and who his seconds. He has a -position among his contemporaries. Favours are sought through him. His -friends get leave off house runs and are allowed to watch First Eleven -matches when others have to attend pick ups. He is immune from the -assaults of the swash-bucklers, for no one would willingly run the risk -of making himself unpopular with the bloods. He gets his 'con' done for -him, and, after football, he will sit in front of a warm study fire. He -has many privileges, and, of course, it is very bad for him.</p> - -<p>How far the effects last into manhood I cannot say with any degree of -certainty. I am inclined<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> to think that they pass more quickly than is -popularly imagined. But the small boy who is taken up by his seniors -gets very little out of his schooldays. If he gets taken up by a 'blood' -he has a fairly good time while that blood is still at school. But it is -by no means certain that he will be taken up by a blood, and he may very -likely find himself an object of fierce jealousy between two fellows in -the Middle School, both of whom he likes, but for neither of whom he -feels any strong attachment. Neither of them is sufficiently important -to claim a monopoly. Between them they contrive to make his life -wretched for him. They worry him with notes and with pleas for an -appointment. Each tries to persuade him to have nothing to do with the -other. The whole of his spare time is divided between them. And the -small boy who is unable to see why he should not choose what friends he -likes, grows more and more impatient. At the end of a term's wrangling -he decides to speak to neither of them again.</p> - -<p>But the life even of the favoured-of-the-mighty has its disadvantages. -The hours that he spends in the day room are numbered, so that he makes -few friends among his contemporaries. The majority of them dislike him; -nearly all of them are jealous and distrust him. They are afraid to say -things in his presence for fear that they will be repeated. His only -friends are those who hope to be able to gain some advantages from him. -His life is made none<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> too comfortable in the dormitory. He is accepted -as being in a higher social position than the rest of the room, which -is, of course, flattering to his pride; but it is not nice when every -occupant of the room only speaks when he is spoken to. He feels himself -apart. The evenings in the dormitory which, with their sing-songs, their -football matches, and long talks, provide such delightful material for -reminiscence, are for him cheerless. It cannot be too often repeated -that the biggest mistake a boy can make at a Public School is to form -friendships outside the circle of his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>The good-looking boy makes friends so easily among his seniors, and the -successful athlete can, if he wants, after a year or two choose his -friends among boys who have been at school a couple of years longer than -he has. It is very exciting for a boy to feel that he is outstripping -his contemporaries, to be able to nod to fellows in the Fifteen and -Eleven, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The big man leaves, and -the social aspirant is left stranded. I have seen it happen so many -times. One term a boy seems to be surrounded with friends. His life is a -continual course of tea parties and suppers. An arm always lies through -his as he walks down to the field, or to the tuck shop. And then, -suddenly, a generation passes; he is left an anachronism without his -friends. His contemporaries do not welcome him. They have made their own -friends. If he has reached his prominence as an athlete he will be able -to make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> friends in other houses, and, before long, in his own house. To -the athlete everything is forgiven. But the boy who has become the -associate of bloods not through any quality of his own, but merely -because he is good-looking, never makes friends with his contemporaries. -They have been jealous of him and have distrusted him a long time. There -was a time when they longed for the big boy to go, so that they could -'jolly well boot the little swine.' But members of the Sixth Form table -consider it beneath their dignity to indulge emotions that are the -exclusive property of fags. They remain coldly distant. It may be that -for the favoured small boy these years of loneliness adjust the balance -and teach him those lessons of fortitude and independence that he should -have learnt in the day room. But it is an unhappy time. He can hardly -look back on his schooldays without regret. He would wish things had -turned out otherwise. And it is not thus that we should look back on our -schooldays. Certainly I could wish nothing worse for any friend of mine -than to be taken up as a small boy.</p> - -<p>There remains to be considered the effect that such friendships have on -the elder boy. And it is generally conceded that though they may on -occasions do harm to the smaller boy, they usually prove of benefit to -the elder boy. Authority confines its objection to the secrecy that is -involved. An eyebrow is raised at the interchange of notes and the -carefully arranged Sunday afternoon walks. 'This is bad, this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> bad,' -says Authority. 'There would be no need for all this secrecy if the -thing were honest and straightforward. They are both ashamed of -themselves really. They wish to hide the thing away from their masters -and their comrades. It is a bad thing for a boy, the harbouring of a -secret. It will prey upon his mind. He will be forced to lie within -himself. He will be unable to look us squarely in the face. He will -never be free from worry.' Now all this about the subtle poison of a -secret life is very true (though it is a fact seldom taken into account -in the question of self abuse), but it is not at all applicable to the -romantic friendship. The secret is an open secret. Neither party is -ashamed of it. And the pretence of a secret is little more than part of -a delightful game. A child in a nursery lays a deck chair on the blue -carpet and imagines he is sailing the high seas in a schooner, while -with a poker to his shoulder he shoots an albatross for breakfast. -Twelve years later he signs notes with a false name, rolls them into a -pellet, conveys them to a messenger and imagines he is a diplomat. The -sending of notes is nothing but a game. Otherwise no one would write -them, carry them, nor read them: for they are most unnecessary, and most -dangerous. People will drop them in the cloisters, or put them in their -waistcoat pockets and then leave their waistcoats in the matron's room -to have a button sewn on them. The writing of notes has upset more -careers than the rustling of silk or the creaking of shoes. And yet -they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> will always be written, for they are a prelude to adventure.</p> - -<p>Moreover, a certain measure of secrecy is prudent. If you have stolen a -man's greatcoat you do not call at his house next day wearing it; and -the schoolboy sees no reason why he should parade his affection before -his head master's study window. Only the ass courts trouble. Prefects -who are well aware of the existence of such a friendship do not wish to -have their attention called to it officially. There are things they -prefer not to notice. If a member of the Eleven and a new boy started -out together for a walk under the shade of the school buildings the -heads of their houses would reluctantly feel themselves forced to take -some sort of action. They would be extremely annoyed with the school -slow bowler for his lack of tact. A prefect is usually on the side of -the house.</p> - -<p>Masters, however, are pleased to imagine that a pact has been signed -between the schoolboy and themselves which binds the schoolboy to -confess to any fault he may have committed, and to answer any leading -questions that may be put to him. The schoolboy does not look on things -in this light. He knows that there is no such agreement. There are -certain things he wants to do, the doing of which, if known, will render -him liable to punishment. When the wish to do these overrides the fear -of punishment he takes all reasonable precautions to avoid detection, -and proceeds to break the inconvenient rule. It is up to the master to -find him out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> If the master came down to the dining-hall one evening -and said: 'Now, look here, there have been complaints that some fellows, -I don't say you, but fellows in the school, have been getting out at -night and going down to the Eversham Arms. If any one of you here has -been getting out at night, I want him to come to my study afterwards and -tell me.' If a house master were to do that, the guilty one would not -feel himself under the least compunction to own up. He has run a big -risk in getting out of the boothole window at half-past eleven. It was -up to the master to catch him then.</p> - -<p>If a form master were to call a member of his form aside and say to him: -'Jones, last term you were bottom of the form; this term you have -reached single figures. Last term you had to write me a hundred lines -nearly every time I put you on to construe; this term you have not -failed once. I cannot understand it. Are you working honestly?' Jones -would reply: 'Yes, sir.' He would not feel that he was telling a lie. He -would feel, on the other hand, that his form master had taken an unfair -advantage of him in putting him a leading question. No one thinks a -murderer lies because he says, 'Not guilty, my lord.' It is the law of -England that the Crown has to prove the defendant guilty. A schoolboy -considers himself entitled to the same rights as the murderer and the -thief. A master has to find him out. And it is quite absurd to say that -a boy's soul is going to suffer because of the secrecy he imposes on -himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> in the course of a romantic friendship. There are a lot of -things that a boy is not anxious that his house master should know, and -of which no one could expect him to be ashamed. To smuggle into the -dormitory a chicken, a loaf of bread, and a pound of cheese in -preparation for a midnight feast is a natural and, according to one's -point of view, a worthy act; but it is not a performance the success of -which one would be in a hurry to confide in one's house master. When a -schoolboy deceives a master he does not feel he is deceiving an -individual, but an impersonal body. In the same way do we call the -grocer's attention to the omission of a pound of butter on our weekly -books, but skilfully conceal from the income-tax assessor a number of -interesting facts. A lie is hardly a lie if the person telling it does -not consider it so. We may dismiss altogether the assertion that -romantic friendships are bad because they entail secrecy.</p> - -<p>If, then, the objection of secrecy is to be discounted, it would at -first sight appear that for the elder boy these friendships are, on the -whole, good things. The emotion experienced is a noble one; it is -unselfish, it makes considerable demands on the patience and -self-control of the subject; it encourages the bigger boy to work hard -and play his games harder; it protects him from many of the dangers of -school life, and yet I believe that its results are, in the long run, -more serious for the elder than for the younger boy.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>It is the worst possible prelude to the sexual life of a man. It sends -a boy into the world with an entirely false view of the normal sexual -relations of men and women; it is a hindrance to him in marriage. A boy -of sixteen experiences for a younger boy the emotion that he would -naturally at such a period feel for a girl of his own age. He is -surprised into a new relationship, and he is told that the relationship -can only remain worthy of him as long as it remains platonic. Sexual -emotion is, he is given to understand, unclean. During adolescence he -will be subjected to a force that he must, at all costs, resist. That is -the official attitude, and it is the attitude of nearly every -unscientific writer on the subject. A schoolmaster considers the moral -question from the point of view of the policeman. 'Here,' he says, 'is -something that must be suppressed.' Various writers suggest various -remedies. The popular idea is to sublimate the passions, to provide -another focus. Schoolmasters usually select the focus that is most near -to the boy's interests: namely, athletics. They encourage the athletic -worship, because a boy who really wishes to excel in this will not run -the risk of losing his proficiency by weakening practices. This panacea -has not worked too well, and the band of earnest idealists has begun to -clamour for a more spiritual focus: poetry, art, religion. Which is all -very jolly, but gets us no nearer to solving the main problem of how a -natural force is to be directed through an unnatural channel into a -natural one. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> no sort of use to place a lump of granite in front -of the unnatural channel and say: 'This is forbidden.' The stream will -only select another course, and very likely one that will not lead it to -the natural waters.</p> - -<p>It is, I admit, an extremely difficult question, but that does not alter -the fact that it is being treated in an entirely wrong manner. The boy -is told that sexual emotion is wrong; he assumes, therefore, that love -to be truly love must be sexless. He draws fine distinctions between -love and lust. A decent fellow, he says, would never want to do anything -like that with some one for whom he really cared. And nothing happens in -the course of his romantic friendship to make him reconsider this -opinion. It is probable that his affection will not be returned; and, -indeed, why should it be? Under such circumstances it is natural that a -big boy should be attracted by a smaller boy because the smaller boy is -the nearest approach to the feminine ideal. It would be quite unnatural -for a small boy to be attracted by a bigger boy who would be to him as -far as possible removed from femininity. The small boy likes the elder -boy, is grateful for his kindness to him, is perhaps even mildly fond of -him; nothing more. As, therefore, there is no response to the elder boy, -it is impossible for the natural rhythm of mutually felt emotion to -carry them out of the reach of conventional standards, and the -friendship is too sacred to the elder boy to allow passage to the itch -of sensation; while the small boy, even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> if he happened to be casual -among his contemporaries on such matters, would be restrained by the -shyness that he must always feel in the presence of a senior boy and by -the inevitable embarrassment at finding himself the object of an emotion -he does not understand.</p> - -<p>Nothing happens, therefore, to disabuse the conviction that love in its -purest form is sexless. As a boy is, however, on the whole an amoral -creature, he sees no reason why he should not misconduct himself with a -person for whom he has no respect. He is not sullying a fine romance. It -is a different thing altogether; this is a thing of sensation. A -bachelor refrains from prostitutes more often through fear of illness -than through reverence for a moral code. There is at school a type that -corresponds to the prostitute from whom boys refrain, when they do -refrain, for many mixed reasons, of which fear of expulsion is generally -not one. Boys are not afraid of punishments, nor do they think that a -punishable offence is necessarily a moral offence. That point must -always be kept in mind. Punishments to a boy's mind are part of the game -that is played between him and authority. The boy has his own scale of -values. He would think an immoral act highly reprehensible if he were at -the time engaged in a romantic friendship, but he could square his -conscience to it if he happened to be emotionally free.</p> - -<p>The reasons why a boy commits an immoral act are so many and so complex -that inquiry into them for the purpose of a generalisation is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -unprofitable. It may be that he has had a quarrel with his small friend, -it may be that he is bored, or that he is curious; he may think it the -'blood' thing to do. If he is literary he may be in search of some -equivalent for the emotional reactions of decadent poetry. The -confessions that a boy makes himself must always be accepted with -reserve. The confessional is a subtle form of flattery. It titillates -the egotism; it is a self-indulgence. Madame Bovary used to invent small -crimes because she enjoyed the romantic atmosphere of the confessional, -and though most schoolboys would stand in no need of such invention, -they create the most ingenious setting for their offences. They feel -what they want to feel. They have derived emotion at second hand from -some book, or the confidence of an elder brother; they want to make -themselves believe that they are interesting. The most trivial affair is -embellished with a wealth of motive that would have delighted Henry -James. Sometimes they lie quite conscientiously.</p> - -<p>A boy was once asked by his house master whether he felt that -confirmation had been of any assistance to him. It had not, but the boy -felt that it was up to him to pretend that it had. The house master -obviously expected it; it was a social decency, on a par with the -assurance to a hostess that one had spent a most delightful evening. The -boy was inclined to think that he swore less than he had done. The -master's interest was aroused. Where had he learnt to swear? The boy -had, of course, acquired this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> knowledge in the day room. He realised, -however, that this was one of the things that one did not confess. He -said he had learnt it from some navvies in the holidays. More questions -were asked. 'Oh, yes,' the boy said, 'My people allow me to do more or -less what I like. I wander all over the place.' It was quite untrue, but -it confirmed the house master in his belief that all the faults of a -Public School could be attributed to the ignorance and foolishness of -parents. He developed the idea in a letter which he contributed to a -well-known weekly.</p> - -<p>It is never safe to generalise from a boy's confession, and house -masters would do well in such cases to base their conclusions on their -own experience and on their previous knowledge of the boy's character. -In their investigations, however, of the moral question, there is one -motive that they can almost certainly rule out: the motive of strong -personal attraction. Such an act would be opposed to the ethics of -school society, and a boy only rarely does what he, himself, feels to be -wrong.</p> - -<p>He is inclined to enter a world of women with the idea that the sexual -impulse can only be gratified with a woman he does not love. He realises -that in marriage it is necessary for the procreation of children. But he -regards it chiefly from his point of view as a 'remedy against sin,' and -on the woman's part an act of gracious compliance. It is thus that a man -comes to divide women into classes: one's sisters' friends, and the -rest. There is little need<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> to elaborate the results of such an -attitude. The subject has been discussed exhaustively. On this rock many -marriages have been shipwrecked. It can do little in cases of strong -mutual feeling. Passion harmonises all things; the rhythm of love takes -its own course. But where the woman has not been deeply moved before -marriage, where she knows her future husband only slightly, and is timid -in his presence, then the preconceived formula of the 'pure girl' will -achieve havoc. The woman will sink herself in motherhood, and the man -will seek elsewhere diversion. A cynic has remarked that the man who -marries a girl because she appeals to his higher nature will spend the -rest of his life among those who appeal to his lower nature. And, like -all epigrams, that remark presents a facet of the truth. It is now -generally accepted that there is no more dangerous heresy than the idea -that one does not 'feel like that about a decent girl.' Much has been -written on the subject. But the causes of the heresy have not been -sufficiently investigated. It is said, 'Boys are badly brought up.' -Children, we are told, should be brought to regard their bodies as -temples, and there the matter is left.</p> - -<p>But this heresy is, I am certain, very largely the natural result of the -public school system. It is confined to the upper and upper-middle -classes, to those, that is, who have been to Public Schools. The collier -and the peasant have no such fanciful illusions. Divorce must naturally -be more common in circles where men and women<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> have leisure to indulge -their emotions, where temptations are frequent, where the imagination is -most vivid, the longing for the unattainable most acute. But, even so, -any student of character cannot but feel that the married lives of -public school men are less happy than those of the lower classes.</p> - -<p>All through the discussion of this delicate subject I have used marriage -as the norm. It includes all other considerations. There are those who -are shocked to learn of the existence of immorality in Public Schools, -and the socialist press is only too ready for an opportunity of slinging -mud at the object of its envy. But, however a boy is brought up, it is -unlikely that he would pass unscathed through adolescence. Curiosity is -as irresistible as fear. It is the power of the unknown. The moral -offences of a public school boy are disgusting enough, but because they -are so entirely physical they have little lasting effect on him. They -play indeed a very casual part in his life. Nothing is at stake. The -romantic friendship, on the other hand, is the dawn of love; it is a -delicate and deep emotion; it is the most exciting thing that up to then -has happened to a boy; it touches his senses and his soul. And, because -he experiences this emotion for the first time in an unnatural -environment, his natural reaction is misdirected and misinformed. It is -important that we should find some remedy.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> It may here be mentioned that in girls' schools such -friendships would seem to be common, and no great objection taken to -them. Unnatural vice between women is not, of course, a criminal -offence. Its existence is not widely recognised. And it has never been -treated very seriously by men. But it was surprising to read a few -months ago in a leading London newspaper an article on 'schoolgirls,' -which accepted such friendships among girls as an amusing topic for -popular journalism. The editor would probably have had a fit if a -similar article on romantic friendships in Public Schools had been -submitted to him. The attitude of the man who has not been to a Public -School to this side of school life is a mixture of ignorance and -astonished horror.</p></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE MIDDLE YEARS</span></h2> - -<p>Desmond Coke has described in <i>The Bending of a Twig</i>, the middle years -of a public school career as being slow to pass, but swift in -retrospect. He devoted two chapters to them—'See-saw down' and 'See-saw -up.' And those chapter headings convey more clearly than a long analysis -the nature of that period. To begin with it is 'See-saw down.' The boy -is confused with his new-found liberty; the future stretches endlessly -before him. There is plenty of time. There is no need for hurry. And so -he rags and wastes his time and makes, on the whole, a pretty general -nuisance of himself. His house reports are worse at the end of every -term. His parents grow worried; they remember the bright promise of that -first term: the prize, the promotion, the glowing panegyric. The arrival -of the blue envelope during the second week of the holidays is the -occasion of considerable domestic stress. On such a morning one -remembers that one has promised to spend the day with a friend at -Richmond.</p> - -<p>And then suddenly, when the revel is at its height, some chance incident -or conversation forces a boy to realise that he has not so much time as -he had thought, that the weeks are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> passing, that, already, the end has -drawn close to him. Clifford Bax, in one of his many beautiful poems, -has described a man's first appreciation of the approach of age.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>'There is a certain mid-way hour in life</div> -<div>Which startles every man, when the tide turns</div> -<div>And, wave on wave, we hear death coming on.'</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>In the same way the boy discovers that the half of his schooldays are at -an end, that he has put them to little use. And, as the temporal quality -of life drives the epicurean to gather with what eager haste he may, -flowers that for him will soon have blossomed, the sense of passing days -defines and directs for the schoolboy the course of ambition. It is -perhaps the first moment of conscious thought, of objective reasoning. -The days of unreflecting action are at an end. He is no longer a child -playing in a nursery. He is a man, subject to the laws of time and -space, a mortal man aware of his mortality.</p> - -<p>Now this sudden change, which partakes of the nature of a conversion, -owes its existence, as often as not, to some perfectly trivial -occurrence. The stage is not set appropriately. There is no long heart -to heart talk with a schoolmaster, a parent, or a friend at the end of -which the boy leaps to his feet, claps his hand to his forehead, and -exclaims: 'I see the evil of my ways.' Such dramatic moments, I suppose, -take place occasionally, but they are the exception. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> boy has -reached that stage of his development when the idea of time can become -an actuality to him, and some quite casual incident will bring this -actuality before him.</p> - -<p>It is possible, of course, that this reformation may be effected by a -conversation. But it will be an unrehearsed effect. One is walking down -to hall, and, through the open door of the changing room overhears some -uncomplimentary statement of one's worth. The statement need not be made -by a particular friend. Indeed, it will probably be more effective if it -is not. We accept with composure the criticisms of our friends, our -relatives, our enemies. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there -is friction. We know that, at times, we must be intensely annoying to -our friends, because they are at times so intensely annoying to -ourselves. Little tricks, traits of character, intonations of the voice -that we should hardly notice in those to whom we are indifferent, -exasperate us in those for whom we care. We expect our friends at times -to say nasty things about us. We are too conscious of our own -delinquencies. But impersonal criticism is unpleasant; it is like an -unfavourable review that is unsigned. If we cannot reassure ourselves -with the knowledge that our assailant is either jealous of us or -dislikes us, or thinks we pay too many attentions to his wife; if, that -is to say, we can detect in this criticism no ulterior motive, but -simply a dispassionate impersonal disapproval of ourselves and of our -work, then we do indeed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> feel that the need for drastic self-criticism -is immediate.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, Jones on his way down to hall overhears Ferguson, who -is in another form, who has never been brought into contact with him, -who has no possible reason for feeling envious or jealous, remark that -Jones is the sort of fellow whom the house could get on very well -without, he goes quickly to his study and communes with himself.</p> - -<p>At the beginning of my third year at school, when I was very happy, very -light-hearted, very boisterous, and, I suppose, rather obnoxious -generally, I was standing at the counter of the tuck shop waiting to be -served with a poached egg and a sausage. I experienced considerable -difficulty in catching the eye of the waitress, and for the better -announcing of my presence I took a knife out of the basket and beat it -upon the zinc covering of the counter. The waitress, who was harassed by -the number of orders, turned round impatiently: 'Oh, do be quiet, Mr. -Waugh,' she said, 'I don't know what's come over you lately. You used to -be such a nice quiet boy when you first came.' Several people laughed, -but her remark was a shock to me. I had not the slightest romantic -interest in her. I did not care greatly what opinion she held of my -moral worth, but I had not before realised that it was possible for a -change of which I was myself ignorant to take place within me, that a -process of degeneration could take its slow effect, altering me in the -eyes of others,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> leaving me unaltered in my own, that, like rust on -iron, environment could corrode temperament. That chance remark had a -most profound effect on me. It gave me a sudden insight into the secret -forces that lie under the surface of life. I do not know whether from -the outside I appeared afterwards a different person. One cannot focus -the impression one has of oneself and the impression one makes on -others. But to myself I know that I was different. And some such -revelation invariably comes to a boy during his period of school life.</p> - -<p>In novels and stories we attribute it to some emotional crisis. The -reason of the change is less important than that there should be change, -and that the reader should be able to realise that for such a change -there was a reason. But, actually, the reason is usually trivial enough. -It may be that a boy's pride has been rebuffed; some one has got a house -cap before him. He begins to reassure himself with the old dope: 'There -is plenty of time. It doesn't matter. I'll catch him later on.' But for -once the old dope does not work. He realises with a shock that there is -less time than he had thought. He has allowed his rival to get too far -ahead. A house cap is only two stages distant from a first. He may not -have time to catch him up. In the light of the discovery he revises his -whole career. He asks himself whither he is drifting. He sees that he -has passed beyond the stage of a vague promise into one of definite -rivalry and achievement.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>The prospects of the beginner are always golden. His wares are not yet -for sale in the open market. He has not entered into competition with -his contemporaries. A young professional makes a century during his -first month of first-class cricket and is immediately the object of -generous enthusiasm. The reporter can write of him as ecstatically as he -will. The professional has not yet reached representative cricket. At -school a slow left-hand bowler takes eight wickets for twenty-seven in a -house match. He is spoken of at once as the coming man. For another -season he will continue to take wickets in house matches to the delight -of every one. Then he will enter the lists of representative cricket. He -will play on uppers, and it will have to be decided, not whether he is a -good slow left-hand bowler, but whether he is better than Evans in -Buller's, and Morrison in Wilkes's. It is so easy to say of a boy of -fifteen: 'Some day he will be captain of the house.' We can all of us -exclaim at the beginning of a Marathon: 'What a beautiful runner that -fellow is.' It is after ten miles have been run and the runners have -sorted themselves out that the real race begins. It is the appreciation -of this moment that ends the 'see-saw down' period and sees the start of -the 'see-saw up.'</p> - -<p>It must not be imagined, however, that this process of see-saw up -involves a complete moral, spiritual, and intellectual reformation; it -sometimes does; more usually it means that the schoolboy looks at the -same life from a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> different angle. His standards, his scale of values -remain unaltered. He feels that he has not adjusted himself properly to -their demands. He has been making an ass of himself: he has been ragging -about, he has allowed opportunities to slip past him. 'It won't do,' he -tells himself. 'I must stop all this. I must settle down.'</p> - -<p>Such a resolution involves, to a certain extent, an appreciation of -imminent responsibilities; a boy realises that a series of desperate -escapades will prejudice his prospects of prefectship; it often results -in the exchange of a positive for a negative manner of life. The Sixth -Former, the potential scholar of Balliol, is spurred by such an -experience to really hard work. For him a turning-point has been -reached. It is different, however, for the second eleven colour who has -reached the Lower Fifth after three years of spasmodic cribbing. He has -been in the past a free-lance, an irresponsible ragster. He decides that -the time has come for him to settle down. If the Lower Fifth is, as it -often is, a comfortable backwater, he is content to rest there. He sits -on a back bench, and plays an occasional part in the life of the form. -While he was a ragster he had to work. A well-prepared lesson was his -armour. Now that he no longer rags he need no longer work; he is content -to be inoffensive, agreeable, somnolent. He considers that between -himself and his form master there is an unwritten pact by which each -agrees to leave the other alone. It is as though he said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> 'Your time, -Mr. Featherbrain, is fully occupied between the ragsters and the -industrious. You have to keep a constant watch upon the ragster. You -have to teach the industrious. That is a whole-time job. Why worry about -me? You need not keep a watch upon me. It is agreed that I shall do no -ragging. And why try to teach me anything. Your energies are wasted upon -me. I don't want to learn anything. You may lead a horse to the water, -you know. Why worry yourself and me! There are all those other fellows -who want to learn.' And the master, usually, signs the contract. He is a -busy man. The temptation is very great. He excuses himself in the common -room by speaking of 'fellows like dear old Thomas; good-natured chaps, -but with absolutely no brains. Latin and Greek are flung away on them. -But they'll make fine empire builders.' And so the boy who has settled -down spends the greater part of his day wool-gathering in vacuous -laziness. To nothing that happens between chapel and lunch can he bring -the least enthusiasm. His thoughts are fixed on the more thrilling -encounters of the football field. His whole life, indeed, is centred on -sport, and on the most entertaining methods he can discover for the -better employing of his spare time. All his energy, all his enthusiasm, -is concentrated into one, or perhaps two, focuses. It is not surprising -that he should become tolerably proficient at games and a source of -moral anxiety to prefects and house masters.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p><p>Is the pursuit of athletic success a sufficiently engrossing occupation -for such a boy? That is the question that a house master unconsciously -puts to himself. He must put it to himself, but his attitude to this -particular type of boy is based on a non-committal answer to this -question: the answer—'Perhaps; but it's up to you.' The house master, -therefore, does all in his power to persuade the boy that the acquiring -of a First Fifteen cap is his immediate object in life. He will not -state his case in words; but he will omit the uncomfortable topic of -form work in conversations, and discuss at length the prospects of the -house in the senior matches. If he does not succeed in directing the -entire energy of the boy on games, the results of such a failure may be -disastrous. A fellow of seventeen who has nothing particular to do is -bound to find himself in mischief. This fact is realised by both parents -and house masters, and those boys who are good neither at games nor work -usually leave at about this period. It is the falling out of the -unsuccessful runner in a long race. It is no good going on. The leaders -are too far ahead. The gap between the senior and the junior is thus -considerably increased. The stepping-stones have been removed. A boy of -eighteen at the start of his last year sees very few of his -contemporaries sitting at the Sixth Form table. Of the eight or nine -boys who came there with him, only three are left, and the Fifth Form -table is filled by fellows two or three years junior to himself, with -whom he has but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> a slight acquaintance. It is always the 'blood' who is -asked to stop on that extra year. The insignificant are encouraged by -silence to retire.</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>'Thou shalt not kill, yet needst not strive</div> -<div>Officiously to keep alive.'</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>By the time the boy comes to be a prefect he is able to feel himself -supreme, not only because of the system that is at his back.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">PREFECTSHIP</span></h2> - -<p>Prefectship is the coping-stone of a public school education. The boy -who leaves without becoming a prefect has missed, we are continually -assured, the most important part of his school career. And yet what -percentage of an old boys' list, I wonder, reaches the dignity of house -prefectship. One gets the impression sometimes that every one, provided -he stays on long enough, becomes a prefect. All school stories follow a -convention. They open with the new boy closing behind him the -green-baize door of the head master's study, gazing wistfully down a -long corridor at the end of which is the oak door of the day room. From -behind that door comes to him the sound of laughter and eager -conversation. There is the unknown, mysterious world he has to enter. -That is how every school story opens. And every school story closes on -the departure of a hero crowned with athletic and academic honours. The -space in between is occupied with the 'see-saw up' process. How else a -school story is to be constructed I do not know. It has to be narrative -rather than dramatic. But it gives the impression that public school -life for the average boy is a slow voyage from fag to prefect. Indeed, -if <i>Peg's Paper</i> printed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> school stories, 'From Fag to Prefect' would -probably be the title. Such a tale would, however, be little more -generally applicable than a tale of army life entitled 'From Bugler to -Brigadier.' The majority of schoolboys do not become prefects. But the -people in whose hands the framing of the convention lies think they do, -because they did themselves. The dwellers in Mayfair think London -consists of a few drawing-rooms and a few restaurants. The schoolmaster -naturally follows the conventional course, otherwise he would not be a -schoolmaster. If he had not reached the Upper Sixth he would not be in a -position to teach. If he had not reached the Eleven he would not be a -games master. The story-writer may not be an athlete, but it is hardly -possible that a man who can write an interesting book should have failed -to make some mark at school if he had stayed out his full time. And so -there has grown up a tendency to ignore entirely the careers of the -insignificant, which form the background for more striking exploits. And -yet, as always, the insignificant are in the majority.</p> - -<p>A couple of years ago I spent an afternoon in the company of some -friends at the school where their son was completing his second term. It -was a warm afternoon and we naturally walked down to the cricket field. -On the Upper a senior house match, which we should have liked to have -watched, was in progress. Our small guide assured us, however, that this -would be impossible. 'It isn't our house, you see, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> the fellows -would think it awful niff of me to watch another house playing. But -there's a house game of our own going on down there.' Realising that it -was impossible to overcome the novice's fear of doing the wrong thing, -we reluctantly, slowly, and with backward glances, followed our young -friend to the far end of a big field, where a ridiculous junior house -game was being played on a sloping and bumping pitch. The small boy was, -however, more interested in his friends than in the cricket. Beyond this -game there was the pick up.</p> - -<p>Now I do not believe that I had ever before watched a pick up at all -closely. I had imagined that the cricket would be pretty bad, that -firm-footed batsmen would mow full pitches towards long on, that wides -would be only more frequent than the fall of wickets, that every third -scoring stroke would be in the nature of a chance. I had never, however, -anticipated anything approaching the complete impotence of that game. -The batsmen could not hit the ball hard, indeed it was only on rare -occasions that they managed to connect the bat with the ball. There was -no need for any fieldsmen, with the possible exception of long-stop, to -stand more than twenty-five yards from the wicket. The bowler's main -object appeared to be the keeping down of wides. Every game has its own -technique; this game was certainly not cricket as it is played -generally, and, no doubt, the victorious side was the one that bowled -fewest wides. For no other reason would any captain have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> kept on either -of those two bowlers for a second over.</p> - -<p>And I could not help wondering what a public school career stood for in -the lives of those pitiably ineffectual cricketers. It is possible that -one or two of them might be brilliant scholars, or that a few played -football successfully, though this I am prepared to doubt; for the true -sportsman is self-declared the moment that he walks on to a field. It -seemed to me incredible that any one who had played any game -successfully could tolerate the miserable travesty of sport that was -being enacted on that sloping, bumping pitch. But even if there were a -few exceptions, even if one or two were destined for privilege and -authority and a name upon the honour boards, the fate of the majority -was certain. They would remain inconspicuous, belonging to that large -tribe of those whose names on the old boys' list are vaguely familiar to -us, but with whom we can connect not one incident, anecdote, or -conversation. They pass and they leave no mark behind them. They never -rise to a position of responsibility. They never learn to wield -authority. They never acquire, that is to say, those qualities of -administration that have made English rule so tolerant and so -universally respected. What can public school life mean to such as -these? I put the question, but I cannot answer it. I do not know. Public -school life is designed as a slow voyage from fag to prefectship, and, -even if only a minority complete that voyage, it is the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> process and the -stages of that voyage we have here to represent and interpret. It -should, however, be here set on record that, be the advantages or -disadvantages of the public school system what they may, a great many -public school boys never partake of them.</p> - -<p>From the distance of early years the obligations of prefectship seems -slight in comparison with their enormous privileges. A prefect does not -have to answer his name at roll; he can wander round the studies without -leave during hall. He has fags to clean his study, to wash his plates, -to light his fire, to carry his books down to chapel in the morning. He -can inflict punishment without being liable to it. The new boy who has -recently been caned, in his opinion most unjustly, for whispering in -prayers, looks forward to his day of revenge. The life of a prefect must -be free from all the cares that so perplex him. Prefects can never be -troubled with impositions and imperfectly prepared exercises. He glances -up to the Sixth Form table and contemplates the majesty of Meredith with -his neatly-tied tie, and hair brushed back immaculately from his -forehead. What master would have the cheek to 'bottle' Meredith? The -very idea is unthinkable. Meredith has the invulnerable infallibility of -a god. The small boy reconsiders this view as he rises in the school. -The horizon narrows. But even when he reaches the Sixth Form table he -sees prefectship in terms of freedom rather than of service. And it -would, of course, be absurd to maintain that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> obligations outweigh -the privileges. They do not: but they are none the less considerable. If -a prefect is found playing the ass, ragging in the studies, or cutting -lock up, he would be neither lined nor beaten; but the twenty minutes -interview with the Chief would be far worse than any caning. He would -feel humbled, he would feel thoroughly ashamed of himself, he would have -done a rotten thing. Punishments have ceased to be a pawn in a game -between boy and master. And, when a prefect realises this, he realises -also that this particular game is finished.</p> - -<p>The degree to which a prefect appreciates his obligation, depends a good -deal on the way his house master treats him. The boy who is trusted -usually proves himself worthy of that trust. I do not mean in -everything. If a master says to a boy: 'Now, Jones, I am going to let -you prepare your lessons in your study in future. I trust you to work,' -Jones feels himself under no obligation to work. By going to his study -he is sparing the master the irksome duty of supervision. That is a fair -bargain. He has saved the master work and the master has saved him work. -In matters of form work a boy will never cease to regard his -relationship with his master as that of the hunter and hunted. He will -find when he reaches the Sixth Form that instead of being told to -prepare fifty lines of Virgil, he is expected to prepare as much work as -is possible in the time at his disposal. If, when put on to construe in -form he states<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> as an excuse for an unsuccessful effort, that the fifty -line limit has been passed, he will be handled roughly: 'My dear Evans,' -the head master will say, 'you have ceased to be in the Lower Fourth. -You don't work to scale. If you haven't had time to prepare the passage, -say so, and I won't put you on, but whatever you do don't bring forward -that middle school excuse about fifty lines.' The new arrival will look -abashed, but he will not feel that he has been put upon his honour to do -an hour's work every night. He may possibly prepare next time, with the -aid of a crib, an extra dozen lines, but he will do it as quickly as he -can.</p> - -<p>He feels differently, however, about what happens outside the -class-room. When an excuse is accepted because he is a prefect that -would not be accepted without a long cross-examination were he not a -prefect, a boy considers himself to have been put on his honour. I will -give an example. The O.T.C. was, with us, practically compulsory; -ninety-seven per cent. of the school was in it, and that three per cent. -was garrisoned with doctors' certificates. Like all compulsory things it -was extremely unpopular. We used to employ elaborate devices to get -leave off. In break we used to visit the matron and suggest that our -health required some castor oil. If possible we would retain the dose in -our mouths till we got safely into the passage and then deposit it in -our handkerchiefs. When this was impossible we swallowed it. A dose -alone was not a sufficient excuse. We had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> assume faintness, -sickness, or some other indisposition during afternoon school. It was an -intricate business that rarely proved successful. The authorities were -prepared for it. Corps Parade was on Friday, and one Friday after I had -become a prefect, I decided that never before had I felt less like doing -squad drill. I had a headache, I had not finished my Latin Prose, we -were playing Dulwich the next day and I was anxious to be as fresh as -possible. I had also very, very slightly twisted my ankle. Remembering -my courage in the days of castor oil I thought it worth making an -attempt to get leave off. On this occasion I went to the head master.</p> - -<p>I informed him of my injury, and was about to embark on a lengthy -explanation of the accident when the head master cut me short. 'Oh, yes, -Waugh, of course, that'll be quite all right. I hope you'll be fit for -to-morrow.' I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. Because I was a -prefect, my word had been accepted without examination and without -proof. I was trusted to tell the truth. And yet I actually had produced -as feeble an excuse as a fellow in the Lower Fourth. I went on parade -that afternoon, and from then onwards I never tried to get off anything -unless I was absolutely certain that I could have got off it without the -influence of prefectship. And whatever may be urged against the inflated -opinion of himself that the power to exert authority may give a boy, I -can only believe that this sense of duty, this obligation to be true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> to -himself is an invaluable experience. It comes out in all sorts of ways. -I remember an old colour once telling me at the end of the season that -he had not enjoyed his cricket half as much as he had the previous year. -I was surprised. 'I should have thought you'd have enjoyed it much -more,' I said; 'you haven't had to worry about your colours; you've been -certain of your place; you've been able to play whatever sort of game -you liked.'</p> - -<p>'That's just what I have not been able to do,' he replied. 'Last year I -was a free-lance. I took risks. I had a dip when I wanted to, and when -we played unimportant matches against the town and the regiment, I -thought more about hitting a couple of sixes than making a big score. -But I can't do that now. I'm captain of my house. I spend half my -evenings trying to persuade those young asses in the junior side that -seven singles between cover and mid off are of more use to the side than -the most tremendous six. If they see me going in and chucking away my -wicket in a school match, they'd think me a pretty sort of captain, -wouldn't they? I've got to set an example of sorts.' And, though the -captious may maintain that it would have been more to the point if that -particular sportsman had worried a little less about the example he was -setting on the cricket field and a little more about the example he was -setting in the form room and the studies, virtue is virtue wheresoever -it is found and in whatsoever garb it is adorned. It is a good thing to -feel that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> an example has to be set and to decide to set it. It is the -high privilege of service.</p> - -<p>There are occasions when the setting of example grows not only irksome, -but pointless. Throughout one winter my whole dormitory and myself -subjected ourselves to the miseries of a freezing cold bath because -neither party had the face to own itself defeated. In the first warm day -of October the whole house ran cheerily to the shower bath down a long -passage that faced east and was filled with sunlight. But when the -November frosts came on, the long run down the passage in bare feet with -a small towel gathered round our loins became increasingly unattractive. -By the time we reached the bath we were thoroughly cold and the zinc -tubs under the cascade of water were not enticing. Each morning fewer -feet pattered down the passage. But my dormitory maintained its courage. -As long as I went on having a bath I knew that they would go on having -one, and as long as they went on having one I knew that I should have to -also. There were mornings when I longed to say: 'Look here, you fellows, -you don't want to have a bath. Nor do I. Let's chuck it.' The words were -sometimes on the tip of my tongue. But just as I was about to utter them -some one would rise from his bed, reluctantly divest himself of his -pyjamas, wrap a towel round himself, and run out into the passage. After -that retreat was hopeless. The thing had to be seen through. Not one of -us missed his bath throughout the term.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> It may have been good for us: I -don't know. Most things that are supposed to be are unpleasant.</p> - -<p>As so often happens with preconceived ideas, the only duties of -prefectship which present any terrors to the imagination of the new boy -turn out singularly simple. Most boys are self-conscious; they dread a -silence, they hate being conspicuous. They regard, therefore, the taking -of hall and the reading of the house list at roll as terrible ordeals. -They are not so really. One is a little nervous lest the pitch of one's -voice may sound curious as one shouts out the name of the top boy on the -list: but it doesn't: not unless one is very odd. And the taking of hall -is simple, unless one goes down there with an established reputation for -inefficiency. In such a case the prefect does stand a poor look-out, as -poor a look-out as the master who has proved himself weak. But such -reputations are not easily acquired, and the possessors of them are well -advised to bribe some hardier colleague to take their places. No attempt -is made to rag the average prefect. He goes down on his first night -fully prepared to inflict a violent punishment on any harbinger of -insubordination. He may even carry down with him his swagger stick as a -cautionary signal. But it is unlikely that he will be called upon to use -it. The chief embarrassment, indeed, of taking hall is the importunities -of small boys who come and ask one to help them with their translation. -One hums and hahs, looks at the notes and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> vocabulary and discovers -how extremely hard it is to translate Livy without a crib.</p> - -<p>To a great extent the proficiency of the prefectorial system depends on -the house master. If prefects admire and respect their house master, the -tone of the house will almost certainly be a good one. If they dislike -him the tone may very likely be a good one. It is a toss up. Dislike and -fear often go together. And a prefect who dislikes, and thinks he is -disliked, by his house master may very well decide out of affronted -dignity to perform his duties thoroughly. 'The old beast hates me,' he -says; 'he thinks I'm no good. I'll jolly well show him!' Dislike is, at -any rate, a positive emotion. It will produce something. Nothing, on the -other hand, is more fatal than the sort of genial, indifferent -good-natured friendship that so often exists between a house master and -his prefects.</p> - -<p>In Chowdler, G. F. Bradly has drawn just such a house master. Chowdler -pretends to be the elder brother: he talks of 'good old Jones' and 'dear -old Joe.' He has the prefects up in his study for heart to heart manly -talks. And the prefects listen, agree with what he says, echo, when they -speak, his own sentiments, and generally hoodwink him. They treat him as -he treats them. They call him 'good old Chowdler,' and leave it at that. -When there is a conscientious and an officious head of the house things -go fairly quietly; when the head of the house is a lazy, sociable -creature, the house runs itself, and with results that would cause -little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> pleasure were they published to the mandarins of the common -room. No new house master, Arnold Lunn says, has to face a more -difficult task than he whose predecessor has earned the reputation of -being a sport. The house master who always announces to the head boy his -intention of visiting the studies is popular enough, but he has a rotten -house.</p> - -<p>Yet, however badly the prefectorial system may on occasions work, it is -impossible to dispense with it. It is not so much the need for a heavy -hand as the need for a scapegoat. Some one must be responsible to the -supreme authority for any disturbance that may take place. If a house -master enters the day room during 'prep.' and finds that an impromptu -concert is in progress, he knows that it would be impossible for him to -disentangle the muddled evidence of interested witnesses. He could never -find out what it was all about, how it started, who started it, what -happened next. He makes, therefore, one person responsible for the -maintenance of order in the day room during 'prep.' He puts a house -prefect there on duty. When, therefore, he interrupts an unseemly brawl, -he does not concern himself with the incidents of the affair; Brown's -face may be plastered with red ink, the head of Evans may be slowly -extricating itself from the wastepaper basket, Ferguson may be -withdrawing a battered compass from the unprotected quarters of an -enemy. He does not notice that. He does not punish Brown and Ferguson -and Evans. He asks the prefect in charge for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> an explanation. If the -explanation is not satisfactory that prefect is relieved of office. It -is the knowledge of this fate that inspires the industry of prefects.</p> - -<p>This system is the basis for all administration, for the delegation of -all responsibility. It rarely fails. When I shared a study with another -prefect we divided eight fags between us. The best of these eight we -appointed fag-master. 'You will do no fagging yourself, Marston,' we -told him. 'To each of the other seven fags will be allotted one day of -the week. You will see that they do their job. If the fire goes out, you -will be beaten.' During the whole of that winter our fire never went out -once. It is a regrettable fact, but a true one, that human beings will -only work under the influence of a bribe, or of a threat. In the wide -world it is usually a bribe. One may not threaten the foreman of an oil -works. He has his union behind him. But there are no trade unions for -fags: a judicious threat works wonders. And, when all other forces -weaken, the wish to retain office helps the prefect to his task. Were -there no prefects, no scapegoats, there would be no order. They are the -exchange of hostages.</p> - -<p>Suppose an attempt was made to run a house without them? How long do you -imagine that it would last? Five days, six days, a week? Yes, perhaps as -long as that: not longer: certainly I would not give it longer than a -week. Such an experiment might be tried at the end of a long and -unsatisfactory term during which several<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> of the prefects had, at some -time or another, come into collision with official ruling. And the -climax might have been reached, shall we say, on the last Tuesday of the -term, when the head of the house was discovered during 'prep.' playing -the organ in the big school.</p> - -<p>Next day, after lunch, the house would be astonished by the following -announcement: 'I don't know,' the house master would say, 'whether I -approve of the prefectorial system or not—that's neither here nor -there. At any rate it has not worked well with my present set of -prefects, and, for the rest of the term I propose to dispense with them. -I shall occupy during preparation the small study at the end of the -passage, and the house tutor will supervise preparation in the day room. -I shall occupy the small single dormitory by the fire escape. That is -all.' It is possible, is it not, as the sudden resolution of an -overworked, exasperated man who had not paused to consider the results -of his decision.</p> - -<p>Well, what would happen then? We can guess to a certain extent. It is, -at least, a subject of interesting speculation. What would happen to a -house that had no prefects?</p> - -<p>For a couple of days all would go smoothly, I imagine. The house would -behave like a whipped dog. Its tail would be tucked between its legs. -The prefects would make an ineffectual stand upon their dignity. Then -the possibilities of the situation would become apparent. Authority -spreads a veneer over the boisterous spirits<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> of a boy of eighteen. But -at heart he remains a ragster. In a couple of years' time, as an -undergraduate or a medical student, he will be destroying furniture and -organising preposterous bonfires. And, when authority is taken from him, -he feels once again the old itch to enter the lists, to try one last -throw with the marshalled forces of officialdom. It may, for instance, -occur to Morcombe, the head of the house, that, though he has ceased to -be a house prefect, he remains a school prefect, and that, outside the -precincts of his house, he is still a force. When, therefore, he sees -Jones mi. flinging stones against the cloisters, he orders Jones to -appear before him that evening after roll. It is after roll, during the -silence of first hall, that punishments are inflicted. And, that night, -the house master, sitting in his narrow study at the end of the passage, -will be astonished to hear the silence broken by a series of resounding -bangs. He hurries down the passage and discovers Jones mi. straightening -himself beside the water pipes, one hand ruefully stroking his trousers, -while the head of the house proudly surveying his handiwork, delivers a -last word of admonishment and taps his cane against his boots.</p> - -<p>'But what on earth, Morcombe, is the meaning of this?' says the house -master.</p> - -<p>'I had occasion, sir, to beat a boy.'</p> - -<p>'But you've no right to beat a boy. You're not a prefect any longer.'</p> - -<p>'I was punishing him, sir, for a school and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> not a house offence. He was -throwing stones against the cloisters. As a school prefect I felt myself -bound to take official notice of his action.'</p> - -<p>'But you know quite well, Morcombe,' the house master would answer -hotly, 'that you've no right to do anything of the sort. You are only -quibbling.'</p> - -<p>'Then am I to understand, sir, that I have ceased to be a school -prefect.'</p> - -<p>'You are to understand you have no authority over any one in this -house.'</p> - -<p>'But that will make it difficult for me, sir; if I were to discover a -boy in this house and a boy in another house smoking on a Sunday -afternoon, I should be able to order the boy from another house to put -out his cigarette and return to school at once, but the boy in my own -house I should have to leave where he was. It would be suggested that I -was favouring my own house.'</p> - -<p>It is unlikely that the house master will have a reply; he will order -Morcombe to return to his study and to cease being impertinent. It -depends on the courage of Morcombe and the respect he has for his house -master whether five minutes later there will be a tap on the door of the -narrow study at the end of the passage and a quiet voice will ask: -'Please, sir, I hope you'll excuse my worrying you, but I am not quite -certain whether you said I was, or was not, a school prefect. You see, -sir, it's my turn to read the lessons in chapel to-morrow. I wondered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -whether I ought to run round and tell the head master that I am no -longer privileged to read them.'</p> - -<p>There will be several such imbroglios.</p> - -<p>Whether or not the term will end without an actual conflagration is -problematic. On the whole I should say that the chances were even. It is -the end of the term. Spirits run high, constant supervision is -impossible. On the last morning but one, for instance, there is no early -chapel. There is a long lie in bed. The house master will return to his -own part of the house to shave, bathe himself, and dress. There is no -one left in the dormitories with any authority. Every one is -good-tempered and excited with a surplus store of animal spirits. There -is a lively exchange of compliments which terminate in a pillow being -flung across the room. There is a moment's nervous hush. The power of -the prefectorial system dies hard: a week ago such an act would have -been dealt with instantly and severely. And, even now, a single word -would be sufficient to restore order.</p> - -<p>But the prefect takes no notice. He sees no reason why he should exert -himself in the interests of one who considers his services to be of no -further use to him. He feels justifiably aggrieved. The house master -considers he can run the house himself—well then, let him run it. He -has asked for no assistance from his prefects. He can therefore expect -none. The pillow is returned. It is inaccurately flung, however, and the -contents of a water jug streams across the floor. Again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> there is a -brief embarrassment. But the prefect reassures his dormitory.</p> - -<p>'My dear fellows, don't worry about me,' he says, 'I have no authority -over you. There is no need for you to take the slightest notice of -anything I say or do. Indeed I'm not at all certain that I shan't take a -hand in it. Ferrers, you brute, take that.'</p> - -<p>And with the sudden flick of the forearm that in the cricket field had -proved so disastrous to the batsman who had risked a short run to cover, -the unerring discharge of a pillow has prostrated the startled Ferrers. -From that moment mischief is afoot. It takes what course it will. And -that course will probably involve the overturning of a good many jugs, -the stripping of innumerable beds, the splitting of several pillows. In -a brief while the air will be filled with feathers, the floor with -mattresses and soaking sheets. And when, an hour later, the house master -is summoned by an indignant matron to view the battlefield, who will be -held responsible? To whose account is he to debit the broken jugs and -the torn pillows? Whom can he deprive of office? He will, no doubt, -collect the house in his study; every one will spend the last day -inscribing a georgic or an eclogue. But the house will feel that it has -triumphed. What, after all, can the house master say? If he begins to -criticise Morcombe the reply is obvious.</p> - -<p>'But I tried to stop it, sir, I did my best. But they wouldn't take any -notice of me, sir. I had no authority over them.'</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>If the house master is wise he will say as little as possible. He will -announce the punishment, and the next term place more trust in his -prefects. However bad an individual set of prefects may be, without them -things would be a good deal worse.</p> - -<p>S. P. B. Mais in his first, and perhaps best, book dealing with Public -Schools, devoted a chapter to the various types of prefects, the effect -that office had on each type, and the use each type made of its -privileges. He maintained that certain types were unfitted for -authority, and that no boy who had not a view of life that passed beyond -the limits of school should be given such authority. That is no doubt -the ideal, but it is impracticable. A house master has to make the most -of the material at his disposal: if he is dissatisfied he must blame -himself. He has had his five years in which to fashion the malleable -substance to his fancy. If a boy is high in form and a school colour and -has been several years in the house, it is impossible to pass him over -in favour of a junior boy who is lower in form and a less successful -athlete. Prefectship has to go by seniority. The moment it was felt that -office went to the boys in whom the house master happened to have most -faith, the word 'favouritism' would be run like a corroding poison -through the system of the house. The favourite would be universally -distrusted and disliked. A certain class of boy would develop the -'conspiracy complex' that every hand was against him, and, in time, he -would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> become what he imagined others took him for.</p> - -<p>Such a system would encourage endless sycophancy. If the house master -were married, his wife would play too large a part in the politics of -his house. There would be those who would not hesitate to ingratiate -themselves with her in the hope that at the critical moment her -influence might turn the scales in their favour.</p> - -<p>When a boy whom his house master dislikes reaches the point where, in -course of seniority he would have to be made a prefect, the house master -has only two courses open: either he must make the boy a prefect, or he -must write to the father saying, though he has nothing definite against -his son, he does not feel that he is the sort of boy who ought to be -made a prefect, and he must ask the father, therefore, to remove his son -from the school at the end of the summer.</p> - -<p>He can do nothing else. He cannot keep on a boy whose claims he has -passed over deliberately and without cause. What house master, on the -other hand, is going to write such a letter to a parent. The parent is -bound to object. He will appeal to the head master.</p> - -<p>'You have nothing against my son,' he will say. 'During the four years -he has been at school he has never been in any serious trouble. He has -worked hard and he has played hard. I have always regarded prefectship -as the crown of a public school education. I sent my son to you rather -than to some other educational establishment because I wished him to -have the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> invaluable experience of being a prefect in a Public School. -And now, at the end, when he has reached this position, you say, without -giving any reason, that he is not a fit person to occupy it. It is -scandalous.'</p> - -<p>And even were the head master to endorse his subaltern's verdict, were -he to say: 'That is all very true, Mr Evans, but a house master is the -best judge of the type of boy that he wants to have as a prefect. I am -very sorry, but we must abide by his decision,' the reputation of the -school would suffer.</p> - -<p>Old boys would discuss the verdict in their clubs.</p> - -<p>'That's no school for my son,' they would say. 'Prefectship depends on -the caprice of a house master. And, if by the time one gets high in the -house, one's told one's got to go—why, if that had happened in my case -I know I'd never have become captain of the Eleven. My house master -would have got rid of me long before I had got my colours.'</p> - -<p>Gray heads would shake seriously over the port; the numbers of the -school would sink. Seniority may, now and again, bring most unsuitable -persons to authority, but it is a far more satisfactory system than any -that would be based on the choice and dislike of one person.</p> - -<p>Certainly many unlikely people reach the high-backed chair of the Sixth -Form table. And a house master must often wonder how will taste the -strange stew that is simmering—a compound of so many unknown -ingredients.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> In spite of experience, he is always guessing. But the -changes are less considerable than might be expected, or it would be -truer to say, perhaps, that the changes follow a more or less ordinary -course.</p> - -<p>A boy's attitude on reaching office is ordered by what he has read and -by example. The ragster usually becomes a martinet. He has read of the -reformation of Prince Hal; the epigram about Kildare ruling all Ireland -is the one piece of Elizabethan history that his memory has retained. -How nice he feels it will be to surprise every one. What a shock it will -be to his old companions. Every one must have said of him: 'Oh, Park'll -be all right. He's such a ragster himself, he's sure to go pretty easy!' -In his first week, therefore, he canes a quite senior boy for playing -the piano too loudly in the changing room. He becomes in a short while -extremely unpopular and a general terror. If on the start of the school -year one were asked to tell which of the new prefects one would be best -advised to avoid, one would almost certainly place one's finger on the -boy who had been most frequently in trouble during the previous term.</p> - -<p>There is no sign, however, by which we can detect the officious type of -prefect who speaks solemnly of his responsibilities and makes life -extremely unpleasant for his house and for his old companions. It is -impossible to tell on whom this germ is going to settle. It need not be -the reformed rake: perhaps because rakes reform so seldom. It is not -necessarily the religious boy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> or the intellectual boy. But on some one -that germ is sure to settle, and it is of all the germs the most -annoying.</p> - -<p>There is nothing more exasperating than the officious prefect. On the -third evening of the term he walks into the study of a former associate, -looks confoundedly uncomfortable, seats himself on the table, and then, -after a moment's embarrassed silence, permits his features to assume an -expression of austere dignity, and says:—</p> - -<p>'Jones, you confided in me two terms ago a little secret, you'll -remember what it was. Well, I feel that it is my unpleasant duty, now -that I am a prefect, to report this matter to the head of the house. He -will take what action he thinks fit.'</p> - -<p>Jones sits back in his chair, a look of horrified disgust upon his face.</p> - -<p>'But, my dear fellow,' he says, 'you couldn't possibly—I mean I told -you that in confidence. You couldn't be such a sneak!'</p> - -<p>The prefect would shake his head.</p> - -<p>'You do not understand. It is not sneaking. You would not call it -sneaking on the part of a policeman if he arrested an old friend whom he -found breaking into a house. This is an official duty that has nothing -to do with our personal relationship.'</p> - -<p>Jones is tempted to say that in another minute personal relationships -will have a good deal to do with the matter, but he appreciates the -necessity for tact. He talks, he argues, he cajoles; his patience is -tried to the last degree. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> difficult to discuss a matter on -grounds of personal and practical expediency when the other party -refuses to desert the platform of high morality. In the end probably -Jones is promised silence in return for reformation, and, as the door -closes behind his old friend, he murmurs: 'Put not your trust in -princes.'</p> - -<p>The officious prefect is not content with the exposure of confidences -received during his period of probation, he endeavours to unearth -present scandals, and this is a point on which popular opinion is very -strong. The moral tone of the house is not considered to be the concern -of the house prefect. That is the province of the house master and the -head boy.</p> - -<p>The position of the head boy is a little difficult to define. He is the -intermediary between mortality and Olympus. He is supposed to be above -suspicion. He is the only person who is allowed to do anything out of 'a -sense of duty.' If a house prefect interferes in the private affairs of -another, an ulterior motive is always suggested, and the suggestion is -probably justified. Whether or not a head boy is justified in unearthing -scandal is an open point. There are those who will maintain that he -should only take notice of what actually hits him in the face. The -reason being that what hits the head of the house in the face will, -sooner or later, inflict a similar shock to the physiognomy of the house -master. And this should be avoided. In the first place, the house master -will lose his high opinion of his head boy; in the second, a scandal -that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> might have been prevented will reach official notice.</p> - -<p>Indeed, there are not a few who will go so far as to assert that the -function of a head boy is that of the taster, the impersonal critic who -says: 'No, that is going too far.' He is the aeroplane photograph of a -strategic position, that shows what gun emplacements are obvious and -which are not. And, according to this line of argument, head boys should -only concern themselves with the obvious; what was not apparent to them -would certainly not be apparent to a house master; there is no need for -them to play at Sherlock Holmes.</p> - -<p>But this is a point on which the vote has not been taken. There are -several schools of thought: all schools of thought are, however, joined -in the denial of the right of the head boy to report to the house master -anything save a case of insubordination or disloyalty on the part of a -brother prefect. A head boy, it is felt, should be able to deal with the -discipline and conduct of the house himself. To report is to confess a -failure.</p> - -<p>To the house prefect no such fine shades of motive are ascribed. He is -not considered to be above suspicion, and he is allowed to indulge -certain corresponding weaknesses. His business is to see that order is -kept; the new prefect forms numberless resolutions. He is acutely -conscious of his dignity, his bearing partakes of the solemnity of -Malvolio. He wonders whether he ought to remain on terms of such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> easy -familiarity with certain rowdy elements in the house. A prefect should -not have too many friends. He should be the calm, implacable judge, -impersonal, impartial, with bandaged eyes. He is very haughty for a day -or two. But within a fortnight he has recovered. He becomes sociable -once more. He walks down to the field with his old friends. He does not -wonder whether it is wise or unwise to exchange confidences with those -whose conduct one day he may be forced to view with official -disapproval. He takes notice of, and deals with, only those problems -that crop up from time to time. He acquires a wholesome tolerance of -other people's business, a tolerance that slips over the border of -indifference, but remains an admirable social lubricant.</p> - -<p>It is this indifference, this refusal to be upset about trivial matters -that can be left to adjust themselves, that is the secret of the success -of British administration. Other nations and classes do not seem to -possess it. The artisan when put in a position of authority bothers -about the unimportant, he gives himself no peace, and he gives those -under him no peace. There is constant friction. Troops almost invariably -prefer to be under the command of public school men rather than of 'rankers.'</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAST TERM</span></h2> - -<p>The last year, and especially the last term, is popularly supposed to be -the happiest of a public school career. And it is possible that this may -be so in the case of an industrious, worthy, but not particularly -brilliant fellow who reaches in his last year the privileges of house -prefectship, the immunities of the Lower Sixth and the social hall-mark -of a second fifteen cap. At last, after a struggle of five years, he has -extricated himself from the rut.</p> - -<p>For the 'blood,' however, for the double first who has stayed on an -extra year to be captain of the Eleven, these last terms are a -disappointment. He has reached the limits of ambition. For a while he is -attracted by the charm of his new offices, but he can discern beyond -them no fresh fields to conquer. He is embarrassed by the finality of -his position. He cannot value what he possesses. He wonders what is -coming next. He scores tries in school matches, he makes centuries on -the upper, but he had already done that before. 'The doing savours of -disrelish.' He is expected to score tries and make centuries. The cheer -that greets him as he grounds the ball between the posts has not the -surprised enthusiasm that rippled down the touchline two years<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> ago when -he amazed every one by giving two consecutive dummies and beating the -whole defence. He is expected to do well, and when he is a little below -his form, there is a feeling that he has lost the school the match.</p> - -<p>Interest is focussed on the performance of the new men. A century by -Shepherd causes more excitement than a century by Hobbs. Hobbs is -established. The world has formed its estimate of his qualities. There -is little new to be said about him. He belongs to the present and the -past. Shepherd belongs to the future. He is a subject of speculation.</p> - -<p>And so the double first at the end of the match hears far less talk of -his own performances than he did a year earlier. He is taken for -granted. It is all: 'What a beautiful drop that was of Smith's, he'll be -a fine player in two years' time.' He would not analyse his discontent. -But it is there the whole time. There is no longer a life of marked -stages in front of him. He can peer now over the wall of school. He is -worried, too, by the increasingly acute demands of his physical nature, -by the restraints that are imposed on it. Very often a quite popular boy -makes himself generally disliked during his last year on account of this -irritation that expresses itself in bad temper, jealousy, and outbursts -of unreasoning vindictiveness.</p> - -<p>The last term is especially difficult. A boy finds himself freed from -the conditions that had for the five previous years directed his -conduct. He had always thought of 'next term.' Now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> he realises suddenly -that there is going to be no next term. He is no longer leading the -normal life of his companions. On all sides of him preparations are -being made for the future. Jones has decided to share the games study -with Evans instead of Smith. Plans are being made for the arrangement of -the dormitories. Ambitions are carefully tended, careers are nursed. So -and so is worried because some one else has got his firsts before him. -Dunston is distressed because he has been caught cribbing: 'There goes -my chance of house prefectship.' And the boy who is about to leave -slowly realises that these considerations have no longer any meaning for -him.</p> - -<p>If he is caught cribbing he is concerned only with his immediate -punishment. If some one gets his colours before him it does not matter. -He has done with the troubles of seniority. The old life is falling from -him. He is perplexed, not seeing clearly what lies in front of him. Six -years seemed such a long time. He had not paused to wonder what lay -beyond them. He had come to regard that last Sunday in the school chapel -as a final stage. School stories always ended there: in the same way -that romances always closed on marriage, or on death. And, though now he -would be no doubt ready to admit that a man's life did not end at the -altar, and might even be prepared to consider the possibility of an -existence beyond the grave, he had not considered such speculation -profitable or entertaining.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>And, in the same way that at a later point of his career he will awake -with a start six months after marriage and ask himself whether it is all -over: 'Heavens!' he will say, 'I can't be finished with; what's going to -happen now?' So, during his last term, he discovers that this stage has -not the finality he had supposed. Something has got to happen next. -School life was, after all, no more than a prelude. He had valued too -highly the enticing emoluments it had to offer. And he does not see what -new prizes life will hold for him.</p> - -<p>If he is going to Oxford he may toy with the prospect of athletic -honours. But unless he is particularly gifted, or particularly -conceited, he will appreciate the vast degree of specialised rivalry to -which he will be subjected. If he is going into business he will -envisage, perhaps, the days of affluence and power, of private -secretaries and private telephones; but all that is a very long way off. -There is no immediate focus for his ambition. There is no particular -reason why he should not, if he wishes, make as big a nuisance of -himself as his fancy pleases. He is passing from one phase of discipline -to another; and because the nature of neither is definite, he considers -himself free. A last term is often indeterminate and ineffectual.</p> - -<p>Now if the discovery that school life is only a prelude is made by an -unimaginative athlete during these last weeks, we can confidently assume -that it will be made a good deal sooner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> by a boy of originality and -independence, especially by one who has not entered with any great zest -into the conflict of athletic distinction, and has, therefore, been in a -sense above the battle. He realises a good year and a half before he has -to leave that life in its fullest is to be encountered beyond the limits -of a cloistered world. The discovery does not contribute to his content. -He knows that if he wishes to win a scholarship he will have to stay on -his full time, and he feels that he is marking time, that he is sitting -in the stalls of a theatre waiting for the curtain to go up. Now that is -a most unsatisfactory position to be in. In the theatre we kick our -heels, read our programmes, turn round to see if we can recognise a -friend, speculate on the possibility of innocence in the lady who is -sitting in the front row of the dress circle. One does anything to make -the quarter of an hour pass quickly. The imaginative schoolboy behaves -in a similar fashion. He frets and grows impatient. He assumes an -intellectual snobbery. He despises the majority of his companions and -labels them as Philistines. He disparages the values of athletics and -exalts in essays and in the debating society the literary standards of -the nineties.</p> - -<p>It is possible that on Saturday evening he will leave a carnation -standing in green ink in the hope of emulating his divinities. He is -encouraged in his rebellion by the indignant astonishment of the master, -who refuses to regard his outburst as a very natural and, on the whole,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> -harmless pose. He is lectured severely on the dignity of his position. -He replies in a cryptic epigram. He even criticises the public school -system—an unforgivable offence. Being unacquainted with the ways of -systems, and feeling that his personal liberty is curtailed, he -considers that for this curtailment the public school system is solely -and peculiarly responsible. He will not allow that all systems oppress -the individual, that systems are made for the service of the many, and -that it is for the individualist to decide whether the privileges he -will receive by consenting to remain with the mass compensate for the -unpleasant restrictions that are placed on the free play of his -personality. It is, after all, the first system with which he has -contracted an intimate relationship, and in the same way that a -monogamist considers his wife worse than anybody else's, the schoolboy -delights, in spite of a deep affection for his own school, in hurling at -the public school system all manner of accusations, in which the word -sausage machine is not infrequently repeated.</p> - -<p>There are such boys in every school. Age is an arbitrary definition of -development. Many boys reach the age of seventeen, and stay there for -the rest of their lives; others are twenty-five years old before they -have done with their teens. When a boy is tired of school he has -outgrown school. And there is only one sure remedy—to take him away.</p> - -<p>But there are the claims of a university career; there is the parent's -natural wish that his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> son should gain a scholarship; it is often -impracticable for the boy to leave: in such circumstances we can only -recommend on the part of the masters a general leniency. Such outbursts -should not be taken seriously. The school, as a whole, is not concerned -with the unusual behaviour of those who, by the possession of brains, -are already considered slightly abnormal. And the jester who is -disregarded may well become a monk. If, however, a boy feels that notice -is being taken of him, he allows his flattered vanity to dictate to him. -He cultivates his pose; he wonders how best he may shock the -mid-Victorianism of the common room, and there is the danger that the -pose may, in the course of time, become part of his intellectual -equipment.</p> - -<p>Sermons and addresses inform us that in the last term is to be found the -significance of school life. But, as I have previously tried to show, -the last term is no more significant than the first. The new boy is -outside school, pausing on the fringe, his eyes full of a sheltered -curiosity. The boy who is about to leave is equally outside school; he -looks backwards and he looks forwards; the continuity of his life is -about to be broken; its rhythm is temporarily suspended. He is no longer -leading the same life as his companions. And it is vain to compare the -new boy with the boy that is about to leave, and by analysing and -examining the change that there is between them to arrive at the meaning -of school life.</p> - -<p>They are two entirely different people. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> is a child; the other is a -man. The change that must necessarily have taken place during this -passage is so considerable that it is impossible to say how much of it -is due to environment and how much to physical growth. You might send a -man of thirty to Timbuctoo, recall him at the end of four years, and, -examining the change in him apprehend the significance of Timbuctoo -society. He went a man and he returned a man. What change there was in -him could be attributed directly to the wholesome, or unwholesome, -atmosphere of Timbuctoo.</p> - -<p>You cannot follow this line of reasoning with a public school boy. A -parent cannot say: 'Six years ago I sent you a young, innocent boy, -industrious, honest, truthful. You have returned to me a young man who -knows more than I consider it proper that he should know, whose sole -object appears to be to extract from life as much pleasure as is -commensurate with a minimum of work, a young man, moreover, who -considers that a lie told to an official is not a lie. Look what you -have done!' But that is not a fair attitude. Anyhow, during those six -years, a boy must to a certain extent have lost his innocence; most -young men of nineteen place the claims of personal indulgence before -those of work. Most young men look on life as a game that is played -between themselves and a perfectly ridiculous antiquated body which is -called 'government,' and whom it is permissible to hoodwink, misinform, -or otherwise deceive whenever the opportunity is presented.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> The -corroding forces of knowledge must make themselves felt during those six -years. It is unreasonable and absurd to attribute their effects solely -to the public school system.</p> - -<p>One can, however, by examining the mental state of a boy a week after he -has left school, form some estimate of what he has learnt at such -considerable expense to his parents.</p> - -<p>In the first place, he has acquired an extremely valuable social -technique. A public school education is a passport. Its assailants would -describe it as the membership of a select trades union. An old public -school boy can enter a new mess without feeling any great embarrassment. -He knows how to comport himself in the more superficial of the -situations in which he will from time to time discover himself. All of -which is distinctly valuable.</p> - -<p>He has also learnt to understand the type of man with whom he will have -most dealing. He is admitted, that is to say, to terms of good -fellowship with a very large number of persons. He will be treated by -them as a decent chap till he proves himself otherwise. He will have -enough in common with them to be able to bridge superficially the -uncertain moments that precede friendship. If he were introduced to a -man at his club, he would have no difficulty in finding a congenial -topic of conversation, during which conversation he would be able to -decide whether or not the man to whom he had been introduced was likely -to prove a sympathetic companion.</p> - -<p>He would have learnt, through the exercise of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> these qualities in a -communal life, patience and tolerance of a certain kind. A tolerance, -that is to say, that might condemn a man on the cut of his coat, the -colour of his ties, or the use of an incorrect idiom, but would allow -each man to lead his own private life provided he wore the conventional -uniform. Such a tolerance may be described as snobbish and narrow, but -is an admirable social lubricant. An old public school boy would be -unlikely, for instance, to cause trouble to a mess or company or cricket -club by injudicious interference. He will have learnt that it is not -easy for an assorted collection of men to live together without -occasionally getting on each other's nerves, and he will have learnt, in -consequence, the value of tact and compromise.</p> - -<p>He will also have learnt a version of his duty towards his neighbours. -He would not tell a lie to a friend unless it was absolutely necessary, -and he would never let a friend down. He has the sense of loyalty -developed to a high degree. All of which goes down on the credit side of -the ledger. On the debit side, however, there are enough entries to make -the cashier wonder whether, or no, the account is overdrawn.</p> - -<p>It is amazing how little knowledge the average public school boy has -managed to acquire. He has rushed from one class room to another, -learning French for one hour, and history for another, and science for a -third. He has worked at each of these subjects spasmodically according -to the particular form and set in which he has happened at the time to -find himself. For a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> whole year on end he may have neglected French -because he was under a lazy master. Then, at the end of the year, on -finding himself in a higher and more strenuous form, he may have made -feverish efforts for a couple of terms, to the detriment of his -mathematics and history, with the result that there is an enormous gap -in his knowledge. Whole periods of history are a blank to him. He has -acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. Within a few -years what little connection there was between the appreciation of these -isolated facts will have slipped away. There will remain a few phrases, -a few catchwords, a few dates—an admirable framework indeed for social, -moral, and political prejudice.</p> - -<p>The average public school boy knows, I imagine, a great deal less than -the continental school product. Not only has he learnt little, but he -has not been encouraged to use his brains. He does not, indeed, regard -his brain as a possession to be valued highly and carefully trained. He -will get out of bed five minutes earlier than he need do in the morning -to wave his legs about his head and do exercises with his arms that will -improve his physical condition, but he would never think of learning a -dozen lines of English verse to improve his memory. No one ever appears -to have impressed on him the fact that at thirty-five he will have to -abandon football; that, by the time he is fifty, he will be bowling very -slow stuff indeed, and will be grateful to the opposing captain who -offers him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> a runner. Yet, at sixty, his brain will, if properly cared -for, be as powerful as it has ever been.</p> - -<p>Now I do not want to suggest that boys should devote their whole spare -time to the reading of poetry; literature is only a part of life; but I -do maintain that every public school boy should take some part in the -intellectual life of the world, that he should be able to discover as -much interest in his mind as in his body. At present he does not. He has -very little inner life. He depends far too much on outside interests, on -games during the term, and theatres during the holidays. If he has to -rely on his own devices, he is woefully deficient.</p> - -<p>This fact was brought home to me vividly by my experience as a prisoner -of war in Germany. The average officer had no resources of his own; he -could draw no sustenance from the contemplative side of life. He mooned -round the square, wondering how soon he could decently set about his -next meal, longing sadly for the lights of Piccadilly. In the evenings, -when he had to return to his room, he spent the three or four hours -before lights were extinguished engraving rather aimless pictures on the -lids of cigar boxes. It was a pathetic sight to see a man of -twenty-eight, in the prime of life, sitting down night after night to -fiddle about with a knife, a piece of wood, and a box of paints. He -derived no pleasure from it. It was a narcotic. As long as his hands -were employed his brain could go to sleep, and he needed to contemplate -no longer the tedious procession of days that lay before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> him. Every man -should have sufficient part in the intellectual interests of life to be -able to keep his intelligence active for eight months in surroundings -that provide no physical outlets.</p> - -<p>The public school boy has derived little satisfaction from his work. He -has laboured spasmodically with expediency as the goal. Promotion has -promised certain attendant privileges, and the historical Sixth lies, -calm and pleasant, like a lake in the desert.</p> - -<p>There is to be found a rest 'for all who come.' It is a sure port after -the shipwrecks of the fourths and fifths. The traveller need work no -more; he has laboured faithfully, let him enter into the joy of his -lord. He returns one holidays having gained his second eleven colours. -Paternal pride is flattered, and the spirit of welcome is only partially -relaxed by the accompanying report. About a week later the following -conversation takes place over a glass of port.</p> - -<blockquote><p><i>Son</i>: I say, father, don't you think all these classics are rather -a waste of time?</p> - -<p><i>Father</i>: Well, I don't know, my boy. I did them myself, you know.</p> - -<p><i>Son</i>: Of course, father, of course; but things were a bit -different then, and besides you were so much better at them than I -am.</p> - -<p><i>Father</i>: Oh, well, if you put it like that, my boy, well, -perhaps——</p> - -<p><i>Son</i>: You see, father, I thought it would be rather a good idea -for me to read history.</p> - -<p><i>Father</i>: History, my boy, whatever for?</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p><i>Son</i>: Well, I was thinking of taking up politics, father, and -anyway, history scholarships are awfully easy to get. That ass, -Kenneth, got one—you know, the fellow in the School House with the -yellow hair. If you'd just drop a line to Chief, father, I'm sure -he would be only too glad....</p></blockquote> - -<p>One more pilgrim has arrived at Mecca.</p> - -<p>The higher up the school one goes, the less work one does. After a few -terms the habit of work is lost, and the only real diligence is -displayed by that melancholy type of scholar who is trained like a pet -Pomeranian.</p> - -<p>This is not an ideal apprenticeship for life. It starts a boy with an -entirely false idea of the position that his work should occupy in his -life. I do not wish to seem parsonic, but, if the experience of -practically every big man that has ever lived means anything to us, we -do know that a man's happiness, or unhappiness, depends in the main on -whether his employment is congenial to him. Work is the finest antidote -to boredom. And a public school boy has not realised this by the time he -is on the threshold of his career. He does not consider that the choice -of his career should be the expression of his temperament. He drifts -into the most accessibly remunerative job. He brings to it no -enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>The trouble is that school life lasts too long and is far too jolly. Six -years is a long time. A boy of thirteen can hardly be expected to -realise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> that it is only a prelude. The years pass so happily, the -pursuit of ambition is so engrossing that he has no time to consider -whether the prizes he is winning have any lasting value. As the new boy -he longs to be captain of the school: and, having set himself a task, he -does not shrink from the contest. School life is so vast, so varied, so -many-coloured that it would be difficult for a boy to relinquish his -hold upon the ambition that lies close to him in favour of the shadowy -ambitions of the life that lies beyond it. School life is too big a -pedestal for the statue that is to be placed on it. It dwarfs what it -should present. The boy finds on leaving school that an entirely -different technique is required. It is not that the standards are -changed, but the whole manner of life is altered.</p> - -<p>His school career was divided neatly into stages. He could at any moment -consult a house list and see how he was progressing on the road to -authority. At such a period he should have reached the Fifth table. If -he were one day to get into the Fifteen, he should by his sixteenth -birthday have got his house cap. Everything was mapped out. The rungs of -the ladder were labelled. Colt's Cap, House Cap, Seconds, Firsts, Fourth -Form, Fifth Form, Sixth.</p> - -<p>In business he finds no such ladder. His abilities are placed upon the -open market. He is fighting an intangible foe. He has to come to terms -with himself. He feels that he is driving into the void. He also finds -that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> has to rearrange his scale of values. Athletic distinction is -not greatly prized in Wall Street, and the young man who, when asked to -present his qualifications, remarks that his batting average was over -thirty, without a single not-out score to help it, is likely to receive -a rude shock. I spent a few months before I went to Sandhurst in the -Inns of Court O.T.C. (a corps that had, by that time, ceased to be -composed of ex-public school men), and it was a blow to discover that -the fact that I had been in my school eleven and fifteen made not the -slightest impression on any of the N.C.O.'s.</p> - -<p>It may be that a readjustment of one's standards is a healthy -experience. But that is hardly the attitude that officials could safely -adopt. The public school system is supposed to produce trained citizens, -who are in harmony with their environment. And that is exactly what the -public school boy is not. He tries to tackle life with the scale of -values that he learnt to apprehend at school. And it is not an easy -task. Some, indeed, never accomplish it. They never readjust themselves. -They surround themselves with old friends, revisit their old schools, -endeavour to recapture the old atmosphere. They regret vaguely that -something has passed. Like Jurgen, they return in quest of their youth, -but the distorted shadow of Sereda prevents them from entering -completely their former selves. In <i>The Harrovians</i> Arnold Lunn makes -two of his characters discuss this question.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>'There's West, for example,' Peter said, 'he'll never be such a blood -again. He hasn't any brains. He couldn't even struggle into the Upper -School, but he's a mighty man here. Rather a pity, I think, that life -should reach its highest point at nineteen. This ought only to be a beginning.'</p> - -<p>That states the case.</p> - -<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XI</span> <span class="smaller">THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT</span></h2> - -<p>Fears for the future and regrets for the past are alike forgotten during -the last week. There are sad moments, but, as Arnold Lunn remarked, -'there is a world of difference between the pleasant sorrow of sentiment -and the more real depression that coincides with an overdraft at the -bank.' The last week is passed in a mood that I once heard described as -'happy-sad.' On the last Sunday in chapel the boy who is leaving -endeavours to summon the appropriate emotion. He knows how he ought to -feel. He has been instructed by so many stories. He is, in a way, an -actor in a drama. He knows that the fag on the other side of the aisle -is looking at him, is saying to himself: 'This is Jones's last chapel. -What is he feeling?' And, like an actor, Jones does not want to -disappoint his audience. He feels as he should feel. There is a lump at -the back of his throat. But, on the whole, leaving is an exciting -experience.</p> - -<p>There is the auction of study furniture, when pictures that cost five -shillings when they were new, fetch seven and six in their fourth year -of service. There are the calls to be paid to masters, the 'good-byes' -and 'good lucks.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> It is the abdication of office when one is at the -height of one's authority. It is a fine gesture that 'immeasurable -power, unsated to resign,' to be able to step straight out from the -lighted room, before the corroding forces of change have begun to work, -and before habit has dulled applause. The exit is made at exactly the -right moment. The curtain falls on a dramatic climax. And how rarely -that happens.</p> - -<p>In a temper of wistful sentimentality and self-satisfaction, arrayed in -the colours of the old boys' society, the ex-public school boy leans out -of the carriage window, waves good-bye to the friends who are catching a -later train, makes and extracts promises to write, and watches as the -train moves out of the station the familiar landmarks slip one by one -behind him.</p> - -<p>A sentimental, that is to say, a superficial emotion passes quickly. And -it depends on the kind of life which awaits a boy, whether or not this -sentimental regret will be followed by an acute sense of loss.</p> - -<p>If he is going up to the university or to some remunerative and -interesting employment, it is probable that he will forget school -altogether in the fascination of a new life. If, however, he is destined -for some dull unromantic post in the city, the thought of school will -for a long time wake in him a deep, hopeless nostalgia. He will bring no -enthusiasm to his work, and, as he sits at his high desk, balancing -ledgers, computing insurance policies, adjusting income-tax returns, he -will compare the monotony of his routine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> with the coloured movement and -variety of school. As he walks to his office he will remind himself that -at this moment the morning chapel is just ending. The school will be -pouring across the courts. If he were there he would be walking arm in -arm with some friend of his to the class-room, stopping on the way some -intelligent friend to demand the elucidation of certain tiresome -theorems. As he returns to the office after lunch he will say to -himself: 'If I were there now I should be changing for football. I -should have before me the prospect of a hard game and a bath afterwards, -and a long, lazy evening in front of the games study fire.' And, at the -end of the day, on his return to his home or diggings, he is lonely with -the recollection of how often at such a time he has sat in the -class-room waiting impatiently for the clock to strike, waiting for the -moment of freedom when he can gather his books under his arm and rush -back to the house to tea, to the four delightful hours of friendship and -discussion that lie in that enchanted period between lock-up and lights -out. School life never means so much to a boy as it does during his few -months after he has left it. For he sees it transfigured in his -imagination; he remembers nothing of the tiresome demands of routine, -nothing of the friction between boys and masters, nothing of the long -boring hours in form when he watched the patch of sunlight drift across -the wall, nothing of the anxieties, the annoyances, the restrictions of -a cloistered life. He sees it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> purged of the accidental, a city of his -own fashioning.</p> - -<p>It does not last, of course, this intense nostalgia. No young man can -live for very long in the past. New interests come to him, he finds new -fields for his ambition. He makes friends in his office. He joins a -tennis club, he takes dancing lessons. He sets out in search of life. He -ceases, at every vacant moment of the day, to compute what he would be -doing were he at school instead of at an office. He thinks of the -innings he intends to play next Saturday: his eyes pick out on the -carpet an imaginary spot ten feet away from him, and he considers what -shot he would play to a ball that pitched on it; he also perhaps wonders -what exactly that charming lady with whom he had danced the night -before, had meant when she had said, with a peculiar inflection in her -voice: 'You're growing up.'</p> - -<p>His correspondence with his old friends becomes spasmodic. He no longer -writes to his house master once a month. The arrival of a letter with -the school crest on it ceases to excite him as it did. The school -magazine becomes full of names that are meaningless to him. He notes -with disgust that Baxter, in his day a miserable little squirt, has got -into the Eleven; and that that goggle-eyed ass, Barton, is head of the -school. He asks himself at Christmas whether it is worth his while to -renew his subscription, and decides that it is not. From time to time he -reads in <i>The Sportsman</i> of the feats of his school Fifteen, and -remarks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> without enthusiasm that 'Fernhurst must be pretty strong this -year.' His school life has dropped from him as a coat that he has -outgrown. It belongs to the past, and he is living in the future. School -will not mean much to him for another twenty years, till the time comes, -that is to say, when he will have to send his son to school.</p> - -<p>Then will he recover his youth, and live again his school days in his -son, only more intensely, because he will be living them in his -imagination. In the achievements of his son he will recognise the ghost -of his old ambitions. His son's career will be more personal to him than -his own. He will take more pleasure in his son's successes than the boy -will himself. Indeed a great deal of a boy's pleasure in his success -lies in his appreciation of the happiness that it will bring to his -father. At no time in their lives do father and son come so close to one -another as during these years. And it is at first sight surprising that -this intimacy should not produce that common ground on which -difficulties may be openly discussed and quarrels healed. For in spite -of this intimacy, the relations between father and son are very often -superficial.</p> - -<p>This statement may appear self-contradictory, but a little examination -will show that this is not so. We do not necessarily confide in the -people we love best. Let any man think of his friends and acquaintances, -and he may be surprised to discover that he knows a great deal more -about his acquaintances than his friends.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> I do not lay it down as a -fact that he will make this discovery. I merely say that he may make it; -certainly a great many will.</p> - -<p>At school, where one has a vast number of acquaintances and a few -friends, I used to wonder sometimes how best one could draw the dividing -line between a friend and an acquaintance. And I decided that the -difference lay in silence, that with a friend one could be silent, -whereas with an acquaintance one could not. If a friend walked into -one's study when one was busy, one smiled and went on with one's work; -the friend picked up a book and read. But if an acquaintance came in, -one immediately stopped what one was doing; one felt that silence would -become embarrassing.</p> - -<p>In the same way one does not, in the company of a real friend, feel the -need of personal confidences. One likes being with him. That is enough. -One sits over a fire and talks spasmodically, with long silences -drifting into the conversation. But with a person of whom one is not -particularly fond, such desultory conversation is not adequate. An -acquaintance is not, in himself, sufficiently interesting—he is -interesting in what he has done, or is doing. The need for confidences -is essential. And so it is that most of us have acquaintances to whom we -recount all our discreditable exploits, our romances, our financial -enterprises, with whom we seem, in fact, remarkably intimate, but whose -absence, were they to pass out of our lives, we should not greatly -regret. The man who knows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> most about us very often matters least to us. -This is not a generalisation. One cannot generalise about an abstraction -like friendship, that has a different meaning and a different message -for every individual man. But such relationships are a common -experience; they are the more common in the degree that their subjects -are the more reserved. And there is no more reserved class than that of -past and present public school boys.</p> - -<p>This is, at any rate, the only explanation that I can find for the -superficial relations between son and father that are spread over so -deep a trust and intimacy. They accept without appreciating this -superficiality. The father comes down at half term, and he goes for a -walk arm in arm with his son, along the slopes. They discuss home -affairs and the external activities of school: football shop, cricket -shop, house politics. They rarely touch on the boy's inner life; the -father can only guess at what his boy is doing and thinking. Underneath -their love for each other they are strangers.</p> - -<p>On the important issues of school life they are both driven to accept -the verdict of the house master or head master. And he, although he is -working in the dark on both sides of him, is their only intermediary.</p> - -<p>But the relationships between parents and children are too intricate for -so short a book as this. Indeed, I doubt whether it is possible ever to -tackle satisfactorily a subject, the nature of which alters with every -individual case. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> would be lost at once in a labyrinth of -generalisations and exceptions; Lytton Strachey made no attempt to write -a history of the Victorian era. He selected and analysed a few -specimens; that is, I believe, the only way in which to deal with the -complex subject of parenthood. And it can only be thus dealt with by the -story-teller, by the man who says: 'I care nothing for general -principles. But this is how things went for one family.' In a general -study such as this, it is quite impossible to dogmatise from individual -cases. But I would submit this facet of the relationship between father -and son as an important one in the study of school society. It throws -the need for co-operation almost entirely on the schoolmaster. It makes -his responsibility greater than he knows.</p> - -<p>Now there are three types of men to whom the scholastic profession makes -its chief appeal. There is the brilliant scholar, the man with the -double first, who will turn out to be either completely incompetent, or -will become a head master. There is the athlete who takes a third, or at -best a second in mods, and on the strength of a blue, returns as games -master to his old school. Lastly, there is the idealist, the man who -regards teaching as a calling and not a trade, the man who may be either -an impossible crank or, in his own line, a genius.</p> - -<p>The first class of master plays, on the whole, a small part in the -politics of school life. If he is incompetent he is ragged in form and -his opinion carries no weight in the common room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> If he is successful, -he is a bird of passage, on his way to some rich head-mastership. He may -become a house master for a while, but he is always looking beyond his -immediate surroundings. He is ambitious. He does not regard one school -as his compass. Always he is just outside the drama.</p> - -<p>The second class, however, forms the backbone of tradition. The old boy -comes back to his old school with an intense loyalty and with the -intention of staying there for the rest of his life. His ambition is to -have the best house in the best school in the best county. He is usually -a very fine fellow indeed, but he represents eternally the spirit of -reaction. He lives in the standards of his youth. He has had no -opportunity of testing those standards in another environment. His whole -life has moved within the circle of one school.</p> - -<p>He imbibed as a boy the public school spirit, and he did not outgrow -that spirit at the university—hardly a proof of mental elasticity. He -has no sense of progress or of change in the world for which he is -training the young. As things have been, so shall they be. The old boy -turned house master is the most powerful force in the common room. He is -the chief obstacle that the enthusiast has to face.</p> - -<p>With regard to the enthusiast, one is tempted to put an asterisk against -the heading and a footnote, '<i>Vide</i> the novels of S. P. B. Mais -<i>passim</i>,' and leave it at that. For Mr. Mais knows more about the -reception of this type of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> master than any other man in the kingdom. He -has himself a genius for teaching. I cannot imagine a better English -master. He inspires enthusiasm in the confirmed slacker. He is an -invaluable asset to any staff, and yet nearly everywhere he has been met -by opposition. His own story, as set forth in <i>A Schoolmaster's Diary</i>, -is typical of the young movement. Only there is this difference, that, -whereas Mr. Mais has never yielded to the reactionary influences, the -majority of young masters conform to the custom of the country. Their -position is extremely difficult.</p> - -<p>They leave Oxford with high ambitions. They have dissected and analysed -the system, they have discovered the vital spot; they are eager to put -their reforms into action. They have wonderful schemes for inspiring -boys with a love of the beautiful, with an interest in politics and -life. They are prepared to be ruthless in their battle; they will -neither ask nor give quarter. They will not be fettered to the -reactionary indolence of the intolerant and the effete. They have a -mission and a purpose. They bring a sword. They arrive at school with a -quenchless ardour.</p> - -<p>Like the small boy home for the holidays, they want to do everything on -the first day. Before they have had time to look round they are -suggesting schemes for founding literary and dramatic circles: they want -to open a political debating society where there shall be files of <i>The -Nation</i> and <i>The Daily News</i>. They start a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> mile race at the speed of a -hundred yards and find themselves alone in the void. Every one else is -going at a very leisurely pace. There is no need for hurry. Their whole -life is before them. The school has been in existence a very long while. -It is moving in its own time to its duly appointed ends. The young -enthusiast grows impatient: like most intense people he is tactless and -makes mistakes. He ignores his colleagues, or interferes with their -arrangements. He creates an atmosphere of opposition. This is, of -course, what he has anticipated. The fight, he feels, is going to begin. -But the nature of the fight is very different from what he had expected.</p> - -<p>It is not waged with the intolerant and the effete, but with men whom he -cannot help admiring. He cannot make himself hate his enemies. The old -boy house master, it cannot be too often repeated, is a very fine -fellow. And his point of view is reasonable. He has given his youth, his -energy, his ambition to his school. He has cared for nothing else. He -has allowed many of the good things of life to pass him because of this -unwavering devotion, and it is natural that he should resent the -intrusion of a young fellow who has not had time to learn to love the -school, but who wants to overturn the most cherished privileges.</p> - -<p>And his methods are so impeccably direct and honest. He does not go -behind the young man's back to the head master. He has the young man -into his study for a chat; he looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> him straight in the face. He says: -'Come now, we've got to have this out.' And the young man finds it so -desperately hard not to admire him. He endeavours to open a discussion: -he states his case. For a moment he seems to forget the personal issue -in the case. Confidence comes back to him. He develops his argument, and -then, just when he feels that his grip is closing on the contest, he is -beaten by that disarming sentimentality which is the most powerful of -all the old boy's weapons.</p> - -<p>'My dear fellow,' he will say, 'you have your point of view and I have -mine. We are both in our own ways working for the good of the school; -why must we quarrel? We are fighting the same fight. But we can do -nothing unless we stand together. I've given my whole life to the cause; -you are just beginning.'</p> - -<p>The acceptance of this offer of friendship and co-operation means -defeat. The young man knows it. But it is so hard to refuse. The rebel -in any sphere of life has no harder task than the cutting adrift from -his own caste and the subsequent alliance with men of different -upbringing and different standards. He sees, on the one hand, a vast -number of noble, if bigoted men, men whom he can trust and admire. And, -on the other side, as a setting for the few idealists in whose -principles he believes, the arrayed forces of envy, greed, and malice. -The temptation to cling to what he knows and what secretly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> he admires -is too great. Most of the young enthusiasts give way soon. They join the -forces of reaction.</p> - -<p>And those that stand out are inevitably broken. What chance have they -after all? The modern intellectual is something of a negativist. His -tolerance is composed of indifference and uncertainty. He sees life in -the words of Jurgen as a 'wasteful and inequitable process,' and does -not discern clearly how to alter it. His philosophy is a series of -disappointments. He is bound to go down before a bigotry that is certain -of itself. The forces of reaction are so powerfully entrenched. The old -boy house master knows exactly what he wants and how he proposes to get -it. He advances down a straight road. His enemies pause and wonder and -question themselves.</p> - -<p>The bigot usually makes the best administrator. He is not worried by -abstractions. He is certain of his ends and can devote all his attention -to the means. The tolerant head master, the man who sees both points of -view, is overcome in the end by preponderating faith and sincerity of -reaction. The new man is invariably subjugated, or else is made to go. -No head master would be anxious to take his side.</p> - -<p>The games master type is intensely popular with parents and old boys. He -represents for them the public school spirit. He is a fixed, immutable -principle in which they can place their trust. They would be intensely -worried were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> they to learn that the head master had taken the side of a -new man against their old friend. The subject would be discussed in the -clubs: 'There's trouble brewing at Fernhurst,' they would say. 'This new -head master is a liberal. He's quarrelling with old Aiken. I don't like -the look of it.' And the position of the school would be shaken. Parents -would send their sons elsewhere. The numbers would drop. Unpleasant -questions would be put to the head master at the next meeting of the -governors. It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods. Parents -have to be placated. They have been assured that 'all is for the best in -the best of all possible schools'; and, when they hear rumours of -dissension they naturally imagine that something must be wrong with that -particular school. It is not so everywhere. They remind the head master -of his own official utterances. And it is not easy after prophesying -smooth things to satisfy the complaints of those who find them hard.</p> - -<p>A head master has to reach his ends through infinite tact and patience -and through a long series of compromises. He has to be something of an -opportunist. He has to give reasons other than the true ones for what he -does. He has to promote progress secretly, while he advocates -conservatism. And it is hard to remain true to oneself while playing the -Jekyll and Hyde game. Motives become involved; there is too much -diplomacy, and the forces of reaction, whatever else they be, are -distinctly honest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> Certainly he cannot allow the clumsy enthusiasm of a -young man to complicate his vexed existence. And the young man has -either to break or bend. Usually he bends. He has, after all, to -consider his own career. He compromises with himself. He manages to -persuade himself that he is not really yielding, but that he is adopting -different tactics, attacking the enemy from another side. He decides to -do his work of reform quietly, without ostentation. Other people can do -their own way if they like.</p> - -<p>That compromise is the start of a long process of self-deception. When -he becomes a house master it will be so simple to put off parents with -excuses. He will be able to justify himself, to say: 'These are stupid -folk. They will worry me if I encourage them. I have my work to do. I -must pacify them and get on with it.' And so the circle completes -itself. The young man who sets out to reform school life, who brought to -the task a fine, untried energy, ends in evasion, compromise and -self-deception. Boys, parents, and masters are working at cross -purposes.</p> - -<p>There are certainly a large number of entries on the debit side of the -ledger. It remains to be decided what hand has written these entries and -whether it is possible to erase them. To a large extent they are due to -four things: the moral issue; the cult of athleticism, which is regarded -as an antidote to immorality; the conspiracy of silence that exists -between parents and boys and masters, and the long period a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> boy spends -at school—the six years that separate so unduly the junior from the -senior, that accentuate the blood system, that erect a wall shutting out -the world at large. School life is too much of a walled garden, too much -of a world in itself. It has remained monastic, it has not established -contact with the movements of the hour.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XII</span> <span class="smaller">SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO MORALS</span></h2> - -<p>The ardent idealists with their thousand pretty schemes for the -regeneration of mankind, find no difficulty in allotting a few panaceas -to the Public School. We hear of the 'new world' and of the 'new -spirit,' and there is glib talk about the phoenix and the ashes. A few -laws have to be passed, a few peasants educated and there will be an end -of competition. 'The strong will support the weak, the clever work -unselfishly for the general good. Wealth and intellect will be placed at -the service of the state. The relations of the sexes will be ordered by -eugenics.'</p> - -<p>It is all very jolly, and unless to-day one subscribes unfalteringly to -this belief in a new world, one is called a reactionary and a -materialist. The millennium, we are told, is round the corner. The -finest intellects of thirty centuries may have failed to find it, but -the farm labourer has only to spend a few half-hours with an English -grammar to discover it at his feet. It must be very nice to believe all -that, to be able to comfort oneself in dark moments with the assurance -that for one's children's children life will be a happy hunting ground. -It must be a drug more potent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> than laudanum, more sweet than hashish. -But it is of small avail in the dust and traffic of humanity. In the -case of the Public Schools we shall do well to examine what is at hand -and prescribe what cures we may, without the indulgence of distant -speculation.</p> - -<p>The four main objects of criticism, then, are the moral question, the -evil of athleticism, the false scale of values that is inculcated at a -Public School, and the subsequent conspiracy of silence. On the moral -question the advanced idealists have talked more and to less purpose -than on any other phase of school life. They have written of the -discovery of the soul, of the unfolding of the flower. They have -maintained that through art and literature the boy's emotional nature -will be directed to a higher, a nobler conception of life. The -psycho-analyst speaks of 'sublimation,' and they have fastened on to -this cliché. Was not this what they had been saying so long, in other -words—the sublimation of the sexual impulse?</p> - -<p>Now, in the case of a celibate priest or a maiden lady it is, no doubt, -highly desirable and perhaps possible to sublimate an impulse which has -been and in all probability will be, denied natural satisfaction. But it -is a pretty hopeless job to sublimate an impulse that has every hope and -prospect of complete, direct, and natural realisation; and that is the -task that the advocates of flowers and poetry and the dawn have set -themselves. If we are to change the moral tone of a Public School we -shall have to find either<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> an alternative system, or we shall have to -modify in some way the existing system.</p> - -<p>Two alternatives are offered: co-education and the day school. In -neither case should immorality be general or serious, and the number of -romantic friendships correspondingly slight. It seems hardly possible -that a normal healthy boy would be attracted by a smaller boy when, at a -school like Bedales, he would be constantly in the company of young and -charming scholars. And though the day boarder lives for the greater part -of his day in a monastic society, he spends the majority of his spare -time outside it. And during the week-ends he has full opportunity to -continue any romance on which he may have embarked during the previous -holidays. Although it is only possible for me to speak here from -second-hand information, it can be assumed, I think, that at the -co-educational and day school the moral question must sink to -comparative unimportance. It has to be considered, however, whether this -relegation compensates for the consequent disadvantages.</p> - -<p>Co-education is, of course, a new game, and it is difficult to write of -it with confidence. At a lecture that I gave about three years ago, a -young woman rose from the back of the hall and asked 'what Mr. Waugh -thought about co-education?' I had, as a matter of fact, thought about -it very little, but I felt that I could hardly confess as much. I said, -therefore, something about 'co-education being excellent for delicate -and sensitive boys who would find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> Public Schools too rough for them.' -The young woman then indignantly demanded what the girls had done to -deserve the companionship of only delicate and sensitive boys. It was an -unanswerable protest, but having since then thought the matter over more -carefully, I believe that, if the same question were put to me to-day I -should make the same reply. It may be that such a reply would be based -only on prejudice and a preconceived idea. But, after all, the evil that -one knows is better than the evil that one does not know. And who would -wish away his school days.</p> - -<p>If you were to ask a small boy of thirteen whether he would prefer to go -to Uppingham or Bedales, he would promptly reply 'Uppingham.' If, two -years later, you were to say to him: 'Would you rather have gone to -Bedales than Uppingham?' he would reply: 'Lord, no.' If at the end of -his last term, when it was all over, you were to ask him whether he -regretted his choice, he would say: 'Good God, no!' And, twenty years -afterwards, when the time had come for him to decide where he should -send his son, were you to ask him yet again: 'Bedales or Uppingham?' he -would reply without hesitation, 'Uppingham.'</p> - -<p>Why, after all, should he depart from an old allegiance. He knows -nothing of Bedales, nothing of the troubles and adversities that his son -will have to face there. He will be unable to help him, he will be -denied that greatest privilege of fatherhood, the unquestioning trust<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> -of the son who knows that his father has trod every inch of the way -before him. Father and son rarely come so close to one another as they -do during those five years at a Public School. They are living -practically the same life; the father finds his lost youth in the son. -Is it likely that he will abandon such a certainty for a supposed and -uncertain good. The public school system was formed round certain -distinct traits in the British character. It is the expression of the -national temperament. Nearly every one is happy at a Public School. It -is the manner of life that we enjoy, that is in sympathy with our tastes -and customs. The reformers may say what they will. You cannot turn a dog -from the food it loves. This attitude to co-education may be illogical, -it may be prejudiced, it may be reactionary—I do not know. One can only -restate the fact that we are content to be old-fashioned people.</p> - -<p>The case of the day school cannot be so summarily dismissed. At a first -sight indeed it appears to possess all the advantages and none of the -disadvantages of a Public School. A boy acquires <i>esprit de corps</i>, but -is saved from wild partisanship. He strengthens the qualities of courage -and independence as fully as he would at a Public School, and the home -influence is maintained. His moral lapses, if any, are likely to be -occasioned by the attractions of the other sex. My friend, Mr. Oscar -Browning, has indeed often assured me that the day school is the only -possible solution of the difficulty, and in a symposium on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> English -Public Schools he wrote that 'House rivalries and the overwhelming -importance of house matches cannot exist in day schools where boys live -with their families, nor is school life likely to be so communal.' Many -other educational authorities, whose testimony one must respect, have -expressed their faith in day schools. Certainly the claim of the day -school must be carefully examined. And it is with diffidence that I -approach the task.</p> - -<p>At most boarding schools the day boy is looked down upon. For some -obscure reason the day boy always seems to be inferior to the boarder. -He is rarely prominent in games or work. One ceases, indeed, to regard -him as a member of the school. He comes into form, he writes his prose, -he attends corp parade, he plays his games. But, at six o'clock, when -the bell rings for tea and the intimate life of the day begins, he -collects his books and hurries across the courts and passes into another -life.</p> - -<p>The period between lock-up and lights out is in retrospect the most -charming part of the day. The troubles of the day are over. Lessons have -to be prepared in prep., but they will not be heard till the next -morning. Time enough to worry about that after breakfast. It is after -tea that one packs twelve people into a study measuring eight feet by -four and discusses the prospects of the house in the Two Cock, the -'latest case,' and Evans's chance of getting into the Fifteen. Prep. is -but a pause in the discussions of these momentous trivialities. After -prayers there is an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> hour in which to brew coffee and renew the -endlessly attractive conversation. These are the times of friendship and -good feeling, and they are lost to the day boarder. Like the new boy, he -is outside the life of the school. He moves in a different environment; -he has different interests, he cannot enter into the eager loyalties and -aversions of house politics. In a school such as Clifton, where there -are a large number of day boys, the position is, of course, different. -The day boy there occupies a definite social status. Instead of being -attached to a house for games, he is grouped into that sector of the -town in which he happens to live. His friends are leading much the same -life as he is. But it can scarcely be denied that the day boarder loses -a great deal of the charm of a communal life.</p> - -<p>What does he gain to compensate for that loss?</p> - -<p>He is protected to a large extent from the moral lapses peculiar to a -Public School. He will develop through normal channels. Though, as he -will in chapel and in his school listen to addresses that are based on -the accepted official attitude, it is a little doubtful whether he will -find himself in this respect much more satisfactorily educated than the -boarder. At any rate he should be saved the disquieting experiences of a -romantic friendship, and he will be less of a slave to the partisanship -and house feeling. But does he gain anything else?</p> - -<p>We hear a great deal about the value of home influence, but what does -home mean for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> day boy? He rushes home at the end of the day, has -his tea, and then settles down to prepare his lessons. By the time he -has finished them it is time for him to go to bed. He has had little -opportunity for talking either to his father or his mother. In the -morning he has only time to rush his breakfast and hurry off to school. -It must be remembered also that the parents who send their sons to day -schools are usually not particularly well off. It is one thing to come -home at the end of a hard day to the quiet seclusion of a warm and cosy -study where everything will be quiet and undisturbed. It is another -thing to come back to a house that is making strenuous efforts to get -things straight before the master of the house returns. Middle-aged -business men expect to find things made snug for them; they do not want -schoolboys kicking about the place at the end of the day.</p> - -<p>Nothing is more uncomfortable than breakfast in the average suburban -family. There is the flutter over the post, the opening and shutting of -the paper, the constant glances at the clock. There is a banging of -doors, and running up of stairs, and the shouting over banisters. A sigh -of relief is heard when the front door closes behind the wage-earner.</p> - -<p>In a large, well-run house the domestic machinery moves so smoothly that -it is unnoticed. In a small suburban villa these moments of arrival and -departure provide constant friction, and it is from the small suburban -villa that the majority of day boarders are recruited.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>In consequence the day boy starts his day's work at a disadvantage. It -is like playing a cricket match on an opponent's ground. One arrives a -little jaded. The boarder is on the spot. He has twenty-five minutes' -leisure between chapel and breakfast. It is possible, of course, that he -will pass these twenty-five minutes in a feverish attempt to prepare the -'con' for which he had been allotted an hour on the time-table of the -previous night. But that is his own fault. He has every chance of -starting the day fresh.</p> - -<p>I cannot think that the rush of getting off in the morning and the -journey to school can be good for a boy of fifteen. It is a strain for a -full-grown man. That twenty minutes' jolt in tubes and lifts is -exhausting. No one arrives at the office perfectly fresh. By the time -one gets back at night one is really tired. The tube journey at the end -of a hard day completes one's weariness. And on top of that weariness -the day boarder has to do an hour and a half's preparation. It is not -the ideal setting for successful work.</p> - -<p>The day boy is also leading two lives at the same time. He cannot shut -them away in watertight compartments. They overlap. It is, no doubt, for -the business man a great privilege and a great relief to be able to -return at the end of the day to a quiet evening in his wife's company. -But then he has not got to work at home, and work implies friction. The -worker wants an absence of outside influences. He wants the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> company of -quiet folk who make no particular demands on his energy and patience, -with whom his relations are superficial and for whom he does not -particularly care.</p> - -<p>Many writers make a failure of marriage because they put their study too -near their nursery. The imaginative worker wants to be alone, not only -while he is working, but for an hour before he starts working and for an -hour after he has finished working. In many ways the army is the ideal -career for a writer. He can do his two hours' writing after tea, have -his bath and change, and go down to the ante-room, where he can read his -paper quietly and chat superficially with people who make no demands on -him. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there is friction. The -proper adjustment of his work to his personal life is the most delicate -task a man has to tackle. It is beyond the compass of a small boy. For -the very reason that a boy loves his parents there will be friction; a -strain will be placed, that is to say, upon his energy and patience. The -boarder has fewer worries and, in consequence, is happier than the day -boy.</p> - -<p>The advocates of 'home influence' must also remember that the day boy -takes his home for granted. We cannot appreciate the value of anything -till we have either lost it, or become separated from it. Home means a -great deal to the boarder. Holidays mark for him a complete change of -life, to the day boy holidays mean little save the pleasurable cessation -of certain irksome duties. He can stay in bed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> longer in the morning, he -has not got to hurry his breakfast, a free day lies in front of him. He -will not have to waste his time over Latin Prose and Thucydides. During -the term-time he has, except during week-ends, very few opportunities of -intimate conversation with his parents, and because he has come to -regard their presence as a natural environment he does not, during the -holidays, make, as the boarder does, special efforts to see as much of -them as possible. The influence of a place need be no more effective -because one happens to live in it than the influence of a person because -one happens to be in his, or her, company. It depends on the value set -on the place or person. The boarder values his home more highly than the -day boy. The influence of home is more likely to be felt by him than by -the day boy. Letters from home are an event in the boarder's life. They -mean more than a walk on Sunday morning, and the hours are counted to -the half-term visit.</p> - -<p>The day boy also comes far less into contact with masters than the -boarder does. Indeed the head master of a school can only have a -superficial knowledge of the boys that are entrusted to him. He sees -them in the form room and on the cricket field. But he does not watch -the development of the boy's character through his reactions towards and -away from the intrigues, romances, and jealousies of house politics. -There is no constant theme, only a few uncertain <i>motifs</i>. The head -master has not sufficient material upon which to work. The discovery of -so many clues<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> is denied to him. Every boy at some time or other must -pause and wonder how much his head master really knows about him. It is -a subject, for most of us, of disquieting conjecture. But the day boy -can dismiss it with an easy conscience. School for him is a place in -which he works and plays, but does not live. Indeed he is a child of no -man's land, passing between two countries, a true citizen of neither.</p> - -<p>There are those who say that parents are the only people who understand -their children, and will maintain that it is criminal to take young boys -away from their parents at an impressionable age and place them in -charge of schoolmasters who can know nothing about them. But parents -are, as a matter of fact, as likely to make mistakes as any one else.</p> - -<p>We find in anything what we bring to it. And parents expecting their -sons to be brave, truthful, obedient, clever, find them so. An outside -opinion is of extreme value, and a house master or a head master is the -ideal person to give it. When a house master and a father meet on equal -grounds and discuss the son's welfare honestly, the auspices could -hardly be more fortunate. They so rarely meet, because parents and -schoolmasters do not trust each other, because they have adopted the -false position of buyer and seller; the combination remains, however, -none the less ideal.</p> - -<p>I do not myself see what advantages the day school possesses over the -boarding school, save those that are concerned with a particular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> facet -of morality, and beyond the weakening of a partisanship that is inclined -to put a boy in blinkers. There are some very fine day schools in the -country, but the day school, especially of recent years, has tended to -become an alternative for parents with large families who cannot afford -to send their sons to expensive boarding schools. And, after all, the -suggestion that day schools should be generally substituted for boarding -schools is obviously impracticable.</p> - -<p>Many of the finest Public Schools are situated in remote parts of the -country, others in small towns that were once honoured with a monastery. -How are these venerable institutions to be converted into day schools. A -few retired colonels might possibly form a colony in Shoreham and send -their sons to Lancing. A convenient train would take them to Brighton, -where they might walk on the promenade and recall the reckless -adventures of their youth. But civilisation draws us to big towns for -our livelihood. However much the stockbroker might wish to send his son -as a day boarder to Shrewsbury, he would find it quite impossible to do -so. The town of Shrewsbury would provide no scope for his activities. He -could not possibly settle there. A scheme that would involve the -complete alteration of the public school system can only be called a -revolution. A reformer has to work on his existing material. He cannot -say—wash it out and start again. He cannot put back the clock.</p> - -<p>Mr. Oscar Browning has said that when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> went to Eton in 1851 only five -schools could lay claim to the dignity of being called a Public School. -There must be at least fifty first-class Public Schools to-day; they are -nearly all boarding schools, and every few years a comparatively unknown -school proves itself a worthy competitor to older foundations. It is not -the slightest use to say, even if we believed it, that day schools are -better than boarding schools and leave the matter there. A politician -might with equal ability draw up an elaborate defence of the feudal -system. It may very well be that we should be all more happy if we could -reconstruct society on a feudal basis: we might just as well express a -belief that our efficiency would be increased were a kindly providence -to dower us with wings. It may be, though I doubt it, that the advocates -of the day school are in the right, that under such a system of -education immorality and the blood system would pass. But it is for us -to discover some method by which the existing system may be so modified -as to produce of itself the required change.</p> - -<p>Now it is very tempting for a controversialist, when he has completed -the arraignment of his enemies, to slip hastily over the policy he -himself proposes to adopt. I wonder how many letters have been addressed -to the press during the last seven years in which the writer, having -stated in strong terms the calamities to which a certain line of thought -or policy has reduced the country, has demanded in a final paragraph -that 'something should be done before it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> too late.' He suggests -perhaps a 'change of spirit.'</p> - -<p>It is a good weapon that 'change of spirit.' We can all of us, when -occasion demands, indulge in spirited invective; we can all detect -numberless flaws and inequalities in the existing social system. Why, -for instance, does our income run to three instead of to four figures. -Why are we paying away a third of that small sum in income-tax? The flow -of indignation is swift, and by the time we have written our 950 words, -it is not hard to devote the remaining '50' to a general appeal for -'some one to do something before it is too late.' Every contributor to -the press has saved his argument like that some time or another. And, in -the case of Public Schools, the trouble is that we can do little save -repeat the parrot cry of 'a change of spirit.' For it is 'a change of -spirit' more than anything else that is needed.</p> - -<p>We are kept wondering, however, how that change is to be effected. S. P. -B. Mais used to say that 'Literature would save us.' But literature is -only a part of life, one channel of self-expression, and in the case of -Mr. Mais one is troubled by the knowledge that he, himself, is in many -ways the ideal schoolmaster. He has a genius for teaching. He happens to -have taught literature and mathematics, and because he taught them so -successfully he has imagined that they are the panacea. He is too modest -to realise any subject that he taught would have assumed the qualities -of a panacea, that it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> he and not his subject that was important. He -could rouse his form, if he wished, to a high pitch of enthusiasm by a -lecture on the properties of Cherry Boot Polish. But 'he is alone, the -Arabian Bird.'</p> - -<p>Martin Browne suggests religion. And, no doubt, for the truly religious -boy many of the difficulties of school life would be smoothed out. -Unfortunately, however, religion plays, and will play, a small part in a -boy's life at school. A boy has been told to believe certain things by -his parents, and he has accepted these beliefs unquestioningly and -without enthusiasm. They have not been tested by experience. They are -not real to him. Religion, in its truest form, rises out of the conflict -of a man's life. Faith is subconscious thought. I do not think you can -expect the average small boy to be deeply influenced by religion. His -religion, if he has one, is an unswerving devotion to his house and -school. He would be ready to sacrifice himself for what he considered to -be the school's service.</p> - -<p>Forty years ago a captain of my old house died after a kick on the head -received in the Three Cock, the big house match of the year. The brass -on the chapel wall which is dedicated to his memory,—</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>'Te duce, care Puer, pueri cum lusimus olim</div> -<div>Optimus in cursu quem sequeremur eras</div> -<div>Caelestem exacto tetigisti limite metam;</div> -<div>Fratribus ab, fratrem detur ad astra sequi.'</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p><p>appealed far more to our imagination than the story of early martyrs. -Action rather than contemplation is the essence of school life.</p> - -<p>I am aware that many will disagree with this assertion. Both Martin -Browne and Jack Hood made in their books a great point of religious -teaching and early confirmation, but I cannot help feeling that in this -respect they are exceptional; certainly if they had not been exceptional -they would not have written books; religion has meant a lot to them, and -they feel that it should do the same for others. It is a mistake we all -make in our different spheres. The poet thinks he will reform the world -by placing the poems of Shelley in the hands of trade union officials; -and the small craftsman sees life redeemed by hand weaving and hand -pottery. We all think that the prop that has supported us will support -others. It is part of our egotism. For the many, to whom faith is not -intuitive, religion needs a solid foundation of experience.</p> - -<p>A change of spirit requires a change of setting, and I am inclined to -think that this would be provided were boys to leave school at seventeen -instead of nineteen.</p> - -<p>It would not, perhaps, from the point of view of the moral question, -cause a very great diminution in the actual immorality between boys of -the same age and the same social position. But it certainly would -improve matters. As things are at present, the boy of fifteen and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -half occupies a pleasantly irresponsible position. He has left behind -him the anxieties of the day room, and the responsibilities of seniority -are still far distant. His peccadilloes are not taken seriously. He can -rag in form and smash windows in the studies without prejudice to his -future. He has imbibed the example of Prince Hal. For a while he may -rollick with Falstaff at the Boar's Head. Time enough to settle down -when the privileges of power draw nearer him. For a good year and a half -he may make merry.</p> - -<p>The lowering of the age limit would telescope events; it would reduce -the period of revelry to a couple of months. No sooner would a boy have -ceased to be a fag than he would be under the eye of authority as a -candidate for responsibility. A display of rhodomontade would prejudice -his future. He would play for safety; and such considerations would -certainly place a check on his moral lapses. He would think twice. If he -was discovered he would have no time to recover his position by -subsequent good behaviour. He would be passed over in the struggle for -promotion.</p> - -<p>To a certain extent the lowering of the age limit would prevent that -type of immorality that takes place between boys of the same age and -same position, but only to a certain extent. There always will be such -misconduct in schools; it will never be possible to stamp it out -entirely, but it is possible to overrate its seriousness. Certainly the -romantic friendship is more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> important, and it is because of the -romantic friendship that I advocate so strongly the lowering of the age limit.</p> - -<p>I have said that the romantic friendship is the natural growth of an -unnatural system; but even a natural growth develops soon or late, -according to the soil in which it is planted and the climate by which it -is nourished. The presence of boys of 18 to 19, by their example, force -this growth like a hot-house atmosphere. In a boy of eighteen the sexual -impulse has become defined. He understands the implications of its -symptoms. He is old enough to be married. But the boy of sixteen is not -so sure of himself. In him the impulse is wavering and undetermined. He -does not understand the nature of the emotions that are moving him. And -he only comes to understand it through the example of elder boys. If a -boy were told nothing of the existence of romantic friendships, of their -technique, of the complicated moral code that allows this and denies -that, if his curiosity were not continually quickened by stray -references in sermons and addresses, I believe that he would not, at the -age of seventeen, have realised that the friendship he felt for a -smaller boy was essentially different from that which he was feeling for -his contemporaries. It would be a deeper, an intenser friendship, but he -would not see that it possessed a different nature. Why should he? The -schoolboy has read <i>The Hill</i>. He expects every Verney to find a -Desmond. So much has been written about the lasting friendships of -school<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> life. Every boy must have his 'special friend.' Why should he be -any different from his fellows? There would be moments when he might -wish to caress his friend, but he would immediately smother such a wish, -feeling it to be foolish, girlish, unworthy of him. He would be too -young, he would not have the intellectual independence to be able to say -to himself: 'This is what I want. And what I want is natural to me. Damn -anything else!' Shadowy imaginings would haunt his reveries, but they -would never become defined in action.</p> - -<p>For a boy of eighteen it is different. His impulses are strong; he knows -now exactly what he wants. And he is prepared to get what he wants. He -knows that the emotions he feels for a small boy are of a different -nature altogether from the friendship that he feels for his -contemporaries, and the fact that there are boys in the school old -enough to have defined these emotions, provides a hot-house atmosphere -for the development of younger boys.</p> - -<p>To most people life comes at second hand. They learn from books, -cinemas, and plays what are the appropriate emotions and the correct -procedure for any given situation. The public school boy is no less -conventional than his elders. He allows his inclinations to be directed -into the accepted course. He is surprised, in the first place, by a -delightful and unexpected emotion; but the surprise soon passes. He has -formed just such another attachment as has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> been formed by practically -every senior boy in his house. He exchanges confidences, he seeks the -advice of some older boy, and follows the convention. If there were no -senior boys, no example, and no convention, the first surprise of -charmed bewilderment would endure. In the course of time it might very -well be that out of that first romantic story would grow a deep, mutual, -and lasting friendship. But such a development is hardly possible in an -unnatural society where children and fully grown men are herded -indiscriminately together.</p> - -<p>The example of elder boys, moreover, not only defines the nature of -half-perceived emotions; it also forces emotions that would otherwise -remain a long while in bud. There are many who consider it is the blood -thing to have a <i>jeune ami</i>; that such a relationship is the privilege -of a house colour. They want to be talked about. They have themselves -spoken when juniors with bated breath of supposed 'cases.' They would -like to be spoken of like that themselves, to feel themselves moving in -an atmosphere of conjecture and intrigue, to gather an added sense of -their own importance.</p> - -<p>Besides this itch, a natural one, to occupy the limelight by copying the -customs of the great, there is the subtle influence of indirect example. -In the same way that a boy who goes often to the theatre and the cinema -and observes there the charming processes of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> love, begins to long for -tenderness, and caresses, and endearments, so does the schoolboy who -hears on all sides romantic confidences, find himself drawn into the -glittering circle. This lure would at least be removed by the lowering -of the age limit. That it would solve all the difficulties I would not -for a moment maintain.</p> - -<p>We cannot imagine a world in which men and women will not desert or -betray each other; in which husbands will remain faithful and the -unmarried chaste. Why should we expect school life, which is the world -in little, to be so startlingly different. Parents refuse to believe -that their own children are mortal: 'These things,' they say, 'may -happen to our neighbour's children. They do not happen to our own.' And -schoolmasters are only too anxious to reassure them. Parents have such -faith in their sons that they will believe in the most superficial -testimonials. They are so anxious to be deceived.</p> - -<p>For this reason I believe that a mere statement of facts has value. -There is much clamour to-day for reconstruction, and the -controversialist who has not a cut and dried scheme for regenerating the -world is looked on with disfavour. But on sex questions, which are after -all intensely personal questions, which concern the individual in the -first place and society in the second, only the superficial will -dogmatise.</p> - -<p>I cannot do better than quote from Havelock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> Ellis's General Preface to -<i>The Psychology of Sex</i>:—</p> - -<blockquote><p>'A resolve slowly grew up within me,' he writes, 'one main part of -my life-work should be to make clear the problem of sex. That was -more than twenty years ago. Since then I can honestly say that in -all that I have done that resolve has never been far from my -thoughts.... Now that I have, at length, reached the time for -beginning to publish my results, these results scarcely seem to me -large. As a youth I had hoped to settle problems for those that -came after; now I am quietly content if I do little more than state -them. For even that, I now think, is much. It is, at least, the -half of knowledge. In this particular field the evil of ignorance -is magnified by our efforts to suppress that which can never be -suppressed, though in the effort of suppression it may become -perverted.'</p></blockquote> - -<p>If this is the conclusion at the end of his work and of his life, of -perhaps the greatest living authority on sex, by what right does the -amateur produce cheerful remedies.</p> - -<p>In the case of the Public School it is indeed something to state the -problems. There is so much ignorance to dispel; the ignorance of -mothers, the ignorance of fathers who have themselves not been to a -Public School, the conspiracy of silence of boys, old boys and masters. -Too much and, at the same time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> too little, is made of immorality. -Schoolmasters assure us that its appearance is occasional, but their -attitude to it is that of a doctor who suspects that his patient is -suffering from a malignant disease and watches all the time for signs of -it to appear. The schoolmaster is always afraid lest he may be sitting -on a volcano. He encourages the athletic cult as a preventative, in the -belief that the boy who is keen on games will not wish to endanger his -health, and that the boy who has played football all the afternoon and -has boxed between tea and lock-up will be too tired to embark on any -further adventures. It does not occur to him that the boy will be -equally too tired to do his prep.</p> - -<p>Such encouragement of the athletic cult is a confession of failure. It -is as though the master were to say: 'I know I cannot interest you in -your work. I know that unless I look after you, you will land yourself -in all manner of mischief. A man must have a god of sorts, therefore -make unto yourself whatsoever manner of god you choose, and I will see -that it receives a fitting reverence.'</p> - -<p>The public school code of honour, the majority of the standards, indeed, -of school life are dependent on the athletic worship, and the athletic -worship is in its turn largely dependent, not so much on the moral -question, as on the official attitude to the moral question. Too much -energy has been devoted to the damming of trickles, while on another -side of the hill the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> main stream has passed into the valley, laying -waste the plains.</p> - -<p>Greater honesty between boys, parents, and masters would undoubtedly -achieve much. But more than a change of spirit is required. If no boy -was allowed to stay on at school after the term in which he became -seventeen years old, I believe that the moral question would, to a large -extent, simplify itself.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII</span> <span class="smaller">THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS</span></h2> - -<p>But it is not only on account of the moral question that I would -advocate the lowering of the age limit. Such a reform would, I believe, -make its influence felt on every side of school life. It would not -alter, but it would modify certain conditions. The blood system would -still exist, but less acutely. The gap between the junior and senior -would be small. At present a man of nineteen who has been tried for his -county eleven appears to the junior as a gorgeous giant. He and his -friends live in a world apart, and they know it. A good three years -separates him from the anxieties and indignities of the day room. No -one, save his actual contemporaries, remember him as being anything but -a blood. He is, and has been, a prince among mankind. He idles through -his last two years, a very splendid, a very attractive figure; but, as -we have already seen, his is hardly the ideal apprenticeship for life.</p> - -<p>If the leaving age were fixed at seventeen instead of nineteen, so proud -a position would be unattainable. There would still be bloods, still -elegant creatures to saunter across the courts, languidly arm in arm. -But a certain refinement would be missing. The languor would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> be less -certain of itself, it would seem to fear a sudden assault and a fierce -shout of 'Jones, you young swine, what right have you to shove on side?' -There is a difference between the blood of eighteen and the blood of -sixteen. It is only four terms since the blood of sixteen was suffering -the last exaction of the law. He remembers vividly being beaten for -ragging in the dormitories; it is not so long since he was a fag. If we -were suddenly transplanted on a magic carpet into the luxury of an -Eastern court we should stand for some time in dazed bewilderment, -marvelling at what had happened to us, wondering who were these comely -Ethiopians that prostrated themselves before us. For quite five minutes -we should lack the courage to give an order. The blood of sixteen feels -like this; can he have achieved so swiftly his ambition? It is only -yesterday that he was trembling in the presence of the great. By the -time he has recovered from his bewilderment and is preparing to exert -his authority his year of office is at an end.</p> - -<p>Not only, moreover, is the sixteen year old blood unable to hold so -exalted an opinion of his own importance, but his immediate juniors -refuse to recognise him as the gilded figure of romance. The men on the -Fifth Form table remember when the head of the house helped them to -wreck Bennett's study. They cannot feel him to be so vastly superior to -themselves. It is different for the blood of eighteen. He has passed -slowly through many circles to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> dignity of an Olympian. He has -served his period of probation. He was not a colt's cap one season and -the next a colour. He took a year to pass from house cap to seconds, and -another year from seconds to firsts. He discovered himself gradually. He -rose slowly to his greatness. By the time he has reached his last year -the days of conflict are infinitely remote. He can hardly believe it -possible that he was ever caned. He is, in fact, a great deal too old -for a Public School. And as things are now it is impossible for any, -save the exceptional boy, to reach a position of authority till he is -eighteen, or at least seventeen.</p> - -<p>A great many boys do undoubtedly leave between the ages of sixteen and -eighteen, but by doing so they lose the most valuable lessons they -should learn at school. A boy who leaves before he has been a house -prefect fails to put the coping stone to his education. The -responsibilities of prefectship are an invaluable experience. And when -the house master begs the parent to let 'Arthur stop on another year,' -the parent naturally gives way. And it is, of course, always the wrong -type of person who stays on that extra year. It is the clever, the -brilliant, the athletic boy, the boy who already stands out above his -contemporaries and in the course of the next year will be even more -prominent, that is encouraged to remain. It would not matter if the dull -boy stayed on another year. His natural talents would not be sufficient -to lift him to the rarefied atmosphere of Olympus. It is the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> second -eleven colour who is urged to stay on to get his firsts. The fast bowler -who is asked to captain the side next year, the exhibitioner who hopes -that another year's work will win him a scholarship at Balliol. The -great become more great, and, as their undistinguished contemporaries -fall out of the race, the gap between the prefect and the fag grows more -pronounced. The intermediate steps are few and dimly seen. It is not -surprising that the blood system should gloriously flourish. It would -not so flourish were the leaving age to be fixed at seventeen. We have -the proof of this in the knowledge of what happened during the war, when -the big men left suddenly in August, 1914, when boys of sixteen sat at -the Sixth Form table, and when no one stayed on at school after his -eighteenth birthday.</p> - -<p>War conditions were, of course, abnormal. It was inevitable that at such -a time the rewards of school life should lose their value. It was -impossible to feel the old excitement about the result of a house match -when the morning paper had brought with it the story of Neuve Chapelle. -The winning of cups and the gaining of colours ceased to be an end in -themselves. For the boy who was prevented by lack of years from joining -the army in 1914 school life became a period of probation, of marking -time. Life in its fullest sense was waiting for him on the other side; -no prefect ever looked forward to Oxford more eagerly than those of us -who were still at school in 1915 looked forward to the day when we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> -should join the army. Our imagination was quickened by the stories told -us by old boys returning from depôts and from the front. Was it possible -that Smith, who had played with us only eight months earlier in the Two -Cock, should be in charge of a company in the front line trenches? We -fretted at our tether; our eyes were fixed on the future. We scorned the -prizes that lay to our hand. We began to reconstruct our scale of -values: it was not only the giants of the football field who were -winning honours for themselves and for the school in France. Queer, -insignificant fellows who had never risen above the Upper Fourth, and -had never been in the running for a house cap, came home on leave with -the blue and white riband of the military cross. We began to realise -that it was not only the blood that was entitled to our respect. The -blood system received a rude shock in August, 1914. It will never, -unless we become involved in social revolution, receive such another. I -believe, however, that it would be considerably modified were the -leaving age to be altered.</p> - -<p>There would be also less hooliganism and less bullying. The third yearer -would no longer be in a position of reckless freedom. Studies would -still be stripped, scholars would still be ragged, but the process would -be compressed. The swash-buckling element would find itself sooner in -authority. The scholar would reach sooner the immunity of the Sixth. And -the prefect would be no less capable of keeping order.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> For, after all, -the prefect owes his power as much to the system that is behind him as -to himself.</p> - -<p>But perhaps the greatest difference that the change would effect would -be in the boy's attitude to his own life. Six years is a very long time -to be in one place. I remember at the end of my first year overhearing a -conversation between the barber and a boy who was leaving the next day.</p> - -<p>'Well, Mr. Meredith,' the barber was saying, 'I suppose this is the last -time I shall cut your hair. I have cut it a good many times.'</p> - -<p>'I have been in this town,' said Meredith, 'for ten years: five years at -the prep, and five years at the school. I'm jolly well sick of it.'</p> - -<p>It is certainly a mistake to send a boy to the prep. of the school to -which he will one day go. Ten years is too long. But six is too long, -too—at that age.</p> - -<p>It is not easy for any one under thirty to picture himself in six years' -time. We look back and remember ourselves six years ago in the -discomfort and disquiet of khaki. What a lot has happened since then. -Who can tell what the next six years may hold? Very few men under thirty -can look far ahead, and the new boy at a Public School who can see his -life mapped out for six years naturally does not look beyond them. He -hardly realises that there is a world outside. He will have to travel so -far before he reaches it. He comes to consider his Public School not as -a prelude, but as the whole sphere in which his personality has to move. -Certain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> prizes and certain honours await him. He does not pause to -think whether those prizes and those honours will be of much or little -service to him after he has put the cloistered world behind him. Not -only is he incapable of viewing his life under the hard light of -eternity, he is incapable of viewing it under the light of the fifty odd -years of traffic that wait for him among phenomena. He accepts -unquestioningly the standards and values of his school. He does not feel -that he is preparing for a contest. That phase of endeavour belonged to -his 'prep.' He has started the race.</p> - -<p>There is a big difference between four years and six. It is a wall over -which even the fag can peer on tiptoe. The passage of ambitions and -loyalties and jealousies is much more swift. It is possible to consider -four years as a prelude; and as soon as public school life is regarded -as a prelude the scale of values becomes changed. The boy begins to -wonder whether he is doing his best to fit himself for after life. He -will cease to be contented with the honours that come to him on the way. -Because his school is a fixed institution, because the scope of his -masters is fixed within its walls, there is a tendency to regard him as -an inhabitant and not a sojourner there. That is what the schoolboy -should never be allowed to forget—that he is passing through one phase -of his life into another; it is because he has forgotten that that he so -often pauses bewildered and irresolute on the threshold of life.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV</span> <span class="smaller">CONCLUSION</span></h2> - -<p>Were the moral question to be tackled sensibly, and were the reduction -of the age limit to modify the 'blood' system, and insist upon the fact -that school life is only a prelude, I believe that athletics would -occupy their proper place in the life of the school. The social force of -religion depends, to a large extent, on the appreciation of the -importance of what will follow the 'here and now.' During the war, when -the future was insecure, and no one could see anything certainly beyond -the limits of a fortnight's leave, the country plunged recklessly in -search of pleasure. No one looked ahead. No one paused to consider what -would be the harvest of their sowing.</p> - -<p>The eyes of the preparatory school boy are fixed upon the future. He -knows that the successes and failures of the moment are unimportant. He -knows that a strenuous contest lies in wait for him. In consequence -there is at a Preparatory School little of the fanatical devotion that -colours the fabric of public school life. I remember a house master once -saying that it was impossible for a member of a house side to do much -work while the house matches were in progress. And, as the house matches -covered a period of six weeks, this was a pretty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> generous allowance. At -the same time the house master only spoke the truth: it was practically -impossible to do much work during the house matches term; we could think -of little else. Every evening we would discuss at considerable length -the afternoon's punt-about and the morrow's match. We would devise -schemes for the better outwitting of our opponents. We would discuss the -weakness and strength of individual players. And the majority of -masters, certainly of house masters, shared this fervour. It is true -that a certain house master, when presented with the excuse for an -indifferent prose that house matches were too exciting, remarked: 'I -don't know whom they excite, they don't excite me.' But this assertion -was belied by his subsequent behaviour on the touchline. During house -matches there is an educational moratorium. In peace time the energies -and interests of a nation are directed into a thousand different -channels, but in war time every interest is secondary to that of war. -And, while house matches are in progress, the atmosphere of a house is -not unlike that of a nation that is at war. Individual members may have -their private troubles, but they realise that these troubles are of -small account at such a time. And, though it is no doubt admirable for -the individual to feel himself of less importance than the community, it -will hardly be conceded that self-negation in such a cause is likely to -prove of any very permanent value to him.</p> - -<p>Now there are those who will urge that boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> nature cannot be altered, -that it is natural for a boy to worship games, and that you cannot -expect him to be otherwise. But that I shall never believe is so. For -myself, I know that I play cricket and football as keenly as I did seven -years ago, that I spend a great many evenings with a Wisden in my hands; -but that I manage to get through a fair amount of work between each -January and December. That is not in itself a fair argument. One cannot -arraign the enthusiasms of sixteen before the enthusiasms of -twenty-three any more than one can arraign the enthusiasms of -twenty-three before those of forty. There is no more fallacious argument -than the 'when you have reached my age, young man.' At different stages -of our life we are vexed by different problems. At twenty-three our -sexual life is of vast importance; it stretches before us, a wide field -for courage, enterprise, adventure. In the man of forty, curiosity has -been satisfied. He has settled many of the problems that perplexed him -when he was a young man. And he says: 'My dear fellow, all this that is -worrying you does not really matter.' But he is wrong. It does matter to -a young man of twenty. And nothing is trivial that has ever exercised -deeply the human spirit.</p> - -<p>In a world that is in flux the permanence or impermanence of any emotion -is of less matter than its intensity while it lasts. Sooner or later -everything must desert us. Is the brain a useless possession because it -will one day soften. Are teeth less efficacious now because one day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> -they will decay. Is a young man of twenty going to listen to the -impotent man of sixty who mutters: 'Young man, the charms of woman are a -snare and an illusion. When you have reached my age you will be no -longer moved by them.' For that is where the 'when you are my age, young -man,' argument finally lands us. And it is not fair to say to a boy of -seventeen: 'This mad excitement about games is absurd. In six years even -you will have outgrown it.' It is for us to decide whether this mad -excitement is the natural expression of a boy's temperament, or whether -it is the peculiar growth of a peculiar environment.</p> - -<p>I will take as an example Sandhurst as it was in the autumn of 1916. It -was composed almost entirely of boys straight from the Public Schools, -and I should imagine that the average age of a company was about -eighteen, the age, that is to say, at which most of them would have been -about to start on their last year. They brought with them the standards -of public school life. One would have expected them to establish their -standards at Sandhurst. They did nothing of the sort. There was nothing -that bore the least approach to a blood system. There were seniors and -juniors, that was all. There was no fierce cult of athleticism. The G.C. -who scored tries in company matches was not granted a general permission -to drive his bayonet through college furniture. In the daily life games -played a prominent part. Indeed, the under officer whose company did not -make use of the ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> allotted to it would have had to face an -unpleasant half-hour with the commandant. But games never became the -business of life. They were played for their own sake. They were -untouched by professionalism. If a three-quarter missed a pass five -yards from the line he did not bury himself in a far corner of the -anteroom, apart from the gaiety of his companions. The average company -side played just as keenly as a house fifteen at school. While we were -on the field we were as desperately anxious to win. But we did not spend -the morning in a state of nervous irritation, nor did the issue of the -contests drive us to deep despondency, or to hysterical elation. A -certain intensity had passed. Yet I do not think that ever before had I -derived such pleasure from the actual playing of the game as I did at -Sandhurst.</p> - -<p>One would not, of course, hold up a military institution as the model -for an educational system. But, from the point of view of athletics, the -Sandhurst that I knew in the winter of 1916 and the spring of 1917 -possessed all the merits and none of the faults that one associates with -the average Public School. And yet that Sandhurst was composed of the -same boys that a few months earlier had, at their Public Schools, -rigidly observed the exacting ritual of the great god of sport.</p> - -<p>Reasons for this change are not difficult to find, and it may be noticed -that they are in line with the improvements suggested in an earlier -chapter. There is no blood system, because there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> is little disparity of -age between the G.C.'s. Juniors belong to a lower caste than the -seniors, but they inhabit that lower world without worrying much about -what is happening in the superior world. Contact between the two is not -established. There is a hard dividing line. A junior may not sit on a -certain side of the anteroom. There is no social fluidity. One is one -thing or the other. Athletic worship in school was due largely, I -suggested, to the absence of any other focus for a boy's enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst several such focuses were provided. To begin with, the work -was interesting. The morning was not a mere succession of tiresome hours -relieved by a quarter of an hour's break. The G.C. did not listen to -lectures and tactics with the listless condescension that he had paid -formerly to the Greek syntax; he realised that the knowledge of the -subjects he was studying would be of practical value to him at a later -date. He was anxious to be a good officer. He was, therefore, interested -in his work. He was also at Sandhurst for a very little while. He -regarded Sandhurst quite definitely as the anteroom to a career; he -never imagined it to be anything else. In a few months he would have -joined his regiment. The honours he won at Sandhurst would be of little -value in themselves, and were only worth the gaining in as far as they -would enhance the reputation which he would take with him to his -regiment. A Sandhurst cadet was always looking beyond the present.</p> - -<p>Nor did the officers in charge of companies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> feel any compunction to -prescribe athleticism as an antidote to immorality. In the first place, -they were not responsible for the G.C.'s moral welfare, nor was there, -indeed, any occasion for alarm. The amount of immoral conduct between -G.C.'s, if there was any, must have been extremely small. Such conduct -is essentially <i>faute de mieux</i>: women were abundantly available for -those who wanted them. And in a town such as Camberley there were -endless opportunities for innocent romance.</p> - -<p>The three main causes for athleticism were removed, and in consequence -there was no athleticism. Now it is obviously impossible for all these -conditions to be introduced into a Public School. There must be a -disparity of age, schoolmasters must feel some anxiety about the morals -of the boys that are to be entrusted to them. But, if we can show that -the complete removal of certain conditions of public school life can -entirely remove certain evils, we can only assume that the modification -of these conditions would cause considerable improvement. The smaller -the disparity of age between the eldest and the youngest boy, the less -intense will be the blood system. The shorter the period that a boy -spends at school, the less will be the tendency to regard school life as -the complete compass of his life. The supply of another focus for a -boy's enthusiasm will diminish the strength of his athletic ardour. The -greater the honesty in tackling the moral question, the less will -masters feel themselves forced to recommend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> athleticism as an antidote -to immorality. And these changes are, I believe, possible without -altering appreciably the principle of public school education. The -supply of other focuses may, at first glance, seem a highly difficult -job. It may, indeed, be advanced that were there another focus, -athleticism could not exist in its present state, and that there would -be no need for a reduction of the age limit. But I am inclined to think -that it would be hardly possible to run any school which contained boys -of thirteen and boys of nineteen and not have a blood system and an -athletic worship. The forces of a natural inclination are too strongly -entrenched behind the barricade of six years. The masters do not stand a -fair chance. But the weakening of one force means the strengthening of -another. A lowering of the barricade by a couple of years would give the -other side a chance of contending equally. The moment a boy realised -that the prizes of school life had only a temporary value, he would -question his blind devotion to the religion of athleticism. He would -wonder whether other things were not worth while. His allegiance would -be divided.</p> - -<p>But the passing of regulations cannot in themselves effect a -reformation. They can be of great assistance; they can support and they -can protect. They cannot build. And, in the study of public school life, -we have to return in the end to the point from which we started. Boys -and parents and schoolmasters must meet on a common ground and discuss -their mutual welfare.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> They can do nothing till they are honest with -each other, till they face the facts together. When they had once done -that they would not find the road hopelessly barricaded. The solutions -that I have, from time to time, suggested in these chapters, would, I -believe, prove beneficial. But it is as a statement of facts, an -analysis of certain conditions, tendencies, and lines of thought, that I -would chiefly submit this book to the consideration of parents and -schoolmasters and those others who are interested in these questions. -For nothing can be done till the conspiracy of silence, the policy of -evasion and self-deception, the diplomacy of the merchant and his goods -is broken down, till, that is to say, parents and schoolmasters meet on -the common ground of co-operation, till they can look each other in the -face and say: 'Things are so, and it is for us to find a remedy.'</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> - -<h2>Some New Publications</h2> - -<p class="bold"><i>from</i> MESSRS COLLINS' LIST</p> - -<p class="center">Published from their London Offices, 48 PALL MALL, S.W.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—<i>Messrs Collins will always be pleased to send lists of -their forthcoming books to any one who will send name and address.</i></p></blockquote> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p class="bold">Old England <span class="s9"> </span> BERNARD GILBERT</p> - -<p class="center">Royal 8vo, Cloth, 20/- net</p> - -<p>A God's-Eye view of a village. This book is unique in English literature -both in conception and treatment. The author presents a whole community -to the reader, taking for his subject our largest social unit—an -English village—where everybody knows everything about every one. He -has taken a typical village during one day of the war and given a camera -obscura presentment of the multitudinous intrigues, ambitions, desires, -disputes, relationships, and interests which thread its fabric so -closely. There is no hero or heroine, for the author presents some -hundreds of characters, each all important to himself. These speak their -own thoughts, throw startling sidelights on their neighbours; and from -the whole, a picture of a village community takes definite shape. The -author has snapped his village at one instant on one day, so that there -is no 'action.' The village is frozen motionless whilst the reader -inspects each inhabitant. There is no sentimentalism, no 'kailyard' -gloss; the villagers expressing themselves with immense force from the -Earl to the mole-catcher. Mr Gilbert has done intensely for the English -countryside what Balzac did for his nation on a great scale. Not only is -each of the great array of characters set forth vividly, but the larger -problems of the countryside are illuminated from various angles. A map -of the village shows every cottage, some fifty genealogical trees -explain the relationships of the villagers, and a 'Who's Who' gives full -information about each inhabitant. The author has taken three years to -write this book, and it is the fruit of a life-time's close observation. -All who were born in the country or have any interest in rural life and -problems must be interested in <i>Old England</i>.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold">The Carpenter and His Kingdom <span class="s9"> </span> <span class="smcap">Dr ALEXANDER IRVINE</span></p> - -<p class="center">Crown 8vo, Cloth, 7/6 net</p> - -<p>Dr Irvine has already secured a very high place in the affections of the -people of this country through his books, <i>My Lady of the Chimney -Corner</i> and <i>The Souls of Poor Folk</i>. <i>The Carpenter and His Kingdom</i>, -as the name denotes, is a Life of Christ, a re-interpretation of His -life as seen by a very simple yet very subtle, very human yet very wise -idealist and Christian. No writer on social tendencies after the war has -failed to point out the great loss of prestige suffered by the Churches. -Speaking broadly, they are regarded with a disinterested tolerance -almost amounting to contempt by the great majority of people, and this -attitude has as its general effect a marked decrease in 'belief' in -Christianity. Dr Irvine's book may prove a very real antidote to that -progressive agnosticism, for he still believes that the Life of Christ -is the greatest example mankind has ever been given, and that the -influence of His message is vastly greater than that of any other single -influence in history. But to show that he has to draw a new picture of -Christ emphasising His Humanity as well as His Divinity, and make His -teaching intelligible to a Society still hardly approaching -convalescence after a prolonged and virulent disease. It is an original, -beautiful, and timely book.</p> - -<p class="bold">A London Mosaic <span class="s9"> </span> W. L. GEORGE</p> - -<p class="center">Small Crown 4to, Cloth 15/- net.</p> - -<p class="center">Illustrations by P. Forbes-Robertson</p> - -<p>A series of brilliant satirical sketches of London places and London -people by one of the most popular novelists of the day. Mr George is -always interesting and his point of view original and challenging. He -knows London intimately and loves her well, but his affection does not -blunt his critical sense.</p> - -<p>To go with him to the Café Royal and listen as he points out and -discusses the great ones sitting therein; to follow him on his -pilgrimage 'In Search of Vice'; to accompany him to theatre or music -hall, are most amusing and instructive experiences which no lover of -London should miss. Mr Philippe Forbes-Robertson's illustrations -perfectly interpret the mood of the book.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold">South with Scott <span class="s9"> </span> <span class="smcap">Capt.</span> E. R. G. R. EVANS</p> - -<p class="right">C.B., D.S.O., R.N.</p> - -<p class="center">Demy 8vo, Cloth, 10/6 net</p> - -<p class="center">With photogravure portrait of Captain Evans</p> - -<p>Captain Evans was second in command of the British Antarctic expedition -commanded by Captain Scott, and took over Captain Scott's position as -leader after his death. It will be remembered that, during the war, -Captain Evans was in command of H.M.S. <i>Broke</i>, which, together with -H.M.S. <i>Swift</i>, engaged six German destroyers, sinking two and -torpedoing a third. It is an interesting, intimate, racy, and absorbing -account of the expedition compressed into a comparatively small compass, -and fully brings out the intense difficulties the expedition had to -face, the heroism displayed by every member of the party, and the -magnificent scientific results obtained.</p> - -<p class="bold">Labour: The Giant with the Feet of Clay <span class="s9"> </span> SHAW DESMOND</p> - -<p class="center">Demy 8vo, Cloth, 10/6 net</p> - -<p>Mr Shaw Desmond is very well known as a versatile writer and as a great -champion of the Labour Cause. His book, therefore, is of singular -interest at the present time. It is a critical and sympathetic analysis -of the Labour Movement from the inside, by a man who, after being a -member of the Labour Party for fourteen years, is frankly disillusioned. -In what amounts to a sweeping but reasoned indictment, the writer shows -the 'feet of clay' of the Labour Movement, and claims that though -outwardly united the movement is split from crown to heel by -fundamentally opposed ideals, tactics, and objectives, that it might -collapse at any moment, and that such 'success' as has been obtained has -been purchased at the price of principle. In so doing he gives many -vivid and revealing portraits of great Labour figures of the last -generation, from Keir Hardie to Rosa Luxemburg, 'the Red Tigress.' The -book is not merely destructive, the latter portion is given over to a -constructive examination of the problems facing democracy with a very -interesting foreshadowing of what the writer calls 'The New Democracy' -or 'The Spiritual Democracy.' He shows not only how Labour may set its -house in order but how the House of Society itself may be saved from -that 'unrest' which is slowly destroying it. Mr Desmond's writing is at -once stimulating and suggestive, instructive and illuminating, and will -certainly be widely discussed.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold">The Island of Youth <span class="s9"> </span> EDWARD SHANKS</p> - -<p class="center">Author of <i>The Queen of China</i>, <i>The People of the Ruins</i>, etc.</p> - -<p class="center">Small Crown 8vo, Cloth, 5/- net</p> - -<p><i>The Island of Youth</i> is the fourth volume of verse by a poet whose -powers have been steadily maturing. Two years ago Mr Shanks's <i>The Queen -of China</i> won the Hawthornden Prize, and the present volume contains all -the poems he has since written. It contains one long poem, a beautiful -idyll in blank verse, and a number of short poems. Mr Shanks's language -is refreshingly pure and his rhythm refreshingly musical, in an age -which has made many attempts to glorify gibberish and raucous discord. -He is, as all good poets must be, at once original and in the stream of -national tradition, and in no respect more traditional than in his -affection for and knowledge of the English landscape which has breathed -its fragrance into so much of our great poetry in all ages. Those who -know his previous books, or the selections from them in <i>Georgian -Poetry</i>, do not need to be told this, and those unacquainted with Mr -Shanks's previous work can be most emphatically assured that they will -not be disappointed in <i>The Island of Youth</i>. It is one of those books -familiarity with which breeds an ever deepening admiration and love.</p> - -<p class="bold">Ibsen and His Creation <span class="s9"> </span> JANKO LAVRIN</p> - -<p class="center">Crown 8vo, Cloth, 7/6 net</p> - -<p>This is a further contribution to 'psycho-criticism' by Mr Janko Lavrin, -whose able study of Dostoevsky was so favourably received. His aim is to -present a new and original solution of the central problem of Ibsen, and -to show how Ibsen's individual psychological conflict is worked out in -his plays.</p> - -<p>Mr Lavrin reveals in a new light the great significance of Ibsen as a -representative of modern consciousness, and in so doing illuminates not -only Ibsen's dilemma but also our own.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold">Last Studies in Criminology <span class="s9"> </span> H. B. IRVING</p> - -<p class="center">Demy 8vo, Cloth, 15/- net.</p> - -<p class="center">With photogravure portrait of H. B. Irving</p> - -<p>With the death of H. B. Irving one of the most remarkable figures of the -English stage disappeared, for not only was he an actor of great merit, -but a man of very versatile mental attainments. His bent was always -towards criminological study, and his various studies in crime and -criminals are familiar to many readers. These, the last of his essays, -will be read with great attention. They are mainly studies of persons -accused but not convicted of crime, men such as Adolph Beck; and the -element of uncertainty that attaches to so many of these cases gives -them an added point of interest for so subtle and penetrating a mind as -that of the late Mr H. B. Irving.</p> - -<p class="bold">From Waterloo to the Marne <span class="s9"> </span> COUNT PIETRO ORSI</p> - -<p class="center">Small Crown 4to, Cloth, 15/- net</p> - -<p>This is a book which should be read by all those who wish to arrive at -an accurate knowledge of the causes and condition which led up to and -provoked the Great World War of 1914-1918, and are responsible for the -world unrest of to-day. The author, the well-known Italian Professor of -International History, describes in this book, clearly and logically, -the rise, the ebb and flow of the international democratic spirit which -floods the world of to-day. He shows the nexus which unites all races -and nations of the world into one coherent whole, and traces with -admirable clarity the birth, life, and struggles of that desire for -popular liberty which first penetrated into every corner of Europe with -the armies of the great Napoleon. It is a compendium of the history of -each country of the world, and should be read by each student who not -only wishes to familiarise himself with the history of the last century -of his own country, but desires also to gain a solid acquaintance of -that of the remaining countries of the globe. The arrangement of the -book is excellent and original; the libraries of every nation have been -ransacked for its compilation, and the work, without being in the least -degree scrappy, gives all the salient points of universal history. This -historical encyclopedia should be in the hands of every thinking man.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold">The Riddle of the Rhine <span class="s9"> </span> VICTOR LEFEBURE</p> - -<p class="center">Demy 8vo, 10/6 net</p> - -<p>This book establishes beyond any shadow of doubt the importance of -chemical warfare in the recent war and its supreme significance for the -future. It shows, in addition, the intimate connection between the new -war method and chemical, scientific, and industrial development. What -chemical steps must be taken for national safety in an armed or disarmed -world? What international disarmament measures can be taken in this -field? It proves beyond refutation that if the second question remains -unanswered all other disarmament measures are farcical. These general -questions, although of enormous importance, were, however, all -introduced by the menace and critical war activities of the German -organic chemical or dye combine. This menace still exists, and can only -be removed by a redistribution of the organic chemical forces of the world.</p> - -<p class="bold">A History of English Furniture <span class="s9"> </span> PERCY MACQUOID, R.I.</p> - -<p class="center">With plates in colour after Shirley Slocombe, and numerous illustrations -selected and arranged by the author; in four volumes:</p> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left">—<span class="smcap">The Age of Oak</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left">—<span class="smcap">The Age of Walnut</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left">—<span class="smcap">The Age of Mahogany</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>IV.</td> - <td class="left">—<span class="smcap">The Age of Satinwood</span></td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<p class="center">£21 net per set, or £5 5s. net per volume.</p> - -<p class="center">Size, 15 in. 11 in.; bound in red buckram, gilt.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>With a new index.</i></p> - -<p>The subject has been divided into four periods, the first dating from -1500 to 1660, comprising furniture that can be attributed to the -Renaissance, and its evolution from the Gothic. The second from 1660 to -1720, when the change is varied by the Restoration and Dutch influence, -followed by a distinctly assertive English spirit. The third period -covers the introduction from France of fresh ideas in design, clearly -marking another change, lasting from 1720 to 1770. The fourth, -1770-1820, which was inspired by an affectation for all things -classical. While the book only purports to deal with English furniture, -it is obvious that reference is freely made to foreign styles in order -to keep the matter in perspective.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>Illustrated Prospectus will be sent on application.</i></p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 51409-h.htm or 51409-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/4/0/51409">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/4/0/51409</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>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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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: Public School Life - Boys Masters Parents - - -Author: Alec Waugh - - - -Release Date: March 9, 2016 [eBook #51409] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/publicschoollife00waug - - - - - -PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE - - - * * * * * * - -COUNTRIES OF THE MIND -MIDDLETON MURRY -Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net - -IBSEN AND HIS CREATION -Professor JANKO LAVRIN -Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net - -THE RETURN -WALTER DE LA MARE -Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net - - * * * * * * - - -PUBLIC SCHOOL LIFE - -Boys Parents Masters - -by - -ALEC WAUGH - -Author of 'The Loom of Youth,' 'Pleasure,' etc. - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Logo] - -London: 48 Pall Mall -W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd. -Glasgow Melbourne Auckland - -Copyright, 1922 - -Manufactured in Great Britain - - - - -A DEDICATORY LETTER TO ARNOLD LUNN - - -_December 6, 1921_: - -MY DEAR ARNOLD,--It was with genuine surprise that I read the other day, -while turning over the pages of _The Harrovians_, the date 1913 upon the -title-page. Only eight years ago, and since then so much has happened. -What a long while it seems since _The Harrovians_ was the most borrowed -book in the house, and we passed the hours of evening hall, that should -have been spent in the study of irregular verbs, in eager discussions on -your book. It was a revelation to us--we schoolboys of 1913. It -explained us to ourselves. We thought then that the last word on the -subject had been said. - -But one can never say the last word on such a subject as the Public -Schools, especially in a novel. In a novel one is constrained to tell a -story or to reveal a character. In _The Harrovians_ you dealt with the -Public School System only in as far as it effected the development of -Peter, and in _Loose Ends_ you found yourself equally fettered with -regard to Maurice. It is for this reason that I feel there is still -room for a book such as this, which, though a narrative, has for its -object simply the analysis and presentation of public school life. At -any rate I hope that you may think, when you come to read it, that it -was worth doing. If you do not, well then at least here is your name -after the title-page in grateful tribute to many pleasant hours spent in -the company of yourself and of your books, and in the hope of many more -such hours. - -For their sake, if not for its own sake, please accept this book, and -believe me, - -As ever, your sincere friend, -ALEC WAUGH. - - - - -CONTENTS - -CHAP. PAGE - I. INTRODUCTORY 1 - - II. THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL 20 - - III. THE NEW BOY 38 - - IV. THE SECOND YEAR 60 - - V. ATHLETICISM 76 - - VI. THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING 91 - - VII. MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP 124 - -VIII. THE MIDDLE YEARS 161 - - IX. PREFECTSHIP 171 - - X. THE LAST TERM 198 - - XI. THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT 215 - - XII. SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH - REGARD TO MORALS 231 - -XIII. THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS 256 - - XIV. CONCLUSION 263 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -INTRODUCTORY - - -Twenty years ago a father said to his son, who had just come down from -Oxford with a batting average of 35.7: 'For ten years, my boy, you have -been playing cricket all through the summer at my expense. You can now -either come into my business and play first-class cricket during your -month's holiday in August, or, if you want to continue to play cricket -all through the season, you can go down to the Oval and apply to be -taken on as a professional.' The moral, the obvious moral, that is to -say, is admirable. And the elderly gentleman whom I overheard repeating -this story in the pavilion, leant back in his seat and affirmed proudly, -though with a deep sense of the passage of good things, that it was in -such a spirit that the game had been played when he was young. 'That's -what cricket meant to the Studds, the Lyttletons, the Fosters. We didn't -have any of these amateur professionals, none of these fine fellows who -get found soft jobs by their county committees. What's the difference, I -should like to know, between the fellow who gets paid five pounds a -match and the fellow who is presented with the directorship of a ladies' -corset factory at a comfortable salary, and who has only to go to the -office once a week to sign his name in the directors' attendance book?' -The elderly gentleman shrugged his shoulders with disgust. - -He was quite right, of course. There are too many cricketers who make as -much money out of the game as any professional, yet are entitled to put -initials before their name upon the score card. And the father was quite -right when he insisted on the industry of his son. He was none the less -right because things probably failed to turn out as they had been -planned. They rarely do. We can guess what happened. - -For a year the son worked hard. During his month's holiday he made a -couple of centuries in first-class cricket, and various papers -commenting on this achievement expressed their regret that so promising -a cricketer should only be available in August. It is needless to add -that the other members of the family saw to it that these references did -not escape the attention of their father. Next season the county started -so well, that by the end of May it stood at the head of the -championship, and the young financier was entreated to turn out for the -Yorkshire match in the middle of June. On such an occasion parental -discipline was naturally relaxed. And an innings of 87 on a tricky -wicket was followed by an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -Parental pride was flattered. Next season the same thing happened, only -more frequently. There was, in fact, an understanding that he was -available for all the important matches, and very soon not only the -fixtures with Middlesex, Kent, and Surrey, came to be regarded as -important, but also those with Hampshire, Gloucestershire, Somerset, and -Worcester. Indeed, in five years' time the son found himself playing -county cricket steadily from May to August and as an amateur. Things -happen like that. Still the pact, as the elderly gentleman in the -pavilion asserted, had been made in the right spirit. And it was, after -all, a family affair. - -But the fine distinction between the amateur and the amateur -professional is defined only by the obvious moral to this story, and the -subtler moral had passed unnoticed by the elderly reactionary in the -pavilion. A young man, twenty-three years of age, has been expensively -educated for some ten to twelve years. And he is faced at the end of his -education, when it is assumed, that is to say, that he is equipped with -the knowledge and trained ability that will enable him to take up that -portion of the world's work for which he is best fitted, with two -alternatives. Either he can go into his father's business, or else he -can lose his caste and sign on as a professional cricketer. It occurred -neither to the father nor to the son nor to the elderly gentleman who -repeated the story in the pavilion that any other alternative was -possible, or, indeed, desirable. The son was not in a position to say to -his father: 'Of course I wouldn't become a pro. But I'm really not keen -on your business. I shouldn't be a success at it. I'd rather do -something else.' He could not say that, because there was nothing else -for him to do. Six years earlier he could have gone to Sandhurst. If he -had worked harder at school he might possibly have passed into the -Egyptian civil service. It is possible that his blue would have obtained -for him a schoolmastership, but his gulf in mods, would have limited his -choice of schools. And the prospects of a junior master at a second-rate -Public School are not inviting. So, whatever his own inclinations might -have been, he had to accept his father's offer. It is here that we find -the true moral of the story; and we ask ourselves whether this young man -was, in spite of his ten years at Oxford and at a Public School, really -educated. He had learnt how to make centuries in county cricket, and he -had acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. But he had -not developed the ability to perform properly the type of work for which -he was best fitted, nor, indeed, had he discovered what that type of -work might be. As likely as not his father's business was the last that -he should have chosen. We all react from our surroundings, and he had -probably become heartily sick of his father's particular form of 'shop.' -He had so often sat wearily at the dinner table, fingering his bread, -piling the salt into pyramids on the edge of the cruet, while his father -had explained to his mother the minute details of his latest deal. 'You -see, my dear, I bought in at twenty-six....' Of all hideous employments -the buying and selling of shares had seemed to him the weariest. And yet -there was nothing for him but to accept a desk beside a telephone with -the files of the _Financial News_ spread out before him. - -He can have brought no enthusiasm to his work. Out of a sense of duty, -and in order to improve his own position, he may have worked hard during -the winter months, but he must have worked without pleasure, with his -work not as an end but as a means. - -Yet nothing in a man's life is of more importance than his profession. -If he does not enjoy his work he values too highly the privileges that -success in it will bring to him. He asks too much of his private life, -and if he is disappointed, he embarks on a desperate search for -pleasure. Half of the discontent of modern life, the discontent that -expresses itself in endless parties, dances, and entertainments, can be -traced to the reactions of men and women engaged in uncongenial -employment. And so we return again to that first question. Can we call a -man educated who has not discovered in what capacity he is most likely -to be of service to society, or who, having discovered it, has not taken -steps to qualify himself for that profession. That, in a sentence, is -the case against the English Public School. A system stands or falls by -its products. - -And it is only natural that parents who are not particularly well off, -and who have no private business into which they can draft their -children, should ask themselves whether or not a public school education -is worth the considerable personal sacrifice that will be entailed if -their sons are to be sent to Wellington, Clifton, or Uppingham. 'We -want to do the best for Tommy,' they say. 'But after spending L250 a -year on him for five years what do we get in return? Tommy is not clever -enough to pass into the civil service; he may get a mastership on a -salary only slightly better than that of a Metropolitan policeman. Is it -worth it?' When the head master to whom these doubts are carried, -commences to enlarge on the moral qualities that are revealed and -strengthened by 'the honest give and take of public school life,' the -parent is still unsatisfied. 'Are you quite sure?' they say. 'Of course -we know it's all exaggerated, but where there's smoke, you know, and one -has heard....' Is it surprising that under such circumstances the -mandarins of the public school profession should have erected a -barricade of prejudice between themselves and criticism. Their -maintenance is at stake. They have to persuade the parent that he is -getting his money's worth. Otherwise he will send his son to a day -school, or, worse still, to some pension in Rome or Brussels. - -And so it has happened that any critic of the Public Schools is -immediately driven into a false position. For so long the Public Schools -have been accepted with an unquestioning reverence--for so long, that is -to say, the authorities have been able to persuade the world that the -goods they are selling are the best, in fact the only goods upon the -market--that if any one breathes a word against them now he is labelled -a revolutionary; it is assumed that politically he is a Socialist, that -he wishes to substitute co-operation for competition, that he is a -harbinger of red ruin, concealing a bomb intended for William of -Wykeham's Tower or the green sward of Agar's plough; that his programme -involves the complete destruction of the existing fabric, and that he -proposes to erect about its ruins some bizarre construction of eugenics -and modernity. Nothing, as a matter of fact, is further from the truth. - -The majority of assailants are anything but socialists. They consider an -enlightened oligarchy the ideal form of government, and their chief -quarrel with the Public Schools is the absence of that enlightened -oligarchy. No one wants to destroy the Public Schools. No one would be -so foolish. But we do maintain that the public school system--a very -old, a very magnificent, a very venerable mansion--stands in drastic -need of repair. It is some years since the drains were attended to; -electric light is more serviceable than gas; the tapestries are a little -moth-eaten; the books in the library are dusty. The house wants to be -spring cleaned. - -It is easy, of course, to say that, but it is very difficult to know how -to set about it. Our institutions are mirrors in which are reflected our -personal imperfections. They can be no better than ourselves; and the -merchants of panaceas take for granted a world which has left behind it -envy, greed, malice, and desire. To that degree of perfection we shall -never attain, but we can at any rate be honest with one another. And -there is no side of English life about which rulers and ruled, fathers -and sons, old and young have been so consistently dishonest with one -another in the past as they have been about the standards and ideals of -the English Public Schools. - -It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods, and though the -English Public Schools do not insert double-column advertisements in the -daily papers, they are at least beholden not to prejudice the value of -their stock. The greengrocer does not inform you that, on the whole, his -potatoes are not bad, considering that he bought them from a farmer with -a leaking shed. A head master does not tell a parent that, if he is -going to send his son to a Public School, his own school is not worse -than any other. Yet the same man who views with grave suspicion eulogies -of a patent medicine, accepts complacently the house-master's assurance -that Tommy is improving enormously both morally and intellectually under -his care. A schoolmaster spends a large part of his life boosting the -value of his goods, and in time, of course, he comes to believe that -every word of what he says is true. The commercial traveller of two -years' experience will wink his eye: 'I spun him the tale!' But the -commercial traveller of ten years' experience has a solemn countenance. -'People know good stuff when they see it.' - -A few weeks ago I was staying in the country with some friends, and was -taken over by them to the prize-giving of the Preparatory School at -which their sons were being educated. The ceremony was enacted in the -gymnasium. The staff sat at the end of the room on a raised dais, in the -centre of which was a table covered with 'calf-bound mementoes of -industry.' Behind this table stood the head master. He was a large, -genial, middle-aged man, rubicund with a surfeit of golf, and he smiled -down upon the school and upon its parents. 'Well, you boys,' he said, 'I -want to tell you how pleased I am with the way you've backed me up this -term. You've worked hard and you've played hard: I don't really know how -long it is since we've had such a thoroughly satisfactory term: of -course there are one or two young gentlemen'--and at this point a -twinkle appeared in the corner of his eye--'who have been a little, -well, shall we say, difficult; but that's past history, we won't say -anything more about it; and, as a whole, as I've already said, I don't -think I've ever had such a satisfactory set of fellows.' There were a -few more remarks of mutual congratulation, and then he proceeded to the -distribution of the prizes. - -Afterwards I had a chat with one of the assistant masters, with whom I -happened to be on fairly intimate terms. - -'A wonderful fellow, the Head,' he told me. 'Do you know he's made that -same speech at prize-giving for the last twenty years. Hardly a phrase -different. He wants to send the parents away in a good temper. They'll -get their account to-morrow. Of course he doesn't know that's why he's -doing it. But it's the reason right enough. And how clever that bit is -about the young gentlemen who've been a little troublesome. It makes -every mother feel that her boy is better than her neighbour's.' - -I suggested that such an opinion was likely to be revised under the -influence of the terminal report. 'Not a bit of it,' he answered. 'All -our reports are strictly censored. We write them out on a piece of -foolscap and the Head gets them typed; but where we write "lazy and -unintelligent," the parents read "moderate." You can take my word for it -that the boy who gets "moderate" in his report from here is one of -earth's best dunces.' - -That was, of course, at a private school; but, even at the most -prosperous Public Schools there is a tacit understanding that parents -should be stroked down after the manner of refractory cats. The -half-term report contains frequently enough a quantity of pungent -critical writing, but the parental visit to the school is invariably the -occasion for much conversational flattery. Freddie, unless he has become -involved in any particularly unfortunate adventure, is the object of -restrained, perhaps qualified, but still potential commendation. The -father is assured by the house-master that everything is going on -splendidly: 'A little low in form, perhaps, rather too boisterous at -times in the day room, but a sound fellow at heart, the sort of fellow -that the house will be proud of one day.' And the mother's qualms are -put at rest by the house-master's wife. 'The tone of the house is so -excellent, you see. No bullying at all, and Freddie's manners are so -charming. Every one likes him.' - -It is possible that if the house-master were taken to task in the -privacy of his own study, he might be persuaded to confess himself a -pragmatist. 'One has to keep them quiet,' he might say. 'The young -rascal'll get on all right as long as they don't start meddling with -him.' But it is hard to be honest with oneself. The schoolmaster cannot -help regarding the parent in much the same way that the junior subaltern -regarded the brigadier. We all know what happened when the runner -brought the news that at such an hour the brigadier would visit -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements. Lieutenant Jones specially called -the brigadier's attention to what he knew would please him. He put his -smartest men on guard. He assured the brigadier that everything was -going quite all right, that the men were perfectly comfortable and that -the supply of rations was adequate; Lieutenant Jones did everything, in -fact, to get the brigadier into the next trench as soon as possible. - -Which was, of course, all very rational. The brigadier's interest in -Lieutenant Jones's gun emplacements was remote and theoretical, and -either way was of small importance. But it is a different thing -altogether when house-masters wave parents out of the way with -comfortable excuses. It establishes at once a dishonest relationship. -The schoolmaster does not trust the parent. He regards him as a nuisance -that periodically has to be appeased. And, as long as things go -smoothly, he is content to leave him in the dark. There is no -co-operation. And that is absolutely fatal. It means that the two people -who are chiefly responsible for the boy's welfare are working at cross -purposes. - -The trouble does not end there. For between the parents themselves there -is frequently an incomplete mutual appreciation of the difficulties of -school life. Women, in the nature of things, can only know about Public -Schools what men choose to tell them. That is usually remarkably little. -Many a husband encourages in his wife the illusion that before he met -her his life was a vague, indeterminate, ineffectual thing, the -incidents of which are unworthy to be recorded. And many others on such -matters as public school life consider that a lie that saves friction is -justifiable. It is so easy to see how it happens. - -Husband and wife are sitting after dinner on either side of the -fireplace. The wife has just finished reading _The Harrovians_, and she -looks up with a puzzled, unhappy look. 'Harold, dear,' she says, 'it's -not like that really, is it? If it were true I couldn't think of sending -Freddie to such a place.' And what is Harold to say? He has read _The -Harrovians_. He knows that substantially it is true, but equally well he -knows that if he acknowledges this to his wife his domestic life for the -next six years will be complicated by incessant arguments and anxieties. -To begin with he will have to spend many evenings of discussion before -he can persuade his wife of the advisability of sending Freddie to -Rugby. And afterwards there will be constant uneasiness. His wife will -fret. She will want to pay visits to Rugby, to interview the head -master, to ask her son uncomfortable questions. His own life would -become unbearable. And a lie smooths out so much. 'Oh, no, dear, quite -unlike the Rugby of my day. An exaggerated picture of a bad house in a -bad school, that's all it is.' - -Such a situation must arise fairly frequently. And at least one instance -of it has come within the circle of my own experience. While I was a -prisoner in Germany I lent a copy of my school story, _The Loom of -Youth_, to a fellow-prisoner, who had expressed a wish to read it. A few -days later he returned it to me with such a flattering display of -enthusiasm that, in a moment of unusual generosity I promised to send -him a copy on our return. The sequel reached me a few days later. He had -returned to his room and remarked that Waugh had promised to give him a -copy of that book of his, 'the thing that's all full of oaths. I don't -know what I shall do with it,' he said. 'I shall have to be jolly -careful that my wife doesn't read it.' - -If one may generalise from such an incident, and I believe that one may, -for it has its root in the eternal indolence of human nature, then not -only schoolmasters and parents, but fathers and mothers are working at -cross purposes. And so the boy finds himself alone, stranded in a -society the nature of which he has to discover for himself. He never -regards his house-master as one working in co-operation with his -parents for the welfare of his soul. Schoolmasters will be to him a -separate caste. And although he will never reason this out with himself, -he will appreciate it intuitively in the natural cunning with which he -will exploit one or the other in the furtherance of his own ends. I do -not mean that he is deceitful. But he may want to specialise in History, -or to abandon German in favour of Greek, and he will think whether he -would do better to approach his father or his house-master. There is a -sort of dual monarchy, and if one sovereign is opposed to a favourite -scheme, it is but natural to try one's fortune with the other. - -His parents' interest in his school life must appear to him superficial. -When his father comes down at half term, he has to answer innumerable -questions as to his prowess on the cricket field; and very often indeed -the chief pleasure that his athletic successes brings him is the thought -of the delight that his father will experience. But the intimate side of -his school life, his thoughts, his friendships, his troubles, his -ambitions, do not enter into his relationship with his parents. In the -same way his house-master's interest in his home life seems to him -superficial. On his return to school he is asked a few questions about -the theatres he has visited; whether he is in training for the football; -has he done any private work? not a word of his intimate life. The boy -ceases to regard his school life as a continuation of his home life. The -two are entirely separate, and it depends on the temperament of the -individual as to which of the two he will consider the more important. -We hear a great deal of talk about the influence of the home; it is, -indeed, the stock argument of the pedagogue who would shelve his own -responsibility on to other shoulders, but I believe that its influence -is greatly overrated. Home and school present to the average boy two -watertight compartments. They are different lives, a different technique -is required. And human nature has at least one property of the -chameleon. - -A schoolboy sets out, therefore, to discover school life for himself. He -knows what his parents expect him to make of it; he has a fairly shrewd -idea of what his schoolmaster expects him to make of it. It remains for -him to investigate school life as his companions have made it. Naturally -he does not announce his investigations. He lets his parents think what -they like and his schoolmasters think what they like. He goes his own -way. And it is thus that school life as it is, differs so enormously -from the traditional concept of it. There must be always a gulf between -the reality and the imagined idea. But in public school life the gulf is -between, not the schoolboy reality and his idea of it, but between the -schoolboy reality, and the confused idea of it that is held by parents -and masters. It is two degrees from the truth. In consequence, when any -one does attempt to tell the truth there is an outburst of indignant -protest. And the worst of it is that it is an honest outburst. When head -masters write to the Press and say 'these accusations are entirely -false,' they honestly believe what they say. That is what makes -everything so difficult. They have forgotten their own schooldays, and -for so long they have been persuading parents of the value of a public -school education that they have come to believe in their own -advertisements. And yet what they have come to believe is far more -remarkable than the truth. In sermons and addresses they assure the boy -and his parents that school life is a miniature of the larger world; -which is the statement of a fact: yet every subsequent act and utterance -is in contradiction to this initial axiom. For, if that larger world did -really resemble the official concept of school life, what a bizarre, -what an extravagant affair it would be. It would be filled with high -lights, with breathless escapades, with impossible heroics. It has been -accepted as quite credible that a boy should be capable of the most -extreme and loathsome brutalities, that a percentage of every school -should spend its life in gambling and heavy drinking, that at least one -prefect in every school should contract inconvenient liabilities at the -Baron's Arms, and that to extricate himself he should forge his -house-master's signature. Indeed, anything may happen provided that the -course of life follows a simple process of right and wrong which leads -to the triumph of virtue and the downfall of vice. It is something like -a Lyceum melodrama. And, though we can all manage to enjoy for a couple -of hours the fine sensationalism of _The Beggar Girl's Wedding_, we -should hardly accept its values as a philosophical background for our -daily life. And yet that has actually happened in the case of the Public -Schools. Mr P. G. Wodehouse, in his delightful _Mike_, makes Psmith say -to a new acquaintance: 'Are you the Bully, the Pride of the School, or -the Boy who is led astray and takes to drink in Chapter Sixteen?' Such -figureheads exist in the popular imagination. The world believes in -bullies, in villains, in straight heroes and in the weak character who -goes wrong, but is saved through the influence of either the hero or the -head master, or the head master's daughter, or through the sermon of an -occasional preacher. It is all very jolly, of course, and no doubt the -world would be a far more comfortable place if it were possible to label -and pigeonhole all our friends and acquaintances. But life cannot be -simplified by any arbitrary process. We have our standards of conduct, -but they are shifting and relative. They are the measures that each -successive society arranges for what it considers to be its convenience. -And we accept them for what they are. At a Public School, however, a -traditional conception has formed a code of rules for the convenience of -a society that does not exist. Which is confusing: and when Desmond Coke -wrote in _The Bending of a Twig_ a very entertaining skit on the -behaviour of a boy who had read a number of school stories, and went to -Shrewsbury expecting to find bullies behind every cloister, -schoolmasters laughed over the book, but did not read into it any -criticism of themselves. - -And yet there is nothing that we need more than an honest facing of the -facts of public school life. Facts are a solid neutral ground on which -parents and boys and masters may meet to discuss their ideals and their -difficulties. And, in the course of that discussion, they may discover, -as likely as not, a way out of their troubles. The hope of this book is -to provide that statement of facts. It does not set out as an -educational treatise. It accepts the Public Schools as the system best -suited to the material with which it deals. It suggests no new system of -teaching. It does not advocate co-education. It does not advance any -plea for Montessor methods. It will contain no discussion of the -advantages of Greek over German. There will be no appendix with -time-tables and suggested curriculum. For, as things are now, it does -not matter whether Sanscrit is substituted for mathematics: the boy will -learn equally little of either. It is intended as a human study of -public school life, as an attempt to break down that conspiracy of -silence, that relationship of evasion and deceit that exists officially -between parents, boys, and masters; and from time to time it will -suggest solutions. - -It is, of course, only an attempt. For no one person can see more than a -side of the truth. However impartial we try to be, we can see in a -situation only what the limitations of our personality allow us. We are -all at tether. During the last three years many public men have visited -Russia; they have been honest men, and we know quite well that they went -there with the firm intention of telling nothing but the truth. But, -before they went, we could have told them exactly what they would say on -their return. Yet the analogy does not quite hold good. For we, too, -have gone, each of us, to a Public School with a preconceived idea of -what school life would be, and each of us in turn has had that -conception destroyed by actuality, and each in turn has had to create -for himself his own picture. It follows then that there must in each -picture be a certain measure of truth. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE PREPARATORY SCHOOL - - -We hear much of the embarrassed misery of a boy's first week at school. -And, certainly, it is pretty wretched. Mr Vachell compared it to the -first plunge into an ice-cold swimming bath: the sudden shock, and, -afterwards, the glory of a swim. But it is the inaction, the loneliness -of the first week that is so difficult. It is more like standing on the -edge of the swimming bath on a cold day waiting for the signal that will -start the race. And yet the change must have been a great deal more -difficult for our parents than it was for us. The preparatory school -system is of more or less recent growth, and, when one considers how -much one learnt at a Preparatory School, in _esprit de corps_, in -patience, in sportsmanship, in the give and take of a communal life, one -wonders how an earlier generation managed to survive the first term. -School life by all accounts was a fairly barbarous business in the -eighties, and by what strange roads our parents came to those rough -waters. Some came straight from home, some from private tutors: the -majority from the old-fashioned dame school. It is not surprising that -the Preparatory Schools should have so increased in number and improved -in quality. - -For the Preparatory School fulfils a most important function, and it -fulfils it extremely efficiently. It is what it sets out to be, a school -that will take a small boy almost from the nursery, and train him in the -course of four or five years to take his place in a large Public School. -The task that the head master of a Preparatory School has to tackle is -not, however, anything like so hard as that which confronts the head -master of a Public School. For a Public School has to equip a boy for -life; and life is vast, indeterminate, a swiftly moving river that is -never the same from one moment to another. The Preparatory School, on -the other hand, has only to equip a boy for a Public School, and the -Public School is a fixed quantity. As regards curriculum, the task is -simple. The required standard of education is known. A certain -percentage in the common entrance examination has to be obtained. The -school has not to discover the career for which its individual members -are best suited. It has merely to decide which of them are good enough -to be trained specially for scholarships. The main object of the -Preparatory School, however, is to produce presentable specimens of -society, boys who will do the right thing in the right circumstances. -And this the Preparatory School does admirably well. - -It is at a Preparatory School that boys learn manners, courtesy, the -proper behaviour in the presence of ladies. But these things, you may -say, a boy will learn at home. No doubt he ought to, but any preparatory -schoolmaster will disabuse you on that point. How many small boys of -seven who have not been to a school will, when they are handed a plate -of cakes, take the one nearest to them rather than the one of which they -fancy the appearance. How many small boys will think of opening a door -for a lady, of offering her his chair when she enters the room, of -apologising to his hostess if he arrives late for breakfast. These are -the little things that a boy learns at a Preparatory School and that he -will learn nowhere else; at all good schools a great value is placed on -these points of etiquette; if anything, 'good manners' are rather -overdone, and the precipitate charge of twelve or thirteen urchins -towards a door handle is likely to prove embarrassing to the lady -visitor who has risen from her chair. - -At my own school, for instance, music lessons always took place -immediately after lunch; so that, if lunch was a little late, the first -boys were allowed to leave the table before grace. It was a rule, -however, that no boy should ever leave the dining-room till he had asked -the permission of the ladies. And many visitors were much perplexed by -the repeated inaudible apologies of nervous small boys who came -stumbling towards them between two close-packed tables. The good manners -of a preparatory school boy are indeed slightly pedagogic. Their elbows -are pressed into their sides when they eat, their wrists are raised -above the table, and, in a precise voice, they request permission to -trouble their next door neighbour for the salt. They are like the -critics who insist that a sonnet is not a sonnet if the last lines of -the sestet form a couplet. But it is a fault on the right side. For -manners, as well as morals, relax in the greater freedom of a Public -School, and at the age of fifteen one has managed to substitute ease for -stiffness. - -It is, indeed, impossible to say how much one learns at a Preparatory -School. At the age of ten one has not the necessary detachment to view -oneself as an objective reality. It is impossible, for instance, to -remember where, or when, was learnt the spirit of comradeship and -sportsmanship that is, perhaps, the most lovable quality of the old -public school boy. It is hardly inherited. For the average small boy is -greedy, selfish, and acquisitive; and, when one is given leg before to a -left-hand round the wicket bowler who is turning the ball from the off, -the temptation to protest against the umpire's decision is natural. The -primitive man, indeed, would have uprooted a stump and walked to the -other end of the pitch. Where does one learn to turn straight round and -walk towards the pavilion? I think it is at the Preparatory School. A -small boy knows that he has got to play cricket like a sportsman; he -knows that a sportsman does not question the umpire's decision; and he -is terribly afraid of doing the wrong thing in the presence of his -schoolfellows. The first time he is given out caught at the wicket off -his pad, a blind anger seizes him. His mouth opens to make a protest. -The same thing happened last year when he was playing cricket in the -garden with his brother and sister, and, when they insisted that he was -out, he sat down in the middle of the field and howled till they told -him he could continue his innings. The temptation to repeat the -experiment is considerable. But he dare not make any exhibition of -himself. He would be mercilessly ragged; and so he returns to his seat -under the trees and contents himself with the announcement that Jones is -a mean sneak who was trying to get a revenge for the kicking he got that -morning. And of course the incident will be repeated. Umpires make -mistakes in first-class cricket: small boys make them with a melancholy -frequency on lower grounds, and few batsmen are satisfied with an l.b.w. -decision. The young cricketer has many opportunities of displaying the -Christian qualities of patience and restraint, and every time the -temptation to sit down in the middle of the pitch and howl grows weaker. -'The monster custom is angel yet in this,' and, by the time he goes to -his Public School, his features have learnt to assume a good-natured -smile, and he says something about it being all in the game and that -last week he had a decision in his favour. - -I am inclined to think that in that example can be found the essence of -preparatory school life; the habits of courtesy and sportsmanship are -acquired till they become a second nature. We are told that man is a -logical creature, that when he has been properly educated it will be -possible for forty million people to live in one country without -competition; that in an enlightened society there will be no need for -policemen, for every man will instinctively appreciate what is right. It -may be so. No one knows what the world will be like two thousand years -hence. But, in the meantime, I think we do wisely to train small boys as -we train an animal. We thrash our dog if he plays havoc in our -neighbour's chicken run, and we rag the small boy who disputes the -umpire's decision. The dog does not chase chickens again, nor does the -small boy argue in the middle of the pitch. - -It is a strange business, though, this acquiring of social habits, and, -though preparatory school life has been only dealt with in a small way -by educationalists and novelists, the process is certainly interesting. -Everything, to allow for the subsequent relaxation at the Public School, -is slightly overdone, and the small boy tends to become a prig. It is -only natural that he should. By nature he is at that time a somewhat -poisonous little beast. He is the victim of numberless petty faults and -jealousies; and when he becomes reformed he is self-righteous. He would -never think of sneaking, of course, but he would not hesitate to whisper -just as a master is coming into the class-room, 'Oh, shut up, Jones.' He -always enjoys putting some one else in the wrong, and Arnold Lunn has, -in _The Harrovians_, an incident that provides an admirable example of -this attitude. A member of the school has just died. He was not a -popular boy; he was not distinguished in games or work. No one really -minded, but the school felt bound to present a countenance of -appropriate melancholy. A certain Clayford, however, had a set of stamps -he wished to sell, and he accosted cheerfully a couple of boys who were -discussing the last hours of their lost comrade. 'I say, you chaps, like -to buy a complete set of Borneos surcharged Labuan?' - -'Not to-day, thank you,' said Peter stiffly. - -'We're not much interested in stamps _to-day_,' added Morgan. - -It is a perfect picture. - -And as there is no stricter moralist than the potential rake, there is -no one with a more rigid code of honour than the preparatory school boy. -'Owning up' becomes a fetish. Popular opinion drives the wretched urchin -into the head master's study. I remember once that on the eve of a -school match a member of the eleven went sick with a headache. There was -immediate consternation. Ferguson might not be a good bowler, his -batting was indifferent and he missed his catches more often than not, -but he was a distinct improvement on Evans, the twelfth man. The chances -of a victory were prejudiced: and then some one recollected that that -morning Smith had smacked Ferguson's head in the changing room. It also -happened that, for the moment, Smith was extremely unpopular. Morison's -people had just paid their half-term visit to the school, and when the -Head had brought Morison's mother into the room, Smith had not stood up. -It had been a direct insult to Morison's mater. Every one had said so, -and none of us would listen to Smith's excuse that he had had his back -to the door, and was filling his fountain pen, a combination of -circumstances that rendered a sudden leap to the feet impossible. - -'Don't argue, Smith; you're a cad.' That's what every one had said; and -when it was remembered that Smith had punched Ferguson's head that -morning, the fury of popular opinion knew no limit. - -'You've lost the match, I hope you know; you'll have to own up, of -course,' we said. - -Smith was resentful. He did not see why he should. - -'Because, Smith, that is what a gentleman does under such -circumstances.' - -Smith was still obstinate. He did not see why Ferguson should have got a -headache just because of this. People had had their heads punched before -without getting headaches. There was a murmur of contumely. - -'But that wasn't an ordinary punch, Smith; you hit him with all your -force.' - -The suggestion that it was not an ordinary punch flattered Smith's -pride. He, too, was inclined to think that there had been about that -punch a certain something. He grudgingly admitted that it had been a -pretty hard smack. - -'Even so, though, I don't see how things are going to be made any better -by my owning up.' - -Such an attitude was opposed to every idea of preparatory school honour. -There was a shudder of supreme contempt. - -'Perhaps _you_ don't, Smith.' And there the argument stopped. But for -the rest of the day Smith's life was made miserable. Every time any one -passed him they said: 'Owned up yet?' No one would talk to him at -tea-time; when he joined a group afterwards the group dispersed and he -was left alone. Finally, of two evils, confession appeared to him the -less, and, after prayers, he pushed open the door of the head master's -study and blurted out to the accompaniment of big quivering sobs that he -had punched Ferguson's head in the changing-room and given him a -headache, and, perhaps, lost the match. - -A couple of years ago I went down to my old school, and, just before -lunch, when the whole school was collected in the hall, the head master -announced that he wanted the name of the boy who had left the tap -running in the bathroom. There was a slight commotion in a far corner; -one boy was being nudged and pressed forward. There was a whisper of 'Go -on, Hunter.' All eyes were turned in his direction. There was no course -for Hunter but to come forward into the open and confess. - -And yet, as likely as not, some one else was the offender. It was the -sort of offence that any one might commit. It is not easy to remember -what one has forgotten. No doubt he thought he had turned off the tap, -otherwise he would hardly have left the bathroom; yet he might very -likely have done it. His companions told him that he had, and his faith -in their loving kindness was not sufficient for him to have wondered -why they had not repaired his mistake. If Hunter had not owned up he -would have had to say definitely that he had not left the tap running, -and that he could not truthfully have done. So he owned up. - -The fear of being thought a coward very often makes the preparatory -school boy confess to sins that he has never committed, and it is -usually the ones who are most often in trouble who find themselves in -this position. After all, if you are always getting into scrapes, are -always engaged in some misadventure, it is very hard to tell whether, on -a particular occasion, you are innocent or not. The head master comes -into a class-room in the afternoon. - -'Now look here, you fellows,' he says, 'you know I've told you that I -won't have you running down that steep path to the football field. You -are bound to fall down; you must walk. I've told you that a hundred -times. Now the matron tells me that she saw one of you running down -there this morning. I want to know that boy's name.' - -What is Jones mi. to do? He has run down that path so often. Whether or -not he did so that morning he cannot remember. He has had so much to -think about since then. Yet, suppose he did run down the hill, and -suppose that some one saw him. If he does not own up, he will be called -a coward all over the school. Far better 'own up,' and receive some -small punishment. Indeed, it may be said that the Jones mi.'s of the -world form a rule for themselves, that they own up to every offence of -which they are not dead certain that they are innocent. Head masters, -like batsmen, have to have the benefit of the doubt. - -It is equally difficult to acknowledge innocence in the midst of crime. -At my old school there was an excellent rule that for half an hour after -lunch we should sit in our class-rooms and read quietly. One afternoon -this peaceful siesta was disturbed by a loud and fierce and general -discussion of the superiority of Yorkshire cricket over that of -Lancashire. The particular class-room unfortunately happened to be -situated beneath the nursery of the head master's children, and the -angry voices of the disputants roused from her slumbers a recent -addition to the family. The complaints of a very indignant nurse forced -a very busy master to disturb the repose of that restful half-hour after -lunch. On this occasion the usual formula was reversed. He did not ask -the names of the boys who had been talking, he asked for the names of -the boys who had not been talking. Now, as it happened, I had taken no -part in the argument. I am a Middlesex supporter, I had just received as -a birthday present a bound volume of _Chums_, I was also, at the time, -in popular disfavour. So I had seated myself in a far corner of the room -and read steadily, with my fingers pressed into my ears. But I did not -dare to say so. I should never have been forgiven. It would have been -the action of a conscientious objector. No one would have believed me. -I realised how hopelessly out of things I should feel while the rest of -the school were receiving their punishment. Suppose a half-holiday was -stopped--what on earth should I do with a half-holiday all to myself? I -should be much happier working out theorems in a class-room. And it was -also possible that I might have said something that some one had -overheard--at any rate, I was not going to risk it. I sat silent at my -desk and accepted meekly the common lot. - -From the outside a Preparatory School looks very much like a miniature -Public School. It presents the same features, the same routine, the same -curriculum; there is even some attempt at a prefectorial system. -Superficially they have much in common. But there the resemblance ends. -The scale of values is altogether different. Indeed the Preparatory -School is very like the Public School of traditional conception. Talbot -Baines Reed is only read by boys of under thirteen; and boys of under -thirteen have moulded themselves after his image. There are, of course, -none of the high-lights, the heroism, the sacrifice. There are no -nocturnal visits to ostlers; but otherwise it is not unlike _The Fifth -Form at St Dominic's_. The smallest boys do resemble the 'Tadpoles' of -that popular romance. In spite of frequent visits to the bathroom their -hands and collars are continually smeared with ink; when they go for -walks at least one of them falls into the ditch and cuts his trousers; -they are all dog-eared except at meal times and at the start of the -morning's work. And they have the same attitude to life. They are -continually forming rival gangs; they are on the brink of feuds and -jealousies. They side against one another. Each boy in turn becomes the -object of general dislike. There is a certain amount of bullying, a -great deal more than there is at most public schools. New boys, for -instance, are subjected to an inquisition. They are asked what their -father is, and whether they would rather be a bigger ass than they look, -or look a bigger ass than they are. At a Public School only one boy in -every twenty gets really ragged, and usually for obvious reasons. But at -a Preparatory School every one has to put up with a certain amount of -persecution. There is a good deal of sycophancy, and the independent -learn many lessons. - -But when all is said and done, the really big difference between the -Preparatory and the Public School is the absence of the cult of -athleticism. The scholar is entitled to and receives as much respect as -the cricketer and for obvious reasons. The Preparatory School has to -contend with a far more competitive system than the Public School. -Schools have their ups and downs. Numbers rise and fall, but a Public -School that has a name can be always certain of the support of its old -boys. It has a firmly established tradition. Only a few Preparatory -Schools, on the other hand, possess this questionable advantage. The -name of only a few are familiar. None of them would justify the -journalist in the employment of his cliche 'a household word.' The -Preparatory School depends largely on the energy and personality of one -man, and the scholars are, after all, his exhibition blooms. He may -produce cricketer after cricketer, but the Public School will take all -the credit. We speak of Hedges and Chapman and Stevens as products of -Tonbridge, Uppingham, and U.C.S. respectively. We do not know where they -learnt the groundwork of the game. The scholar, however, comes into -prominence while he is still at his Preparatory School. The name of the -school is put after the name of the successful candidate. It is the -scholar, not the cricketer, who advertises a school. If the head master -of a Preparatory School told you that seven of his old boys were at that -time playing in their Public School Eleven, you would not feel that he -was entitled to any extravagant credit. If, however, he told you that in -one year seven of his boys had won scholarships you would be -considerably impressed. The boys themselves naturally, of course, are -more interested in cricket than in Greek, but they appreciate that -scholastic triumph has a marketable value, and the school officially is -prouder of its Winchester scholar than of its slow left-hand bowler. The -small boy who goes home for the holidays knows that he can impress his -uncle by the announcement that Hughes got the second Eton scholarship, -but that the statement that they beat Southdown by 100 runs and that -Evans took seven wickets for twenty-three will elicit only a polite -'really.' It is exactly the opposite at a Public School. The new boy -will proudly announce that the captain of his house had played for -Notts. There is a standard by which one can judge public school cricket -and football; there is no more a standard for the performances of -preparatory school athletes than there is for the startling figures of -the village fast bowler. Naturally there is more excitement when a new -boy shows an uncanny apprehension of the theorems of geometry than over -a new boy who brings the ball back naturally from the off. As a result -the preparatory master is inclined to push the clever boys on too fast. -It is the one real mistake that the Preparatory School makes, and it -should be noticed. For it is serious. - -A boy of eighteen can stand the strain of systematic coaching; a boy of -twelve cannot. The preparatory scholar is more often than not a -hot-house product. He has drawn on his reserves too early; his mind has -been forced into a groove at the start. He is trained like a pet -Pomeranian, and he is kept in blinkers; he is not allowed to explore -bye-paths that are of interest to him. That would be prejudicial to his -chances. He has to keep on the straight road of scholarship. He may get -his scholarship; he probably will, for such Preparatory Schools are -specialists at the game, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The boy -has been forced too soon and he is stale by the time he gets to his -Public School. - -It is very interesting to note how often, in the course of a year or -two, boys who did not get scholarships are higher up in the school than -their successful rivals: a man who starts the half-mile at a hundred -yards pace leads at the end of the first lap, but he does not win the -race. And the preparatory school master is inclined to forget that, -while a Winchester scholarship is the whole race for him, it is only the -first lap for the boy. He naturally wants the credit of the scholarship -for his school, but on the other hand he has to be unselfish. He has to -ask himself whether, in the long run, it is not better for the boy to -carry on with the general routine and take the scholarship examination -in his stride. If he succeeds well and good; if not, there is plenty of -time. And the wise parent will insist on this. - -The boy himself, however, realises that his world is that of the green -leaf and the bud. It is a time of sowing. And the fruits will show -elsewhere. He knows that his career will only start when he reaches his -Public School. The fact is always being forced upon his attention. 'This -sort of thing is all very well here,' his masters will tell him, 'but it -won't work at your Public School.' In the same way the commandant at -Sandhurst used to adjure us in his speeches, 'to keep always before you -the thought of the day when you will join your regiment.' - -There is the fear and the attraction of the unknown future. And, for the -sake of it, a boy will work far harder than he would otherwise have -done. He looks beyond the rewards and position that his own school -offers. It is not enough to be in the highest form, not enough to be in -the first eleven. He must improve himself so as to be able to take a -high place in the next stage of his career. A public school boy, on the -other hand, regards the honours that his school has to offer as an end -sufficient in themselves. In occasional addresses he is adjured to think -of the day when he will have to step out of that cloistered peace into -the rush and traffic of life; but that day is distant. He has little -ambition beyond 'a ribboned coat' and a seat at the high table. His -horizon is contracted, and his behaviour is that of those who do not -believe in a survival after death. He places an undue value upon the -immediate and the present. The preparatory school boy always looks ahead -to a future stage of life. And so it is that, when the last day at -school comes, he is not the victim of the surprised sentimentality that -overcomes the public school boy. He has begun to feel that he has -outgrown his surroundings. He has chafed at the restraint of childhood. -He has felt that success or failure is of little importance: so soon he -will be making a fresh start. He has lived in the future. He has spent -long summer evenings reading the history of his new school. He has -studied photographs of its buildings; he has pored over old numbers of -the school magazines, and has formed a romantic conception of the giants -of whose prowess he has read. The future opens before him with -limitless opportunities, and he can face it with an eager confidence -after his five long years of discipline. How long they have taken in the -passing, and yet in retrospect how flat they appear, how colourless, how -tiresome. Nothing has happened; day has followed day. Ah, well, that is -over now. Life is to begin. The new boy sets out hungry for experience. -On the last day at his Preparatory School he is addressed, in company -with the other boys who are leaving, by the head master. His egotism is -flattered by the assurance that the honour of his old school lies in his -hands. He is told that he will need a firm upper lip and a stout heart. -He listens to a recommendation of honesty, truthfulness, and -courage--all this he has heard before. He has read so many school -stories. And then, suddenly, he is startled by a warning against -temptations, the nature of which he imperfectly understands. His -curiosity is roused. He learns that if he yields to these temptations -his career will be spoilt, his health and brain will be ruined. How this -fate is going to be brought about he is not certain, but he agrees with -his head master that it is a fatality at all costs to be avoided. He -asks a friend for enlightenment and receives a superior answer of: 'Oh, -don't you know!' which makes him think that his friend knows even less -about it than he does. At any rate this particular temptation has not -yet presented itself, and the acknowledgment of its existence fades from -his contemplation of a golden future. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE NEW BOY - - -Alpha and Omega are the most widely known letters of the Greek alphabet. -And the first and last weeks of a public school career have inspired -more essays and sermons than the other two hundred and fifty weeks put -together. Yet in neither the beginning nor the end is to be found the -essence of school life. The last week is a period of agreeable -sentiment. The first of embarrassed loneliness. The new boy feels that -he has no part in the life of the school. On that first afternoon, when -he has said good-bye to his parents, and turns to walk away from the -station, the school buildings, chapel, studies, cloisters, assume in the -mellow September sunlight the prospect of a distant city that one day he -may be privileged to enter. At present he is outside it, as he stands at -the edge of the courts, forlorn in his black tie and wide brimmed straw -hat, while the stream of boys in bowler hats and gaily coloured ties -pours up from the station. On all sides he hears shouts of welcome, -snatches of eager conversation. No one takes the least notice of him. He -is an unrecognised foreigner. - -During supper, he sits silent and nervous among the new boys at the -day-room table. From time to time he casts hesitating glances at the -raised table where the prefects sit. What giants they seem. He wonders -which is Featherstone, the head of the House?[1] Is that imposing figure -with the black hair brushed back from his forehead, the G. O. Evans, who -made 121 in the Public School's match at Lords? Can it be possible that -he and they are members of the same society? - -A prefect rises from the high table and leaves the hall. Immediately -forms are pushed back and the long narrow passage leading to the -dormitories is filled with sound. The new boy is taken with the stream. -What will happen to him now, he wonders? He has always understood that -most of the ragging takes place in the dormitories. Will all new boys be -subjected to some common lot? In a way he almost hopes that they will. -He may thus be given an opportunity of showing his courage. He will be -marked down at once as 'a bit of a sport.' - -But nothing happens. He walks timidly into the large airy room with its -bare boards, its row of wash-hand stands and red-quilted beds. He sees -his bag lying in the middle of the floor. Three hours earlier when he -and his parents had been shown round by the house-master's wife, he had -placed his bag on the corner bed. It had seemed to him a good idea to -reserve that particular bed. He would then be open to attack only on -one side. Memories of Horatius Cocles had stirred his imagination. But -some one else is already undressing there. He picks up his bag, and is -about to place it on the bed nearest him when a warning voice informs -him that Jones has bagged that bed. He looks round him in dismay. There -are only two vacant beds. 'May I have that one?' he asks. The boy with -the warning voice looks surprised at being questioned. 'I should think -so,' he says, 'unless Hughes wants it. He had it last term.' The new boy -does not know whether or not he dare begin to undress beside the bed -that Hughes may possibly commandeer. He stands irresolute; then decides -to take the risk. There is nothing to choose between the two positions, -and Hughes would probably prefer a change. - -He begins slowly to undress. No one takes the least notice of him. No -one evinces the slightest inclination to test the courage of the new -man. No hardened bully enters with a blanket. It is possible that two -blase young gentlemen from another dormitory will stroll in 'just to -have a look at the new men,' will make a cursory examination, and having -expressed their disgust at 'such an appalling crew,' will seek better -fortune elsewhere. That will be all. The inquisition of preparatory -school terrors is a myth. This generation is not more timid than its -predecessors, but it is more subtle. The boy who has just ceased to be -labelled 'new' wishes to impress his importance on the new boy. Forty -years ago he achieved this object by putting the new boy on a chair and -throwing boots at him. The appeal to physical force was not, however, -invariably successful. Sometimes the small boy retaliated, and there is -no reason why a boy of thirteen should not be a match for one of -fourteen. At any rate the 'year older' has accepted the twentieth -century doctrine that the easiest way to impress a person is to ignore -him. And so the boy of a year's standing assumes an air of Olympian -superiority. The new man is beneath his notice. He prefers to lean in -the doorway of the dormitory, and talk of the days when 'Meredith had -that far bed, and Johnstone had the wash-hand stand beneath the window.' -He will casually let fall the names of the mighty and note their effect -on the young. In the daytime he is probably quite an insignificant -person, low in form and a funk at football. He can only appear great in -the presence of his juniors during the quarter of an hour between supper -and lights out. He therefore takes enormous pains to secure the -admiration of those whom he affects to despise. - -It is the same everywhere. At Sandhurst, on the first night of each -term, the seniors used to cluster round the piano and sing till 'rooms' -with incredible violence and discord. It was done entirely to impress -the juniors, and on the whole I am inclined to think it was successful. -The junior is a shy person, and the din has on him an effect not unlike -that of an intensive bombardment. As the junior sits in a far corner of -the anteroom, cowed and unhappy by an exhibition that is being -conducted, though he does not know it, entirely for his benefit, so does -the new boy lie back in bed on his first night, wondering what it is all -about. - -The jargon puzzles him; the attitude to life puzzles him. The boy with -the warning voice is lamenting that he has got his 'budge.' - -'Rotten luck,' he says. 'I should like to have stopped in old Moke's for -at least a year. I did just well enough in each paper to avoid being -bottled. Fourteenth I came out, and now they've started a new form, so -we've all got shoved up.' The rest of the dormitory express sympathy. -Then some one wonders whether Davenport will turn 'pi' now he's a 'pre'; -the opinion is expressed that Ferguson will find himself pretty lonely -now that Wodehouse has left. A lot of people have apparently been -waiting a long time to kick him with impunity. Some one says, 'Let's -make up the Fifteen,' and the rival claims of Bradshaw and Murray are -carefully weighed. And all the while four wretched new boys listen in -silent, confused wonderment. - -The conversation gradually becomes spasmodic. There are longer and -longer pauses between the conclusion of one topic and the introduction -of another. 'Well,' says the senior boy, 'about time we were going to -sleep. Good-night all.' There is a murmur of 'good-night': silence: and -then again the warning voice. 'Oh, but I say, Stewart, what about the -new men's concert?' There is immediate interest among the senior -members. Of course, they had forgotten that ... the new men's concert. - -'Too late now,' says Stewart. 'Let's have it on Sunday.' - -'Hear that, you new fellows; you must all have a song by Sunday. -Good-night.' - -But there is little sleep for the new boy. Where is he? What has -happened to him? Such a little while ago he was secure, garrisoned, -sheltered by his home. Only twelve hours. He begins to wish that he had -not been so anxious to leave his prep. Why hadn't he stayed on there -another year? He would have been head of the school. At this very moment -if he had not been so absurdly impetuous he would be turning over to go -to sleep, having wished his dormitory 'good-night.' Just as Stewart had -done. The thought of the concert terrifies him. He is a bad singer. Will -they make him stand on a chair? will they throw boots at him if his -voice quavers, or if he forgets the words? It will be a long-drawn -agony. - -And for a couple of days he is made wretched by the prospect of this -ordeal. It allows him no peace of mind. In form, on the football field, -as he walks up to the tuck shop, the disquieting thought descends to -torture him. But in the end it is a very tame affair. It takes place -after lights out, and new boys, as well as lovers, win a strange courage -of the darkness. Moreover, the object of the concert is to amuse the -senior members of the dormitory, and bad singing amuses no one. Myself, -I remember being stopped before I had completed one verse of 'The -British Grenadiers,' whereas the boy next to me, who had an agreeable -treble voice was made to sing, 'Put on your ta-ta, little girlie,' every -other night for the rest of the term. - -The concert is practically the sole direct ordeal that a new boy has to -face: yet it is probable that he would, on the whole, prefer the -old-fashioned methods. It is better to be ragged than to be ignored. And -he spends most of his first week wondering whether he has done the right -thing. It is especially difficult if he finds himself placed high in the -school. The lower forms are mainly composed of new boys, companions in -calamity, and the master in charge of the second is lenient during the -early days. It is different for the boy who finds himself in the Lower -Fifth, or Upper Fourth. As likely as not there is only one other new boy -in his house in the same form, and, when he cannot find that particular -boy, there is no one to whom he may turn for advice. He soon learns that -it is not wise to carry his troubles to his seniors. He may find himself -in his house-master's study, waiting to hand in the list of books he -will require, and suddenly he remembers that he has forgotten to put -down his Latin prose book on the list; he has also forgotten what Latin -prose book his form uses. He casts a despairing eye round the room and -recognises, leaning against a bookcase the languid, supercilious figure -of Watney. What luck, he thinks, Watney has been in the Upper Fourth -two years. He is sure to know. The new boy edges towards him. 'Please,' -he asks, 'what Latin prose book do we use?' - -His query is met by a look of amazed, outraged disapproval. Watney looks -him up and down. Then at last: 'Who are "we"?' he says. The experiment -is not repeated. The new boy arrives in form without his Latin prose -book and is threatened with an imposition. - -The geography of the school is very puzzling. - -No new boy could be expected to gather much help from the information -that his class-room is 'under the library, up on the right, next to -Uncle Ned's.' For at least a week he is always entering the wrong form -room. In the lower forms it is customary for the master to glance round -the class, see that five boys are missing, and send the senior member in -search of them as a matter of course. Indeed the first week of term is -very pleasant for the senior member of the lower forms. He spends most -of his time searching for lost lambs, and he is in no frantic haste to -complete his task. But that is in the lower form, and, in the middle and -upper schools, form masters do not care to have their time wasted. The -absence of Jones mi. is not regarded as a joke. - -Nicknames are confusing. - -The new boy does not realise that 'Crusoe' and Mr Robinson are the same -person. And, when he finds himself a quarter of an hour late in Mr -Robinson's class-room, his excuse that he thought he had to go to 'Mr -Crusoe' is not an official success. He is always on the brink of a -mistake. - -Probably his life is further complicated by the fact that he is playing -Rugby football for the first time, and, for at least a month, his -performances on the field can give him little satisfaction and less -amusement. In the course of two or three puntabouts he is taught by his -house-captain how to pack and how to take a pass. He is then drafted on -to pick ups and house-games to fare as best he may. He fares extremely -badly. He hangs about on the edge of the scrum. He catches hold of his -opponents when they are dribbling and attempts an Association barge when -they are running. For a long time he never touches the ball with his -hands at all, and on the rare occasions when he discovers it at his -feet, he takes a terrific rout at it and is contemptuously informed that -he is not playing soccer. He is playing with boys older and heavier than -himself. He has little chance of acquiring self-confidence: no -footballer is really any use till he has scored a try, and that day is -slow in coming. The new boy's chief anxiety on the field is to avoid the -notice of any house caps that may be on the touchline. At half-time he -will rub worm-casts on his knees to present an appearance of muddy -valour. He is terribly afraid he will be reported and beaten for -slacking. This fate rarely, as a matter of fact, overtakes a small boy. -A beating for slackness is usually reserved for the boy about half-way -up the house who has committed no definite offence, but has been making -a nuisance of himself generally.[2] Slackness on the field is the excuse -for an official reprimand, and its effect is usually salutary. This, -however, the new boy does not know. Games, when the house-captain is on -the touchline, become a misery. During his first term he looks forward -to the First Fifteen matches chiefly because on those days he will not -himself have to play. - -But it is in his spare time that he most acutely feels himself outside -the general life of the school. He is oppressed by liberty. He does not -know what to do with it. At his Preparatory School an elaborate -time-table was posted on the notice-board, and every moment of his day -was pigeonholed. A boy had no excuse for not knowing at any given time -what he ought to be doing, and where he ought to be doing it. There was -constant supervision. But, at a Public School, provided a boy answers -his name at roll-call, and fulfils his social engagements in the form -room and on the football field, no one worries much what he is doing -during the rest of the time. He can search for plovers' eggs, or hunt -for fossils, or develop photographs, or overeat at the tuck shop. He is -his own master, and this the new boy cannot understand. When he has -changed after football on a half-holiday he asks himself: 'What ought I -to be doing now?' The answer is, of course: 'Nothing in particular. -Whatever you like.' A disconcerting answer, for there is nothing in -particular that he wants to do. The day room is inhospitable. The big -chairs round the fire are occupied by the mighty. The library is only of -less interest to him than the museum. The tuck shop at such an hour is -full of bloods in whose presence he feels embarrassed. He wanders -disconsolately round the courts. All the other new boys seem to have -found something to do (a common delusion this). In the end he succeeds -in finding some one equally lonely with whom he goes for a walk: and a -walk, unless one is a botanist, is such a strange way of spending an -afternoon, that I have since wondered whether any one after his first -term ever goes for a walk at school without an ulterior motive, except -when he is in training. - -It is a strange business that first term, and its importance is, I -think, overrated. It is not public school life. It is composed of the -hesitations, the reactions of a novice. School life is on the other side -of it. The new boy sees that life in fragments. It puzzles him. He tries -to fit it into shape with the scale of values he acquired at his -Preparatory School. And fails. The Preparatory School belongs to -childhood, the Public School to adolescence. The new boy understands -little of what is going on round him. Indeed there is no person whose -testimony can be less relied upon than that of the new boy of four -weeks' standing. He never knows what he should, and what he should not, -believe. The new life is so strange to him that he is prepared to accept -any absurdity for the truth. The veriest nincompoop can pull his leg. - -The following story is true. - -It was the custom in my house for the matron to put out clean -underclothes for each boy on Saturday evening. On my first Saturday I -noticed that no clean pants had been put out for me. I asked an elder -boy why this was. 'Oh, don't you know?' he said, 'we only have clean -pants twice a term.' I believed him. The matron thought that I, in -common with many others, did not start wearing pants till well into the -winter. In consequence I wore the same pair till the second week in -November. It is the same with regard to the more serious issues of -school life. Mischief is often caused by the mistaken ideas that new -boys give their parents of what does and what does not go on in their -house. - -I was provided the other day with a good example. At a certain house in -a famous school it was the practice of the house-master's wife to sit at -the day-room table for lunch. The idea was admirable. The house-master's -wife was a sympathetic woman who wished to recall to the small boys the -regenerating atmosphere of their homes. The results, however, were -unfortunate. The small boys became communicative. In their innocence -they repeated stories of which the true significance had escaped them. -In their ignorance they misinterpreted stories of which the nature -happened to be direct. In neither case did the reputation of certain -light-hearted sportsmen on the Va. table rise in the official esteem. -Indeed of that particular house there was composed a limerick, the exact -wording of which has more humour than propriety, to the effect that the -house reports of the Sixth Form table were written by the fags. Few -parents, however, would accept this explanation. - -Officially the first term is usually an unqualified success. The new boy -is not distracted from his studies by the stress of house politics nor -by the ambitions of the football field. The weekly form order is his -chief excitement. And it would be surprising, considering the qualified -enthusiasm with which the majority of the form welcome this occurrence, -if the new boy did not soon find himself in the running for promotion. -There is, indeed, little else for him to do.[3] He lives in a world of -his own. He sees a good deal of new boys in other houses, and the usual -question in break on Saturday morning is: 'Where were you this week?' -His offences against discipline are inconsiderable. It is 'side' for a -new boy to rag in the day room, in the changing room, and in the -dormitories. That is the privilege of his seniors. He is not hardened -enough to rag in form. He still regards work as important. I remember -once seeing a very small and inoffensive scholar crumple up a sheet of -paper and fling it at the head of his chemistry master. He maintained, -however, that he was aiming at the waste-paper basket, and, though the -excuse was not accepted, the offender's subsequent performances on the -cricket field have inclined me to think he spoke the truth. At any rate -this is the sole piece of audacity on the part of a new boy that I have -witnessed. Indeed the new boy who does not return home with a thundering -good report is a well-placed candidate for expulsion. Most of us start -well. How many public school boys would have to confess that they won -their only prize in their first term. The new boy returns home as from a -Roman triumph. The indulgent father is prodigal of largess and -theatre-tickets. His secretary is instructed to type out the report and -send copies of it to aunts and uncles and his former head master. It is -a great occasion, and we do well to make the most of it. It does not -come twice. - -The change begins, I suppose, on the first evening of the second term, -when the novice, clad appropriately in bowler hat and coloured tie, is -accosted by a member of the form into which he has been promoted and -informed that he will be expected to do the 'con' for them that term. -There is no threat. It is merely the announcement of an arrangement for -mutual help. The old stagers who have slowly moved up the school, with -the danger of superannuation camping on their trail, consider that their -last terms should pass in a soft tranquility. They expect the newcomer -to provide them with that peace. 'Here,' they say, 'is a smart lad who -has got his promotion straight away; he can be of great service to us.' -It is a form of practical communism of which the scholar is particularly -the victim. There is a general conscription of intellect. Scholars are -expected to do the work of the bloods. 'You are paid to come here,' say -the great men, 'you must prove yourselves worthy of your hire.' Arnold -Lunn has described how the captain of his house used to hold an -educational raffle. Slips of paper on which were written: 'Greek Prose'; -'Latin Prose'; 'Essay,' were placed in a hat and the scholars took their -chance of drawing a blank. I can still hear the voice of the school -fast-bowler shouting over the banisters to a wretched goggle-eyed youth, -'No. 69, Becke, and shove it in my study before prayers.' - -But the scholar is an exceptional person, and the novice who is accosted -in the courts has an easier fate. He does not have to do other people's -work. He merely has to do his own out loud. He is, moreover, a -privileged person. He does not have to look the words up in a -dictionary. That is the task of another member of the combination. He is -spared the hack work of translation. It is for him to discover the -sense. At a first glance it would seem that this arrangement would be to -the advantage of the new boy; certainly it will ensure his industry. -There is no chance of his scamping his work. The fate of others depends -on his efficiency, and it does not pay him to guess at the sense. I -remember once translating _Remotis arbielis, surrexit e lectulo_, -'having kicked off his bedclothes he rose from his bed.' No one -questioned the interpretation, so I proceeded to the next sentence. None -of us luckily was put on to translate that passage, but I can recall now -the icy looks of the other members of the combination when the sentence -was correctly rendered. I made a bolt for it afterwards, but they caught -me. I did not guess again. - -The form interpreter is never able to say to himself: 'I went on to con -yesterday, and I went on the day before, there's not the least -likelihood of my being put on to-day. I shan't prepare it.' He has to -labour for the general good, and probably, by the end of the term, he -knows the Latin and Greek books pretty well. But he has not only learnt -the correct rendering of certain obscure classical passages; he has -learnt also, through contact with older boys, the correct public school -attitude to work and the relative importance of football and -mathematics. - -This is what he learns. - -It is the business of the school to win their matches and to produce -first-class footballers and cricketers; it is the business of the house -to win their house matches and to produce as many colours as possible. -It is the business of every individual member of the school to subscribe -to this creed. The value of scholastic achievements is relative. It is a -feather in the cap of a double first to be privileged to wear the dark -blue ribbon of the Sixth. But it is not a necessary achievement. -Scholars, on the other hand, should work. They are no use to the school -at games. It is for them to do what little lies within their power; a -scholarship has its value. The school likes to get scholarships. It is a -side show, of course, but a creditable side show. And the Fourth Former, -after recounting the feats of Lewis in the big school match, comments on -the fact that Bevan won a Balliol scholarship in the same way that the -village greengrocer will say: 'Oh, yes, sir, we have a drapery -department, too.' Real brains are accorded a sort of grudging -admiration. They are entitled to respect. A Fellow has done his job -well. It may not be an important job, but he has done it. Our Fourth -Former remembers the parable of the talents. The Balliol scholar has -converted his one talent into two. - -The boy, however, who, without being a scholar, shows unusual signs of -industry, is a swot. Valuable time is wasted. The school is divided into -two parts: the scholars and the rest. The rest brings to its work -whatever energy is saved from its more arduous activities. No one thinks -any the less of a man for being low in form. Slackness on the football -field is anti-social. In the long category of an unpopular boy's offence -the final evidence of worthlessness is the statement: 'He doesn't even -work.' Even that resort, 'that last infirmity,' is denied him. What -purpose has his existence? These are the articles of faith; these are -the conventions. And the new boy who is ambitious, who wishes to win -the respect and admiration of his comrades realises that athletic -prowess will win him a position that is beyond the reach of the -liveliest intellect. He begins to look on his work as a side show. It -does not particularly matter what happens to him in the class-room. It -would be nice to reach the Sixth. There are agreeable privileges. But it -is not of first importance. - -No sooner has he decided this, than he discovers that his form work is -intolerably dull. Of course he does. He brings no enthusiasm to it. The -masters who can inspire the indifferent are rare. And the mind wanders -from the inky desks, the hunched row of shoulders, and the far voice of -a master droning monotonously, to the swimming bath and the cricket -field. Will Butler get the cricket cup? Did Frobisher get his firsts -because he was worth them, or because he was in the Captain's house? -These topics offer inviting prospects; speculation follows speculation -till suddenly the tired voice breaks into the day-dream: 'Will you -continue now, please, Dunkin?' There is a scuffle as Dunkin collects his -books and thoughts. There is a whisper of: 'Where's the place?' 'What -does _crates favorum_ mean?' And the delinquent begins to stumble -through his lines in a fashion that may, or may not, result in an -imposition. To the unresponsive the atmosphere is one of intolerable -listlessness. - -He makes another discovery, namely, that during his first term he did -far more work than was strictly necessary. That he should discover the -idiosyncracies of certain masters was a matter of course. Sooner or -later he would have been bound to learn that in Old Mouldy's he could -pin the repetition on to the back of the boy in front of him, that the -Moke's mathematical class provided him with an admirable opportunity for -writing the imposition that his house-master had given him the evening -before. A good batsman soon sizes up the opposing fieldsmen; he knows -whether he can risk a single to cover, or whether there is one for a -throw when the ball goes slowly to third man. That is part of the game. -The new boy makes more important discoveries than that. He comes to -understand the intricacies of the set system by which the middle and -upper schools learn French, German, Science, and Mathematics. - -For the days have passed when a boy learnt only Latin and Greek and a -little French grammar. A liberal education is supposed to give him a -general idea of a wide number of subjects. A choice of subjects is -allowed, and it is hard to arrange a fair system of marking that will -bring the boy who does German into line with the boy who does Greek. -Each school tackles the situation in a different way, but each system -probably leaves a loophole for the idle. It could hardly be otherwise, -and it is enough to describe one system and the tactics that are adopted -to cope with it. - -This particular system works as follows: It is accepted that the only -universal subjects, that is, the only subjects that are studied by the -whole form under the same master, are Latin and English, and, under -English, are to be included History, Literature, Geography, and -Divinity. On the marks earned in these subjects the form order and -promotion depends. All other subjects, Greek, German, French, Science, -and Mathematics are treated independently of the form order and are -taught in sets of varying standards. It would seem to be a very sound -scheme. A boy, for instance, may be a bad historian and a poor classic, -but a fine mathematician. If all subjects were included in the same -order he would be kept back by his bad English and Latin and would have -to do algebra that he had long outgrown, yet at the same time his -mathematical ability would place him in a form where the English and -classics would be too difficult for him. Under the set system it is -possible for the boy to reach the highest set in the school at -mathematics and yet remain in the Shell or Lower Fourth. - -During his first term the new boy worked with equal industry at form and -set subjects. During his second term he realises that he is wasting his -energy. Proficiency in Greek will not help him to secure his promotion -into the Lower Fifth; whereas, if he takes things easily at Greek, he -will be able to spend more time on History and Latin. Indeed, it might -be said that the wily one 'makes a book' in form and set subjects. He -appreciates the need of reserve strength. He ought always to have a -little in hand. He casts his eye down his time-table. There is no -reason why he should not spare himself during the hour in the -laboratory. The time might be so much more profitably devoted to his -Latin 'con'; and at the time, of course, he will not consider the -possibility of allowing such an arrangement to divert in any way his -classical activities in 'prep' on the previous night. Far from it. He -will have an opportunity to revise. He again studies his time-table. -French with 'Bogus.' A little relaxation there is possible. Greek with -'Crusoe,' however, presents difficulties. Crusoe is something of a -martinet; he expects lessons to be prepared, and he has a way of -remembering what impositions he has set. He will have to work hard for -Crusoe. Indeed it would be as well if he tried an honest, or the -equivalent for an honest term's work for Crusoe. Is not the next set -conducted by the Moke on admirably communal grounds. In the Moke's every -one helps every one. There is no haste, no envy, no striving for -position. A few scholars hurry through on their way to Balliol -scholarships. They do not matter. They are only ripples on the surface -of that calm, deep pool. - -Sometimes 'the book is made' the other way. A member of the school -eleven has at last reached the Lower Fifth, and is content for a term or -two to rest upon his achievements. He decides to do just enough work to -avoid being bottled. He realises, however, that it will be as well for -his father's peace of mind if a few single figures appear after his name -in the report. And so he devotes himself to Chemistry and French. Two -subjects appear on the time-table for each evening's preparation. And it -is a bad day when it is impossible to dismiss at least one of them in a -quarter of an hour. - -Examinations present difficulties. And it is here that the new boy, at -the end of the summer term, makes his first serious compromise with the -rigid code of ethics that he has brought with him from his Preparatory -School. Why should he not crib in set subjects. They are unimportant. -Promotion does not depend on them. He is not taking an unfair advantage -of any one else. He will only do just well enough to avoid having to do -the paper again. Why should he have to spend hours sweating up a useless -subject. It is absurd. Besides, cribbing is rather an exciting game. It -is a daring feat to smuggle the principal parts of the irregular verb, -into a waistcoat pocket. It needs courage to open a French dictionary -beneath the desk. He will be able to talk about it afterwards, and -fellows will say he is a sport. It is the first step, and afterwards the -compromise becomes increasingly easy. - -He returns home at the end of his first year fortified with a deal of -worldly wisdom. He looks forward to the next year hopefully. He knows -where he is now. He has learnt the tricks of the trade. It is all going -to be splendid fun. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] I have used throughout this book the idiom of my own school. The -Head of a house or of the school is the head boy in work. The -Captainship of a house or of the school is a term applicable only to -athletic prominence. - -[2] I am speaking of the average house. There are frequent occasions, of -course, in bad houses where this privilege of the house-captain is -abused. - -[3] It has even been known for a new boy to work in his spare time. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE SECOND YEAR - - -And it is splendid fun. Let us make no mistake about that. It is -splendid fun. For the ordinary boy, for all those, that is to say, who -have not been designed by nature for the contemptuous entertainment of -their companions, nothing is much better than the second and third -years. It is a light-hearted, swash-buckling period. The anxieties of -the fag have been forgotten, the responsibilities of the Sixth Former -are still remote. The second yearer can rag, and his ragging is not -taken seriously. At the end of the term house-masters do not address him -solemnly and appeal to his better nature. They beat him, and that makes -it a square fight. He knows where he is. He has to remain on the right -side of the law. If he passes the limit, he knows what to expect. Later -on the issue will be complicated by his position: for a while he can -afford to be an irresponsible free-lance. - -It is a happy time of eager unreflecting action. There is a good deal of -noisiness and 'showing off.' But it is harmless. A boy has just begun to -find himself. He is free at last. At his Preparatory School he was -always under the eye of authority. His freedom was enmeshed by a network -of regulations. His first year at his Public School his freedom was -fettered by nervousness and prejudice. That is over now. I sometimes -think that we love Charlie Chaplin so dearly because he does all the -things we have not the courage to do ourselves. When a waiter hurries -past us with a pile of plates, how delightful it would be, we think, to -drive our feet between his legs; who would not love to hurl a brick at a -retreating foe; who is not tempted to crook his walking-stick round the -ankles of the pompous. We never do these things; not as we should like -to do them. But we come as near as we ever shall come to the attainment -of this desire during our second year at school. On a small scale it is -permitted us to destroy furniture. We can pull chairs from beneath an -unsuspecting foe. The strings of a hammock have been cut to the -discomfiture of the occupant. The terminal bill for breakages is often -considerable, but no one is ever really hurt. - -For what little bullying exists nowadays the second and third yearers -are in the main responsible. The effect of a new-found freedom is -intoxicating. And there is always a boy in every house who is an -irresistible butt. There is a compound German word that means -'face-that-invites-a-box-on-the-ear.' And such a physiognomy is the -invariable possession of at least one scholar; in its own way the -magnetic influence of such ugliness is as irresistible as the charm of a -pretty woman. One has only to see that particular brand of face to want -to heave a boot at it. One refrains seldom. It used to be held that -every house contains one bully. It would be truer to say that every -house contains one boy who is bullied. Most boys go through their -schooldays without being subjected to any bullying, but most boys -indulge in a little spasmodic bullying themselves. It is a sort of bull -baiting, and it is in the main good-natured. - -Four or five fellows are sitting in a study after tea. There are still -twenty minutes before lock-up, and the conversation has grown desultory. -They all feel a little bored. One of them suggests that they should go -and see how that ass 'Sniffy' is getting on. It is a popular suggestion, -and a raid is made upon Sniffy's study. Sniffy is discovered working. -This is considered to be a disgrace to the house, and Sniffy is informed -of the fact. He invites his guests to get out. 'But, my dear Sniffy, -what hospitality! Surely you are going to offer us a chair! No? Then we -must teach you manners!' Sniffy's chair is suddenly jerked from under -him and Sniffy is flung forward on to his table. He jumps up and lets -fly at one of his assailants. It is no fun ragging some one who does not -retaliate, and proceedings are soon less cordial. In the end Sniffy's -study is pretty effectively wrecked. This happens about once a -fortnight, but, beyond this, I am inclined to think that, except in a -bad house, there is very little bullying now in Public Schools. - -The tone of a house changes far more quickly than the tone of a school. -And, in every school, there is usually a thoroughly bad house. As a -house-master grows old he tends to leave the management of the house -more and more in the hands of his prefects. As long as his prefects are -efficient all goes well; but, sooner or later, a weak head is bound to -come, and then the swash-buckling element gets out of hand. One of the -houses when I first went to school had got into this state. The head boy -was easy-going, and there were in the day room two members of the First -Fifteen who had in school failed to reach the Lower Fourth and who were -thorough 'wrong 'uns.' Terrible tales of refined torture used to be -repeated in the upper dormitories, and I can well believe that life -there was pretty wretched. But I always distrust second-hand accounts. -Nothing is more easily distorted than the story of atrocities, and, for -my part, I have neither been a victim, nor the witness of any serious -bullying. The only case that reached official notice during my time -savoured strongly of the ludicrous. - -A parent had complained that his son had been ill-treated, and all the -house prefects were summoned into the head master's presence. The -offenders were leaning nervously against the wall; their victim was -enduring tortures of self-consciousness; the head master was fingering -his pen, and the avenging father blocked up the entire fireplace. There -was a dead silence. We were all hard put to it not to smile. The -offenders looked so much smaller than the prey. At last proceedings were -opened by the boy's parent. He followed the traditional line. He had -been a boy. He knew what boys were. He knew the public school code of -honour. He loathed sneaking. His boy had not sneaked. The confession had -been dragged out of him. What he, the father, wanted, was not -punishment, but the assurance that such a thing would not happen again. -'And now, John,' he concluded, 'show the head master that bruise upon -your arm.' Very sheepishly the boy drew off his coat, rolled up his -sleeve and revealed a bruise, certainly of extensive proportions. - -'How did they do that?' asked the chief. - -'By flicking him with wet towels, head master,' said the parent. - -A simultaneous denial came from both offenders. 'We didn't make that -bruise, sir.' - -'But did you flick him?' asked the chief. - -'Well, sir; yes.' - -'Then how on earth can you tell that you did not make that bruise?' - -There was a moment's silence, during which the smaller of the offenders -surveyed the wound with an almost envious eye. - -'It couldn't have been me, sir,' he said at last. 'I can't flick well -enough to have done that.' - -I hope I may be pardoned for retelling this story, which I have already -told elsewhere. But it seems to me to interpret perfectly the attitude -towards bullying that exists in most houses. No doubt there was a great -deal of bullying fifty years ago. And people think that what was true of -the Rugby of _Tom Brown's Schooldays_ is true of the Shrewsbury of -to-day. They still think that the three chief sins of a Public School -are bullying, stealing, and midnight escapades into the town. But those -days have passed. In Desmond Coke's _The Bending of a Twig_ the new boy -who sought for bullies behind every cloister quickly won the nickname of -Don Q. - -It is usually during the course of his fourth term that a boy first -begins to swear. For swearing is, on the whole, confined to members of -the Middle School. It is side for a fag to swear, and an oath, except on -rare occasions, is considered beneath the dignity of a blood. He is -supposed to dwell in an Olympian fastness beyond the reach of -inconvenience, where the need for violent language is infrequently -presented. For the second yearer, however, life is full of emotion that -demands to be registered forcibly. - -I can never quite see why so many people refuse to believe that a -schoolboy's conversation is punctuated with 'damns' and 'bloodys.' We -employ the idiom of our surroundings. A boy does not swear at home; at -school he does. And there is no particular reason why he should not. An -oath means little to him. He knows that some indecency is implied. But -the meaning of the word is not defined by his use of it. He rarely -employs it appropriately. He recommends the most contradictory -performances. A powerful expression is needed. He wishes the world to -know that he has been moved powerfully either to anger, or to delight. -That is all. Any word that would have this effect would suit him, and I -remember a dormitory captain insisting that the only expletive to be -used in his presence should be 'daggers'; this crasis satisfied every -one. The language a boy uses is no index to his character. Swearing and -'talking smut' are very different things. - -It is also in his fourth term that a boy who is anything of an athlete -begins to discover himself on the football field. He finds himself -scoring tries in home games. He is noticed by the bloods as a coming -man. He makes friends among his seniors. He is no longer outside the -life of the school. The road of ambition lies clear and straight before -him. It is marked out in distinct stages. He learnt, of course, during -his first term that a house cap may put one hand in his trouser pockets, -that a seconds may put both, that a first may walk across the sixth form -green in break; but these facts were distant in the imagination like the -ritual of a mediaeval court: they now become realities. In a year, he -reminds himself, he will be in his house fifteen. The year after he -should get his house cap. In four years he should be a first. It might, -indeed, be maintained that the blood system is at the same time the -magnet and the expression of the second yearer's ambition. The blood -would not value his performances so highly were he not encouraged by -others in the belief that he is of supreme importance. And, at fifteen, -one idealises the future. It seems splendid to be a blood, to play for -the school against Blackheath, to saunter across the courts with one's -hands in one's pockets, one's books stuck under one's arms; to be on -terms of friendly intercourse with masters, to be beyond the reach of -punishment. And, because the future seems so glorious, the second yearer -idealises the dwellers in it. In the same way that in Chelsea the latest -poet or draughtsman can disregard the social laws of property and of -propriety, in the eyes of the junior the blood can do no wrong. His -voice is hushed when a blood passes him in the cloisters. If one should -speak to him, he blushes and stammers and feels proud of it for days. -The blood naturally endeavours to realise the popular conception of -himself. He owes his position to it. For the higher up the school we go, -the less important the blood appears, and, when our time comes to sit at -the high table, we can hardly believe that we are occupying the same -chair that Meredith sat in four years ago. It is absurd. How the house -must have come down. To think of that little ass, Barton, being a -prefect. How short a time since he was playing in junior house games and -getting cursed for funking. And for ourselves--it is only yesterday that -we were trembling, a diffident new boy, at the far corner of the -day-room table. We cannot but believe our generation to be vastly -inferior to those that have preceded it, and we do not think otherwise -even when we win the senior cricket cup, although in Meredith's year the -house was beaten by an innings in the first round. It is not in our -nature to desire, or even value highly, what we possess. The last year -is often a disappointment. - -No such foreknowledge mars the enjoyment and anticipation of the second -yearer. It is indeed hard to imagine a more fortunate combination of -circumstances. From an agreeable present he surveys the prospect of a -delightful future. The days may pass slowly, or swiftly, as they -will--their passage will be a long enchantment. - -It is during this period that a boy gets through the majority of his -ragging in form. Now the ragging of masters is a very specialised art. -The master holds all the cards. He has behind him the marshalled forces -of the law. He can cane, he can give lines. He has every implement, -physical and moral, for the preservation of order. He ought to be able -to keep order. Yet the boy usually wins. Indeed, I often wonder how a -master, who has once begun to be ragged, can ever hope to regain order. -He is fighting a confident foe. The new boy learns during his first week -that 'one can do anything one likes in Musty's.' Musty stands no chance. -He enters the form room nervously; he is on the lookout for trouble; he -is afraid to turn his back on the class when he is working on the -blackboard. For ten minutes there is silence, a suspicious silence, -perhaps, but still a silence. Musty tells himself that if any one -attempts to break that silence he will make him sorry for it. He will -punish the first whisper: that is the only way. And then, suddenly, from -the back of the room, comes an ominous sound. It is not a cough: it is -not a sneeze: it is a hideous nasal and vocal croak that Musty has -learnt to recognise as the prelude to rebellion. He observes that some -one is cramming a handkerchief into his mouth, and is choking in the -subdued manner of one who is unsuccessfully stifling a laugh. - -Musty decides on action. 'Jones, take that handkerchief out of your -mouth immediately, and you'll spend the afternoon doing me a hundred -lines.' Jones withdraws the handkerchief from his chin, and his face -assumes an expression of outraged innocence. 'But, sir----' he begins. - -'A hundred and fifty lines,' snaps Musty. - -At this point the democracy of the class feels that its independence has -been violated. There is a murmur of disapproval. And a tall, cadaverous -youth rises from the front desk. - -'Please, sir----' - -'Silence, Evans.' - -'No, sir, but really,' Evans persists, 'I must explain to you, sir, that -the younger Jones is suffering from a very severe cold.' - -'Yes, sir, I am,' blurts out the victim. 'And the matron said I was not -to play football this afternoon.' - -At this point Musty should, of course, be firm. - -'I am sorry,' he should say, 'but, at the same time, that will allow -you, Jones, to do me two hundred lines instead of a hundred and fifty. -And perhaps you, Evans, will do me a hundred and fifty. Thank you. We -will now proceed with the lesson.' - -Such tactics might succeed. But Musty hesitates; for a moment he wonders -whether Jones is telling him the truth. And the delay is fatal. Already -other members have started to produce testimonials to Jones mi.'s -integrity and disease. 'He really is awfully bad, sir. My study's next -door to him, and he was coughing all last night. He made such a noise -that I was only able to do you three problems instead of six!' - -A general conversation begins. Members cease even to address the chair. -When Evans assures Musty that 'Jones would never tell a lie,' Power -retorts that the other day Jones sold him a watch as new which went -smash at once. 'Dirty little liar, I call him!' 'You wait till -afterwards,' is Jones's reply. And, by the time honour has been -vindicated, there is no chance of restoring order that day. The class is -already out of hand. Jones mi. has the general permission to sneeze as -often as he likes, a permission of which he generously avails himself. - -Such a disturbance should have been quelled by a firm hand. Masters have -to run the risk of being unfair. There is, of course, the possibility -that Jones's cold may have been genuine, but his previous record should -preclude it to a 100 to 1 chance. At any rate, it is unlikely that Jones -would be anxious to carry the case to the head master. Criminals avoid -Bow Street. - -It is not usually, however, so easy to distinguish the preliminary -manoeuvres. When, for instance, a boy walks quickly up to the master's -desk and says that he thinks there is a peculiar smell in the room, the -master is taken off his guard. He assumes interest. He walks to where -the boy was sitting and sniffs. A polite boy rises and asks respectfully -if anything is the matter. 'No, nothing,' says the master, 'Jones -thought there was a curious smell where he was sitting.' The interest of -the form is quickened. There is a general sound of sniffing. 'Well, sir, -now that Jones comes to mention it, I do seem to recognize--I don't -quite know what it is, sir.' - -'Come, come,' says the master, 'that'll do.' - -'No, but really, sir, I don't know if it's quite healthy. Do you think -the drains are all right?' - -The information is hazarded that there have been several cases of -typhoid recently in the town. - -'It must be the drains.' - -Then some one suggests that it may be the gas. The school custos is -notoriously careless in these matters. The suggestion is welcomed. At -any rate it deserves investigation. And such investigations, when -conducted by twenty clumsy boys, whose clumsy feet are shod with heavy -boots, are a long and noisy business. Books fall with a clatter on to -the floor. The hindquarters of the inoffensive are accidentally kicked. -Smith endeavours to jump from one desk to another, misses his footing -and crashes on the desk. Musty is lost. - -He stands in the middle of the room. He says 'Come, now!' a great many -times. He varies it occasionally with 'That'll do.' He asks Smith -whether he considers that what he is doing 'is really necessary.' At -last a piping unrecognisable voice rises from the far corner. 'It isn't -the gas. It must be Musty himself. He never washes.' - -In most schools there are at least two masters who are the continual -victims of such treatment. Such ragging, however, is too simple to -content the truly adventurous. The Mustys of the scholastic world are -objects of contempt, and we prefer to respect our enemies. It is far -more entertaining to rag a disciplinarian. One has to guard oneself. The -master has all the weapons. Among other things the ragster has to work. -If he is unexpectedly put on to con, flounders through a couple of lines -and breaks down completely at the third, he has played into his -opponent's hand. He has deserved the imposition that he will most -certainly get. The ragster must prepare his work. That is part of his -defence. He cannot say to himself: 'I have been on twice running. I -shall not go on to-day.' If he makes a cheeky remark in form, the -master's just retort is: 'Jones, you seem to like talking. I think you -had better translate the next passage.' And, if Jones translates the -passage successfully he feels that he is one up. Such ragging is very -different from the general rag of the complete incompetent. It is a -free-lance affair. It is an art. The majority of masters meet it in some -form or other. It is only a few who are subjected to displays in which -the whole form take part. - -Yet it is a puzzle to find out how exactly this ill-fortune selects its -particular victims. Personality is limited. There are only a few who -have a real genius for teaching. The majority are merely competent. And -competence must fall before invention. Why is it that some are ragged -and others not. The ragged master may be an excellent fellow. He may be -good at games; he may be just as exemplary a member of society as his -colleagues, and yet he is selected for this refined torture. There are -some masters for whom one never works hard; one does enough and no more -to avoid being bottled. One sits in the class-room for long, sultry, -tedious hours; the insipid sunlight moves across the wall. One watches a -fly crawl up the window-pane. One writes 'is a fool' upon the desk after -the inscribed name of an enemy. One sticks a compass into the back of -the man in front. Perhaps one revises the next hour's lesson. It may be -that there is an imposition to be completed. The minutes pass slowly; -one longs for the strike of the clock. And yet no one attempts to -enliven the hour with some geniality. The few attempts that are made are -spasmodic and unsuccessful. - -We had a master who was nicknamed, I never knew why, Marchand. And, one -day, a boy who was doing translation paused at the French word -_marchand_. 'Please, sir,' he said, 'I don't know what _marchand_ -means.' There was no laugh, not even a titter. We were all too -surprised. The master's face did not alter. 'It means merchant, Smith,' -he said, 'and you will stay behind afterwards and speak to me.' He -received six of the best. And it was, no doubt, such a master who made -the historic retort to the boy who, during an hour that was devoted to -the discussion of Old Testament history, inquired what 'harlot' meant. -'A harlot, Jones,' the master answered, 'is a lady who finds herself in -unfortunate circumstances, and you will take two hundred lines.' - -If such an answer had been made by Musty, the boy would have -expostulated freely; other members of the form would have interested -themselves in the cause of justice. As it is, Smith gets his half-dozen -and Jones his two hundred lines, and the world says 'silly ass!' - -There are certain masters who inspire neither industry nor -insubordination, and yet I suppose that once they, too, had their hour -of trial. So much depends on the first impression. Arnold Lunn has -recounted in _The Harrovians_ the story of one Crabbe, who was so -unmercifully ragged that he had to leave at the end of his first term. -'He went on to another school where his reputation had not preceded him. -He opened his first lesson by setting a boy a hundred lines for -sneezing. After having successfully established a reputation for -unbridled ferocity, he was able, by slow degrees, to relapse into his -natural kindly self.' It is typical of much. The master who has once -allowed himself to be ragged is lost for ever. He may beat, he may line, -he will never restore order. His only chance is to try elsewhere. - -The ragging of prefects is of very much the same order. There is less of -it, because the head of the house has a way of jumping suddenly on the -turbulent. 'I hear you were ragging Beetle last night in hall. You've -got to stop it--see? and you're going to get six as a warning!' The head -of the house has more authority than an assistant master. If a boy felt -that an assistant master was unjust he might very well complain to the -head master. But no boy would care to appeal against a boy--that would -be sneaking. A good head of the house sees to it that none of the -prefects are indiscriminately ragged, but there is always one of them -for whom the rest of the house has but little respect, and to whom the -taking of prep is always an anxiety. He beats and lines more than the -rest of the prefects put together. But it has small effect. Indeed the -second yearer acquires a hardened hide. Punishment is no deterrent to -him; it is merely a pawn in the game. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ATHLETICISM - - -By this time the new boy may be truly said to have reached the inner -circle of a public school philosophy. He knows to what gods he must bow -the knee. And he serves dutifully before the altar of the god of sport. - -The cult of athleticism has been for a long while the target at which -the enemies of the Public School have launched their abuse. And until -this cult is understood, it is impossible to understand the standards -and the scale of values of a Public School. Every community must have a -religion of sorts, a faith to which all faiths are subservient, a -service which makes the first demands. A man, when called to decide -between two claims, must be able to know which way his duty lies. He may -not follow the claim of duty, but he should be able to distinguish which -it is. In some communities it is the observance of social custom, in -another the making of money is all important, in one the honour of the -regiment, in a second the teaching of the Scriptures. At a Public School -it is athletic prominence. - -The position of a school is decided by its performances on the field. If -two men in a club are discussing the merits of a certain school, the -first consideration will be athletics. 'Oh, yes,' they will say. -'Fernhurst stands very well just now. It beat Tonford and Merton last -season, and it's got two fellows in the Varsity eleven.' The social -status of a school is judged, not by the number of Balliol scholars it -has produced, but by the quality of the schools it plays. 'Oh, Marestone -can't be much of a place,' you will hear said. 'They only play a few -grammar schools.' - -This fact the new boy realises at once. His father's friends are -impressed when he can tell them that his school has beaten Haileybury. -They display a mild interest at his casual reference to Bennett's -scholarship. The new boy reads in the daily papers enthusiastic articles -on the performances of the school eleven, and he learns that Haslett is -being watched by the county authorities. There is an air of publicity -about every school match. There will be reports in the newspapers. The -new boy feels himself to be participating in a function of considerable -general interest. All over the country people will be wondering what -will chance in this particular encounter. He is on the spot. The Press -accentuates his keenness. How could he, in the face of such a testimony, -doubt the supreme importance of athletics. We believe in the goods that -are most widely advertised. Who ever read an article on the prospects of -the various competitors for a certain exam. Who has read in the _Times_ -that 'enormous interest is being taken in the approaching scholarship -examinations. Clifton has several promising scholars. Marston may be -poor at unseen, but he is very deft in his handling of Latin prose, and -he has a good ear for hexameters. Haileybury, on the other hand, place -their faith in Johnson, a steady, industrious worker who can be trusted -to perform consistently in all subjects....' Yet, two or three times a -week, we can read in the _Sportsman_ that Fernhurst has a vastly -improved side and that with Evans back again in the three-quarter line, -is hopeful of emerging triumphantly from the approaching contest with -Tonford. - -Public School sport is awarded at the present moment a preposterous -amount of publicity. It is bad for the schools; it is bad for the boys -themselves, and, as far as one can gather, it has not helped English -sport to any appreciable degree. It encourages in schools the belief -that games matter more than anything else. Very often it makes boys -swelled-headed, certainly it makes them think they are bigger than they -are, and is preparing for them a big disappointment. It is so easy to -appear a giant among pigmies. In my own short experience I can remember -more than one player who was described while at school as being an -England batsman in the making, and who now experiences a difficulty in -getting into the county side. Every summer we know by name a whole host -of public school cricketers that are never heard of afterwards. They -have averages of sixty during their last term; their exploits are -described in fervid journalese. They go up to Oxford, fail to reach -double figures in the Freshmen's match, and are quickly submerged in -college cricket. Others go up with enormous reputations, making -centuries in the trial match, and then find that there is a difference -between club and county cricket. They just get their blue with a batting -average of twenty-five; they play for the county during August and do -nothing exceptional. They are just average cricketers, useful members of -a side and nothing more. In the meanwhile the journalists are shrieking -of the natural offbreak of a sixteen-year-old Rugbeian. This particular -type of writer resembles the literary critic who hails every new poet as -a 'second Keats,' and every new novelist as 'a second Hardy,' but loses -interest in his discoveries after the appearance of their fourth book. - -There is no need to dive back into past history. We can find enough -examples in post-war cricket. N. E. Partridge in 1919 had a batting -average of 43, and took 71 wickets for under 12 runs each. He had a -magnificent press. Next to Stevens, and perhaps Hedges, he was the most -discussed boy cricketer of the year. On the strength of this boosting he -very nearly received an invitation to play for the Gentlemen at Lords. -As a matter of fact, I am not certain that he did not actually receive -an invitation, and that his head master refused to let him go--but on -that point I am not certain. At any rate his claims were seriously -advanced by a great many reputable judges of the game, among whom I -think Sydney Pardon has to be included. He went up to Cambridge with a -tremendous reputation; he did only moderately. At one time, indeed, it -seemed improbable that he would get his blue. Last season he did nothing -exceptional for Warwickshire. I may, of course, be misjudging a -cricketer whom I have never seen play, but everything would seem to -suggest that Partridge will develop into nothing more exciting than the -average county cricketer.[4] - -We could also take the example of L. P. Hedges. I spent the summer of -1918 in a German prison camp; but even to that distant city came news of -the brilliant Tonbridge batsman who was greater even than Hutchings. -During the summer of 1919 the assiduous student of the _Sportsman_ heard -much of him. Every week appeared the score of some fresh triumph, and, -to crown it all, came that brilliant 163 at Lords. It was a gorgeous -show. I was thankful not to be fielding at coverpoint. But, let it be -whispered gently, the bowling did not look particularly difficult, and, -though Hedges's innings was dazzling, a quite ordinary batsman should, -off the same bowling, have been able to help himself to a generous -allowance of fours. - -That particular innings marked, I suppose, the height of Hedges's career -from the point of view of press publicity and popular esteem; the height -had been reached, that is to say, before his qualities had been placed -on the open market and tested by the stress of three days' cricket and -the accuracy of professional bowling. We do not hear much of Hedges -nowadays. He has played useful cricket for Oxford and for Kent; but he -has done nothing sensational. And yet, when I saw him last summer make a -50 against Middlesex at Lords, I could not help feeling that he is a -better bat to-day than he was in 1919, and that that 50 in an important -match, against confident bowling, and while Woolley was scratching -uncomfortably at the over end, was in every way a finer performance than -his 163 of two years earlier. He drove Haig and Durston through the -covers as easily as in 1919 he had plastered the ring with boundaries. -And yet the pressmen remained calm. - -It is vain and it is unfair to attempt to form a judgment of a person -whose wares are not upon the open market. No one can tell who is, and -who is not, going to prove a test match cricketer. Equally it is -impossible to tell from public school form which boys are potential -cricketers. Who, for example, who saw in 1910 F. H. Knott and D. J. -Knight batting in the Public School's match at Lords realised that -Knight was going to develop into an incomparably greater batsman than -Knott. And yet sportsmen continue to write about boy cricketers with the -seriousness that they devote to Hobbs. They draw the most ridiculous -comparisons. I discovered last summer in one of the most influential -daily papers the following passage in the account of the Public -School's match at Lords: 'There is probably no cricketer, with the -exception of R. H. Spooner, who sees the ball more quickly than J. L. -Guise.' Now anything much more ridiculous I can hardly imagine. It is -like the literary critic, who shall be nameless, who described the work -of a minor poet, who shall be also nameless, as having given him more -pleasure than anything since the first flights of Swinburne. It is -preposterous to speak of Guise, who is an extremely promising cricketer, -as seeing the ball more quickly than any batsman except Spooner. It all -depends on what manner of ball he is seeing. In the Eton match he, no -doubt, saw Allen's deliveries with considerable speed. Spooner, however, -was in the habit of seeing in this manner the deliveries of Cotter, -Tarrant, and Schwarz. Speed of eye is relative to the quality of the -bowling. I should hesitate to call myself a batsman, but there is a type -of ball that I can see with incredible rapidity. It is bowled to me, -alas, too occasionally, in village matches. It is medium paced, it -pitches on the middle stump, a little more than half-way down the pitch, -and it turns away ever so slightly towards the leg. Any one can look a -good bat who is opposed to bad bowling. And I maintain that it is no -sort of sense indulging in wild panegyrics about schoolboys who have -never been tested by first-class bowling. - -If a boy seems promising the county authorities should give him a trial, -and, if he does well, then let the pressmen get busy. Every one is so -terrified lest a good man may be overlooked. But how unlikely that is if -the county authorities are at all keen. Trial matches can be arranged. -Visits can be paid to schools. There is no need for this hectic -discovery of twenty Spooners every season. The school figures of players -like Stevens and Chapman and Hubert Ashton would have been quite -sufficient to ensure a proper trial for them. And the fact remains that -in spite of this press work amateur cricket is at a lower ebb now than -it has ever been before. The Gentlemen and Players match has become too -one-sided to stimulate interest in anything save individual -performances. Very few amateurs are good enough to play for England. -Douglas is; and he was not one of the marked men of cricket articles. -His entrance was as untheatrical as his batting. D. J. Knight, is on his -form of 1919, the second best batsman in the country; Stevens, at his -best, is a great match-winning factor; Tennyson and Fender are useful -players. But it is impossible to maintain that there are to-day any -amateur batsmen comparable with Maclaren, Spooner, Fry, Stoddart, and -Jackson, than the cricketers, that is to say, who passed unheralded on -their merits into first-class cricket. The low standard of amateur -cricket cannot be argued away. And this trumpeting of the press could -only be excused, could it be proved to further the interests of amateur -sport in England. Instead of furthering those interests, it works -against them. It makes games at a Public School too much of a business -and too little of a sport. It introduces professionalism. And I am -prepared to wonder how far one really enjoys one's games at school. - -One is frightfully excited about them; one is very pleased when one does -well and depressed if one does badly. One works oneself into a state of -nervous misery before a match, and one of hysterical excitement after -it. Victory and defeat mean a great deal. And it was with a real -surprise that I realised a few months ago at the end of a very pleasant -season that, although I should continue to play football for another ten -years, and cricket, I hope, for another forty, I should never again -really care whether the side for which I am playing wins or loses--care, -that is to say, as I cared at school about a house match. In club -cricket and football one asks for a good game in pleasant company, and -victory is incidental. While one is playing, of course, one is keen, but -one will not brood afterwards over one's mistakes,--not as one does -after a school match. There is, I suppose, no public school man under -the sun who does not now and again on some winter evening drop his paper -on his knees and curse himself because, fifteen years ago, he missed a -catch at an important crisis--that is one of the things one never ceases -to regret. That awful moment when one picks up the ball with tingling -fingers and tosses it back to the bowler; it is for all time a vivid -memory. One does not feel like that about an ordinary catch in an -ordinary club game. One is annoyed with oneself; one is sorry for the -bowler; one apologises to the captain, but one remembers that one is -out, after all, to enjoy oneself. - -That is the difference between school and club cricket. At school one is -not out to enjoy oneself. It is a business, this getting of runs and -taking of wickets. There are cups for house matches, and there are cups -for batting and bowling averages, and it is a sin to miss a catch. There -are few worse things than the anxiety attendant on those who play on the -fringe of a school side. Not only is one worried about one's own -performances, but about one's rivals. If one has made a duck oneself one -cannot, in spite of one's patriotism, be anxious for a particular rival -to retrieve the fortunes of the side with a century. A first eleven cap -is valued far too highly for such unselfishness. It is equally little -fun to be a member of a bad fifteen. One is subjected to a series of -complaints and recriminations. One grows sick of the whole business. And -I can remember during the first winter of the war the relief with which -we learnt that the Tonbridge match had been scratched. We had a poor -side. We knew that we should be thoroughly trounced, and that, for the -next week, the lives of those who had not distinguished themselves would -be made wretched. We never for a moment questioned the justice of this -tyranny. The Lord our God was a jealous God. We had to serve him. But we -were not sorry that an occasion for his wrath should be removed. I very -much doubt whether the actual playing of games was as pleasant at -school as it is outside it. - -The intensity and rapture are irrecoverable. There is nothing to compare -with the elation that follows a victory over a stronger side. But in the -long run I find cricket more enjoyable to-day than I did six years ago. -It is less complicated. One takes a day off from one's work and spends -it in agreeable company. One can field out all day and never take a -wicket, miss a couple of catches, and then crown everything by making a -duck, and yet thoroughly enjoy oneself. At school that would have been a -rotten day, and one would have spent the evening in deep despondency. -Yet everything is in favour of one enjoying one's game at school. It is -so simple. One strolls down after lunch in a leisurely fashion to the -field. One changes one's boots in the pavilion. A hot bath is waiting -for one afterwards. But, in order to play football after one has left, -one has to rush off to catch impossible trains from impossible stations. -One has no time for lunch. The train always seems to start at 1.18. -There is as likely as not a long walk from the station. One changes in a -converted army hut; one is more than a little tired before the game -starts. There are no proper baths afterwards, and one has to hurry, or -one will miss the only train to town: for it is amazing the number of -football fields which are on loop lines with trains at hourly intervals. -And yet, personally, I enjoy my football now a great deal more than I -ever did at school. - -It would not be just, however, to lay the blame of this professionalism -to the account of the sporting press. Journalists are rarely responsible -for anything. They do not lead public opinion. They follow it or, if -they are clever, they anticipate it. Had not the worship of athleticism -been already firmly established in the schools themselves it would never -have occurred to them to run it as a stunt. The journalist spends most -of his time searching for a town of blind men over which he, with his -one eye, may rule. And the journalist discovered that the Public School -had enthroned an unofficial king who had not received his due of public -recognition. The journalist decided to officialise his position. To this -king was paid extensive homage; and, as there is no more pleasant -reading for ladies-in-waiting than court gossip, he commenced a column -of court news. But he did not set up the court, or crown the king. He is -only a herald. And we must regard these tiresome articles as a proof, -but not a cause of this peculiar ritual. The trumpeting of the herald -adds certainly to the glamour of the court, but his absence would not -start a revolution. If not another article appeared on public school -sport, the cult of athleticism would still continue; it would continue -because as things are at present there is no other focus for the -enthusiasm and partisanship of a boy of seventeen. There is really -little else about which a schoolboy could reasonably become excited. - -Indeed it is hard to see what other results could have been expected -from such a combination of circumstances. Four hundred boys are divided -into ten houses. They are encouraged to feel an intense loyalty for -their house and for their school. They are told that it is up to them to -make their house the best house in the school, and their school the best -school in the country. They set out in all good faith to accomplish -their task. In what, they ask themselves, does the goodness of a house -consist. It is not much sense to speak to them of the moral tone of a -house or school. They desire a tangible manifestation of virtue, 'an -outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.' And the only -available outward and visible sign is the row of silver challenge cups -on the dining-hall mantelpiece. It is natural to assume that the house -which has the most cups is the best house; a school can only prove its -superiority over another school by victory on the football field. -Scholarships are an indirect form of competition. For the best boys from -one school may not come into touch with the best boys of another. But a -victory by 30 points is a direct statement of a fact. The victorious -school is superior to the defeated school. It is in athletic contests -alone that a house or school can express a united will, can become -indeed one person. The loyalty of a boy for his house or school is a -fine thing, but it renders athletic worship almost inevitable. Were -there not this intense house and school feeling individual boys would -cultivate their individual tastes; forty boys would be grouped together -for convenience of boarding--that is all a house would be. But as soon -as a boy comes to regard himself as a member of a fine community, he -feels a natural pride and loyalty in its performances and in its -welfare. There is no other focus for partisanship: form work is -uninteresting. Boxing, fives, the corps, and the gymnasium are side -shows. Cricket and football are what count. A boy must have a religion -of sorts. He must have some ideal to which the demands of his own -temperament may become subservient. - -On this worship of games is based the scale of social values. The ethics -of cribbing, for example, are based entirely on the assumption that a -success in form is of inconsiderable importance; it is permissible for a -boy to crib in order to save his energies for worthier causes. The blood -system is built on an intense admiration for those who are upholding the -honour of the house, and is an expression of the small boy's longing to -reach such a position himself. The attitude to morality on the part of -masters is intimately connected with athletics, and on the boy's part, -the belief that a member of a school side is, _ipso facto_, an -invaluable asset to the school, allows the blood to do very much what he -likes; as long, in fact, as a boy can satisfy his companions and himself -that he is exerting all his power on the football field, he can amuse -himself in other ways as he thinks fit. - -There is no other criterion for a boy's worthiness, or unworthiness, as -a member of a house, and the half-bloods consider that a very big -responsibility has descended on them. They have to keep the house up to -the mark. The big men cannot bother themselves about individuals. But -the half-bloods who are, as it were, emissaries between heaven and -earth, can investigate closely the behaviour of the coming generation. -They can notice who is showing signs of slackness. They individually -give themselves enormous airs. They form a sort of improvement society. - -I remember that, in the course of one term, our house lost every -challenge cup that it had possessed. This was considered a disgrace. And -several of us decided that it was for us to reform the house. We did not -consider ourselves to stand in any need of improvement. But we used to -wander round the studies between tea and hall inquisitioning fags and -scholars, asking them what use they thought they were to house or -school, and informing them that they would be well advised to make more -strenuous efforts. It was, I suppose, a form of bullying; or rather -perhaps an aid to vanity. What we really needed was for some one to kick -us hard. No one did, however. It seemed to occur to no one else, any -more than it did to us, that there were objects of a public school -education other than the acquiring of caps and cups. You might as well -expect an Indian priest to doubt the omnipotence of Buddha. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[4] The proofs of this book were corrected in April. Should anything -unforeseen change during the cricket season, before its appearance, I -can only plead the fallibility of the prophet. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE TRUE ETHICS OF CRIBBING - - -The boy who thus exhausts in ragging the residue of energy that the -football field allows him, has, it follows, to be careful not to burn -the candle at both ends. He has to spare himself, and to spare himself -he abandons the spasmodic cribbing of his first year's summer -examination for sustained, systematic methods. Now the true ethics of -this subject are as little understood as those relating to any other -sphere of public school life. Cribbing is generally regarded as a -dishonest practice to which only the ignoble few have regular resort. -The habitual cribber is as morally lost as a thief. For what, after all, -is cribbing, say our aunts, but the stealing of marks from your -companions. 'When you crib,' they tell us, 'and say that you are not -stealing, you argue from the standpoint of the housemaid who would -return conscientiously the sixpence you have left on your -dressing-table, but would not think twice of filling a medicine bottle -with your best brandy and handing it over to her young man.' While we -are at our Preparatory Schools we are inclined to agree with this. We -ourselves would never think of cribbing. At a Preparatory School it is -not done. But at a Public School we learn otherwise. To the public -school boy cribbing is not dishonest. It is not wrong, because it is not -anti-social. There are no doubt somewhere, if we could discover them, -fixed immutable standards of righteousness. But we have not found them -yet. In the meantime we are content to frame conventions that alter with -each generation to safeguard what we consider to be our comfort. We put -a thief in prison because we are anxious to protect our property. His -actions are anti-social. They are only anti-social, however, because we -happen to value our property. We should not object if he took from us -what we did not prize. It is thus indeed that the dustman earns his -living. And the public school boy does not usually set much greater -value on his marks than the housewife on her egg-shells. - -I remember reading several years ago a short story that appeared in _The -Captain_. It was about an American who came to an English Public School. -On the result of a certain examination depended the position of head boy -in the house, and the American broke into the head master's study and -extracted the examination paper. The theft was, however, discovered, and -the American summoned to the head master's study for an interview that -was the certain prelude to expulsion. This fact was made known to him. -'Waal,' he said, 'I guess that's fair. My father often said to me when a -big bluff fails, it's down and out for the guy that misses.' The head -master was surprised. He appreciated the difference between a big bluff -and a piece of calculated deceit. He saw that the American had, because -of the atmosphere of business in which he had been brought up, a -standard different from his own. The American had honestly believed -himself to be attempting 'a big bluff.' - -Now, in the world at large, ignorance of the law is no excuse. If it -were, law court procedure would be infinitely complex. At school, -however, the intention matters more than the result. The means are set -before the end. The head master in the story realised that the -American's offence was actually far less serious than it appeared, and -the American was not expelled. - -In this case, of course, the theft of the examination paper was -definitely anti-social. It was a real theft. The American was -endeavouring to acquire a position that others valued through means not -at the disposal of his competitors. But this story, which appeared in a -paper the moral tone of which has necessarily to be above suspicion, -establishes officially the principle that the seriousness of an offence -depends largely on the attitude adopted to it by the offender. And -therein lie the true ethics of cribbing. What public opinion approves -cannot be anti-social. Only a few recognise the distinction between the -immoral and the anti-social. And public opinion is, on the whole, -inclined to condone cribbing. - -Every boy is anxious to be a power in his house; he wants to be a -prefect, he looks forward to the day when he will be safe from -authority, will be, indeed, authority itself. But he knows that, without -unduly exerting himself in the class-room, he will be able to achieve -prominence through success at football. A house cap has to sit at the Va -table: as a second, probably, and certainly as a first, he will be -raised to the dignity of the dais; thence the process of seniority will -carry him quickly to his prefectship. It is assumed that by that time -the same process of seniority will have carried him to the Upper Fifth. -(It is hard to avoid being promoted once a year.) The hours spent in the -class-room are a dull setting for the vivid hues of the life that lies -outside it. Occasionally the setting is relieved by a bright patch of -colour--an ingenious rag, a successful piece of cribbing--but, on the -whole, it is dull and monotonous. A boy works spasmodically, sometimes -to get a promotion, sometimes to secure the good-will of a master he -admires, sometimes to reach a form where it will be only rarely -necessary for him to prepare his work. And he cribs more or less -consistently out of laziness, to avoid being bottled, to save himself -trouble, to be able to devote as much of his evening as is possible to -more sympathetic forms of employment. He does not consider he is doing -anything wrong. He knows that, if he is caught, he will be punished. But -then he sees the relationship of boys and masters as a long, -intermittent struggle, a game played in good faith, with fixed rewards -and penalties. He does not expect his conduct to be condoned officially. -His form master has set him so many lines of Virgil to prepare. It is -assumed that he will take an hour to prepare those lines properly. -However, with the help of Dr Giles's translation, he has managed to -prepare those lines satisfactorily in twenty minutes. He has gained, -therefore, forty minutes; naturally the master demands, and exacts, a -reparation. But his companions do not mind. And he regards as -anti-social only what will offend them. If he were a thief it would be -in their eyes that he would be guilty. But a theft only becomes criminal -when the injured party has taken proceedings against the offender. In -this case no proceedings have been taken. He has not been reported to -the head master, nor has he been kicked round the cloisters. He -considers himself to be innocent. Indeed, popular opinion is far more -likely to be directed against the boy who is scrupulously honest. His -behaviour may be anti-social. - -There was a form, for instance, in which it was the custom for the boys -to correct their own papers and give up their own marks. They would pass -their papers to the next boy but two. The answers would be read out and -the marks awarded. When all the answers had been given the marks would -be added up. 'Any one over 90?' a couple of hands would rise. 'Any one -over 95?' one of the hands would sink. 'Right,' said the master. 'Divide -all marks by 11.' The names of the boys would then be read out in turn, -and the marks earned by each would be delivered by the corrector. - -Now the correction of exercises and the addition of marks entails a -measure of labour, and no one does unnecessary work. It had become the -custom, therefore, to doze pleasantly while the answers were being given -out, to insert various hieroglyphics in the margin, and to return at the -conclusion an average total. The system had been in existence a long -while, and it was known that the top mark usually lay somewhere between -100 and 90; a top mark of over 110 or beneath 80 would rouse comment, -perhaps inspire investigation, and that was, of course, the last thing -the form desired. So that, when the form master said any one 'over 90' -some one on the front bench raised a hand. It happened in rotation more -or less; at the end of the term there was little to choose between the -top ten in the marks for those particular exercises. Certainly whatever -difference there was could be easily counteracted by superior -proficiency in some other field. - -All went well till a certain Miller was promoted into this particular -form. Miller was a prig: he came from an undistinguished house. He was -excessively industrious. He had the prude's morality. He was desperately -honest. He corrected the papers passed to him accurately and gave up the -right mark. - -During his first week in the form, when the top mark was 91, Miller gave -up 63. The form master was surprised; Miller had corrected the paper of -quite a senior member of the form. 'Really, Jones,' he said, 'I'm -surprised.' Jones also was surprised. After the lesson he expressed his -surprise with a well-aimed kick that landed Miller at the foot of the -second landing. He considered that no further explanation was required. -He was wrong. - -The next day, when the top mark was 103 he received 57. On the occasion -of this second essay in originality the whole form decided to interest -itself in Miller's welfare. There was an informal meeting at the end of -the hour, in which Miller was given to understand that on this system -exercises had been marked in the Middle Fifth for upwards of twenty -years. Tradition had approved the system. The form was conservative. It -meant to uphold that tradition. In earnest of its intention it proceeded -to demonstrate what defensive method it would adopt. Miller made no -answer, but the next day he not only returned Jones's paper with 65 at -the head of it, but when a certain Burton announced that the paper he -had marked was worth 103, Miller said something to the effect that the -maximum was 93. - -Such a thing had never happened before in the Middle Fifth. It was an -orderly form, but there was very nearly a popular demonstration. -Burton's honour had been questioned. The form master agreed that such an -imputation had not been made upon a boy during the five-and-twenty years -that he had sat in that class-room. 'We'll go through the questions one -by one and see what the maximum is.' - -Now, luckily for Burton, the master had not kept a check upon the marks. -He had gone through question after question, saying after each: 'Now -let me see, I think that should be worth 10,' or 'that 15.' So that, -when he went through the questions again, he appealed, on each occasion, -to the head boy of the form. 'How many did I give you for that, Evans?' -And, on each occasion, Evans was generous. - -Once Miller timidly suggested that for Question 6, 15 marks and not 30 -had been the maximum, but there was a complete unanimity of opinion -among the rest of the form. 'Thirty, sir, certainly it was 30. It must -have been--I've got 23 down to Firth for that, sir.' Miller was -overruled. - -The maximum was finally discovered to be 130. 'So you see, Miller,' said -the master, 'you've not only questioned Burton's word, but you've been -inattentive during the lesson. You will do me 200 lines, and if you will -hand me up Jones's paper I will correct it myself.' With this generous -addition to the maximum Jones received a heavy mark. - -After such a disaster the form felt certain that Miller would bow to the -convention; but there is no limit to the obstinacy of the martyr: Miller -continued to mark according to order. He was kicked, but kicking was of -no avail. His own paper was undermarked. This, too, was unavailing. -Finally the form decided to accept him as an inevitable affliction. They -ceased to kick him. Each of the ten top boys took it in turn to sit two -places away from him so that no one person should suffer unduly from the -general evil. And the one who sat two places on the other side of -Miller had instructions to over-mark his paper so that he should be got -out of the form as speedily as possible. At the end of the term Miller -was promoted; and the Middle Fifth relapsed into its placid communal -existence. - -Now Miller's conduct would no doubt appear worthy of the most intense -approval. He had behaved like the hero of the school sermon. He had done -what every new boy is adjured to do. He had taken a firm stand against a -dishonest practice. He had been bullied, but he had remained firm. His -honour had withstood the shock of his opponents. Such a splendid example -would shine like a candle in a dark cathedral, and from this simile the -preacher, as a runner reaching the straight, can stride into the rounded -periods of his peroration. 'If only others of you would light your -candle from that flame; if only in that large cathedral there were a -hundred burning candles instead of one, how soon would not the whole -building be filled with light. The beautiful tracery of the roof would -emerge from shadow. A soft glow would be shed on the strong carved -pillars. The brasses would glimmer on the wall. The splendid -architecture of the building would be plain. So is it with the human -soul.' - -We have heard that sermon many times. Miller is a splendid handle for -rhetoric, but his behaviour remains anti-social. If it is wrong to place -oneself in a position of inequitable advantage, it is equally wrong to -place a rival in a position of inequitable disadvantage: and that is -what Miller had done. Jones had done his work as thoroughly and as -conscientiously as the others, but he had received lower marks for it, -because Miller had chosen to apply to it a standard that was not imposed -on that of his companions. It is not unfair in a hundred yards' sprint -to start a second before the pistol is fired if you know that the other -runners are going to do likewise, but it is hard lines on the one runner -who is compelled to wait for the proper signal. True morality plays an -insignificant part in business and competition. We all have different -ideas of what is sport. If W. G.'s much-criticised running out of Jones -in the Test Match of 1880 had taken place at a house match at school, we -can assume that W. G., whatever his batting average, would not have been -invited to play for the school again. What is moral and what is -anti-social become practically synonymous terms as long as every one -starts fair and plays the game by the same code of rules. No one must be -allowed opportunities that are not at the disposal of his opponents. -And, in the case of the Middle Fifth's corrections, the rules of the -game ordered generous marking and no great gulf between the first and -last. Miller played the game by different rules. The form was -righteously indignant. It is doubtful even whether Miller's immortal -soul drew sustenance from the conflict. It was probably confirmed in its -priggishness. Certainly Miller became, in the course of time, a highly -officious prefect. I do not know what fortune the 'romance of destiny' -may hold in store for him, but I can imagine that he will occupy some -post of prim, precise officialdom. He will create nothing. Whereas -Evans's opportunism is largely responsible for the rapidly increasing -market for Messrs. ----'s patent cookers. - -The schoolmaster asserts that between himself and his form there exists -a compact of square dealing. But the signature of the form has not been -obtained, and it is an agreement every clause of which is very clearly -to the advantage of the schoolmaster and to the disadvantage of the -form. The form does not recognise the treaty. It refuses to commit -itself, and indeed in this singular document the true nature of cribbing -has not been defined. The exact line between cribbing and co-operation -has not been drawn. We are safe when dealing with 'con,' that is to say, -the translation of Greek or Latin into English. We know, for instance, -that boys are allowed to prepare their work together. Two brains are -better than one. Well and good. But, if two soldiers have to dig a -trench one uses the pick and the other the shovel. So it is with Latin -'con.' One boy looks up the meaning of the words in a dictionary; the -other unravels the sense. That means that the boy who looks up the words -never brings his mind to bear on the translation of the text. Yet such a -combination is accepted as fair by any master. And, once this -combination has been accepted, a master's position becomes logically -impossible. For it must be remembered that a schoolboy has a fairly -sound grasp of consecutive reasoning. He studies the theorems of -geometry. He struggles with the dialectic of Plato. He is capable, that -is to say, of following out to their logical conclusion such lines of -argument as will, in the end, assuage his conscience. He could -construct, for instance, an imaginary conversation between Socrates and -his form master. - -_Soc._: You object, Mr. Featherbrain, to the cribbing that is prevalent -in your form? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Now, as I am inexperienced in this matter, never having been -myself to a Public School, perhaps you will be so kind as to make me -better acquainted with the methods adopted by these members of your -form. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. Some of the boys use English translations with -which to prepare their Virgil and Homer. Others copy the Greek prose of -their more clever companions, inserting, from time to time, certain -gross errors that they expect will throw me off the scent. - -_Soc._: I understand. Now, in this matter of English translations: you -expect each boy to prepare his Virgil by himself, and to produce in form -the results of solitary unaided labour? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: If, therefore, you discovered one boy asking another to explain -to him a difficult passage, you would punish him severely? - -_Mr. F._: No. You have misunderstood me. I should not. - -_Soc._: But how is that? Have you not just told me that each boy must -produce in form the results of solitary, unaided labour? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly, but we allow boys to prepare their 'con' together. - -_Soc._: I understand. On the assumption that two brains are better than -one, you permit two boys to unravel the sense together. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Now, if two people attempt a certain task, what procedure would -they follow? Would they not divide the task into two portions. If two -men are building a house one man stands at the top of a ladder and lays -the bricks that his companion, who is standing below, throws up to him. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Time would be wasted were each man to do the same work: that is -to say, were two ladders to be placed against the wall and were the two -men to descend and ascend the ladder carrying bricks to the top? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Therefore, we may assume that in all tasks that are undertaken -by two persons, the work is divided into two duties? - -_Mr. F._: But I do not see, Socrates, that this line of reasoning has -any bearing on the subject we are preparing to discuss. - -_Soc._: That may very well be, for, as I have told you, I am ignorant of -these matters and have come to you for guidance. It does seem to me, -however, that in this matter of translation, which is the discovery of -an unknown thing, the unknown may be divided into two parts. - -_Mr. F._: How is that? - -_Soc._: When a boy reads over the passage that he has to translate, two -things are unknown to him: the general meaning of the passage and -certain words in the passage. That is so, is it not? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: Then do you not think that two boys, before setting out to -translate a passage, would make some arrangement by which one of them -should be responsible for unravelling the sense, while the other should -look up the unknown words in a dictionary. - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: And to which of the two would be entrusted the task of -unravelling the sense. - -_Mr. F._: To the cleverer, undoubtedly. - -_Soc._: Therefore the less clever would do the drudge work: that is to -say, he would never bring his mind to bear upon the passage: and the -imaginative work would be done for him by his companion. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Yet the system is approved as an honest one by the authorities -and the work of the drudge is accepted as solitary and unaided labour. - -_Mr. F._: That is so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Now, is this task of translation limited to the co-operation of -two persons, or may three or more persons take their share in it? - -_Mr. F._: As many persons may take their share in it as may -conveniently be crowded into a study measuring eight feet by four. - -_Soc._: I understand. Suppose now that three persons are preparing a -passage together. We have agreed, have we not, that this work can be -divided into two duties only? - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Then what share of the work will the third partner take? - -_Mr. F._: He will act as a reserve and will bring assistance to either -party when it is necessary. - -_Soc._: But, to whom have we allotted the task of unravelling the sense: -to the cleverest, have we not? If the help of the third party, then, is -only requested when the cleverest finds himself in difficulties, does it -seem to you likely that the third party will succeed where one cleverer -than himself has failed? - -_Mr. F._: It is unlikely. - -_Soc._: And, if this third party is higher and more important than the -second party, it is unlikely, is it not, that he will content himself -with what we have admitted to be the drudge's work of looking up words -in a dictionary? - -_Mr. F._: It is unlikely. - -_Soc._: Then the third party will do nothing save profit by the industry -of his two companions, and the work that he will produce in the -class-room next day will, strictly speaking, be not his at all, but -theirs. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Now, let us take a further example. For I am anxious to discover -at what exact point the work that a boy produces in form will cease to -be, in the official eye, the result of solitary and unaided labour. -Suppose that the third party is a member of the Eleven, who has various -social duties: it is possible, is it not, that he would prefer to spend -over his translation less than the three-quarters of an hour that his -two companions require? - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: Then, is it impossible that he might arrange for the cleverer of -the two to come to him after breakfast and explain to him in twenty -minutes the meaning of the passage? - -_Mr. F._: It is possible. - -_Soc._: And such an arrangement would be accepted by you? - -_Mr. F._: I do not see that I could object. - -_Soc._: Now let us suppose that the cleverer of the two finds that he -will have to clean his corps clothes during the twenty minutes between -breakfast and chapel. He will feel himself bound in honour, and also by -fear, to translate the passage to the third party, but he will obviously -be unable to do it in person. Is it not likely, therefore, that he will -write out the meaning of the passage and hand it to the third party? -Would such conduct be unacceptable to you? - -_Mr. F._: I do not know, Socrates. - -_Soc._: But, surely in your own mind you have clearly defined the line -that separates what is honest from what is dishonest. Surely that is -your profession--to teach the young to distinguish between what is good -and what is not good? - -_Mr. F._: That is so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then do you see any real difference between hearing a -translation and reading a translation? Is there any difference between a -meaning that is apprehended through the ear and a meaning that is -apprehended through the eyes; for are not both eyes and ears channels -through which meanings are carried to the brain? - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, and, when you put it that way, I can -distinguish no essential difference. - -_Soc._: Very good: then we have established that it is fair for a boy to -come to his study after breakfast, find in his hand a written -translation of his Virgil, and, with that written translation, prepare -in twenty minutes his morning's lesson. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: If, however, he were to take from his drawer a printed -translation of Virgil, and with that prepare his morning's lesson, you -would consider him capable of dishonest behaviour and you would report -him to the head master. - -_Mr. F._: Most certainly, Socrates. - -_Soc._: In what, then, lies the essential difference between the printed -translation and the one that was copied out for him by his companion? - -_Mr. F._: But that is surely obvious. - -_Soc._: It is not to me, and it is for this reason that I seek -enlightenment of you. For to me it seems that the work produced in form -by the boy who has studied the printed translation is every bit as much -the result of solitary and unaided labour as that which is informed by -the study of a written translation. But is it that you appreciate a -difference between the written and the printed word? - -_Mr. F._: Perhaps that is it, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then would you allow a boy during the holidays to copy out one -of Dr. Giles's aids to the classics? - -_Mr. F._: Most certainly not. - -_Soc._: Then it is not between the written and the printed word that the -difference lies? - -_Mr. F._: It would seem not. - -_Soc._: Then where does it lie? - -_Mr. F._: I do not know, Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then we must surely assume that there is no difference; and we -must further add that you have not dealt honestly with your form in so -severely punishing them for conduct that you, yourself, are not able -logically to condemn. - -_Mr. F._: As ever, Socrates, you have succeeded in making me say what I -did not mean to say. - -_Soc._: Then, in order that you may extricate yourself, let us consider -this question of the prose. - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. For, here at least, my position is impregnable. - -_Soc._: I, too, am certain of it, and, in order that I may know the true -nature of the offence, you will, I hope, permit me to ask you certain -questions. You say that the more stupid members of your form are in the -habit of copying the exercises of their more clever comrades? - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Now is it a rule that a boy may not give another assistance in -his Latin prose? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly. - -_Soc._: The position is not the same as that of the Latin translation, -where two boys were permitted to co-operate? - -_Mr. F._: Certainly not. - -_Soc._: I presume that you have explained to your form the essential -difference that exists between the nature of Latin 'con' and Latin -prose. - -_Mr. F._: How do you mean, Socrates? - -_Soc._: Why, surely, if in the preparation of Latin 'con,' which is the -translation of Latin into English, two boys are allowed to co-operate, -and, if in the preparation of Latin prose, which is the translation of -English into Latin, they are not allowed to co-operate, it follows that -there must be some essential difference in the nature of the two -studies. - -_Mr. F._: It would seem so, Socrates. - -_Soc._: It would certainly seem so, and this difference you have, no -doubt, made clear to your form, for, at present, I must confess myself -unable to discover in what it consists. The exercise of Latin prose as -of Latin 'con,' for each study is the translation of a language and the -correct rendering of the idiom of that language into the language and -idiom of another tongue, is no doubt intended to train, inform, and -quicken the intelligence. Each would appear to be branches of the same -study, and for each the same method of instruction should be employed. -You tell me, however, that there is between these two branches an -essential difference. - -_Mr. F._: You are right, Socrates, and, though I cannot explain the -difference in so many words, its nature is plain to me. - -_Soc._: Of that, Mr. Featherbrain, I am certain. I understand that you -apprehend this fine distinction as you apprehended the fine distinction -between the written and the printed 'crib.' We should consider, though, -whether this distinction is equally plain to your form. Such intuitive -knowledge may be denied to them, and, if they sin through ignorance, -their sin is slighter than if they sinned through knowledge. Tell me, -now, whether, if you overheard one member of your form say to another on -the way to chapel: 'I'm absolutely tied up with that piece of prose. -Shall I put it in O. R. or O. O.?' would you immediately report that boy -to the head master? - -_Mr. F._: I should not. - -_Soc._: You would no more report him than if you had overheard him -asking his friend to make clear to him a passage of Virgil that had -puzzled him. - -_Mr. F._: That is so. - -_Soc._: Do you not think, therefore, that the boy who knows he is -allowed to ask for help in his Latin 'con,' and who does not know for -what reason he is not allowed to ask for help in his Latin prose, who -has never, that is to say, been able to apprehend the fine difference -between the nature of the two studies, is likely to consider that the -same technique is permissible for both branches, and would not that -third party of whom we spoke and who is in the habit of getting his -Latin 'con' done for him by his friend, consider himself morally -justified in accepting the same assistance in his Latin prose? - -_Mr. F._: But I have told him that it is not allowed. - -_Soc._: Certainly, but good can only come from a reasoned knowledge of -what is good, and you have not explained to him in what his fault -consists. Moreover, if you have granted him permission to seek advice in -small matters, you must tell him at what exact point the thirst for -information becomes dishonest; a line must be drawn between what is good -and what is bad. Is a boy responsible for a percentage of his prose, -and, if so, for what percentage. Have you made these things plain to -him? - -_Mr. F._: I have not, O Socrates. - -_Soc._: Then how do you expect the unformed mind of a boy to draw this -line for himself. It would seem to me, Mr. Featherbrain, that you are -not training the youth as it should be trained, when you order its -conduct not by the results of logical deduction but by arbitrary ruling. -For if in your own mind you are not certain at what exact point the good -becomes the bad, and indeed are not certain of what the bad consists; -what confusion must you not expect to discover in the minds of those -that are taught by you. You must remember that on the football and -cricket field a boy is under orders which he accepts, but of whose moral -nature he is ignorant. He knows that if he is offside in football a free -kick is awarded to the other side; he knows that if he knocks the ball -forward with his hands a scrum is given. He has made a mistake. He has -committed a tactical, but not a moral offence. The rulings of the Rugby -Union are arbitrary and subject to frequent alteration; whereas the -rulings concerning what is good and what is bad are fixed and -irradicable. Is it not likely, therefore, that a boy will come to regard -your rulings in these matters of cribbing as arbitrary rulings that may -be altered. His life is a game, you must always remember that, and it is -on that basis that he accepts it. He knows that he will be punished if -he uses a crib; he knows that you appear to apprehend a distinction -between the written and printed word; he knows also that you have -discovered a difference in the nature of the studies of translation and -prose, and that while you will allow him to ask advice on certain points -you will not allow him to seek advice on the whole, though at the same -time you do not define the point at which these same certain points -cease to be certain points and become sufficiently part of the whole to -be called the whole. Can you expect him, then, to regard such a system -as anything but the complicated rulings of a game played between you and -him. And can you expect him to attach to these regulations any moral -significance. On the cricket field he places his leg in front of the -wicket and tries to hit a short length ball over square-leg's head. If -he misses the ball he is leg before, and goes to the pavilion. In his -study he prepares his translation with a crib; he is discovered by his -house master; he goes to the head master. And it is in this spirit, Mr. -Featherbrain, that your form deceives you. You have to make clear to the -young many things before you can expect them to attach a moral -significance to what has no logical proof. - - -There may be flaws in the argument, for the Socratic method is -insidious, but I have not, myself, been able to discover them. The -ethics of cribbing from the master's point of view are illogical. The -exact point where co-operation starts and cribbing begins is not fixed. - -Cribbing goes by form and houses. Its activities expand and contract -according to the demands of popular opinion. It is always communal. -There is a conscription of intellect and knowledge. No boy would -prejudice his chances of winning his house cap; but most boys would -assist their most dangerous rivals in promotion. We hear in chapel sad -stories of the large and brutal bully who cribs steadily throughout the -term and wrests the prize from the pure innocent who looked up every -word in a large Lewis & Short. But it rarely happens like that. No one -cribs for a prize, because few really want a prize. Occasionally -cribbing wins a prize, but it is usually through a fluke. - -A boy is particularly nervous about the results of a certain paper. He -takes elaborate precautions to make sure that he will not have to spend -the last Saturday of term rewriting the paper, and, in consequence, -unexpectedly discovers himself at the head of the list. I recall one -such instance in particular, and, because it seems to me so singularly -appropriate, I may be pardoned, I trust, for retelling a story that I -have incorporated elsewhere. - -Divinity in the army class was a casual affair; a knowledge of the Old -Testament not being considered a necessary part of the intellectual -equipment of a subaltern, the Sandhurst authorities did not examine -candidates on the subject, and both the form and its master regarded the -hour's lesson on Sunday morning as a pause in the exertions of the week. -The yearly divinity examination always occasioned, therefore, a measure -of panic among the soldiers, for the form master, when confronted with -irrefutable proofs of his own indolence, was in the habit of punishing -not only the form but himself by keeping in for two hours on the last -Saturday those of the form who had failed to score an adequate -percentage. During the preceding days feverish and spasmodic attempts -were made to cope successfully with the complicated relations of kings -and prophets. One year, however, the form was fortunate. - -A certain Mallaby, while searching in the class-room just before lock-up -for a book he thought he had left there, saw lying among the papers on -the master's desk, the rough draft of the questions for the divinity -exam. In surprised delight he copied them all down. According to the -popular conception of schoolboy honour, Mallaby, being a potential -thief, would have kept the information to himself. Being a boy, however, -he imparted it to his companions. The form entered the examination room -in a mood of quiet confidence, and left it in a mood of deep content. -Two days later, however, it was announced that this year the annual -interest of a bequest would be devoted to a series of divinity papers -throughout the school. The next day Mallaby learnt that he was head of -the army class in divinity. - -His conscience was fluttered. He could not, he felt, take a prize which -he would have won through cribbing. It would be dishonest. It would be -stealing. He announced his intention of explaining matters to the chief. -This announcement was not, however, received with the enthusiasm that -should have welcomed the imminence of so noble, so disinterested, so -sacrificial a performance. The form was indeed seriously perturbed. It -explained to Mallaby that, if he went to the chief, he would be queering -not only his own pitch, but theirs as well, and that there were certain -members of form who did not stand well enough in the eyes of authority -to be able to risk such an addition to their score of discovered crimes. -'And, after all,' they said, 'why shouldn't you take the prize? We all -knew the questions; you took the trouble to prepare them. You worked -hard, and prizes are the reward of hard work. You've worked for the -prize, harder than we did. Therefore you deserve the prize. And let's -have no more of this nonsense about confession.' - -In these matters each form and each house works out its own salvation. -In some houses cribbing is not general, and in some forms cribbing is -not general; and, in such cases, cribbing is anti-social. It might be -urged that boys from houses that do not crib find themselves at a -disadvantage in relation to boys from houses that do. But life usually -manages to adjust itself, and a boy's position in form is chiefly -important as regards the relation it bears to that of the other members -of his house. It does not matter much to a boy in the school house if he -is passed by a boy in Buller's. It will not affect his seniority in his -own house, and it is his seniority in his own house that matters. Only a -very few are concerned with the specialised rivalry of the Upper Sixth -that decides who will be the official head of the school. Scholastically -the ambition of few passes outside their house. In games it is -different. But then the eleven is not a fluid body like the Sixth; it is -a close corporation, and once the reputation of being the best slow -left-hand bowler is lost, the chance of a ribboned coat grows distant. - -I remember once a parson from the East End preaching a sermon in the -school chapel, in which he intimated that in comparison with the -loathsome atrocities that had for setting the Mile End Road, a schoolboy -merely played at sin. This was reassuring to certain genial sportsmen -who had hitherto been unable to view with any confidence the prospect of -immortality: and the phrase 'playing at sin' passed into the vocabulary -of the school. To such an extent, indeed, that the head master was -forced to deliver a special midweek address, in which he pointed out -that the degree of sin was relative to environment, and that the moral -offences of a man who had been nurtured in surroundings of bestiality -and filth were less grave than those of the boy who had spent his -childhood in the clean atmosphere of a decent home. The complacence of -the aforesaid sportsmen was broken. Not only were their offences as -serious as those of their less fortunately placed brethren, they were -actually more grave: a disquieting reflection. But I have often felt -inclined to question, not the irrefutable logic of the head master's -sermon, but the truth of that original contention about 'playing at -sin.' Are, that is to say, the vices of the lower orders actually more -startling than those of Mayfair? Are they more startling? I wonder: a -higher standard of civilisation refines our pleasures, quickens our -powers of appreciation, makes us more subtle, more complex; does it not -also sharpen the edge of misbehaviour? It is a point on which perhaps -Casanova would be able to enlighten us. But, certainly, in the matter of -cribbing, the methods of the lower forms are clumsy, unimaginative, -bourgeois in comparison with those of the Fifths and Sixths. - -A master who expects to discover in the Third the guile of the Fifths -will be disappointed; and, equally, the master who has successfully -combated the guile of the Lower Second may discover himself completely -outwitted by the Middle Sixth. In the Lower School the use of the actual -crib is rare. It is easy for the Sixth Former to possess himself of a -translation. The Everyman series contains excellent renderings of -Thucydides and Plato. The Loeb library is not useless. Gilbert Murray -may be a poet, but his translations of Euripides have proved of -assistance to many a harassed student. Jebb's version of Sophocles is to -be found in the shelves of the school library. It is a different job to -find a crib of Ovid and Livy. Dr. Giles has done some excellent research -work, but questions are apt to be asked about bona fide students; an -address such as 'The School House, Fernhurst,' is likely to wake -suspicion, and the Third Former has not read enough French novels to -appreciate the value of the _poste restante_. He considers that a crib -is more trouble than it is worth. And what is cribbing but laziness! -Moreover, he has a distrust of cribs. He is naturally stupid or he would -be higher in the school, and he knows that when a boy gives the right -meaning to the wrong words there are unpleasant investigations. He -prefers to rely on the inspiration of the moment: as a result the -offences of the Lower Second are trivial. They rarely reach the green -baize of the head master's study. One boy looks over another's paper, -another is prompted during 'con,' there is a strange similarity between -two Latin proses, an unusual mistake is repeated in several exercises. -The offender is beaten afterwards, and no more is heard about it. As a -matter of fact there is less cribbing in the Lower School than in the -Upper. Opportunities are rare and the example of hardened criminals is -absent. The second yearer only becomes a practised deceiver under the -influence of his seniors, and there are not many third yearers in the -Lower School. Higher up it is different. But it is to be doubted whether -the effects of cribbing are as serious as they are depicted. - -The case against them comes under two main headings: (1) The moral -issue; (2) The expediency issue. With the moral issue I have already -dealt. Most boys crib at school, but the public school man is straighter -in business than the self-made man and the American. Nearly all men will -boast in their clubs of the way they bamboozled 'old Moke,' of how they -pinned up the rep. on the back of the boy in front, and of how they used -to strip off the cover of the translation book and sew it round one of -Dr. Giles's publications; but the man who has forced a young inventor -into a hard contract remains silent. It is a matter that he prefers to -keep to himself. I do not believe that cribbing saps the moral sense. - -The expediency issue is more complicated. And, on the surface, it does -seem that the use of a crib is the very worst thing for a boy who hopes -to win scholarships and fellowships. It is a short cut. He does not -need to use his brain. His thinking is done for him. That is true, but -there are points on the other side. He is set fifty lines of Virgil to -prepare. If he comes into form next morning with those lines half learnt -he will derive little benefit from the hour's lesson. The whole time he -will be worrying at the sense. He will not be able to give his full -attention to the points of grammar and history that will arise in the -course of the hour. If, on the other hand, he is free from the anxiety -of failure he is able to give his full attention to what is perhaps the -more important part of the lesson. Also a boy remembers what he has -worked out for himself; and a crib used intelligently provides just -enough struggle to impinge the result of the effort on the memory. And -the wise do use a crib intelligently. They not only want to know their -'con' for the next day: they also wish to be able to remember it for the -examination. They, therefore, read a sentence over first in the -original. Some one wonders what a certain word means. The word is looked -up. Then a shot is made at the sense, not a very serious shot perhaps, -and speedy reference is made to the crib. The English is read out loud. -'Now, how does he get that out of it?' some one asks. There is a minute -of tussle and explanation--then all is clear. And the next sentence is -read out loud. - -That is the way to use a crib. And if one has worked out for oneself, -even if it be with the aid of a crib, the meaning of a long passage of -Virgil, one remembers that passage. I have forgotten now nearly all my -Greek and Latin, but I can still read currently and with pleasure the -Eclogues, for which I used a crib. Whereas the memory of other books, -through which I struggled honestly, but less successfully, has faded -altogether. For the average member of the Sixth I believe the -intelligent use of a crib is to be recommended. A greater number of -lines could be prepared at one time, and there would be leisure for -acquiring that knowledge that comes to us indirectly from the classics. -Plato is a window through which we see the gymnasiums of Ancient Greece. -But it will be shuttered for those to whom the struggle is ever with -correct rendering and syntax. - -The real scholar, whose life will be spent largely with the classics, -must avoid short cuts; he should glory in difficulties that will quicken -his wits: he has his whole life before him. He does not have to pass, as -the rest of us do, swiftly into a world of politics and business. And, -indeed, the real scholar realises this. I can recall few instances in -which a boy with a really fine brain has deadened his perceptions by the -use of translations. The scholar, when he reaches the Sixth, and is no -longer forced to write the proses and prepare the translations of his -less clever comrades, prefers to work alone, if not in the company of -boys who are equally brilliant. - -But the real scholar is the exception. This book is written for, and -about, the average schoolboy. I know that in the matter of cribbing I -am pleading a lost cause. Cribbing will always, of course, be a -forbidden thing; therein lies its charm. But it is important that master -and parents should realise in what light these questions appear to the -boy. A boy is frequently misunderstood. He is accused of dishonesty. He -resents the accusation, but he is unable to explain why his offence does -not deserve so stern a label. He is tempted to lose heart, to console -himself with the reflection that 'they don't understand,' and so further -estrange himself from sympathy and mutual understanding. The boy stands -before the house master and lets the wind of words flow over him. What -use is it for him to attempt an explanation. If he argues his punishment -will be increased. It is better to assume contrition; to say, 'Yes, sir, -I hadn't seen it in that light before,' and to be more clever another -time. It would be far more just were the master to regard cribbing as a -boy regards it: as a game, to be punished effectively when discovered, -but not to be associated with the welfare of the human spirit. - -If school authorities wish, however, to find a lasting cure they have in -their own hands the remedy. They will not achieve their ends through -increased vigilance; that will only make the boy more clever. They -should make work more interesting. There is little cribbing in form -where boys are interested in what they are learning. Boys are not -anxious to learn what a master is not anxious to teach. Laziness begets -laziness, and cribbing is a form of laziness. - -Systematic cribbing will not disappear till popular opinion regards as -important success or failure in the class-room. Success at games is -considered important; games are, in consequence played fairly. But, as -popular opinion sets no value on school work, it does not seem to matter -much what happens in school hours. Success in form needs to be brought -into some sort of relationship with success at football. Athletic -prowess will always, naturally, and perhaps rightly, be rated more -highly than intellectual achievement. But that is no reason why -intellectual achievement should be disparaged in the case of all save -the brilliant few whose feats are received with a mild enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst we used to have weekly examinations, and, as far as I -remember, there was no cribbing at all in these exams. To a certain -extent promotion depended on one's performance in them, and each G. C. -was anxious to work out the problems for himself so as to be able to -judge how much, or how little, progress he had made. This did not mean -that we were more interested in topography than late cuts, but that we -realised that, at this stage of our career proficiency in topography -would be of service to us. I believe that a similar state of affairs -would exist at a Public School were the social values to be readjusted. - -Cribbing, like so much else in public school life, is a side-shoot of -athleticism. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -MORALITY AND THE ROMANTIC FRIENDSHIP - - -It is at this period, also, of a boy's development that the moral -question assumes a definite significance. There is no phase of school -life that is more generally misunderstood and misrepresented, and there -is no phase that a writer tackles with greater misgiving and -disinclination. He is confronted with the barricaded prejudices of a -vested interest, with the tremulous ignorance of mothers who seek to be -deceived, with the conspiracy of silence that exists between boys, -parents, and masters, and, last of all, with the wilful jealousy of the -yellow press that is only too ready to decry the value of what it is -pleased to call the 'trades union of snobbery.' There are times, indeed, -when it seems better to acquiesce in that conspiracy of silence rather -than to give those speculators in contention another opportunity of -mud-slinging. There are times when it seems hopeless to attempt to -explain the nature of public school morality to those who have not -themselves been to a Public School. It is like looking at a -stained-glass window from the outside. One reminds oneself that for many -years, without, perhaps, any very disastrous results, we have muddled -along in contented ignorance and self-deceit. Why not leave things -where they are? Why stir up trouble? And yet the moral question is such -an essential part of school life, it exercises such an influence on the -development of the boy; indirectly it colours so considerably the -attitude of the master to every other phase of school life, that it is -impossible to omit all reference to it in a detailed study such as this, -and, if it is impossible to avoid mention of it, it is fatal to content -oneself, as one may very well do in a novel, with stray suggestions and -inferences. - -A novel is an abstraction. One compresses into a few pages the action of -several years, so that one has to suggest rather than to state. One can -withhold one's own opinion, one is under no compunction to generalise -from the incidents one selects. One is telling a story or interpreting a -personality. Only rarely is one constructing a thesis. In a novel it is -not difficult to deal with the moral question. Most good school stories -have touched more or less indirectly on some side of it. Ivor Brown and -Compton Mackenzie have both dealt subtly with an intricate relationship. -Hugh Walpole, if less originally, faced the same situation more -courageously, while Arnold Lunn in _Loose Ends_ has interpreted the boy -as opposed to the official attitude to this issue with extreme -effectiveness. The novelist is constrained to discuss only that part of -the question that affects the action of the story. That is one of the -great charms of story-telling: one can touch lightly without need of -explanation on the most delicate situations. One can say only as much -as one wants to say, and say it, what is more, obliquely. In a book such -as this, however, one must deal with the subject thoroughly if at all. -One must tackle every side of it. One is bound to follow one's thought -through to the end. And that is a thing that no one cares to do in -public. It was said of a certain intrepid Rugby player that he had not -the brains to be afraid. It is certainly true that many soldiers lost -their nerve after they had been once wounded, and that few soldiers were -really frightened till they had seen what a shell could do; it may well -be that at twenty-three one has not sufficient experience of the world -to realise what risks one runs through honesty. - -The first difficulty, especially for those who, without having been to a -Public School themselves, are the fathers of present or prospective -public school boys, is to start investigations with a clear mind. This -feat the majority never manage to accomplish. For the moral question in -schools is concerned with the relationship of two members of the same -sex. Now such a relationship is counted in the world at large an -unmentionable and unforgivable sin. It is regarded with horror by the -average man. It is a penal offence. The man who enters into such a -relationship is abnormal, and, as such, is considered a menace to -society. But the same standards are not applicable to school life. - -A man was intended by nature to marry at eighteen. The average villager, -clerk, pit-boy, work-boy begins 'walking out' with a girl at the age of -fifteen or sixteen; the public school boy has no such opportunities of -courtship. Three hundred boys are spending three-quarters of their lives -in a monastic world; from the beginning of the term to the end the only -women to whom they have the opportunity of speaking are the matron and -the house master's wife. They have never any chances of seeing girls of -their own class and of their own age. At a particularly susceptible -period, therefore, they have no natural object for their affections. The -youngest boys are only thirteen, the eldest are between eighteen or -nineteen. - -In such circumstances it would be surprising if there were no -uncomfortable complications. The public school system is, in this -respect, unnatural; one must expect unnatural results. The trouble is to -discover what those results are. For, although people speak glibly -enough of immorality in Public Schools, it is extremely doubtful whether -they realise of what exactly that immorality consists. - -It is a convenient phrase, but beyond it there is the conspiracy of -silence. Schoolmasters prefer to deal with straight issues. They dislike -the subtleties of action and character which are of such charm to the -psychologist. They like to say, 'This is an offence.' Finer shades of -meaning trouble them. At least that is their official attitude. And so -it has come to be generally accepted that public school morality -resolves itself into one main issue: that is, the corruption of a small -boy by a big one. To protect the new boy from this danger elaborate -precautions are taken. It is on this point that a boy is given advice -before he goes to school. He is warned never to make friends with boys -bigger than himself; it is against this danger that the majority of -school sermons are directed. And, of course, this is a very convenient -attitude for the schoolmaster to adopt. The offence is obviously so -grave that there can be no cause to withhold complete official -condemnation; it is also so rare that the head master is able to assure -prospective parents of the excellent tone of the school. For I am -convinced that the deliberate seduction of a smaller boy is an extremely -rare occurrence. There are, of course, certain houses--probably there is -one at every school--in which a good-looking boy stands very little -chance of remaining straight. But I have not been in such a house and I -can speak with no authority. I have heard, certainly, some astonishing -stories of what can be tolerated in a really bad house; but, second-hand -reports, especially on such matters, can only be accepted with reserve. -Certainly in the average house cases of corruption are very rare. Few -boys have the nerve, the assurance, or the adroitness to attempt such a -task. A man of twenty-five will set out deliberately to seduce a -housemaid, but the schoolboy in such matters is a novice. If a senior -boy is casually attracted by the appearance of a smaller boy, he asks a -friend lower down in the house to make inquiries as to the morals of the -small boy. If the 'go-between' discovers that the small boy is -'straight,' the elder boy lets the matter fall from his mind. There are -others who are not. If, on the other hand, the attraction is more than -casual, the chances of seduction are even more remote. It is unlikely -that the affection will be reciprocated. And, if a boy is really fond of -another boy, the last thing he would wish would be to subject his friend -to unwelcome advances. When a boy first falls in love with a girl the -thought of sexual intimacy is, often, unattractive. It is only when his -love is returned that he really desires it. It is fatal to confuse the -processes of life at large with the processes of life in a monastic -system. Because young men seduce young women with regrettable frequency, -it is assumed that much the same sort of thing is happening at a Public -School. And, parents believing this, are reassured; they are certain -that their dear child when young will be strong enough to resist the -passive temptation; they are equally certain that their dear child when -nearly a man would not, for one moment, consider the possibility of -active sin. And this amiable delusion schoolmasters encourage. It saves -them a lot of trouble. They say one thing in public and another in -private. But the Jekyll and Hyde business breeds confusion. They forget -what they should believe and what they should not believe. They are -agreed only on this: that any attempt at criticism, at explanation, at -interpretation shall be counteracted with a concerted unanimity of -opinion. They will deny hotly the prevalence of any such practices, -they will make slighting references to the bad house in the bad school. -They will complete their defence by asserting that for what faults there -are the parents are alone responsible in that they had not sufficiently -warned their sons of the evils of a Public School--evils, be it noted, -that they had previously assured the parent did not exist outside the -perverted imagination of the critic. And yet it is amazing what these -same apologists will be prepared to believe about any institution other -than their own. - -Six years ago Sandhurst had an extremely bad name. Every kind of debauch -was rumoured to flourish there. Sobriety was only more unpopular than -purity. The G. C.'s secreted whisky beneath their beds, and actresses -within them. The glittering temptations of St Anthony allured the unwary -in the tea-shops of Camberley. And I remember being shown, before I went -there, a letter that had been sent to the parents of a prospective cadet -by his head master. 'I hope,' the letter ran, 'that Arthur is aware of -the temptations to which he will be subjected. Concupiscence seems to be -the chief topic of conversation and the sole Sunday afternoon amusement -of the cadets.' It all sounded fearfully exciting. But it proved very -tame. Indeed I am inclined to think that, on the whole, fewer -temptations presented themselves to me during the eight months I spent -at Sandhurst than during any other period of my time in the army. A -fellow could do what he liked. No pressure was put on him to drink or -gamble, or pursue loose women. He was none the less respected for being -straight, nor the more admired for being crooked. A community such as -this which exerts pressure on the individual in neither direction, I -should be prepared to call as moral as any that is likely to be found -this side of heaven, yet this head master, who would, no doubt, -repudiate hotly the least suggestion that immorality in his own school -was anything but a spasmodic and occasional phenomenon, was ready to -believe that Sandhurst was a cesspool of all the vices that flourished -so gracefully in the days of Petronius Arbiter. In our investigations we -are not likely to be helped far by schoolmasters. They are constrained -by the laws of exchange and mart to vindicate the quality of their -wares. - -It is generally assumed for the purposes of dialectic that there are two -classes of persons: the normal and the abnormal, and that all normal -people follow the same process of development from birth to death. To -disprove this Havelock Ellis collected at the end of certain volumes of -his psychology authenticated histories of men whose development he -claimed to be normal, but whose histories were as different from one -another as apples are from plums. In the face of such evidence it is -dangerous to dogmatise on the gradual discovery of the sexual impulse by -public school boys during adolescence. The most one can say is that the -majority of them come to a Public School innocent and ignorant, and -that they leave it certainly not ignorant and with a relative degree of -innocence. This at least is sure--that between the years of thirteen and -nineteen the impulse will have become powerfully defined and that each -boy will have had to come to terms with its direction and control. - -Now the important point seems to me to be this: the sexual impulse is a -force on the proper direction of which depends, to a large extent, the -happiness of a man's life; and marriage is the course into which it -should be directed. No one, I think, will deny that. We may talk of the -liberation of the sexes, of greater facilities for divorce, of the right -of each man and woman to repair a mistake caused by the first surprise -of a newly-awakened instinct; but there can be no questioning the -assertion that monogamy is the ideal, and that while nothing can be more -wretched than an ill-harmonised relationship, in the lifelong devotion -of man and woman is to be found the surest happiness. That is the -standard by which public school morality should be judged. But it is not -the standard by which it is officially, and indeed generally, judged. A -Public School is only a phase, a prelude in the sexual development of a -man. Head masters are inclined to mistake it for the completed rhythm. - -In the same way that the head master of a Preparatory School specially -coaches a boy for a scholarship, not realising that what for him is the -whole race is for the boy but a first lap, so the head master of a -Public School regards the preservation of innocence between the years of -13 and 19 as the entire battle. As far as I can make out this attitude -is adopted by nearly every unscientific writer on the subject. - -If the matter ended there it would, of course, be simple. Rigid -policemanship and supervision and a system of spies would probably be -effective. They might stamp out impurity to a large extent; they would -also destroy the discipline of independence, of trust and of authority -that one learns at a Public School. The matter is far less simple. The -public school system is unnatural. Through unnatural channels, -therefore, a natural impulse has to flow into a natural course. - -Let us see, more or less, what happens. - -We have assumed that an ignorant and innocent boy arrives at his Public -School at the age of thirteen, and, to simplify the matter further, we -will assume that the boy is not particularly good-looking, and is not, -therefore, likely to win the patronage of his seniors. For the first -weeks everything is so strange that he lives in a world of his own -fashioning. Later on, as he begins to enter the life of the school, he -is puzzled by references to an offence the nature of which he does not -understand. He hears some one described as being 'smutty.' He does not -in any way connect this with the elaborate address that was delivered to -him on the last day at his prep. Indeed I knew of a new boy who informed -his parents on a postcard that a rather decent chap in his house had -been nearly sacked for 'smut.' 'Is this,' he asked, 'anything serious?' -He received in reply a reassuring letter telling him that he need not -worry about such things just yet. - -It is the fashion nowadays to demand open discussion of all subjects; -there must be no secrets. Parents are told that they are guilty of -criminal negligence if they do not instruct their sons and daughters in -the physiology of sex. And, no doubt, it will be maintained that at this -point the father should have written his son a long letter explaining to -him the nature of the temptation to which he would be exposed. That is -the fashion nowadays. No doubt the Victorians suffered from an excessive -reserve. We have gone to the other extreme. We are trying to reduce love -to an exact science. - -On the whole, I suppose that the instruction of children by parents -depends entirely on the individual case. But at such a time it would be -very easy for the parents to become embarrassed and lose the boy's -sympathy. The number of boys who learn from their parents more than a -vague idea of motherhood is probably small. And at a Public School it is -the physiology of fatherhood that occupies the boy's attention. - -We are given to understand that in the first place a boy must be -corrupted by another boy. But this is not generally the case. A boy -usually manages to corrupt himself. He has overheard the conversation of -older boys, he has discussed different problems with his companions; -the atmosphere of school life with its continual references to -immorality in sermons and addresses, have made him precociously curious. -He evolves for himself the practice of private immorality. - -A boy's knowledge of sex necessarily is very fragmentary, and on many -points he is actually misinformed. He has a preposterous idea, for -instance, of the effects that this habit will have upon his health. -Syphilis is not more dangerous. His hair will drop out, he will go -blind, his brain will soften. Probably he will go mad. Numerical -considerations mean nothing to him: once a thief always a thief. The -idea of restrained disorder does not occur to him. He suffers from the -misery of an incommunicable grief. He is apart from his fellows. If he -told them his secret, he thinks that they would despise him. He becomes -morbidly introspective. He makes vows to break himself of the habit, -fails, and despises himself. He begins to search for the symptoms of his -approaching physical and intellectual collapse. If he makes a duck at -cricket, misses a catch in a house game, or fails badly in his -repetition, he tells himself that the process has begun. There are times -when he wants to steal away by himself like an animal that is sick. -There are others in which he wishes at all costs to mix with his -companions, to take part in any rag that is afoot; to this cause can be -invariably attributed the mingled rowdyism and moodiness of certain -boys. The idea that such practices are physically injurious is -encouraged by the master. It appears to him the most sure preventative. -There are, indeed, occasions when masters are so misinformed that they -actually believe in these terrible vengeances of the body. For -schoolmasters who, of all people, ought to know most of hygiene and -physiology, are, for the most part, woefully ignorant of them. It would -be indeed interesting to discover what percentage of public school house -masters have read any serious medical writing. They are only too willing -to believe that such habits have the disastrous results they prophesy. -And of course it has not, unless it is practised to excess and unless -the subject is particularly feeble. It is foolish to throw lighted -matches about the place, but the habit only becomes dangerous when the -matches are flung on inflammable material. - -It so happens that the greater part of active immorality in schools -takes place between boys of fifteen and sixteen; not, as is more -frequently imagined, between junior and senior boys. Such relationships -are usually of brief duration. They pass with the dawn of the romantic -friendship. And it is here that I feel most acutely the difficulty of my -task. It is almost impossible to explain to some one who has not been to -a Public School the nature of one of these romantic friendships. In a -book called _Pleasure_ I published a story dealing with such a -friendship. The majority of old public school boys who read it seemed to -like it. But none of the men who had not been to a Public School could -make head or tail of it. They told me in their reviews of it that it -was absurd, mawkish, and unhealthy. It may be so. It may be that I wrote -the story badly. I can only repeat that old public school boys liked it. -And indeed it is a difficult thing to explain. For what is a romantic -friendship but the falling in love of one boy with another. Such a -relationship seems preposterous. I can only repeat that the public -school system is unnatural, and that one must expect unnatural results -from it. What, after all, is to be expected? - -A boy of seventeen is passing through a highly romantic period. His -emotions are searching for a focus. He is filled with wild, impossible -loyalties. He longs to surrender himself to some lost cause. He hungers -for adventures. On occasions he even goes so far as to express himself -in verse, an indiscretion that he will never subsequently commit. And -what focus does a Public School provide for this eager emotionalism? -There are the fierce contests of the football field, but they are, when -all is said and done, the business of life, the cause for his existence. -They are an enthusiasm he shares with three hundred others. He longs for -something more intimate, more personal; he is, in fact, in love with -love; he does not see a girl of his own age, of his own class, from one -end of the term to the other; it is in human nature to accept the second -best. - -In this environment there is nothing unnatural about the attraction -exercised by a small boy over an elder one. A small boy is the nearest -approach possible to the feminine ideal. Indeed a small boy at a Public -School has many of the characteristics that a man would hope and expect -to find in a woman. He is small, weak, and stands in need of protection. -He is remote as a woman is, in that he moves in a different circle of -school life, with different friends, different troubles, different -ambitions. He is an undiscovered country. The emotion experienced is -genuine, and usually takes the elder boy by surprise. In a man's love -for a woman there is often a degree of premeditation. A man looks at a -woman and wonders if he could ever come to fall in love with her. As he -walks homewards from her drawing-room he asks himself whether or not he -is in love with her. He analyses his emotions; very often he persuades -himself he is in love with her when in reality he is not. Either way he -is prepared. - -But the schoolboy is taken off his guard. He has not realised it is -possible that he should fall in love with another boy. He has no -previous experience which will enable him to recognise the symptoms. He -has heard older boys spoken of as being 'keen' on some one or other, but -he has associated such an assertion with the references in sermons to -the corruption of a young mind. He does not, therefore, know what is -happening when he finds himself becoming increasingly interested in some -quite small boy. He has noticed him playing a plucky game on the Lower -and has congratulated him. They have happened to meet on the way up from -hall and have walked across together to the studies. They have smiled -when they passed each other as they changed from one class-room to -another in break. The elder boy is surprised: he is still more surprised -when he finds himself frequently walking into the smaller boy's study on -no very necessary errand, to borrow a book he does not want or to return -a book he has not borrowed; and that he should stop there to talk for an -indefinite period. The day on which he has not seen or spoken to his -small friend is empty for him. He does not understand his increasing -wish for the company of an admittedly inferior person. But it is all -very delightful. He is desperately anxious to appear in his best light. -He makes strenuous, and often successful, efforts to abandon certain -habits he had contracted. He may even work harder in form, and certainly -he will make superhuman efforts on the football field, feeling that -success will render him more attractive. He wonders what the small boy -thinks of him, and persuades one whose social position lies midway -between the two of them to make inquiries. The growing intimacy is a -rich enchantment. He becomes curious, and, in a way, jealous of the life -that his friend is leading; their standards, their environment, their -friends are so different. He knows instinctively that one has more in -common with one's contemporaries than with those who lie outside the -circle of one's immediate interests, and this knowledge distresses him. -There are times when he feels intensely miserable, others when he feels -radiantly happy. At any rate he is living more intensely and less -selfishly than he did before. He is on a distinctly higher plane of -emotional tension. - -Indeed in its beginnings such a friendship is certainly good for the -elder boy and probably for the younger one; at any rate there is the -comfortable knowledge that he has an elder friend to whom he can turn -for sympathy and advice; and he is protected thus from many of the -dangers to which his good looks might otherwise expose him. The -environment of school life does not allow, however, the friendship to -retain its first freshness. It becomes conscious of itself. It is -noticed by other members of the house: 'Hallo, Jones,' they say, 'seen -anything of Morrison this morning?' Jones, being the elder, is -embarrassed by what seems to him an accusation of weakness. Morrison is -flattered to think that others have recognised and perhaps envied the -patronage. Jones begins to make inquiries of his friends, and a series -of confidences convinces him that he has reached the condition of being -'keen' on Morrison. This conviction places his friendship on an entirely -different and, to a certain extent, official basis. If he had been left -alone it is not improbable that he would have made no such discovery. As -Morrison would never have more than liked him, his feeling for the -smaller boy would not have become defined. Their friendship would have -remained in the strictest sense of the word, platonic. But so frail a -flower could not hope to flourish for long in the rigid atmosphere of a -Public School. Everything in a Public School has to conform to type; -there are rules for the proper ordering of every situation. Friendship, -like personality, has to pass through the mint. - -In order to follow the technique of such relationships, the official -point of view towards them has to be understood. The house master on -this point finds himself in extreme difficulty. And, indeed, there is no -point on which schoolmasters as a whole waver quite so much. They -realise, for the most part, that it is natural, if unfortunate, for boys -to feel like this. At the same time they have to discountenance such -friendships. Where actual misconduct is concerned, they think themselves -to be on safe ground. And, as they believe that immorality in schools -consists in the main of the corruption of small boys by big boys, they -are able to speak with unrestrained violence against the majority of -such friendships. They adjure their prefects to suppress at once the -least sign of intimacy between a small and a big boy. They, themselves, -watch carefully to see whether any of their seniors are evincing an -interest in members of the day room. Every one in a school knows that a -friendship between two boys of different positions will be viewed -seriously by authority. A boy is given to understand that the romantic -emotion he feels for a smaller boy is an emotion that is unworthy of him -and of its object, and should consequently be suppressed. Such teaching -is absolutely wrong. The emotions that a boy has for a smaller boy are -as natural as those that he would feel for a girl were he not restrained -by an unnatural system. It is wrong to make a boy say to himself: 'I -ought not to feel like this.' Such teaching is responsible for many of -the mistakes that a boy will make when he becomes a man; it arbitrarily -defines the form which the romantic friendship takes. - -A boy is surprised by a new, delightful, interesting emotion. He feels -strangely happy. Under its inspiration he works better and plays his -games harder. He is told it is wrong to feel as he is feeling. But that -he cannot believe. The emotions that are condemned in the pulpit and in -confirmation addresses must in their essentials be different from those -that he is feeling. That must be lust, the mere desire for sensation. -This, on the other hand, is love. And so the public school boy of -sixteen makes the discovery that love is in its highest form unphysical. -The truth of this intuition is established for him by public opinion and -by the course of his own experience. - -The slightest suggestion of indecent conduct between the big and the -small boy is regarded by boys as well as masters as the unforgivable -offence. - -It is hard to know exactly how important a part these friendships play -in the life of a boy. It has often been said that the novelist falsifies -life by writing too much about love, that except at certain periods of a -man's life love occupies only a small part of his attention; he is -caught up by other interests. This argument, however, is no sounder than -the objection raised by an old lady against the number of nudes -displayed at the Paris Salon. 'It's so absurd,' she said, 'one-half of -these portraits are nudes, and think how small a part of our life we -spend without any clothes on.' A beautiful woman is most beautiful when -she is naked, and a man's life is most interesting when he is in love. -The condensation and indeed the actual elimination of whole periods must -in a novel always falsify life for those who demand a direct -transcription of it. If you were to record one average day of a man's -life on gramophone and cinema and exhibit the result at the Alhambra you -would empty the theatre in an hour. A story-teller recounts only what is -of interest. He is a good or a bad story-teller according to the degree -of his ability to discern what is, and what is not, of interest. He -merely indicates the passage of the unimportant. - -The man, therefore, who draws direct conclusions from a school story, -would imagine that a schoolboy spends his entire time in form ragging -masters, and, when not ragging, in cribbing, and that the rest of his -time is divided between the fierce rivalries of the football field and -the intrigues of romantic friendships. Such, it is needless to say, is -not the case. The story-teller has only written of what seemed to him to -be of interest. He has omitted, and he has expected his reader to -realise out of his own experience that he has omitted, the long, -tedious hours of good behaviour, the ordered harmony of routine. - -The romantic friendship has a modest place in the schoolboy's scale of -values, but its nature is curious enough. It has the great charm of the -forbidden. It is mixed with fear. Even after the first interest has -waned, its setting makes it a delightful toy that no one would willingly -throw away. It is the flavouring to the routine. There is usually a 'go -between' who carries messages from one to the other. And the glance -across a table stating that the intermediary has something of interest -to disclose is one of the exciting moments of the day, as exciting as -the post is to a recluse or the arrival of rations to a soldier. There -are jealousies and intrigues. There is the interchange of notes--the joy -of a secret. There are carefully arranged appointments. On Sundays there -will be meetings in some prearranged point outside the town, at which -each will arrive by a different route, and they will sit in a wood and -talk till the afternoon has waned and the chiming of the abbey clock -warns them that roll-call is imminent. It is not surprising that such an -adventure should appeal irresistibly to a schoolboy. When such a -friendship is ended either by the appearance of a rival, or more -frequently through the inclination of the smaller boy, who has risen in -the school and feels that such a position is beneath his dignity, the -elder boy feels an immense gap in his life. The immediate sense of -anticipation has gone. There is nothing particular to which he may look -forward. He is bored. Often he drifts into such another friendship out -of loneliness. - -Authority adopts towards these friendships a wavering attitude. It -realises that such a friendship does not necessarily imply the least -indecency, that it often, on the other hand, has a very salubrious -effect on the elder boy, but it still is vividly aware of the danger. -Suppose something went wrong; suppose there was a grave scandal, on -whose shoulders would the responsibility rest. We can well imagine a -resentful father asking a head master why, if he was aware of the -existence of such a friendship, he did not take immediate steps to stop -it. 'You knew about this,' he would say, 'while my son was still -innocent: why did you not protect him? Why should you knowingly subject -him to such a risk?' The head master has always to be thinking of what a -boy's parents will say. - -It is difficult for him to work on the plan of 'circumstances alter -cases.' He would thus lay himself open to the accusation of favouritism. -'You didn't stop Cartright and Evans, sir,' is a weapon for which a -master has no shield. There is usually a compromise.[5] - -The attitude of authority is one of nervous hesitance. The schoolboy, -as in all other cases, evolves his own standards from his own life. It -remains to be seen what are the actual effects on the partners in a -relationship that must have a large influence on their subsequent -development. - -The first objection raised by authority is that it is very bad for a -small boy to be petted and treated like a girl. And such is an undoubted -fact. The small boy who is taken up by a 'blood' makes a very good thing -out of it. He gets first-hand information on a number of disputed -points. He knows two or three hours before any one else in the day room -who is going to be given his house cap and who his seconds. He has a -position among his contemporaries. Favours are sought through him. His -friends get leave off house runs and are allowed to watch First Eleven -matches when others have to attend pick ups. He is immune from the -assaults of the swash-bucklers, for no one would willingly run the risk -of making himself unpopular with the bloods. He gets his 'con' done for -him, and, after football, he will sit in front of a warm study fire. He -has many privileges, and, of course, it is very bad for him. - -How far the effects last into manhood I cannot say with any degree of -certainty. I am inclined to think that they pass more quickly than is -popularly imagined. But the small boy who is taken up by his seniors -gets very little out of his schooldays. If he gets taken up by a 'blood' -he has a fairly good time while that blood is still at school. But it is -by no means certain that he will be taken up by a blood, and he may very -likely find himself an object of fierce jealousy between two fellows in -the Middle School, both of whom he likes, but for neither of whom he -feels any strong attachment. Neither of them is sufficiently important -to claim a monopoly. Between them they contrive to make his life -wretched for him. They worry him with notes and with pleas for an -appointment. Each tries to persuade him to have nothing to do with the -other. The whole of his spare time is divided between them. And the -small boy who is unable to see why he should not choose what friends he -likes, grows more and more impatient. At the end of a term's wrangling -he decides to speak to neither of them again. - -But the life even of the favoured-of-the-mighty has its disadvantages. -The hours that he spends in the day room are numbered, so that he makes -few friends among his contemporaries. The majority of them dislike him; -nearly all of them are jealous and distrust him. They are afraid to say -things in his presence for fear that they will be repeated. His only -friends are those who hope to be able to gain some advantages from him. -His life is made none too comfortable in the dormitory. He is accepted -as being in a higher social position than the rest of the room, which -is, of course, flattering to his pride; but it is not nice when every -occupant of the room only speaks when he is spoken to. He feels himself -apart. The evenings in the dormitory which, with their sing-songs, their -football matches, and long talks, provide such delightful material for -reminiscence, are for him cheerless. It cannot be too often repeated -that the biggest mistake a boy can make at a Public School is to form -friendships outside the circle of his contemporaries. - -The good-looking boy makes friends so easily among his seniors, and the -successful athlete can, if he wants, after a year or two choose his -friends among boys who have been at school a couple of years longer than -he has. It is very exciting for a boy to feel that he is outstripping -his contemporaries, to be able to nod to fellows in the Fifteen and -Eleven, but, in the long run, it does not pay. The big man leaves, and -the social aspirant is left stranded. I have seen it happen so many -times. One term a boy seems to be surrounded with friends. His life is a -continual course of tea parties and suppers. An arm always lies through -his as he walks down to the field, or to the tuck shop. And then, -suddenly, a generation passes; he is left an anachronism without his -friends. His contemporaries do not welcome him. They have made their own -friends. If he has reached his prominence as an athlete he will be able -to make friends in other houses, and, before long, in his own house. To -the athlete everything is forgiven. But the boy who has become the -associate of bloods not through any quality of his own, but merely -because he is good-looking, never makes friends with his contemporaries. -They have been jealous of him and have distrusted him a long time. There -was a time when they longed for the big boy to go, so that they could -'jolly well boot the little swine.' But members of the Sixth Form table -consider it beneath their dignity to indulge emotions that are the -exclusive property of fags. They remain coldly distant. It may be that -for the favoured small boy these years of loneliness adjust the balance -and teach him those lessons of fortitude and independence that he should -have learnt in the day room. But it is an unhappy time. He can hardly -look back on his schooldays without regret. He would wish things had -turned out otherwise. And it is not thus that we should look back on our -schooldays. Certainly I could wish nothing worse for any friend of mine -than to be taken up as a small boy. - -There remains to be considered the effect that such friendships have on -the elder boy. And it is generally conceded that though they may on -occasions do harm to the smaller boy, they usually prove of benefit to -the elder boy. Authority confines its objection to the secrecy that is -involved. An eyebrow is raised at the interchange of notes and the -carefully arranged Sunday afternoon walks. 'This is bad, this is bad,' -says Authority. 'There would be no need for all this secrecy if the -thing were honest and straightforward. They are both ashamed of -themselves really. They wish to hide the thing away from their masters -and their comrades. It is a bad thing for a boy, the harbouring of a -secret. It will prey upon his mind. He will be forced to lie within -himself. He will be unable to look us squarely in the face. He will -never be free from worry.' Now all this about the subtle poison of a -secret life is very true (though it is a fact seldom taken into account -in the question of self abuse), but it is not at all applicable to the -romantic friendship. The secret is an open secret. Neither party is -ashamed of it. And the pretence of a secret is little more than part of -a delightful game. A child in a nursery lays a deck chair on the blue -carpet and imagines he is sailing the high seas in a schooner, while -with a poker to his shoulder he shoots an albatross for breakfast. -Twelve years later he signs notes with a false name, rolls them into a -pellet, conveys them to a messenger and imagines he is a diplomat. The -sending of notes is nothing but a game. Otherwise no one would write -them, carry them, nor read them: for they are most unnecessary, and most -dangerous. People will drop them in the cloisters, or put them in their -waistcoat pockets and then leave their waistcoats in the matron's room -to have a button sewn on them. The writing of notes has upset more -careers than the rustling of silk or the creaking of shoes. And yet -they will always be written, for they are a prelude to adventure. - -Moreover, a certain measure of secrecy is prudent. If you have stolen a -man's greatcoat you do not call at his house next day wearing it; and -the schoolboy sees no reason why he should parade his affection before -his head master's study window. Only the ass courts trouble. Prefects -who are well aware of the existence of such a friendship do not wish to -have their attention called to it officially. There are things they -prefer not to notice. If a member of the Eleven and a new boy started -out together for a walk under the shade of the school buildings the -heads of their houses would reluctantly feel themselves forced to take -some sort of action. They would be extremely annoyed with the school -slow bowler for his lack of tact. A prefect is usually on the side of -the house. - -Masters, however, are pleased to imagine that a pact has been signed -between the schoolboy and themselves which binds the schoolboy to -confess to any fault he may have committed, and to answer any leading -questions that may be put to him. The schoolboy does not look on things -in this light. He knows that there is no such agreement. There are -certain things he wants to do, the doing of which, if known, will render -him liable to punishment. When the wish to do these overrides the fear -of punishment he takes all reasonable precautions to avoid detection, -and proceeds to break the inconvenient rule. It is up to the master to -find him out. If the master came down to the dining-hall one evening -and said: 'Now, look here, there have been complaints that some fellows, -I don't say you, but fellows in the school, have been getting out at -night and going down to the Eversham Arms. If any one of you here has -been getting out at night, I want him to come to my study afterwards and -tell me.' If a house master were to do that, the guilty one would not -feel himself under the least compunction to own up. He has run a big -risk in getting out of the boothole window at half-past eleven. It was -up to the master to catch him then. - -If a form master were to call a member of his form aside and say to him: -'Jones, last term you were bottom of the form; this term you have -reached single figures. Last term you had to write me a hundred lines -nearly every time I put you on to construe; this term you have not -failed once. I cannot understand it. Are you working honestly?' Jones -would reply: 'Yes, sir.' He would not feel that he was telling a lie. He -would feel, on the other hand, that his form master had taken an unfair -advantage of him in putting him a leading question. No one thinks a -murderer lies because he says, 'Not guilty, my lord.' It is the law of -England that the Crown has to prove the defendant guilty. A schoolboy -considers himself entitled to the same rights as the murderer and the -thief. A master has to find him out. And it is quite absurd to say that -a boy's soul is going to suffer because of the secrecy he imposes on -himself in the course of a romantic friendship. There are a lot of -things that a boy is not anxious that his house master should know, and -of which no one could expect him to be ashamed. To smuggle into the -dormitory a chicken, a loaf of bread, and a pound of cheese in -preparation for a midnight feast is a natural and, according to one's -point of view, a worthy act; but it is not a performance the success of -which one would be in a hurry to confide in one's house master. When a -schoolboy deceives a master he does not feel he is deceiving an -individual, but an impersonal body. In the same way do we call the -grocer's attention to the omission of a pound of butter on our weekly -books, but skilfully conceal from the income-tax assessor a number of -interesting facts. A lie is hardly a lie if the person telling it does -not consider it so. We may dismiss altogether the assertion that -romantic friendships are bad because they entail secrecy. - -If, then, the objection of secrecy is to be discounted, it would at -first sight appear that for the elder boy these friendships are, on the -whole, good things. The emotion experienced is a noble one; it is -unselfish, it makes considerable demands on the patience and -self-control of the subject; it encourages the bigger boy to work hard -and play his games harder; it protects him from many of the dangers of -school life, and yet I believe that its results are, in the long run, -more serious for the elder than for the younger boy. - -It is the worst possible prelude to the sexual life of a man. It sends -a boy into the world with an entirely false view of the normal sexual -relations of men and women; it is a hindrance to him in marriage. A boy -of sixteen experiences for a younger boy the emotion that he would -naturally at such a period feel for a girl of his own age. He is -surprised into a new relationship, and he is told that the relationship -can only remain worthy of him as long as it remains platonic. Sexual -emotion is, he is given to understand, unclean. During adolescence he -will be subjected to a force that he must, at all costs, resist. That is -the official attitude, and it is the attitude of nearly every -unscientific writer on the subject. A schoolmaster considers the moral -question from the point of view of the policeman. 'Here,' he says, 'is -something that must be suppressed.' Various writers suggest various -remedies. The popular idea is to sublimate the passions, to provide -another focus. Schoolmasters usually select the focus that is most near -to the boy's interests: namely, athletics. They encourage the athletic -worship, because a boy who really wishes to excel in this will not run -the risk of losing his proficiency by weakening practices. This panacea -has not worked too well, and the band of earnest idealists has begun to -clamour for a more spiritual focus: poetry, art, religion. Which is all -very jolly, but gets us no nearer to solving the main problem of how a -natural force is to be directed through an unnatural channel into a -natural one. It is no sort of use to place a lump of granite in front -of the unnatural channel and say: 'This is forbidden.' The stream will -only select another course, and very likely one that will not lead it to -the natural waters. - -It is, I admit, an extremely difficult question, but that does not alter -the fact that it is being treated in an entirely wrong manner. The boy -is told that sexual emotion is wrong; he assumes, therefore, that love -to be truly love must be sexless. He draws fine distinctions between -love and lust. A decent fellow, he says, would never want to do anything -like that with some one for whom he really cared. And nothing happens in -the course of his romantic friendship to make him reconsider this -opinion. It is probable that his affection will not be returned; and, -indeed, why should it be? Under such circumstances it is natural that a -big boy should be attracted by a smaller boy because the smaller boy is -the nearest approach to the feminine ideal. It would be quite unnatural -for a small boy to be attracted by a bigger boy who would be to him as -far as possible removed from femininity. The small boy likes the elder -boy, is grateful for his kindness to him, is perhaps even mildly fond of -him; nothing more. As, therefore, there is no response to the elder boy, -it is impossible for the natural rhythm of mutually felt emotion to -carry them out of the reach of conventional standards, and the -friendship is too sacred to the elder boy to allow passage to the itch -of sensation; while the small boy, even if he happened to be casual -among his contemporaries on such matters, would be restrained by the -shyness that he must always feel in the presence of a senior boy and by -the inevitable embarrassment at finding himself the object of an emotion -he does not understand. - -Nothing happens, therefore, to disabuse the conviction that love in its -purest form is sexless. As a boy is, however, on the whole an amoral -creature, he sees no reason why he should not misconduct himself with a -person for whom he has no respect. He is not sullying a fine romance. It -is a different thing altogether; this is a thing of sensation. A -bachelor refrains from prostitutes more often through fear of illness -than through reverence for a moral code. There is at school a type that -corresponds to the prostitute from whom boys refrain, when they do -refrain, for many mixed reasons, of which fear of expulsion is generally -not one. Boys are not afraid of punishments, nor do they think that a -punishable offence is necessarily a moral offence. That point must -always be kept in mind. Punishments to a boy's mind are part of the game -that is played between him and authority. The boy has his own scale of -values. He would think an immoral act highly reprehensible if he were at -the time engaged in a romantic friendship, but he could square his -conscience to it if he happened to be emotionally free. - -The reasons why a boy commits an immoral act are so many and so complex -that inquiry into them for the purpose of a generalisation is -unprofitable. It may be that he has had a quarrel with his small friend, -it may be that he is bored, or that he is curious; he may think it the -'blood' thing to do. If he is literary he may be in search of some -equivalent for the emotional reactions of decadent poetry. The -confessions that a boy makes himself must always be accepted with -reserve. The confessional is a subtle form of flattery. It titillates -the egotism; it is a self-indulgence. Madame Bovary used to invent small -crimes because she enjoyed the romantic atmosphere of the confessional, -and though most schoolboys would stand in no need of such invention, -they create the most ingenious setting for their offences. They feel -what they want to feel. They have derived emotion at second hand from -some book, or the confidence of an elder brother; they want to make -themselves believe that they are interesting. The most trivial affair is -embellished with a wealth of motive that would have delighted Henry -James. Sometimes they lie quite conscientiously. - -A boy was once asked by his house master whether he felt that -confirmation had been of any assistance to him. It had not, but the boy -felt that it was up to him to pretend that it had. The house master -obviously expected it; it was a social decency, on a par with the -assurance to a hostess that one had spent a most delightful evening. The -boy was inclined to think that he swore less than he had done. The -master's interest was aroused. Where had he learnt to swear? The boy -had, of course, acquired this knowledge in the day room. He realised, -however, that this was one of the things that one did not confess. He -said he had learnt it from some navvies in the holidays. More questions -were asked. 'Oh, yes,' the boy said, 'My people allow me to do more or -less what I like. I wander all over the place.' It was quite untrue, but -it confirmed the house master in his belief that all the faults of a -Public School could be attributed to the ignorance and foolishness of -parents. He developed the idea in a letter which he contributed to a -well-known weekly. - -It is never safe to generalise from a boy's confession, and house -masters would do well in such cases to base their conclusions on their -own experience and on their previous knowledge of the boy's character. -In their investigations, however, of the moral question, there is one -motive that they can almost certainly rule out: the motive of strong -personal attraction. Such an act would be opposed to the ethics of -school society, and a boy only rarely does what he, himself, feels to be -wrong. - -He is inclined to enter a world of women with the idea that the sexual -impulse can only be gratified with a woman he does not love. He realises -that in marriage it is necessary for the procreation of children. But he -regards it chiefly from his point of view as a 'remedy against sin,' and -on the woman's part an act of gracious compliance. It is thus that a man -comes to divide women into classes: one's sisters' friends, and the -rest. There is little need to elaborate the results of such an -attitude. The subject has been discussed exhaustively. On this rock many -marriages have been shipwrecked. It can do little in cases of strong -mutual feeling. Passion harmonises all things; the rhythm of love takes -its own course. But where the woman has not been deeply moved before -marriage, where she knows her future husband only slightly, and is timid -in his presence, then the preconceived formula of the 'pure girl' will -achieve havoc. The woman will sink herself in motherhood, and the man -will seek elsewhere diversion. A cynic has remarked that the man who -marries a girl because she appeals to his higher nature will spend the -rest of his life among those who appeal to his lower nature. And, like -all epigrams, that remark presents a facet of the truth. It is now -generally accepted that there is no more dangerous heresy than the idea -that one does not 'feel like that about a decent girl.' Much has been -written on the subject. But the causes of the heresy have not been -sufficiently investigated. It is said, 'Boys are badly brought up.' -Children, we are told, should be brought to regard their bodies as -temples, and there the matter is left. - -But this heresy is, I am certain, very largely the natural result of the -public school system. It is confined to the upper and upper-middle -classes, to those, that is, who have been to Public Schools. The collier -and the peasant have no such fanciful illusions. Divorce must naturally -be more common in circles where men and women have leisure to indulge -their emotions, where temptations are frequent, where the imagination is -most vivid, the longing for the unattainable most acute. But, even so, -any student of character cannot but feel that the married lives of -public school men are less happy than those of the lower classes. - -All through the discussion of this delicate subject I have used marriage -as the norm. It includes all other considerations. There are those who -are shocked to learn of the existence of immorality in Public Schools, -and the socialist press is only too ready for an opportunity of slinging -mud at the object of its envy. But, however a boy is brought up, it is -unlikely that he would pass unscathed through adolescence. Curiosity is -as irresistible as fear. It is the power of the unknown. The moral -offences of a public school boy are disgusting enough, but because they -are so entirely physical they have little lasting effect on him. They -play indeed a very casual part in his life. Nothing is at stake. The -romantic friendship, on the other hand, is the dawn of love; it is a -delicate and deep emotion; it is the most exciting thing that up to then -has happened to a boy; it touches his senses and his soul. And, because -he experiences this emotion for the first time in an unnatural -environment, his natural reaction is misdirected and misinformed. It is -important that we should find some remedy. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[5] It may here be mentioned that in girls' schools such friendships -would seem to be common, and no great objection taken to them. Unnatural -vice between women is not, of course, a criminal offence. Its existence -is not widely recognised. And it has never been treated very seriously -by men. But it was surprising to read a few months ago in a leading -London newspaper an article on 'schoolgirls,' which accepted such -friendships among girls as an amusing topic for popular journalism. The -editor would probably have had a fit if a similar article on romantic -friendships in Public Schools had been submitted to him. The attitude of -the man who has not been to a Public School to this side of school life -is a mixture of ignorance and astonished horror. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE MIDDLE YEARS - - -Desmond Coke has described in _The Bending of a Twig_, the middle years -of a public school career as being slow to pass, but swift in -retrospect. He devoted two chapters to them--'See-saw down' and 'See-saw -up.' And those chapter headings convey more clearly than a long analysis -the nature of that period. To begin with it is 'See-saw down.' The boy -is confused with his new-found liberty; the future stretches endlessly -before him. There is plenty of time. There is no need for hurry. And so -he rags and wastes his time and makes, on the whole, a pretty general -nuisance of himself. His house reports are worse at the end of every -term. His parents grow worried; they remember the bright promise of that -first term: the prize, the promotion, the glowing panegyric. The arrival -of the blue envelope during the second week of the holidays is the -occasion of considerable domestic stress. On such a morning one -remembers that one has promised to spend the day with a friend at -Richmond. - -And then suddenly, when the revel is at its height, some chance incident -or conversation forces a boy to realise that he has not so much time as -he had thought, that the weeks are passing, that, already, the end has -drawn close to him. Clifford Bax, in one of his many beautiful poems, -has described a man's first appreciation of the approach of age. - - - 'There is a certain mid-way hour in life - Which startles every man, when the tide turns - And, wave on wave, we hear death coming on.' - - -In the same way the boy discovers that the half of his schooldays are at -an end, that he has put them to little use. And, as the temporal quality -of life drives the epicurean to gather with what eager haste he may, -flowers that for him will soon have blossomed, the sense of passing days -defines and directs for the schoolboy the course of ambition. It is -perhaps the first moment of conscious thought, of objective reasoning. -The days of unreflecting action are at an end. He is no longer a child -playing in a nursery. He is a man, subject to the laws of time and -space, a mortal man aware of his mortality. - -Now this sudden change, which partakes of the nature of a conversion, -owes its existence, as often as not, to some perfectly trivial -occurrence. The stage is not set appropriately. There is no long heart -to heart talk with a schoolmaster, a parent, or a friend at the end of -which the boy leaps to his feet, claps his hand to his forehead, and -exclaims: 'I see the evil of my ways.' Such dramatic moments, I suppose, -take place occasionally, but they are the exception. The boy has -reached that stage of his development when the idea of time can become -an actuality to him, and some quite casual incident will bring this -actuality before him. - -It is possible, of course, that this reformation may be effected by a -conversation. But it will be an unrehearsed effect. One is walking down -to hall, and, through the open door of the changing room overhears some -uncomplimentary statement of one's worth. The statement need not be made -by a particular friend. Indeed, it will probably be more effective if it -is not. We accept with composure the criticisms of our friends, our -relatives, our enemies. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there -is friction. We know that, at times, we must be intensely annoying to -our friends, because they are at times so intensely annoying to -ourselves. Little tricks, traits of character, intonations of the voice -that we should hardly notice in those to whom we are indifferent, -exasperate us in those for whom we care. We expect our friends at times -to say nasty things about us. We are too conscious of our own -delinquencies. But impersonal criticism is unpleasant; it is like an -unfavourable review that is unsigned. If we cannot reassure ourselves -with the knowledge that our assailant is either jealous of us or -dislikes us, or thinks we pay too many attentions to his wife; if, that -is to say, we can detect in this criticism no ulterior motive, but -simply a dispassionate impersonal disapproval of ourselves and of our -work, then we do indeed feel that the need for drastic self-criticism -is immediate. - -When, therefore, Jones on his way down to hall overhears Ferguson, who -is in another form, who has never been brought into contact with him, -who has no possible reason for feeling envious or jealous, remark that -Jones is the sort of fellow whom the house could get on very well -without, he goes quickly to his study and communes with himself. - -At the beginning of my third year at school, when I was very happy, very -light-hearted, very boisterous, and, I suppose, rather obnoxious -generally, I was standing at the counter of the tuck shop waiting to be -served with a poached egg and a sausage. I experienced considerable -difficulty in catching the eye of the waitress, and for the better -announcing of my presence I took a knife out of the basket and beat it -upon the zinc covering of the counter. The waitress, who was harassed by -the number of orders, turned round impatiently: 'Oh, do be quiet, Mr. -Waugh,' she said, 'I don't know what's come over you lately. You used to -be such a nice quiet boy when you first came.' Several people laughed, -but her remark was a shock to me. I had not the slightest romantic -interest in her. I did not care greatly what opinion she held of my -moral worth, but I had not before realised that it was possible for a -change of which I was myself ignorant to take place within me, that a -process of degeneration could take its slow effect, altering me in the -eyes of others, leaving me unaltered in my own, that, like rust on -iron, environment could corrode temperament. That chance remark had a -most profound effect on me. It gave me a sudden insight into the secret -forces that lie under the surface of life. I do not know whether from -the outside I appeared afterwards a different person. One cannot focus -the impression one has of oneself and the impression one makes on -others. But to myself I know that I was different. And some such -revelation invariably comes to a boy during his period of school life. - -In novels and stories we attribute it to some emotional crisis. The -reason of the change is less important than that there should be change, -and that the reader should be able to realise that for such a change -there was a reason. But, actually, the reason is usually trivial enough. -It may be that a boy's pride has been rebuffed; some one has got a house -cap before him. He begins to reassure himself with the old dope: 'There -is plenty of time. It doesn't matter. I'll catch him later on.' But for -once the old dope does not work. He realises with a shock that there is -less time than he had thought. He has allowed his rival to get too far -ahead. A house cap is only two stages distant from a first. He may not -have time to catch him up. In the light of the discovery he revises his -whole career. He asks himself whither he is drifting. He sees that he -has passed beyond the stage of a vague promise into one of definite -rivalry and achievement. - -The prospects of the beginner are always golden. His wares are not yet -for sale in the open market. He has not entered into competition with -his contemporaries. A young professional makes a century during his -first month of first-class cricket and is immediately the object of -generous enthusiasm. The reporter can write of him as ecstatically as he -will. The professional has not yet reached representative cricket. At -school a slow left-hand bowler takes eight wickets for twenty-seven in a -house match. He is spoken of at once as the coming man. For another -season he will continue to take wickets in house matches to the delight -of every one. Then he will enter the lists of representative cricket. He -will play on uppers, and it will have to be decided, not whether he is a -good slow left-hand bowler, but whether he is better than Evans in -Buller's, and Morrison in Wilkes's. It is so easy to say of a boy of -fifteen: 'Some day he will be captain of the house.' We can all of us -exclaim at the beginning of a Marathon: 'What a beautiful runner that -fellow is.' It is after ten miles have been run and the runners have -sorted themselves out that the real race begins. It is the appreciation -of this moment that ends the 'see-saw down' period and sees the start of -the 'see-saw up.' - -It must not be imagined, however, that this process of see-saw up -involves a complete moral, spiritual, and intellectual reformation; it -sometimes does; more usually it means that the schoolboy looks at the -same life from a different angle. His standards, his scale of values -remain unaltered. He feels that he has not adjusted himself properly to -their demands. He has been making an ass of himself: he has been ragging -about, he has allowed opportunities to slip past him. 'It won't do,' he -tells himself. 'I must stop all this. I must settle down.' - -Such a resolution involves, to a certain extent, an appreciation of -imminent responsibilities; a boy realises that a series of desperate -escapades will prejudice his prospects of prefectship; it often results -in the exchange of a positive for a negative manner of life. The Sixth -Former, the potential scholar of Balliol, is spurred by such an -experience to really hard work. For him a turning-point has been -reached. It is different, however, for the second eleven colour who has -reached the Lower Fifth after three years of spasmodic cribbing. He has -been in the past a free-lance, an irresponsible ragster. He decides that -the time has come for him to settle down. If the Lower Fifth is, as it -often is, a comfortable backwater, he is content to rest there. He sits -on a back bench, and plays an occasional part in the life of the form. -While he was a ragster he had to work. A well-prepared lesson was his -armour. Now that he no longer rags he need no longer work; he is content -to be inoffensive, agreeable, somnolent. He considers that between -himself and his form master there is an unwritten pact by which each -agrees to leave the other alone. It is as though he said: 'Your time, -Mr. Featherbrain, is fully occupied between the ragsters and the -industrious. You have to keep a constant watch upon the ragster. You -have to teach the industrious. That is a whole-time job. Why worry about -me? You need not keep a watch upon me. It is agreed that I shall do no -ragging. And why try to teach me anything. Your energies are wasted upon -me. I don't want to learn anything. You may lead a horse to the water, -you know. Why worry yourself and me! There are all those other fellows -who want to learn.' And the master, usually, signs the contract. He is a -busy man. The temptation is very great. He excuses himself in the common -room by speaking of 'fellows like dear old Thomas; good-natured chaps, -but with absolutely no brains. Latin and Greek are flung away on them. -But they'll make fine empire builders.' And so the boy who has settled -down spends the greater part of his day wool-gathering in vacuous -laziness. To nothing that happens between chapel and lunch can he bring -the least enthusiasm. His thoughts are fixed on the more thrilling -encounters of the football field. His whole life, indeed, is centred on -sport, and on the most entertaining methods he can discover for the -better employing of his spare time. All his energy, all his enthusiasm, -is concentrated into one, or perhaps two, focuses. It is not surprising -that he should become tolerably proficient at games and a source of -moral anxiety to prefects and house masters. - -Is the pursuit of athletic success a sufficiently engrossing occupation -for such a boy? That is the question that a house master unconsciously -puts to himself. He must put it to himself, but his attitude to this -particular type of boy is based on a non-committal answer to this -question: the answer--'Perhaps; but it's up to you.' The house master, -therefore, does all in his power to persuade the boy that the acquiring -of a First Fifteen cap is his immediate object in life. He will not -state his case in words; but he will omit the uncomfortable topic of -form work in conversations, and discuss at length the prospects of the -house in the senior matches. If he does not succeed in directing the -entire energy of the boy on games, the results of such a failure may be -disastrous. A fellow of seventeen who has nothing particular to do is -bound to find himself in mischief. This fact is realised by both parents -and house masters, and those boys who are good neither at games nor work -usually leave at about this period. It is the falling out of the -unsuccessful runner in a long race. It is no good going on. The leaders -are too far ahead. The gap between the senior and the junior is thus -considerably increased. The stepping-stones have been removed. A boy of -eighteen at the start of his last year sees very few of his -contemporaries sitting at the Sixth Form table. Of the eight or nine -boys who came there with him, only three are left, and the Fifth Form -table is filled by fellows two or three years junior to himself, with -whom he has but a slight acquaintance. It is always the 'blood' who is -asked to stop on that extra year. The insignificant are encouraged by -silence to retire. - - - 'Thou shalt not kill, yet needst not strive - Officiously to keep alive.' - - -By the time the boy comes to be a prefect he is able to feel himself -supreme, not only because of the system that is at his back. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -PREFECTSHIP - - -Prefectship is the coping-stone of a public school education. The boy -who leaves without becoming a prefect has missed, we are continually -assured, the most important part of his school career. And yet what -percentage of an old boys' list, I wonder, reaches the dignity of house -prefectship. One gets the impression sometimes that every one, provided -he stays on long enough, becomes a prefect. All school stories follow a -convention. They open with the new boy closing behind him the -green-baize door of the head master's study, gazing wistfully down a -long corridor at the end of which is the oak door of the day room. From -behind that door comes to him the sound of laughter and eager -conversation. There is the unknown, mysterious world he has to enter. -That is how every school story opens. And every school story closes on -the departure of a hero crowned with athletic and academic honours. The -space in between is occupied with the 'see-saw up' process. How else a -school story is to be constructed I do not know. It has to be narrative -rather than dramatic. But it gives the impression that public school -life for the average boy is a slow voyage from fag to prefect. Indeed, -if _Peg's Paper_ printed school stories, 'From Fag to Prefect' would -probably be the title. Such a tale would, however, be little more -generally applicable than a tale of army life entitled 'From Bugler to -Brigadier.' The majority of schoolboys do not become prefects. But the -people in whose hands the framing of the convention lies think they do, -because they did themselves. The dwellers in Mayfair think London -consists of a few drawing-rooms and a few restaurants. The schoolmaster -naturally follows the conventional course, otherwise he would not be a -schoolmaster. If he had not reached the Upper Sixth he would not be in a -position to teach. If he had not reached the Eleven he would not be a -games master. The story-writer may not be an athlete, but it is hardly -possible that a man who can write an interesting book should have failed -to make some mark at school if he had stayed out his full time. And so -there has grown up a tendency to ignore entirely the careers of the -insignificant, which form the background for more striking exploits. And -yet, as always, the insignificant are in the majority. - -A couple of years ago I spent an afternoon in the company of some -friends at the school where their son was completing his second term. It -was a warm afternoon and we naturally walked down to the cricket field. -On the Upper a senior house match, which we should have liked to have -watched, was in progress. Our small guide assured us, however, that this -would be impossible. 'It isn't our house, you see, and the fellows -would think it awful niff of me to watch another house playing. But -there's a house game of our own going on down there.' Realising that it -was impossible to overcome the novice's fear of doing the wrong thing, -we reluctantly, slowly, and with backward glances, followed our young -friend to the far end of a big field, where a ridiculous junior house -game was being played on a sloping and bumping pitch. The small boy was, -however, more interested in his friends than in the cricket. Beyond this -game there was the pick up. - -Now I do not believe that I had ever before watched a pick up at all -closely. I had imagined that the cricket would be pretty bad, that -firm-footed batsmen would mow full pitches towards long on, that wides -would be only more frequent than the fall of wickets, that every third -scoring stroke would be in the nature of a chance. I had never, however, -anticipated anything approaching the complete impotence of that game. -The batsmen could not hit the ball hard, indeed it was only on rare -occasions that they managed to connect the bat with the ball. There was -no need for any fieldsmen, with the possible exception of long-stop, to -stand more than twenty-five yards from the wicket. The bowler's main -object appeared to be the keeping down of wides. Every game has its own -technique; this game was certainly not cricket as it is played -generally, and, no doubt, the victorious side was the one that bowled -fewest wides. For no other reason would any captain have kept on either -of those two bowlers for a second over. - -And I could not help wondering what a public school career stood for in -the lives of those pitiably ineffectual cricketers. It is possible that -one or two of them might be brilliant scholars, or that a few played -football successfully, though this I am prepared to doubt; for the true -sportsman is self-declared the moment that he walks on to a field. It -seemed to me incredible that any one who had played any game -successfully could tolerate the miserable travesty of sport that was -being enacted on that sloping, bumping pitch. But even if there were a -few exceptions, even if one or two were destined for privilege and -authority and a name upon the honour boards, the fate of the majority -was certain. They would remain inconspicuous, belonging to that large -tribe of those whose names on the old boys' list are vaguely familiar to -us, but with whom we can connect not one incident, anecdote, or -conversation. They pass and they leave no mark behind them. They never -rise to a position of responsibility. They never learn to wield -authority. They never acquire, that is to say, those qualities of -administration that have made English rule so tolerant and so -universally respected. What can public school life mean to such as -these? I put the question, but I cannot answer it. I do not know. Public -school life is designed as a slow voyage from fag to prefectship, and, -even if only a minority complete that voyage, it is the process and the -stages of that voyage we have here to represent and interpret. It -should, however, be here set on record that, be the advantages or -disadvantages of the public school system what they may, a great many -public school boys never partake of them. - -From the distance of early years the obligations of prefectship seems -slight in comparison with their enormous privileges. A prefect does not -have to answer his name at roll; he can wander round the studies without -leave during hall. He has fags to clean his study, to wash his plates, -to light his fire, to carry his books down to chapel in the morning. He -can inflict punishment without being liable to it. The new boy who has -recently been caned, in his opinion most unjustly, for whispering in -prayers, looks forward to his day of revenge. The life of a prefect must -be free from all the cares that so perplex him. Prefects can never be -troubled with impositions and imperfectly prepared exercises. He glances -up to the Sixth Form table and contemplates the majesty of Meredith with -his neatly-tied tie, and hair brushed back immaculately from his -forehead. What master would have the cheek to 'bottle' Meredith? The -very idea is unthinkable. Meredith has the invulnerable infallibility of -a god. The small boy reconsiders this view as he rises in the school. -The horizon narrows. But even when he reaches the Sixth Form table he -sees prefectship in terms of freedom rather than of service. And it -would, of course, be absurd to maintain that the obligations outweigh -the privileges. They do not: but they are none the less considerable. If -a prefect is found playing the ass, ragging in the studies, or cutting -lock up, he would be neither lined nor beaten; but the twenty minutes -interview with the Chief would be far worse than any caning. He would -feel humbled, he would feel thoroughly ashamed of himself, he would have -done a rotten thing. Punishments have ceased to be a pawn in a game -between boy and master. And, when a prefect realises this, he realises -also that this particular game is finished. - -The degree to which a prefect appreciates his obligation, depends a good -deal on the way his house master treats him. The boy who is trusted -usually proves himself worthy of that trust. I do not mean in -everything. If a master says to a boy: 'Now, Jones, I am going to let -you prepare your lessons in your study in future. I trust you to work,' -Jones feels himself under no obligation to work. By going to his study -he is sparing the master the irksome duty of supervision. That is a fair -bargain. He has saved the master work and the master has saved him work. -In matters of form work a boy will never cease to regard his -relationship with his master as that of the hunter and hunted. He will -find when he reaches the Sixth Form that instead of being told to -prepare fifty lines of Virgil, he is expected to prepare as much work as -is possible in the time at his disposal. If, when put on to construe in -form he states as an excuse for an unsuccessful effort, that the fifty -line limit has been passed, he will be handled roughly: 'My dear Evans,' -the head master will say, 'you have ceased to be in the Lower Fourth. -You don't work to scale. If you haven't had time to prepare the passage, -say so, and I won't put you on, but whatever you do don't bring forward -that middle school excuse about fifty lines.' The new arrival will look -abashed, but he will not feel that he has been put upon his honour to do -an hour's work every night. He may possibly prepare next time, with the -aid of a crib, an extra dozen lines, but he will do it as quickly as he -can. - -He feels differently, however, about what happens outside the -class-room. When an excuse is accepted because he is a prefect that -would not be accepted without a long cross-examination were he not a -prefect, a boy considers himself to have been put on his honour. I will -give an example. The O.T.C. was, with us, practically compulsory; -ninety-seven per cent. of the school was in it, and that three per cent. -was garrisoned with doctors' certificates. Like all compulsory things it -was extremely unpopular. We used to employ elaborate devices to get -leave off. In break we used to visit the matron and suggest that our -health required some castor oil. If possible we would retain the dose in -our mouths till we got safely into the passage and then deposit it in -our handkerchiefs. When this was impossible we swallowed it. A dose -alone was not a sufficient excuse. We had to assume faintness, -sickness, or some other indisposition during afternoon school. It was an -intricate business that rarely proved successful. The authorities were -prepared for it. Corps Parade was on Friday, and one Friday after I had -become a prefect, I decided that never before had I felt less like doing -squad drill. I had a headache, I had not finished my Latin Prose, we -were playing Dulwich the next day and I was anxious to be as fresh as -possible. I had also very, very slightly twisted my ankle. Remembering -my courage in the days of castor oil I thought it worth making an -attempt to get leave off. On this occasion I went to the head master. - -I informed him of my injury, and was about to embark on a lengthy -explanation of the accident when the head master cut me short. 'Oh, yes, -Waugh, of course, that'll be quite all right. I hope you'll be fit for -to-morrow.' I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself. Because I was a -prefect, my word had been accepted without examination and without -proof. I was trusted to tell the truth. And yet I actually had produced -as feeble an excuse as a fellow in the Lower Fourth. I went on parade -that afternoon, and from then onwards I never tried to get off anything -unless I was absolutely certain that I could have got off it without the -influence of prefectship. And whatever may be urged against the inflated -opinion of himself that the power to exert authority may give a boy, I -can only believe that this sense of duty, this obligation to be true to -himself is an invaluable experience. It comes out in all sorts of ways. -I remember an old colour once telling me at the end of the season that -he had not enjoyed his cricket half as much as he had the previous year. -I was surprised. 'I should have thought you'd have enjoyed it much -more,' I said; 'you haven't had to worry about your colours; you've been -certain of your place; you've been able to play whatever sort of game -you liked.' - -'That's just what I have not been able to do,' he replied. 'Last year I -was a free-lance. I took risks. I had a dip when I wanted to, and when -we played unimportant matches against the town and the regiment, I -thought more about hitting a couple of sixes than making a big score. -But I can't do that now. I'm captain of my house. I spend half my -evenings trying to persuade those young asses in the junior side that -seven singles between cover and mid off are of more use to the side than -the most tremendous six. If they see me going in and chucking away my -wicket in a school match, they'd think me a pretty sort of captain, -wouldn't they? I've got to set an example of sorts.' And, though the -captious may maintain that it would have been more to the point if that -particular sportsman had worried a little less about the example he was -setting on the cricket field and a little more about the example he was -setting in the form room and the studies, virtue is virtue wheresoever -it is found and in whatsoever garb it is adorned. It is a good thing to -feel that an example has to be set and to decide to set it. It is the -high privilege of service. - -There are occasions when the setting of example grows not only irksome, -but pointless. Throughout one winter my whole dormitory and myself -subjected ourselves to the miseries of a freezing cold bath because -neither party had the face to own itself defeated. In the first warm day -of October the whole house ran cheerily to the shower bath down a long -passage that faced east and was filled with sunlight. But when the -November frosts came on, the long run down the passage in bare feet with -a small towel gathered round our loins became increasingly unattractive. -By the time we reached the bath we were thoroughly cold and the zinc -tubs under the cascade of water were not enticing. Each morning fewer -feet pattered down the passage. But my dormitory maintained its courage. -As long as I went on having a bath I knew that they would go on having -one, and as long as they went on having one I knew that I should have to -also. There were mornings when I longed to say: 'Look here, you fellows, -you don't want to have a bath. Nor do I. Let's chuck it.' The words were -sometimes on the tip of my tongue. But just as I was about to utter them -some one would rise from his bed, reluctantly divest himself of his -pyjamas, wrap a towel round himself, and run out into the passage. After -that retreat was hopeless. The thing had to be seen through. Not one of -us missed his bath throughout the term. It may have been good for us: I -don't know. Most things that are supposed to be are unpleasant. - -As so often happens with preconceived ideas, the only duties of -prefectship which present any terrors to the imagination of the new boy -turn out singularly simple. Most boys are self-conscious; they dread a -silence, they hate being conspicuous. They regard, therefore, the taking -of hall and the reading of the house list at roll as terrible ordeals. -They are not so really. One is a little nervous lest the pitch of one's -voice may sound curious as one shouts out the name of the top boy on the -list: but it doesn't: not unless one is very odd. And the taking of hall -is simple, unless one goes down there with an established reputation for -inefficiency. In such a case the prefect does stand a poor look-out, as -poor a look-out as the master who has proved himself weak. But such -reputations are not easily acquired, and the possessors of them are well -advised to bribe some hardier colleague to take their places. No attempt -is made to rag the average prefect. He goes down on his first night -fully prepared to inflict a violent punishment on any harbinger of -insubordination. He may even carry down with him his swagger stick as a -cautionary signal. But it is unlikely that he will be called upon to use -it. The chief embarrassment, indeed, of taking hall is the importunities -of small boys who come and ask one to help them with their translation. -One hums and hahs, looks at the notes and the vocabulary and discovers -how extremely hard it is to translate Livy without a crib. - -To a great extent the proficiency of the prefectorial system depends on -the house master. If prefects admire and respect their house master, the -tone of the house will almost certainly be a good one. If they dislike -him the tone may very likely be a good one. It is a toss up. Dislike and -fear often go together. And a prefect who dislikes, and thinks he is -disliked, by his house master may very well decide out of affronted -dignity to perform his duties thoroughly. 'The old beast hates me,' he -says; 'he thinks I'm no good. I'll jolly well show him!' Dislike is, at -any rate, a positive emotion. It will produce something. Nothing, on the -other hand, is more fatal than the sort of genial, indifferent -good-natured friendship that so often exists between a house master and -his prefects. - -In Chowdler, G. F. Bradly has drawn just such a house master. Chowdler -pretends to be the elder brother: he talks of 'good old Jones' and 'dear -old Joe.' He has the prefects up in his study for heart to heart manly -talks. And the prefects listen, agree with what he says, echo, when they -speak, his own sentiments, and generally hoodwink him. They treat him as -he treats them. They call him 'good old Chowdler,' and leave it at that. -When there is a conscientious and an officious head of the house things -go fairly quietly; when the head of the house is a lazy, sociable -creature, the house runs itself, and with results that would cause -little pleasure were they published to the mandarins of the common -room. No new house master, Arnold Lunn says, has to face a more -difficult task than he whose predecessor has earned the reputation of -being a sport. The house master who always announces to the head boy his -intention of visiting the studies is popular enough, but he has a rotten -house. - -Yet, however badly the prefectorial system may on occasions work, it is -impossible to dispense with it. It is not so much the need for a heavy -hand as the need for a scapegoat. Some one must be responsible to the -supreme authority for any disturbance that may take place. If a house -master enters the day room during 'prep.' and finds that an impromptu -concert is in progress, he knows that it would be impossible for him to -disentangle the muddled evidence of interested witnesses. He could never -find out what it was all about, how it started, who started it, what -happened next. He makes, therefore, one person responsible for the -maintenance of order in the day room during 'prep.' He puts a house -prefect there on duty. When, therefore, he interrupts an unseemly brawl, -he does not concern himself with the incidents of the affair; Brown's -face may be plastered with red ink, the head of Evans may be slowly -extricating itself from the wastepaper basket, Ferguson may be -withdrawing a battered compass from the unprotected quarters of an -enemy. He does not notice that. He does not punish Brown and Ferguson -and Evans. He asks the prefect in charge for an explanation. If the -explanation is not satisfactory that prefect is relieved of office. It -is the knowledge of this fate that inspires the industry of prefects. - -This system is the basis for all administration, for the delegation of -all responsibility. It rarely fails. When I shared a study with another -prefect we divided eight fags between us. The best of these eight we -appointed fag-master. 'You will do no fagging yourself, Marston,' we -told him. 'To each of the other seven fags will be allotted one day of -the week. You will see that they do their job. If the fire goes out, you -will be beaten.' During the whole of that winter our fire never went out -once. It is a regrettable fact, but a true one, that human beings will -only work under the influence of a bribe, or of a threat. In the wide -world it is usually a bribe. One may not threaten the foreman of an oil -works. He has his union behind him. But there are no trade unions for -fags: a judicious threat works wonders. And, when all other forces -weaken, the wish to retain office helps the prefect to his task. Were -there no prefects, no scapegoats, there would be no order. They are the -exchange of hostages. - -Suppose an attempt was made to run a house without them? How long do you -imagine that it would last? Five days, six days, a week? Yes, perhaps as -long as that: not longer: certainly I would not give it longer than a -week. Such an experiment might be tried at the end of a long and -unsatisfactory term during which several of the prefects had, at some -time or another, come into collision with official ruling. And the -climax might have been reached, shall we say, on the last Tuesday of the -term, when the head of the house was discovered during 'prep.' playing -the organ in the big school. - -Next day, after lunch, the house would be astonished by the following -announcement: 'I don't know,' the house master would say, 'whether I -approve of the prefectorial system or not--that's neither here nor -there. At any rate it has not worked well with my present set of -prefects, and, for the rest of the term I propose to dispense with them. -I shall occupy during preparation the small study at the end of the -passage, and the house tutor will supervise preparation in the day room. -I shall occupy the small single dormitory by the fire escape. That is -all.' It is possible, is it not, as the sudden resolution of an -overworked, exasperated man who had not paused to consider the results -of his decision. - -Well, what would happen then? We can guess to a certain extent. It is, -at least, a subject of interesting speculation. What would happen to a -house that had no prefects? - -For a couple of days all would go smoothly, I imagine. The house would -behave like a whipped dog. Its tail would be tucked between its legs. -The prefects would make an ineffectual stand upon their dignity. Then -the possibilities of the situation would become apparent. Authority -spreads a veneer over the boisterous spirits of a boy of eighteen. But -at heart he remains a ragster. In a couple of years' time, as an -undergraduate or a medical student, he will be destroying furniture and -organising preposterous bonfires. And, when authority is taken from him, -he feels once again the old itch to enter the lists, to try one last -throw with the marshalled forces of officialdom. It may, for instance, -occur to Morcombe, the head of the house, that, though he has ceased to -be a house prefect, he remains a school prefect, and that, outside the -precincts of his house, he is still a force. When, therefore, he sees -Jones mi. flinging stones against the cloisters, he orders Jones to -appear before him that evening after roll. It is after roll, during the -silence of first hall, that punishments are inflicted. And, that night, -the house master, sitting in his narrow study at the end of the passage, -will be astonished to hear the silence broken by a series of resounding -bangs. He hurries down the passage and discovers Jones mi. straightening -himself beside the water pipes, one hand ruefully stroking his trousers, -while the head of the house proudly surveying his handiwork, delivers a -last word of admonishment and taps his cane against his boots. - -'But what on earth, Morcombe, is the meaning of this?' says the house -master. - -'I had occasion, sir, to beat a boy.' - -'But you've no right to beat a boy. You're not a prefect any longer.' - -'I was punishing him, sir, for a school and not a house offence. He was -throwing stones against the cloisters. As a school prefect I felt myself -bound to take official notice of his action.' - -'But you know quite well, Morcombe,' the house master would answer -hotly, 'that you've no right to do anything of the sort. You are only -quibbling.' - -'Then am I to understand, sir, that I have ceased to be a school -prefect.' - -'You are to understand you have no authority over any one in this -house.' - -'But that will make it difficult for me, sir; if I were to discover a -boy in this house and a boy in another house smoking on a Sunday -afternoon, I should be able to order the boy from another house to put -out his cigarette and return to school at once, but the boy in my own -house I should have to leave where he was. It would be suggested that I -was favouring my own house.' - -It is unlikely that the house master will have a reply; he will order -Morcombe to return to his study and to cease being impertinent. It -depends on the courage of Morcombe and the respect he has for his house -master whether five minutes later there will be a tap on the door of the -narrow study at the end of the passage and a quiet voice will ask: -'Please, sir, I hope you'll excuse my worrying you, but I am not quite -certain whether you said I was, or was not, a school prefect. You see, -sir, it's my turn to read the lessons in chapel to-morrow. I wondered -whether I ought to run round and tell the head master that I am no -longer privileged to read them.' - -There will be several such imbroglios. - -Whether or not the term will end without an actual conflagration is -problematic. On the whole I should say that the chances were even. It is -the end of the term. Spirits run high, constant supervision is -impossible. On the last morning but one, for instance, there is no early -chapel. There is a long lie in bed. The house master will return to his -own part of the house to shave, bathe himself, and dress. There is no -one left in the dormitories with any authority. Every one is -good-tempered and excited with a surplus store of animal spirits. There -is a lively exchange of compliments which terminate in a pillow being -flung across the room. There is a moment's nervous hush. The power of -the prefectorial system dies hard: a week ago such an act would have -been dealt with instantly and severely. And, even now, a single word -would be sufficient to restore order. - -But the prefect takes no notice. He sees no reason why he should exert -himself in the interests of one who considers his services to be of no -further use to him. He feels justifiably aggrieved. The house master -considers he can run the house himself--well then, let him run it. He -has asked for no assistance from his prefects. He can therefore expect -none. The pillow is returned. It is inaccurately flung, however, and the -contents of a water jug streams across the floor. Again there is a -brief embarrassment. But the prefect reassures his dormitory. - -'My dear fellows, don't worry about me,' he says, 'I have no authority -over you. There is no need for you to take the slightest notice of -anything I say or do. Indeed I'm not at all certain that I shan't take a -hand in it. Ferrers, you brute, take that.' - -And with the sudden flick of the forearm that in the cricket field had -proved so disastrous to the batsman who had risked a short run to cover, -the unerring discharge of a pillow has prostrated the startled Ferrers. -From that moment mischief is afoot. It takes what course it will. And -that course will probably involve the overturning of a good many jugs, -the stripping of innumerable beds, the splitting of several pillows. In -a brief while the air will be filled with feathers, the floor with -mattresses and soaking sheets. And when, an hour later, the house master -is summoned by an indignant matron to view the battlefield, who will be -held responsible? To whose account is he to debit the broken jugs and -the torn pillows? Whom can he deprive of office? He will, no doubt, -collect the house in his study; every one will spend the last day -inscribing a georgic or an eclogue. But the house will feel that it has -triumphed. What, after all, can the house master say? If he begins to -criticise Morcombe the reply is obvious. - -'But I tried to stop it, sir, I did my best. But they wouldn't take any -notice of me, sir. I had no authority over them.' - -If the house master is wise he will say as little as possible. He will -announce the punishment, and the next term place more trust in his -prefects. However bad an individual set of prefects may be, without them -things would be a good deal worse. - -S. P. B. Mais in his first, and perhaps best, book dealing with Public -Schools, devoted a chapter to the various types of prefects, the effect -that office had on each type, and the use each type made of its -privileges. He maintained that certain types were unfitted for -authority, and that no boy who had not a view of life that passed beyond -the limits of school should be given such authority. That is no doubt -the ideal, but it is impracticable. A house master has to make the most -of the material at his disposal: if he is dissatisfied he must blame -himself. He has had his five years in which to fashion the malleable -substance to his fancy. If a boy is high in form and a school colour and -has been several years in the house, it is impossible to pass him over -in favour of a junior boy who is lower in form and a less successful -athlete. Prefectship has to go by seniority. The moment it was felt that -office went to the boys in whom the house master happened to have most -faith, the word 'favouritism' would be run like a corroding poison -through the system of the house. The favourite would be universally -distrusted and disliked. A certain class of boy would develop the -'conspiracy complex' that every hand was against him, and, in time, he -would become what he imagined others took him for. - -Such a system would encourage endless sycophancy. If the house master -were married, his wife would play too large a part in the politics of -his house. There would be those who would not hesitate to ingratiate -themselves with her in the hope that at the critical moment her -influence might turn the scales in their favour. - -When a boy whom his house master dislikes reaches the point where, in -course of seniority he would have to be made a prefect, the house master -has only two courses open: either he must make the boy a prefect, or he -must write to the father saying, though he has nothing definite against -his son, he does not feel that he is the sort of boy who ought to be -made a prefect, and he must ask the father, therefore, to remove his son -from the school at the end of the summer. - -He can do nothing else. He cannot keep on a boy whose claims he has -passed over deliberately and without cause. What house master, on the -other hand, is going to write such a letter to a parent. The parent is -bound to object. He will appeal to the head master. - -'You have nothing against my son,' he will say. 'During the four years -he has been at school he has never been in any serious trouble. He has -worked hard and he has played hard. I have always regarded prefectship -as the crown of a public school education. I sent my son to you rather -than to some other educational establishment because I wished him to -have the invaluable experience of being a prefect in a Public School. -And now, at the end, when he has reached this position, you say, without -giving any reason, that he is not a fit person to occupy it. It is -scandalous.' - -And even were the head master to endorse his subaltern's verdict, were -he to say: 'That is all very true, Mr Evans, but a house master is the -best judge of the type of boy that he wants to have as a prefect. I am -very sorry, but we must abide by his decision,' the reputation of the -school would suffer. - -Old boys would discuss the verdict in their clubs. - -'That's no school for my son,' they would say. 'Prefectship depends on -the caprice of a house master. And, if by the time one gets high in the -house, one's told one's got to go--why, if that had happened in my case -I know I'd never have become captain of the Eleven. My house master -would have got rid of me long before I had got my colours.' - -Gray heads would shake seriously over the port; the numbers of the -school would sink. Seniority may, now and again, bring most unsuitable -persons to authority, but it is a far more satisfactory system than any -that would be based on the choice and dislike of one person. - -Certainly many unlikely people reach the high-backed chair of the Sixth -Form table. And a house master must often wonder how will taste the -strange stew that is simmering--a compound of so many unknown -ingredients. In spite of experience, he is always guessing. But the -changes are less considerable than might be expected, or it would be -truer to say, perhaps, that the changes follow a more or less ordinary -course. - -A boy's attitude on reaching office is ordered by what he has read and -by example. The ragster usually becomes a martinet. He has read of the -reformation of Prince Hal; the epigram about Kildare ruling all Ireland -is the one piece of Elizabethan history that his memory has retained. -How nice he feels it will be to surprise every one. What a shock it will -be to his old companions. Every one must have said of him: 'Oh, Park'll -be all right. He's such a ragster himself, he's sure to go pretty easy!' -In his first week, therefore, he canes a quite senior boy for playing -the piano too loudly in the changing room. He becomes in a short while -extremely unpopular and a general terror. If on the start of the school -year one were asked to tell which of the new prefects one would be best -advised to avoid, one would almost certainly place one's finger on the -boy who had been most frequently in trouble during the previous term. - -There is no sign, however, by which we can detect the officious type of -prefect who speaks solemnly of his responsibilities and makes life -extremely unpleasant for his house and for his old companions. It is -impossible to tell on whom this germ is going to settle. It need not be -the reformed rake: perhaps because rakes reform so seldom. It is not -necessarily the religious boy, or the intellectual boy. But on some one -that germ is sure to settle, and it is of all the germs the most -annoying. - -There is nothing more exasperating than the officious prefect. On the -third evening of the term he walks into the study of a former associate, -looks confoundedly uncomfortable, seats himself on the table, and then, -after a moment's embarrassed silence, permits his features to assume an -expression of austere dignity, and says:-- - -'Jones, you confided in me two terms ago a little secret, you'll -remember what it was. Well, I feel that it is my unpleasant duty, now -that I am a prefect, to report this matter to the head of the house. He -will take what action he thinks fit.' - -Jones sits back in his chair, a look of horrified disgust upon his face. - -'But, my dear fellow,' he says, 'you couldn't possibly--I mean I told -you that in confidence. You couldn't be such a sneak!' - -The prefect would shake his head. - -'You do not understand. It is not sneaking. You would not call it -sneaking on the part of a policeman if he arrested an old friend whom he -found breaking into a house. This is an official duty that has nothing -to do with our personal relationship.' - -Jones is tempted to say that in another minute personal relationships -will have a good deal to do with the matter, but he appreciates the -necessity for tact. He talks, he argues, he cajoles; his patience is -tried to the last degree. It is difficult to discuss a matter on -grounds of personal and practical expediency when the other party -refuses to desert the platform of high morality. In the end probably -Jones is promised silence in return for reformation, and, as the door -closes behind his old friend, he murmurs: 'Put not your trust in -princes.' - -The officious prefect is not content with the exposure of confidences -received during his period of probation, he endeavours to unearth -present scandals, and this is a point on which popular opinion is very -strong. The moral tone of the house is not considered to be the concern -of the house prefect. That is the province of the house master and the -head boy. - -The position of the head boy is a little difficult to define. He is the -intermediary between mortality and Olympus. He is supposed to be above -suspicion. He is the only person who is allowed to do anything out of 'a -sense of duty.' If a house prefect interferes in the private affairs of -another, an ulterior motive is always suggested, and the suggestion is -probably justified. Whether or not a head boy is justified in unearthing -scandal is an open point. There are those who will maintain that he -should only take notice of what actually hits him in the face. The -reason being that what hits the head of the house in the face will, -sooner or later, inflict a similar shock to the physiognomy of the house -master. And this should be avoided. In the first place, the house master -will lose his high opinion of his head boy; in the second, a scandal -that might have been prevented will reach official notice. - -Indeed, there are not a few who will go so far as to assert that the -function of a head boy is that of the taster, the impersonal critic who -says: 'No, that is going too far.' He is the aeroplane photograph of a -strategic position, that shows what gun emplacements are obvious and -which are not. And, according to this line of argument, head boys should -only concern themselves with the obvious; what was not apparent to them -would certainly not be apparent to a house master; there is no need for -them to play at Sherlock Holmes. - -But this is a point on which the vote has not been taken. There are -several schools of thought: all schools of thought are, however, joined -in the denial of the right of the head boy to report to the house master -anything save a case of insubordination or disloyalty on the part of a -brother prefect. A head boy, it is felt, should be able to deal with the -discipline and conduct of the house himself. To report is to confess a -failure. - -To the house prefect no such fine shades of motive are ascribed. He is -not considered to be above suspicion, and he is allowed to indulge -certain corresponding weaknesses. His business is to see that order is -kept; the new prefect forms numberless resolutions. He is acutely -conscious of his dignity, his bearing partakes of the solemnity of -Malvolio. He wonders whether he ought to remain on terms of such easy -familiarity with certain rowdy elements in the house. A prefect should -not have too many friends. He should be the calm, implacable judge, -impersonal, impartial, with bandaged eyes. He is very haughty for a day -or two. But within a fortnight he has recovered. He becomes sociable -once more. He walks down to the field with his old friends. He does not -wonder whether it is wise or unwise to exchange confidences with those -whose conduct one day he may be forced to view with official -disapproval. He takes notice of, and deals with, only those problems -that crop up from time to time. He acquires a wholesome tolerance of -other people's business, a tolerance that slips over the border of -indifference, but remains an admirable social lubricant. - -It is this indifference, this refusal to be upset about trivial matters -that can be left to adjust themselves, that is the secret of the success -of British administration. Other nations and classes do not seem to -possess it. The artisan when put in a position of authority bothers -about the unimportant, he gives himself no peace, and he gives those -under him no peace. There is constant friction. Troops almost invariably -prefer to be under the command of public school men rather than of -'rankers.' - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE LAST TERM - - -The last year, and especially the last term, is popularly supposed to be -the happiest of a public school career. And it is possible that this may -be so in the case of an industrious, worthy, but not particularly -brilliant fellow who reaches in his last year the privileges of house -prefectship, the immunities of the Lower Sixth and the social hall-mark -of a second fifteen cap. At last, after a struggle of five years, he has -extricated himself from the rut. - -For the 'blood,' however, for the double first who has stayed on an -extra year to be captain of the Eleven, these last terms are a -disappointment. He has reached the limits of ambition. For a while he is -attracted by the charm of his new offices, but he can discern beyond -them no fresh fields to conquer. He is embarrassed by the finality of -his position. He cannot value what he possesses. He wonders what is -coming next. He scores tries in school matches, he makes centuries on -the upper, but he had already done that before. 'The doing savours of -disrelish.' He is expected to score tries and make centuries. The cheer -that greets him as he grounds the ball between the posts has not the -surprised enthusiasm that rippled down the touchline two years ago when -he amazed every one by giving two consecutive dummies and beating the -whole defence. He is expected to do well, and when he is a little below -his form, there is a feeling that he has lost the school the match. - -Interest is focussed on the performance of the new men. A century by -Shepherd causes more excitement than a century by Hobbs. Hobbs is -established. The world has formed its estimate of his qualities. There -is little new to be said about him. He belongs to the present and the -past. Shepherd belongs to the future. He is a subject of speculation. - -And so the double first at the end of the match hears far less talk of -his own performances than he did a year earlier. He is taken for -granted. It is all: 'What a beautiful drop that was of Smith's, he'll be -a fine player in two years' time.' He would not analyse his discontent. -But it is there the whole time. There is no longer a life of marked -stages in front of him. He can peer now over the wall of school. He is -worried, too, by the increasingly acute demands of his physical nature, -by the restraints that are imposed on it. Very often a quite popular boy -makes himself generally disliked during his last year on account of this -irritation that expresses itself in bad temper, jealousy, and outbursts -of unreasoning vindictiveness. - -The last term is especially difficult. A boy finds himself freed from -the conditions that had for the five previous years directed his -conduct. He had always thought of 'next term.' Now he realises suddenly -that there is going to be no next term. He is no longer leading the -normal life of his companions. On all sides of him preparations are -being made for the future. Jones has decided to share the games study -with Evans instead of Smith. Plans are being made for the arrangement of -the dormitories. Ambitions are carefully tended, careers are nursed. So -and so is worried because some one else has got his firsts before him. -Dunston is distressed because he has been caught cribbing: 'There goes -my chance of house prefectship.' And the boy who is about to leave -slowly realises that these considerations have no longer any meaning for -him. - -If he is caught cribbing he is concerned only with his immediate -punishment. If some one gets his colours before him it does not matter. -He has done with the troubles of seniority. The old life is falling from -him. He is perplexed, not seeing clearly what lies in front of him. Six -years seemed such a long time. He had not paused to wonder what lay -beyond them. He had come to regard that last Sunday in the school chapel -as a final stage. School stories always ended there: in the same way -that romances always closed on marriage, or on death. And, though now he -would be no doubt ready to admit that a man's life did not end at the -altar, and might even be prepared to consider the possibility of an -existence beyond the grave, he had not considered such speculation -profitable or entertaining. - -And, in the same way that at a later point of his career he will awake -with a start six months after marriage and ask himself whether it is all -over: 'Heavens!' he will say, 'I can't be finished with; what's going to -happen now?' So, during his last term, he discovers that this stage has -not the finality he had supposed. Something has got to happen next. -School life was, after all, no more than a prelude. He had valued too -highly the enticing emoluments it had to offer. And he does not see what -new prizes life will hold for him. - -If he is going to Oxford he may toy with the prospect of athletic -honours. But unless he is particularly gifted, or particularly -conceited, he will appreciate the vast degree of specialised rivalry to -which he will be subjected. If he is going into business he will -envisage, perhaps, the days of affluence and power, of private -secretaries and private telephones; but all that is a very long way off. -There is no immediate focus for his ambition. There is no particular -reason why he should not, if he wishes, make as big a nuisance of -himself as his fancy pleases. He is passing from one phase of discipline -to another; and because the nature of neither is definite, he considers -himself free. A last term is often indeterminate and ineffectual. - -Now if the discovery that school life is only a prelude is made by an -unimaginative athlete during these last weeks, we can confidently assume -that it will be made a good deal sooner by a boy of originality and -independence, especially by one who has not entered with any great zest -into the conflict of athletic distinction, and has, therefore, been in a -sense above the battle. He realises a good year and a half before he has -to leave that life in its fullest is to be encountered beyond the limits -of a cloistered world. The discovery does not contribute to his content. -He knows that if he wishes to win a scholarship he will have to stay on -his full time, and he feels that he is marking time, that he is sitting -in the stalls of a theatre waiting for the curtain to go up. Now that is -a most unsatisfactory position to be in. In the theatre we kick our -heels, read our programmes, turn round to see if we can recognise a -friend, speculate on the possibility of innocence in the lady who is -sitting in the front row of the dress circle. One does anything to make -the quarter of an hour pass quickly. The imaginative schoolboy behaves -in a similar fashion. He frets and grows impatient. He assumes an -intellectual snobbery. He despises the majority of his companions and -labels them as Philistines. He disparages the values of athletics and -exalts in essays and in the debating society the literary standards of -the nineties. - -It is possible that on Saturday evening he will leave a carnation -standing in green ink in the hope of emulating his divinities. He is -encouraged in his rebellion by the indignant astonishment of the master, -who refuses to regard his outburst as a very natural and, on the whole, -harmless pose. He is lectured severely on the dignity of his position. -He replies in a cryptic epigram. He even criticises the public school -system--an unforgivable offence. Being unacquainted with the ways of -systems, and feeling that his personal liberty is curtailed, he -considers that for this curtailment the public school system is solely -and peculiarly responsible. He will not allow that all systems oppress -the individual, that systems are made for the service of the many, and -that it is for the individualist to decide whether the privileges he -will receive by consenting to remain with the mass compensate for the -unpleasant restrictions that are placed on the free play of his -personality. It is, after all, the first system with which he has -contracted an intimate relationship, and in the same way that a -monogamist considers his wife worse than anybody else's, the schoolboy -delights, in spite of a deep affection for his own school, in hurling at -the public school system all manner of accusations, in which the word -sausage machine is not infrequently repeated. - -There are such boys in every school. Age is an arbitrary definition of -development. Many boys reach the age of seventeen, and stay there for -the rest of their lives; others are twenty-five years old before they -have done with their teens. When a boy is tired of school he has -outgrown school. And there is only one sure remedy--to take him away. - -But there are the claims of a university career; there is the parent's -natural wish that his son should gain a scholarship; it is often -impracticable for the boy to leave: in such circumstances we can only -recommend on the part of the masters a general leniency. Such outbursts -should not be taken seriously. The school, as a whole, is not concerned -with the unusual behaviour of those who, by the possession of brains, -are already considered slightly abnormal. And the jester who is -disregarded may well become a monk. If, however, a boy feels that notice -is being taken of him, he allows his flattered vanity to dictate to him. -He cultivates his pose; he wonders how best he may shock the -mid-Victorianism of the common room, and there is the danger that the -pose may, in the course of time, become part of his intellectual -equipment. - -Sermons and addresses inform us that in the last term is to be found the -significance of school life. But, as I have previously tried to show, -the last term is no more significant than the first. The new boy is -outside school, pausing on the fringe, his eyes full of a sheltered -curiosity. The boy who is about to leave is equally outside school; he -looks backwards and he looks forwards; the continuity of his life is -about to be broken; its rhythm is temporarily suspended. He is no longer -leading the same life as his companions. And it is vain to compare the -new boy with the boy that is about to leave, and by analysing and -examining the change that there is between them to arrive at the meaning -of school life. - -They are two entirely different people. One is a child; the other is a -man. The change that must necessarily have taken place during this -passage is so considerable that it is impossible to say how much of it -is due to environment and how much to physical growth. You might send a -man of thirty to Timbuctoo, recall him at the end of four years, and, -examining the change in him apprehend the significance of Timbuctoo -society. He went a man and he returned a man. What change there was in -him could be attributed directly to the wholesome, or unwholesome, -atmosphere of Timbuctoo. - -You cannot follow this line of reasoning with a public school boy. A -parent cannot say: 'Six years ago I sent you a young, innocent boy, -industrious, honest, truthful. You have returned to me a young man who -knows more than I consider it proper that he should know, whose sole -object appears to be to extract from life as much pleasure as is -commensurate with a minimum of work, a young man, moreover, who -considers that a lie told to an official is not a lie. Look what you -have done!' But that is not a fair attitude. Anyhow, during those six -years, a boy must to a certain extent have lost his innocence; most -young men of nineteen place the claims of personal indulgence before -those of work. Most young men look on life as a game that is played -between themselves and a perfectly ridiculous antiquated body which is -called 'government,' and whom it is permissible to hoodwink, misinform, -or otherwise deceive whenever the opportunity is presented. The -corroding forces of knowledge must make themselves felt during those six -years. It is unreasonable and absurd to attribute their effects solely -to the public school system. - -One can, however, by examining the mental state of a boy a week after he -has left school, form some estimate of what he has learnt at such -considerable expense to his parents. - -In the first place, he has acquired an extremely valuable social -technique. A public school education is a passport. Its assailants would -describe it as the membership of a select trades union. An old public -school boy can enter a new mess without feeling any great embarrassment. -He knows how to comport himself in the more superficial of the -situations in which he will from time to time discover himself. All of -which is distinctly valuable. - -He has also learnt to understand the type of man with whom he will have -most dealing. He is admitted, that is to say, to terms of good -fellowship with a very large number of persons. He will be treated by -them as a decent chap till he proves himself otherwise. He will have -enough in common with them to be able to bridge superficially the -uncertain moments that precede friendship. If he were introduced to a -man at his club, he would have no difficulty in finding a congenial -topic of conversation, during which conversation he would be able to -decide whether or not the man to whom he had been introduced was likely -to prove a sympathetic companion. - -He would have learnt, through the exercise of these qualities in a -communal life, patience and tolerance of a certain kind. A tolerance, -that is to say, that might condemn a man on the cut of his coat, the -colour of his ties, or the use of an incorrect idiom, but would allow -each man to lead his own private life provided he wore the conventional -uniform. Such a tolerance may be described as snobbish and narrow, but -is an admirable social lubricant. An old public school boy would be -unlikely, for instance, to cause trouble to a mess or company or cricket -club by injudicious interference. He will have learnt that it is not -easy for an assorted collection of men to live together without -occasionally getting on each other's nerves, and he will have learnt, in -consequence, the value of tact and compromise. - -He will also have learnt a version of his duty towards his neighbours. -He would not tell a lie to a friend unless it was absolutely necessary, -and he would never let a friend down. He has the sense of loyalty -developed to a high degree. All of which goes down on the credit side of -the ledger. On the debit side, however, there are enough entries to make -the cashier wonder whether, or no, the account is overdrawn. - -It is amazing how little knowledge the average public school boy has -managed to acquire. He has rushed from one class room to another, -learning French for one hour, and history for another, and science for a -third. He has worked at each of these subjects spasmodically according -to the particular form and set in which he has happened at the time to -find himself. For a whole year on end he may have neglected French -because he was under a lazy master. Then, at the end of the year, on -finding himself in a higher and more strenuous form, he may have made -feverish efforts for a couple of terms, to the detriment of his -mathematics and history, with the result that there is an enormous gap -in his knowledge. Whole periods of history are a blank to him. He has -acquired a certain quantity of uncorrelated information. Within a few -years what little connection there was between the appreciation of these -isolated facts will have slipped away. There will remain a few phrases, -a few catchwords, a few dates--an admirable framework indeed for social, -moral, and political prejudice. - -The average public school boy knows, I imagine, a great deal less than -the continental school product. Not only has he learnt little, but he -has not been encouraged to use his brains. He does not, indeed, regard -his brain as a possession to be valued highly and carefully trained. He -will get out of bed five minutes earlier than he need do in the morning -to wave his legs about his head and do exercises with his arms that will -improve his physical condition, but he would never think of learning a -dozen lines of English verse to improve his memory. No one ever appears -to have impressed on him the fact that at thirty-five he will have to -abandon football; that, by the time he is fifty, he will be bowling very -slow stuff indeed, and will be grateful to the opposing captain who -offers him a runner. Yet, at sixty, his brain will, if properly cared -for, be as powerful as it has ever been. - -Now I do not want to suggest that boys should devote their whole spare -time to the reading of poetry; literature is only a part of life; but I -do maintain that every public school boy should take some part in the -intellectual life of the world, that he should be able to discover as -much interest in his mind as in his body. At present he does not. He has -very little inner life. He depends far too much on outside interests, on -games during the term, and theatres during the holidays. If he has to -rely on his own devices, he is woefully deficient. - -This fact was brought home to me vividly by my experience as a prisoner -of war in Germany. The average officer had no resources of his own; he -could draw no sustenance from the contemplative side of life. He mooned -round the square, wondering how soon he could decently set about his -next meal, longing sadly for the lights of Piccadilly. In the evenings, -when he had to return to his room, he spent the three or four hours -before lights were extinguished engraving rather aimless pictures on the -lids of cigar boxes. It was a pathetic sight to see a man of -twenty-eight, in the prime of life, sitting down night after night to -fiddle about with a knife, a piece of wood, and a box of paints. He -derived no pleasure from it. It was a narcotic. As long as his hands -were employed his brain could go to sleep, and he needed to contemplate -no longer the tedious procession of days that lay before him. Every man -should have sufficient part in the intellectual interests of life to be -able to keep his intelligence active for eight months in surroundings -that provide no physical outlets. - -The public school boy has derived little satisfaction from his work. He -has laboured spasmodically with expediency as the goal. Promotion has -promised certain attendant privileges, and the historical Sixth lies, -calm and pleasant, like a lake in the desert. - -There is to be found a rest 'for all who come.' It is a sure port after -the shipwrecks of the fourths and fifths. The traveller need work no -more; he has laboured faithfully, let him enter into the joy of his -lord. He returns one holidays having gained his second eleven colours. -Paternal pride is flattered, and the spirit of welcome is only partially -relaxed by the accompanying report. About a week later the following -conversation takes place over a glass of port. - - - _Son_: I say, father, don't you think all these classics are rather - a waste of time? - - _Father_: Well, I don't know, my boy. I did them myself, you know. - - _Son_: Of course, father, of course; but things were a bit - different then, and besides you were so much better at them than I - am. - - _Father_: Oh, well, if you put it like that, my boy, well, - perhaps---- - - _Son_: You see, father, I thought it would be rather a good idea - for me to read history. - - _Father_: History, my boy, whatever for? - - _Son_: Well, I was thinking of taking up politics, father, and - anyway, history scholarships are awfully easy to get. That ass, - Kenneth, got one--you know, the fellow in the School House with the - yellow hair. If you'd just drop a line to Chief, father, I'm sure - he would be only too glad.... - - -One more pilgrim has arrived at Mecca. - -The higher up the school one goes, the less work one does. After a few -terms the habit of work is lost, and the only real diligence is -displayed by that melancholy type of scholar who is trained like a pet -Pomeranian. - -This is not an ideal apprenticeship for life. It starts a boy with an -entirely false idea of the position that his work should occupy in his -life. I do not wish to seem parsonic, but, if the experience of -practically every big man that has ever lived means anything to us, we -do know that a man's happiness, or unhappiness, depends in the main on -whether his employment is congenial to him. Work is the finest antidote -to boredom. And a public school boy has not realised this by the time he -is on the threshold of his career. He does not consider that the choice -of his career should be the expression of his temperament. He drifts -into the most accessibly remunerative job. He brings to it no -enthusiasm. - -The trouble is that school life lasts too long and is far too jolly. Six -years is a long time. A boy of thirteen can hardly be expected to -realise that it is only a prelude. The years pass so happily, the -pursuit of ambition is so engrossing that he has no time to consider -whether the prizes he is winning have any lasting value. As the new boy -he longs to be captain of the school: and, having set himself a task, he -does not shrink from the contest. School life is so vast, so varied, so -many-coloured that it would be difficult for a boy to relinquish his -hold upon the ambition that lies close to him in favour of the shadowy -ambitions of the life that lies beyond it. School life is too big a -pedestal for the statue that is to be placed on it. It dwarfs what it -should present. The boy finds on leaving school that an entirely -different technique is required. It is not that the standards are -changed, but the whole manner of life is altered. - -His school career was divided neatly into stages. He could at any moment -consult a house list and see how he was progressing on the road to -authority. At such a period he should have reached the Fifth table. If -he were one day to get into the Fifteen, he should by his sixteenth -birthday have got his house cap. Everything was mapped out. The rungs of -the ladder were labelled. Colt's Cap, House Cap, Seconds, Firsts, Fourth -Form, Fifth Form, Sixth. - -In business he finds no such ladder. His abilities are placed upon the -open market. He is fighting an intangible foe. He has to come to terms -with himself. He feels that he is driving into the void. He also finds -that he has to rearrange his scale of values. Athletic distinction is -not greatly prized in Wall Street, and the young man who, when asked to -present his qualifications, remarks that his batting average was over -thirty, without a single not-out score to help it, is likely to receive -a rude shock. I spent a few months before I went to Sandhurst in the -Inns of Court O.T.C. (a corps that had, by that time, ceased to be -composed of ex-public school men), and it was a blow to discover that -the fact that I had been in my school eleven and fifteen made not the -slightest impression on any of the N.C.O.'s. - -It may be that a readjustment of one's standards is a healthy -experience. But that is hardly the attitude that officials could safely -adopt. The public school system is supposed to produce trained citizens, -who are in harmony with their environment. And that is exactly what the -public school boy is not. He tries to tackle life with the scale of -values that he learnt to apprehend at school. And it is not an easy -task. Some, indeed, never accomplish it. They never readjust themselves. -They surround themselves with old friends, revisit their old schools, -endeavour to recapture the old atmosphere. They regret vaguely that -something has passed. Like Jurgen, they return in quest of their youth, -but the distorted shadow of Sereda prevents them from entering -completely their former selves. In _The Harrovians_ Arnold Lunn makes -two of his characters discuss this question. - -'There's West, for example,' Peter said, 'he'll never be such a blood -again. He hasn't any brains. He couldn't even struggle into the Upper -School, but he's a mighty man here. Rather a pity, I think, that life -should reach its highest point at nineteen. This ought only to be a -beginning.' - -That states the case. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE OLD BOY AS SCHOOLMASTER AND PARENT - - -Fears for the future and regrets for the past are alike forgotten during -the last week. There are sad moments, but, as Arnold Lunn remarked, -'there is a world of difference between the pleasant sorrow of sentiment -and the more real depression that coincides with an overdraft at the -bank.' The last week is passed in a mood that I once heard described as -'happy-sad.' On the last Sunday in chapel the boy who is leaving -endeavours to summon the appropriate emotion. He knows how he ought to -feel. He has been instructed by so many stories. He is, in a way, an -actor in a drama. He knows that the fag on the other side of the aisle -is looking at him, is saying to himself: 'This is Jones's last chapel. -What is he feeling?' And, like an actor, Jones does not want to -disappoint his audience. He feels as he should feel. There is a lump at -the back of his throat. But, on the whole, leaving is an exciting -experience. - -There is the auction of study furniture, when pictures that cost five -shillings when they were new, fetch seven and six in their fourth year -of service. There are the calls to be paid to masters, the 'good-byes' -and 'good lucks.' It is the abdication of office when one is at the -height of one's authority. It is a fine gesture that 'immeasurable -power, unsated to resign,' to be able to step straight out from the -lighted room, before the corroding forces of change have begun to work, -and before habit has dulled applause. The exit is made at exactly the -right moment. The curtain falls on a dramatic climax. And how rarely -that happens. - -In a temper of wistful sentimentality and self-satisfaction, arrayed in -the colours of the old boys' society, the ex-public school boy leans out -of the carriage window, waves good-bye to the friends who are catching a -later train, makes and extracts promises to write, and watches as the -train moves out of the station the familiar landmarks slip one by one -behind him. - -A sentimental, that is to say, a superficial emotion passes quickly. And -it depends on the kind of life which awaits a boy, whether or not this -sentimental regret will be followed by an acute sense of loss. - -If he is going up to the university or to some remunerative and -interesting employment, it is probable that he will forget school -altogether in the fascination of a new life. If, however, he is destined -for some dull unromantic post in the city, the thought of school will -for a long time wake in him a deep, hopeless nostalgia. He will bring no -enthusiasm to his work, and, as he sits at his high desk, balancing -ledgers, computing insurance policies, adjusting income-tax returns, he -will compare the monotony of his routine with the coloured movement and -variety of school. As he walks to his office he will remind himself that -at this moment the morning chapel is just ending. The school will be -pouring across the courts. If he were there he would be walking arm in -arm with some friend of his to the class-room, stopping on the way some -intelligent friend to demand the elucidation of certain tiresome -theorems. As he returns to the office after lunch he will say to -himself: 'If I were there now I should be changing for football. I -should have before me the prospect of a hard game and a bath afterwards, -and a long, lazy evening in front of the games study fire.' And, at the -end of the day, on his return to his home or diggings, he is lonely with -the recollection of how often at such a time he has sat in the -class-room waiting impatiently for the clock to strike, waiting for the -moment of freedom when he can gather his books under his arm and rush -back to the house to tea, to the four delightful hours of friendship and -discussion that lie in that enchanted period between lock-up and lights -out. School life never means so much to a boy as it does during his few -months after he has left it. For he sees it transfigured in his -imagination; he remembers nothing of the tiresome demands of routine, -nothing of the friction between boys and masters, nothing of the long -boring hours in form when he watched the patch of sunlight drift across -the wall, nothing of the anxieties, the annoyances, the restrictions of -a cloistered life. He sees it purged of the accidental, a city of his -own fashioning. - -It does not last, of course, this intense nostalgia. No young man can -live for very long in the past. New interests come to him, he finds new -fields for his ambition. He makes friends in his office. He joins a -tennis club, he takes dancing lessons. He sets out in search of life. He -ceases, at every vacant moment of the day, to compute what he would be -doing were he at school instead of at an office. He thinks of the -innings he intends to play next Saturday: his eyes pick out on the -carpet an imaginary spot ten feet away from him, and he considers what -shot he would play to a ball that pitched on it; he also perhaps wonders -what exactly that charming lady with whom he had danced the night -before, had meant when she had said, with a peculiar inflection in her -voice: 'You're growing up.' - -His correspondence with his old friends becomes spasmodic. He no longer -writes to his house master once a month. The arrival of a letter with -the school crest on it ceases to excite him as it did. The school -magazine becomes full of names that are meaningless to him. He notes -with disgust that Baxter, in his day a miserable little squirt, has got -into the Eleven; and that that goggle-eyed ass, Barton, is head of the -school. He asks himself at Christmas whether it is worth his while to -renew his subscription, and decides that it is not. From time to time he -reads in _The Sportsman_ of the feats of his school Fifteen, and -remarks without enthusiasm that 'Fernhurst must be pretty strong this -year.' His school life has dropped from him as a coat that he has -outgrown. It belongs to the past, and he is living in the future. School -will not mean much to him for another twenty years, till the time comes, -that is to say, when he will have to send his son to school. - -Then will he recover his youth, and live again his school days in his -son, only more intensely, because he will be living them in his -imagination. In the achievements of his son he will recognise the ghost -of his old ambitions. His son's career will be more personal to him than -his own. He will take more pleasure in his son's successes than the boy -will himself. Indeed a great deal of a boy's pleasure in his success -lies in his appreciation of the happiness that it will bring to his -father. At no time in their lives do father and son come so close to one -another as during these years. And it is at first sight surprising that -this intimacy should not produce that common ground on which -difficulties may be openly discussed and quarrels healed. For in spite -of this intimacy, the relations between father and son are very often -superficial. - -This statement may appear self-contradictory, but a little examination -will show that this is not so. We do not necessarily confide in the -people we love best. Let any man think of his friends and acquaintances, -and he may be surprised to discover that he knows a great deal more -about his acquaintances than his friends. I do not lay it down as a -fact that he will make this discovery. I merely say that he may make it; -certainly a great many will. - -At school, where one has a vast number of acquaintances and a few -friends, I used to wonder sometimes how best one could draw the dividing -line between a friend and an acquaintance. And I decided that the -difference lay in silence, that with a friend one could be silent, -whereas with an acquaintance one could not. If a friend walked into -one's study when one was busy, one smiled and went on with one's work; -the friend picked up a book and read. But if an acquaintance came in, -one immediately stopped what one was doing; one felt that silence would -become embarrassing. - -In the same way one does not, in the company of a real friend, feel the -need of personal confidences. One likes being with him. That is enough. -One sits over a fire and talks spasmodically, with long silences -drifting into the conversation. But with a person of whom one is not -particularly fond, such desultory conversation is not adequate. An -acquaintance is not, in himself, sufficiently interesting--he is -interesting in what he has done, or is doing. The need for confidences -is essential. And so it is that most of us have acquaintances to whom we -recount all our discreditable exploits, our romances, our financial -enterprises, with whom we seem, in fact, remarkably intimate, but whose -absence, were they to pass out of our lives, we should not greatly -regret. The man who knows most about us very often matters least to us. -This is not a generalisation. One cannot generalise about an abstraction -like friendship, that has a different meaning and a different message -for every individual man. But such relationships are a common -experience; they are the more common in the degree that their subjects -are the more reserved. And there is no more reserved class than that of -past and present public school boys. - -This is, at any rate, the only explanation that I can find for the -superficial relations between son and father that are spread over so -deep a trust and intimacy. They accept without appreciating this -superficiality. The father comes down at half term, and he goes for a -walk arm in arm with his son, along the slopes. They discuss home -affairs and the external activities of school: football shop, cricket -shop, house politics. They rarely touch on the boy's inner life; the -father can only guess at what his boy is doing and thinking. Underneath -their love for each other they are strangers. - -On the important issues of school life they are both driven to accept -the verdict of the house master or head master. And he, although he is -working in the dark on both sides of him, is their only intermediary. - -But the relationships between parents and children are too intricate for -so short a book as this. Indeed, I doubt whether it is possible ever to -tackle satisfactorily a subject, the nature of which alters with every -individual case. One would be lost at once in a labyrinth of -generalisations and exceptions; Lytton Strachey made no attempt to write -a history of the Victorian era. He selected and analysed a few -specimens; that is, I believe, the only way in which to deal with the -complex subject of parenthood. And it can only be thus dealt with by the -story-teller, by the man who says: 'I care nothing for general -principles. But this is how things went for one family.' In a general -study such as this, it is quite impossible to dogmatise from individual -cases. But I would submit this facet of the relationship between father -and son as an important one in the study of school society. It throws -the need for co-operation almost entirely on the schoolmaster. It makes -his responsibility greater than he knows. - -Now there are three types of men to whom the scholastic profession makes -its chief appeal. There is the brilliant scholar, the man with the -double first, who will turn out to be either completely incompetent, or -will become a head master. There is the athlete who takes a third, or at -best a second in mods, and on the strength of a blue, returns as games -master to his old school. Lastly, there is the idealist, the man who -regards teaching as a calling and not a trade, the man who may be either -an impossible crank or, in his own line, a genius. - -The first class of master plays, on the whole, a small part in the -politics of school life. If he is incompetent he is ragged in form and -his opinion carries no weight in the common room. If he is successful, -he is a bird of passage, on his way to some rich head-mastership. He may -become a house master for a while, but he is always looking beyond his -immediate surroundings. He is ambitious. He does not regard one school -as his compass. Always he is just outside the drama. - -The second class, however, forms the backbone of tradition. The old boy -comes back to his old school with an intense loyalty and with the -intention of staying there for the rest of his life. His ambition is to -have the best house in the best school in the best county. He is usually -a very fine fellow indeed, but he represents eternally the spirit of -reaction. He lives in the standards of his youth. He has had no -opportunity of testing those standards in another environment. His whole -life has moved within the circle of one school. - -He imbibed as a boy the public school spirit, and he did not outgrow -that spirit at the university--hardly a proof of mental elasticity. He -has no sense of progress or of change in the world for which he is -training the young. As things have been, so shall they be. The old boy -turned house master is the most powerful force in the common room. He is -the chief obstacle that the enthusiast has to face. - -With regard to the enthusiast, one is tempted to put an asterisk against -the heading and a footnote, '_Vide_ the novels of S. P. B. Mais -_passim_,' and leave it at that. For Mr. Mais knows more about the -reception of this type of master than any other man in the kingdom. He -has himself a genius for teaching. I cannot imagine a better English -master. He inspires enthusiasm in the confirmed slacker. He is an -invaluable asset to any staff, and yet nearly everywhere he has been met -by opposition. His own story, as set forth in _A Schoolmaster's Diary_, -is typical of the young movement. Only there is this difference, that, -whereas Mr. Mais has never yielded to the reactionary influences, the -majority of young masters conform to the custom of the country. Their -position is extremely difficult. - -They leave Oxford with high ambitions. They have dissected and analysed -the system, they have discovered the vital spot; they are eager to put -their reforms into action. They have wonderful schemes for inspiring -boys with a love of the beautiful, with an interest in politics and -life. They are prepared to be ruthless in their battle; they will -neither ask nor give quarter. They will not be fettered to the -reactionary indolence of the intolerant and the effete. They have a -mission and a purpose. They bring a sword. They arrive at school with a -quenchless ardour. - -Like the small boy home for the holidays, they want to do everything on -the first day. Before they have had time to look round they are -suggesting schemes for founding literary and dramatic circles: they want -to open a political debating society where there shall be files of _The -Nation_ and _The Daily News_. They start a mile race at the speed of a -hundred yards and find themselves alone in the void. Every one else is -going at a very leisurely pace. There is no need for hurry. Their whole -life is before them. The school has been in existence a very long while. -It is moving in its own time to its duly appointed ends. The young -enthusiast grows impatient: like most intense people he is tactless and -makes mistakes. He ignores his colleagues, or interferes with their -arrangements. He creates an atmosphere of opposition. This is, of -course, what he has anticipated. The fight, he feels, is going to begin. -But the nature of the fight is very different from what he had expected. - -It is not waged with the intolerant and the effete, but with men whom he -cannot help admiring. He cannot make himself hate his enemies. The old -boy house master, it cannot be too often repeated, is a very fine -fellow. And his point of view is reasonable. He has given his youth, his -energy, his ambition to his school. He has cared for nothing else. He -has allowed many of the good things of life to pass him because of this -unwavering devotion, and it is natural that he should resent the -intrusion of a young fellow who has not had time to learn to love the -school, but who wants to overturn the most cherished privileges. - -And his methods are so impeccably direct and honest. He does not go -behind the young man's back to the head master. He has the young man -into his study for a chat; he looks him straight in the face. He says: -'Come now, we've got to have this out.' And the young man finds it so -desperately hard not to admire him. He endeavours to open a discussion: -he states his case. For a moment he seems to forget the personal issue -in the case. Confidence comes back to him. He develops his argument, and -then, just when he feels that his grip is closing on the contest, he is -beaten by that disarming sentimentality which is the most powerful of -all the old boy's weapons. - -'My dear fellow,' he will say, 'you have your point of view and I have -mine. We are both in our own ways working for the good of the school; -why must we quarrel? We are fighting the same fight. But we can do -nothing unless we stand together. I've given my whole life to the cause; -you are just beginning.' - -The acceptance of this offer of friendship and co-operation means -defeat. The young man knows it. But it is so hard to refuse. The rebel -in any sphere of life has no harder task than the cutting adrift from -his own caste and the subsequent alliance with men of different -upbringing and different standards. He sees, on the one hand, a vast -number of noble, if bigoted men, men whom he can trust and admire. And, -on the other side, as a setting for the few idealists in whose -principles he believes, the arrayed forces of envy, greed, and malice. -The temptation to cling to what he knows and what secretly he admires -is too great. Most of the young enthusiasts give way soon. They join the -forces of reaction. - -And those that stand out are inevitably broken. What chance have they -after all? The modern intellectual is something of a negativist. His -tolerance is composed of indifference and uncertainty. He sees life in -the words of Jurgen as a 'wasteful and inequitable process,' and does -not discern clearly how to alter it. His philosophy is a series of -disappointments. He is bound to go down before a bigotry that is certain -of itself. The forces of reaction are so powerfully entrenched. The old -boy house master knows exactly what he wants and how he proposes to get -it. He advances down a straight road. His enemies pause and wonder and -question themselves. - -The bigot usually makes the best administrator. He is not worried by -abstractions. He is certain of his ends and can devote all his attention -to the means. The tolerant head master, the man who sees both points of -view, is overcome in the end by preponderating faith and sincerity of -reaction. The new man is invariably subjugated, or else is made to go. -No head master would be anxious to take his side. - -The games master type is intensely popular with parents and old boys. He -represents for them the public school spirit. He is a fixed, immutable -principle in which they can place their trust. They would be intensely -worried were they to learn that the head master had taken the side of a -new man against their old friend. The subject would be discussed in the -clubs: 'There's trouble brewing at Fernhurst,' they would say. 'This new -head master is a liberal. He's quarrelling with old Aiken. I don't like -the look of it.' And the position of the school would be shaken. Parents -would send their sons elsewhere. The numbers would drop. Unpleasant -questions would be put to the head master at the next meeting of the -governors. It is the old trouble of the merchant and his goods. Parents -have to be placated. They have been assured that 'all is for the best in -the best of all possible schools'; and, when they hear rumours of -dissension they naturally imagine that something must be wrong with that -particular school. It is not so everywhere. They remind the head master -of his own official utterances. And it is not easy after prophesying -smooth things to satisfy the complaints of those who find them hard. - -A head master has to reach his ends through infinite tact and patience -and through a long series of compromises. He has to be something of an -opportunist. He has to give reasons other than the true ones for what he -does. He has to promote progress secretly, while he advocates -conservatism. And it is hard to remain true to oneself while playing the -Jekyll and Hyde game. Motives become involved; there is too much -diplomacy, and the forces of reaction, whatever else they be, are -distinctly honest. Certainly he cannot allow the clumsy enthusiasm of a -young man to complicate his vexed existence. And the young man has -either to break or bend. Usually he bends. He has, after all, to -consider his own career. He compromises with himself. He manages to -persuade himself that he is not really yielding, but that he is adopting -different tactics, attacking the enemy from another side. He decides to -do his work of reform quietly, without ostentation. Other people can do -their own way if they like. - -That compromise is the start of a long process of self-deception. When -he becomes a house master it will be so simple to put off parents with -excuses. He will be able to justify himself, to say: 'These are stupid -folk. They will worry me if I encourage them. I have my work to do. I -must pacify them and get on with it.' And so the circle completes -itself. The young man who sets out to reform school life, who brought to -the task a fine, untried energy, ends in evasion, compromise and -self-deception. Boys, parents, and masters are working at cross -purposes. - -There are certainly a large number of entries on the debit side of the -ledger. It remains to be decided what hand has written these entries and -whether it is possible to erase them. To a large extent they are due to -four things: the moral issue; the cult of athleticism, which is regarded -as an antidote to immorality; the conspiracy of silence that exists -between parents and boys and masters, and the long period a boy spends -at school--the six years that separate so unduly the junior from the -senior, that accentuate the blood system, that erect a wall shutting out -the world at large. School life is too much of a walled garden, too much -of a world in itself. It has remained monastic, it has not established -contact with the movements of the hour. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SOME SUGGESTIONS: THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO MORALS - - -The ardent idealists with their thousand pretty schemes for the -regeneration of mankind, find no difficulty in allotting a few panaceas -to the Public School. We hear of the 'new world' and of the 'new -spirit,' and there is glib talk about the phoenix and the ashes. A few -laws have to be passed, a few peasants educated and there will be an end -of competition. 'The strong will support the weak, the clever work -unselfishly for the general good. Wealth and intellect will be placed at -the service of the state. The relations of the sexes will be ordered by -eugenics.' - -It is all very jolly, and unless to-day one subscribes unfalteringly to -this belief in a new world, one is called a reactionary and a -materialist. The millennium, we are told, is round the corner. The -finest intellects of thirty centuries may have failed to find it, but -the farm labourer has only to spend a few half-hours with an English -grammar to discover it at his feet. It must be very nice to believe all -that, to be able to comfort oneself in dark moments with the assurance -that for one's children's children life will be a happy hunting ground. -It must be a drug more potent than laudanum, more sweet than hashish. -But it is of small avail in the dust and traffic of humanity. In the -case of the Public Schools we shall do well to examine what is at hand -and prescribe what cures we may, without the indulgence of distant -speculation. - -The four main objects of criticism, then, are the moral question, the -evil of athleticism, the false scale of values that is inculcated at a -Public School, and the subsequent conspiracy of silence. On the moral -question the advanced idealists have talked more and to less purpose -than on any other phase of school life. They have written of the -discovery of the soul, of the unfolding of the flower. They have -maintained that through art and literature the boy's emotional nature -will be directed to a higher, a nobler conception of life. The -psycho-analyst speaks of 'sublimation,' and they have fastened on to -this cliche. Was not this what they had been saying so long, in other -words--the sublimation of the sexual impulse? - -Now, in the case of a celibate priest or a maiden lady it is, no doubt, -highly desirable and perhaps possible to sublimate an impulse which has -been and in all probability will be, denied natural satisfaction. But it -is a pretty hopeless job to sublimate an impulse that has every hope and -prospect of complete, direct, and natural realisation; and that is the -task that the advocates of flowers and poetry and the dawn have set -themselves. If we are to change the moral tone of a Public School we -shall have to find either an alternative system, or we shall have to -modify in some way the existing system. - -Two alternatives are offered: co-education and the day school. In -neither case should immorality be general or serious, and the number of -romantic friendships correspondingly slight. It seems hardly possible -that a normal healthy boy would be attracted by a smaller boy when, at a -school like Bedales, he would be constantly in the company of young and -charming scholars. And though the day boarder lives for the greater part -of his day in a monastic society, he spends the majority of his spare -time outside it. And during the week-ends he has full opportunity to -continue any romance on which he may have embarked during the previous -holidays. Although it is only possible for me to speak here from -second-hand information, it can be assumed, I think, that at the -co-educational and day school the moral question must sink to -comparative unimportance. It has to be considered, however, whether this -relegation compensates for the consequent disadvantages. - -Co-education is, of course, a new game, and it is difficult to write of -it with confidence. At a lecture that I gave about three years ago, a -young woman rose from the back of the hall and asked 'what Mr. Waugh -thought about co-education?' I had, as a matter of fact, thought about -it very little, but I felt that I could hardly confess as much. I said, -therefore, something about 'co-education being excellent for delicate -and sensitive boys who would find Public Schools too rough for them.' -The young woman then indignantly demanded what the girls had done to -deserve the companionship of only delicate and sensitive boys. It was an -unanswerable protest, but having since then thought the matter over more -carefully, I believe that, if the same question were put to me to-day I -should make the same reply. It may be that such a reply would be based -only on prejudice and a preconceived idea. But, after all, the evil that -one knows is better than the evil that one does not know. And who would -wish away his school days. - -If you were to ask a small boy of thirteen whether he would prefer to go -to Uppingham or Bedales, he would promptly reply 'Uppingham.' If, two -years later, you were to say to him: 'Would you rather have gone to -Bedales than Uppingham?' he would reply: 'Lord, no.' If at the end of -his last term, when it was all over, you were to ask him whether he -regretted his choice, he would say: 'Good God, no!' And, twenty years -afterwards, when the time had come for him to decide where he should -send his son, were you to ask him yet again: 'Bedales or Uppingham?' he -would reply without hesitation, 'Uppingham.' - -Why, after all, should he depart from an old allegiance. He knows -nothing of Bedales, nothing of the troubles and adversities that his son -will have to face there. He will be unable to help him, he will be -denied that greatest privilege of fatherhood, the unquestioning trust -of the son who knows that his father has trod every inch of the way -before him. Father and son rarely come so close to one another as they -do during those five years at a Public School. They are living -practically the same life; the father finds his lost youth in the son. -Is it likely that he will abandon such a certainty for a supposed and -uncertain good. The public school system was formed round certain -distinct traits in the British character. It is the expression of the -national temperament. Nearly every one is happy at a Public School. It -is the manner of life that we enjoy, that is in sympathy with our tastes -and customs. The reformers may say what they will. You cannot turn a dog -from the food it loves. This attitude to co-education may be illogical, -it may be prejudiced, it may be reactionary--I do not know. One can only -restate the fact that we are content to be old-fashioned people. - -The case of the day school cannot be so summarily dismissed. At a first -sight indeed it appears to possess all the advantages and none of the -disadvantages of a Public School. A boy acquires _esprit de corps_, but -is saved from wild partisanship. He strengthens the qualities of courage -and independence as fully as he would at a Public School, and the home -influence is maintained. His moral lapses, if any, are likely to be -occasioned by the attractions of the other sex. My friend, Mr. Oscar -Browning, has indeed often assured me that the day school is the only -possible solution of the difficulty, and in a symposium on the English -Public Schools he wrote that 'House rivalries and the overwhelming -importance of house matches cannot exist in day schools where boys live -with their families, nor is school life likely to be so communal.' Many -other educational authorities, whose testimony one must respect, have -expressed their faith in day schools. Certainly the claim of the day -school must be carefully examined. And it is with diffidence that I -approach the task. - -At most boarding schools the day boy is looked down upon. For some -obscure reason the day boy always seems to be inferior to the boarder. -He is rarely prominent in games or work. One ceases, indeed, to regard -him as a member of the school. He comes into form, he writes his prose, -he attends corp parade, he plays his games. But, at six o'clock, when -the bell rings for tea and the intimate life of the day begins, he -collects his books and hurries across the courts and passes into another -life. - -The period between lock-up and lights out is in retrospect the most -charming part of the day. The troubles of the day are over. Lessons have -to be prepared in prep., but they will not be heard till the next -morning. Time enough to worry about that after breakfast. It is after -tea that one packs twelve people into a study measuring eight feet by -four and discusses the prospects of the house in the Two Cock, the -'latest case,' and Evans's chance of getting into the Fifteen. Prep. is -but a pause in the discussions of these momentous trivialities. After -prayers there is an hour in which to brew coffee and renew the -endlessly attractive conversation. These are the times of friendship and -good feeling, and they are lost to the day boarder. Like the new boy, he -is outside the life of the school. He moves in a different environment; -he has different interests, he cannot enter into the eager loyalties and -aversions of house politics. In a school such as Clifton, where there -are a large number of day boys, the position is, of course, different. -The day boy there occupies a definite social status. Instead of being -attached to a house for games, he is grouped into that sector of the -town in which he happens to live. His friends are leading much the same -life as he is. But it can scarcely be denied that the day boarder loses -a great deal of the charm of a communal life. - -What does he gain to compensate for that loss? - -He is protected to a large extent from the moral lapses peculiar to a -Public School. He will develop through normal channels. Though, as he -will in chapel and in his school listen to addresses that are based on -the accepted official attitude, it is a little doubtful whether he will -find himself in this respect much more satisfactorily educated than the -boarder. At any rate he should be saved the disquieting experiences of a -romantic friendship, and he will be less of a slave to the partisanship -and house feeling. But does he gain anything else? - -We hear a great deal about the value of home influence, but what does -home mean for the day boy? He rushes home at the end of the day, has -his tea, and then settles down to prepare his lessons. By the time he -has finished them it is time for him to go to bed. He has had little -opportunity for talking either to his father or his mother. In the -morning he has only time to rush his breakfast and hurry off to school. -It must be remembered also that the parents who send their sons to day -schools are usually not particularly well off. It is one thing to come -home at the end of a hard day to the quiet seclusion of a warm and cosy -study where everything will be quiet and undisturbed. It is another -thing to come back to a house that is making strenuous efforts to get -things straight before the master of the house returns. Middle-aged -business men expect to find things made snug for them; they do not want -schoolboys kicking about the place at the end of the day. - -Nothing is more uncomfortable than breakfast in the average suburban -family. There is the flutter over the post, the opening and shutting of -the paper, the constant glances at the clock. There is a banging of -doors, and running up of stairs, and the shouting over banisters. A sigh -of relief is heard when the front door closes behind the wage-earner. - -In a large, well-run house the domestic machinery moves so smoothly that -it is unnoticed. In a small suburban villa these moments of arrival and -departure provide constant friction, and it is from the small suburban -villa that the majority of day boarders are recruited. - -In consequence the day boy starts his day's work at a disadvantage. It -is like playing a cricket match on an opponent's ground. One arrives a -little jaded. The boarder is on the spot. He has twenty-five minutes' -leisure between chapel and breakfast. It is possible, of course, that he -will pass these twenty-five minutes in a feverish attempt to prepare the -'con' for which he had been allotted an hour on the time-table of the -previous night. But that is his own fault. He has every chance of -starting the day fresh. - -I cannot think that the rush of getting off in the morning and the -journey to school can be good for a boy of fifteen. It is a strain for a -full-grown man. That twenty minutes' jolt in tubes and lifts is -exhausting. No one arrives at the office perfectly fresh. By the time -one gets back at night one is really tired. The tube journey at the end -of a hard day completes one's weariness. And on top of that weariness -the day boarder has to do an hour and a half's preparation. It is not -the ideal setting for successful work. - -The day boy is also leading two lives at the same time. He cannot shut -them away in watertight compartments. They overlap. It is, no doubt, for -the business man a great privilege and a great relief to be able to -return at the end of the day to a quiet evening in his wife's company. -But then he has not got to work at home, and work implies friction. The -worker wants an absence of outside influences. He wants the company of -quiet folk who make no particular demands on his energy and patience, -with whom his relations are superficial and for whom he does not -particularly care. - -Many writers make a failure of marriage because they put their study too -near their nursery. The imaginative worker wants to be alone, not only -while he is working, but for an hour before he starts working and for an -hour after he has finished working. In many ways the army is the ideal -career for a writer. He can do his two hours' writing after tea, have -his bath and change, and go down to the ante-room, where he can read his -paper quietly and chat superficially with people who make no demands on -him. Wherever there is an intimate relationship there is friction. The -proper adjustment of his work to his personal life is the most delicate -task a man has to tackle. It is beyond the compass of a small boy. For -the very reason that a boy loves his parents there will be friction; a -strain will be placed, that is to say, upon his energy and patience. The -boarder has fewer worries and, in consequence, is happier than the day -boy. - -The advocates of 'home influence' must also remember that the day boy -takes his home for granted. We cannot appreciate the value of anything -till we have either lost it, or become separated from it. Home means a -great deal to the boarder. Holidays mark for him a complete change of -life, to the day boy holidays mean little save the pleasurable cessation -of certain irksome duties. He can stay in bed longer in the morning, he -has not got to hurry his breakfast, a free day lies in front of him. He -will not have to waste his time over Latin Prose and Thucydides. During -the term-time he has, except during week-ends, very few opportunities of -intimate conversation with his parents, and because he has come to -regard their presence as a natural environment he does not, during the -holidays, make, as the boarder does, special efforts to see as much of -them as possible. The influence of a place need be no more effective -because one happens to live in it than the influence of a person because -one happens to be in his, or her, company. It depends on the value set -on the place or person. The boarder values his home more highly than the -day boy. The influence of home is more likely to be felt by him than by -the day boy. Letters from home are an event in the boarder's life. They -mean more than a walk on Sunday morning, and the hours are counted to -the half-term visit. - -The day boy also comes far less into contact with masters than the -boarder does. Indeed the head master of a school can only have a -superficial knowledge of the boys that are entrusted to him. He sees -them in the form room and on the cricket field. But he does not watch -the development of the boy's character through his reactions towards and -away from the intrigues, romances, and jealousies of house politics. -There is no constant theme, only a few uncertain _motifs_. The head -master has not sufficient material upon which to work. The discovery of -so many clues is denied to him. Every boy at some time or other must -pause and wonder how much his head master really knows about him. It is -a subject, for most of us, of disquieting conjecture. But the day boy -can dismiss it with an easy conscience. School for him is a place in -which he works and plays, but does not live. Indeed he is a child of no -man's land, passing between two countries, a true citizen of neither. - -There are those who say that parents are the only people who understand -their children, and will maintain that it is criminal to take young boys -away from their parents at an impressionable age and place them in -charge of schoolmasters who can know nothing about them. But parents -are, as a matter of fact, as likely to make mistakes as any one else. - -We find in anything what we bring to it. And parents expecting their -sons to be brave, truthful, obedient, clever, find them so. An outside -opinion is of extreme value, and a house master or a head master is the -ideal person to give it. When a house master and a father meet on equal -grounds and discuss the son's welfare honestly, the auspices could -hardly be more fortunate. They so rarely meet, because parents and -schoolmasters do not trust each other, because they have adopted the -false position of buyer and seller; the combination remains, however, -none the less ideal. - -I do not myself see what advantages the day school possesses over the -boarding school, save those that are concerned with a particular facet -of morality, and beyond the weakening of a partisanship that is inclined -to put a boy in blinkers. There are some very fine day schools in the -country, but the day school, especially of recent years, has tended to -become an alternative for parents with large families who cannot afford -to send their sons to expensive boarding schools. And, after all, the -suggestion that day schools should be generally substituted for boarding -schools is obviously impracticable. - -Many of the finest Public Schools are situated in remote parts of the -country, others in small towns that were once honoured with a monastery. -How are these venerable institutions to be converted into day schools. A -few retired colonels might possibly form a colony in Shoreham and send -their sons to Lancing. A convenient train would take them to Brighton, -where they might walk on the promenade and recall the reckless -adventures of their youth. But civilisation draws us to big towns for -our livelihood. However much the stockbroker might wish to send his son -as a day boarder to Shrewsbury, he would find it quite impossible to do -so. The town of Shrewsbury would provide no scope for his activities. He -could not possibly settle there. A scheme that would involve the -complete alteration of the public school system can only be called a -revolution. A reformer has to work on his existing material. He cannot -say--wash it out and start again. He cannot put back the clock. - -Mr. Oscar Browning has said that when he went to Eton in 1851 only five -schools could lay claim to the dignity of being called a Public School. -There must be at least fifty first-class Public Schools to-day; they are -nearly all boarding schools, and every few years a comparatively unknown -school proves itself a worthy competitor to older foundations. It is not -the slightest use to say, even if we believed it, that day schools are -better than boarding schools and leave the matter there. A politician -might with equal ability draw up an elaborate defence of the feudal -system. It may very well be that we should be all more happy if we could -reconstruct society on a feudal basis: we might just as well express a -belief that our efficiency would be increased were a kindly providence -to dower us with wings. It may be, though I doubt it, that the advocates -of the day school are in the right, that under such a system of -education immorality and the blood system would pass. But it is for us -to discover some method by which the existing system may be so modified -as to produce of itself the required change. - -Now it is very tempting for a controversialist, when he has completed -the arraignment of his enemies, to slip hastily over the policy he -himself proposes to adopt. I wonder how many letters have been addressed -to the press during the last seven years in which the writer, having -stated in strong terms the calamities to which a certain line of thought -or policy has reduced the country, has demanded in a final paragraph -that 'something should be done before it is too late.' He suggests -perhaps a 'change of spirit.' - -It is a good weapon that 'change of spirit.' We can all of us, when -occasion demands, indulge in spirited invective; we can all detect -numberless flaws and inequalities in the existing social system. Why, -for instance, does our income run to three instead of to four figures. -Why are we paying away a third of that small sum in income-tax? The flow -of indignation is swift, and by the time we have written our 950 words, -it is not hard to devote the remaining '50' to a general appeal for -'some one to do something before it is too late.' Every contributor to -the press has saved his argument like that some time or another. And, in -the case of Public Schools, the trouble is that we can do little save -repeat the parrot cry of 'a change of spirit.' For it is 'a change of -spirit' more than anything else that is needed. - -We are kept wondering, however, how that change is to be effected. S. P. -B. Mais used to say that 'Literature would save us.' But literature is -only a part of life, one channel of self-expression, and in the case of -Mr. Mais one is troubled by the knowledge that he, himself, is in many -ways the ideal schoolmaster. He has a genius for teaching. He happens to -have taught literature and mathematics, and because he taught them so -successfully he has imagined that they are the panacea. He is too modest -to realise any subject that he taught would have assumed the qualities -of a panacea, that it was he and not his subject that was important. He -could rouse his form, if he wished, to a high pitch of enthusiasm by a -lecture on the properties of Cherry Boot Polish. But 'he is alone, the -Arabian Bird.' - -Martin Browne suggests religion. And, no doubt, for the truly religious -boy many of the difficulties of school life would be smoothed out. -Unfortunately, however, religion plays, and will play, a small part in a -boy's life at school. A boy has been told to believe certain things by -his parents, and he has accepted these beliefs unquestioningly and -without enthusiasm. They have not been tested by experience. They are -not real to him. Religion, in its truest form, rises out of the conflict -of a man's life. Faith is subconscious thought. I do not think you can -expect the average small boy to be deeply influenced by religion. His -religion, if he has one, is an unswerving devotion to his house and -school. He would be ready to sacrifice himself for what he considered to -be the school's service. - -Forty years ago a captain of my old house died after a kick on the head -received in the Three Cock, the big house match of the year. The brass -on the chapel wall which is dedicated to his memory,-- - - - 'Te duce, care Puer, pueri cum lusimus olim - Optimus in cursu quem sequeremur eras - Caelestem exacto tetigisti limite metam; - Fratribus ab, fratrem detur ad astra sequi.' - - -appealed far more to our imagination than the story of early martyrs. -Action rather than contemplation is the essence of school life. - -I am aware that many will disagree with this assertion. Both Martin -Browne and Jack Hood made in their books a great point of religious -teaching and early confirmation, but I cannot help feeling that in this -respect they are exceptional; certainly if they had not been exceptional -they would not have written books; religion has meant a lot to them, and -they feel that it should do the same for others. It is a mistake we all -make in our different spheres. The poet thinks he will reform the world -by placing the poems of Shelley in the hands of trade union officials; -and the small craftsman sees life redeemed by hand weaving and hand -pottery. We all think that the prop that has supported us will support -others. It is part of our egotism. For the many, to whom faith is not -intuitive, religion needs a solid foundation of experience. - -A change of spirit requires a change of setting, and I am inclined to -think that this would be provided were boys to leave school at seventeen -instead of nineteen. - -It would not, perhaps, from the point of view of the moral question, -cause a very great diminution in the actual immorality between boys of -the same age and the same social position. But it certainly would -improve matters. As things are at present, the boy of fifteen and a -half occupies a pleasantly irresponsible position. He has left behind -him the anxieties of the day room, and the responsibilities of seniority -are still far distant. His peccadilloes are not taken seriously. He can -rag in form and smash windows in the studies without prejudice to his -future. He has imbibed the example of Prince Hal. For a while he may -rollick with Falstaff at the Boar's Head. Time enough to settle down -when the privileges of power draw nearer him. For a good year and a half -he may make merry. - -The lowering of the age limit would telescope events; it would reduce -the period of revelry to a couple of months. No sooner would a boy have -ceased to be a fag than he would be under the eye of authority as a -candidate for responsibility. A display of rhodomontade would prejudice -his future. He would play for safety; and such considerations would -certainly place a check on his moral lapses. He would think twice. If he -was discovered he would have no time to recover his position by -subsequent good behaviour. He would be passed over in the struggle for -promotion. - -To a certain extent the lowering of the age limit would prevent that -type of immorality that takes place between boys of the same age and -same position, but only to a certain extent. There always will be such -misconduct in schools; it will never be possible to stamp it out -entirely, but it is possible to overrate its seriousness. Certainly the -romantic friendship is more important, and it is because of the -romantic friendship that I advocate so strongly the lowering of the age -limit. - -I have said that the romantic friendship is the natural growth of an -unnatural system; but even a natural growth develops soon or late, -according to the soil in which it is planted and the climate by which it -is nourished. The presence of boys of 18 to 19, by their example, force -this growth like a hot-house atmosphere. In a boy of eighteen the sexual -impulse has become defined. He understands the implications of its -symptoms. He is old enough to be married. But the boy of sixteen is not -so sure of himself. In him the impulse is wavering and undetermined. He -does not understand the nature of the emotions that are moving him. And -he only comes to understand it through the example of elder boys. If a -boy were told nothing of the existence of romantic friendships, of their -technique, of the complicated moral code that allows this and denies -that, if his curiosity were not continually quickened by stray -references in sermons and addresses, I believe that he would not, at the -age of seventeen, have realised that the friendship he felt for a -smaller boy was essentially different from that which he was feeling for -his contemporaries. It would be a deeper, an intenser friendship, but he -would not see that it possessed a different nature. Why should he? The -schoolboy has read _The Hill_. He expects every Verney to find a -Desmond. So much has been written about the lasting friendships of -school life. Every boy must have his 'special friend.' Why should he be -any different from his fellows? There would be moments when he might -wish to caress his friend, but he would immediately smother such a wish, -feeling it to be foolish, girlish, unworthy of him. He would be too -young, he would not have the intellectual independence to be able to say -to himself: 'This is what I want. And what I want is natural to me. Damn -anything else!' Shadowy imaginings would haunt his reveries, but they -would never become defined in action. - -For a boy of eighteen it is different. His impulses are strong; he knows -now exactly what he wants. And he is prepared to get what he wants. He -knows that the emotions he feels for a small boy are of a different -nature altogether from the friendship that he feels for his -contemporaries, and the fact that there are boys in the school old -enough to have defined these emotions, provides a hot-house atmosphere -for the development of younger boys. - -To most people life comes at second hand. They learn from books, -cinemas, and plays what are the appropriate emotions and the correct -procedure for any given situation. The public school boy is no less -conventional than his elders. He allows his inclinations to be directed -into the accepted course. He is surprised, in the first place, by a -delightful and unexpected emotion; but the surprise soon passes. He has -formed just such another attachment as has been formed by practically -every senior boy in his house. He exchanges confidences, he seeks the -advice of some older boy, and follows the convention. If there were no -senior boys, no example, and no convention, the first surprise of -charmed bewilderment would endure. In the course of time it might very -well be that out of that first romantic story would grow a deep, mutual, -and lasting friendship. But such a development is hardly possible in an -unnatural society where children and fully grown men are herded -indiscriminately together. - -The example of elder boys, moreover, not only defines the nature of -half-perceived emotions; it also forces emotions that would otherwise -remain a long while in bud. There are many who consider it is the blood -thing to have a _jeune ami_; that such a relationship is the privilege -of a house colour. They want to be talked about. They have themselves -spoken when juniors with bated breath of supposed 'cases.' They would -like to be spoken of like that themselves, to feel themselves moving in -an atmosphere of conjecture and intrigue, to gather an added sense of -their own importance. - -Besides this itch, a natural one, to occupy the limelight by copying the -customs of the great, there is the subtle influence of indirect example. -In the same way that a boy who goes often to the theatre and the cinema -and observes there the charming processes of love, begins to long for -tenderness, and caresses, and endearments, so does the schoolboy who -hears on all sides romantic confidences, find himself drawn into the -glittering circle. This lure would at least be removed by the lowering -of the age limit. That it would solve all the difficulties I would not -for a moment maintain. - -We cannot imagine a world in which men and women will not desert or -betray each other; in which husbands will remain faithful and the -unmarried chaste. Why should we expect school life, which is the world -in little, to be so startlingly different. Parents refuse to believe -that their own children are mortal: 'These things,' they say, 'may -happen to our neighbour's children. They do not happen to our own.' And -schoolmasters are only too anxious to reassure them. Parents have such -faith in their sons that they will believe in the most superficial -testimonials. They are so anxious to be deceived. - -For this reason I believe that a mere statement of facts has value. -There is much clamour to-day for reconstruction, and the -controversialist who has not a cut and dried scheme for regenerating the -world is looked on with disfavour. But on sex questions, which are after -all intensely personal questions, which concern the individual in the -first place and society in the second, only the superficial will -dogmatise. - -I cannot do better than quote from Havelock Ellis's General Preface to -_The Psychology of Sex_:-- - - - 'A resolve slowly grew up within me,' he writes, 'one main part of - my life-work should be to make clear the problem of sex. That was - more than twenty years ago. Since then I can honestly say that in - all that I have done that resolve has never been far from my - thoughts.... Now that I have, at length, reached the time for - beginning to publish my results, these results scarcely seem to me - large. As a youth I had hoped to settle problems for those that - came after; now I am quietly content if I do little more than state - them. For even that, I now think, is much. It is, at least, the - half of knowledge. In this particular field the evil of ignorance - is magnified by our efforts to suppress that which can never be - suppressed, though in the effort of suppression it may become - perverted.' - - -If this is the conclusion at the end of his work and of his life, of -perhaps the greatest living authority on sex, by what right does the -amateur produce cheerful remedies. - -In the case of the Public School it is indeed something to state the -problems. There is so much ignorance to dispel; the ignorance of -mothers, the ignorance of fathers who have themselves not been to a -Public School, the conspiracy of silence of boys, old boys and masters. -Too much and, at the same time, too little, is made of immorality. -Schoolmasters assure us that its appearance is occasional, but their -attitude to it is that of a doctor who suspects that his patient is -suffering from a malignant disease and watches all the time for signs of -it to appear. The schoolmaster is always afraid lest he may be sitting -on a volcano. He encourages the athletic cult as a preventative, in the -belief that the boy who is keen on games will not wish to endanger his -health, and that the boy who has played football all the afternoon and -has boxed between tea and lock-up will be too tired to embark on any -further adventures. It does not occur to him that the boy will be -equally too tired to do his prep. - -Such encouragement of the athletic cult is a confession of failure. It -is as though the master were to say: 'I know I cannot interest you in -your work. I know that unless I look after you, you will land yourself -in all manner of mischief. A man must have a god of sorts, therefore -make unto yourself whatsoever manner of god you choose, and I will see -that it receives a fitting reverence.' - -The public school code of honour, the majority of the standards, indeed, -of school life are dependent on the athletic worship, and the athletic -worship is in its turn largely dependent, not so much on the moral -question, as on the official attitude to the moral question. Too much -energy has been devoted to the damming of trickles, while on another -side of the hill the main stream has passed into the valley, laying -waste the plains. - -Greater honesty between boys, parents, and masters would undoubtedly -achieve much. But more than a change of spirit is required. If no boy -was allowed to stay on at school after the term in which he became -seventeen years old, I believe that the moral question would, to a large -extent, simplify itself. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE LEAVING AGE WITH REGARD TO ATHLETICS - - -But it is not only on account of the moral question that I would -advocate the lowering of the age limit. Such a reform would, I believe, -make its influence felt on every side of school life. It would not -alter, but it would modify certain conditions. The blood system would -still exist, but less acutely. The gap between the junior and senior -would be small. At present a man of nineteen who has been tried for his -county eleven appears to the junior as a gorgeous giant. He and his -friends live in a world apart, and they know it. A good three years -separates him from the anxieties and indignities of the day room. No -one, save his actual contemporaries, remember him as being anything but -a blood. He is, and has been, a prince among mankind. He idles through -his last two years, a very splendid, a very attractive figure; but, as -we have already seen, his is hardly the ideal apprenticeship for life. - -If the leaving age were fixed at seventeen instead of nineteen, so proud -a position would be unattainable. There would still be bloods, still -elegant creatures to saunter across the courts, languidly arm in arm. -But a certain refinement would be missing. The languor would be less -certain of itself, it would seem to fear a sudden assault and a fierce -shout of 'Jones, you young swine, what right have you to shove on side?' -There is a difference between the blood of eighteen and the blood of -sixteen. It is only four terms since the blood of sixteen was suffering -the last exaction of the law. He remembers vividly being beaten for -ragging in the dormitories; it is not so long since he was a fag. If we -were suddenly transplanted on a magic carpet into the luxury of an -Eastern court we should stand for some time in dazed bewilderment, -marvelling at what had happened to us, wondering who were these comely -Ethiopians that prostrated themselves before us. For quite five minutes -we should lack the courage to give an order. The blood of sixteen feels -like this; can he have achieved so swiftly his ambition? It is only -yesterday that he was trembling in the presence of the great. By the -time he has recovered from his bewilderment and is preparing to exert -his authority his year of office is at an end. - -Not only, moreover, is the sixteen year old blood unable to hold so -exalted an opinion of his own importance, but his immediate juniors -refuse to recognise him as the gilded figure of romance. The men on the -Fifth Form table remember when the head of the house helped them to -wreck Bennett's study. They cannot feel him to be so vastly superior to -themselves. It is different for the blood of eighteen. He has passed -slowly through many circles to the dignity of an Olympian. He has -served his period of probation. He was not a colt's cap one season and -the next a colour. He took a year to pass from house cap to seconds, and -another year from seconds to firsts. He discovered himself gradually. He -rose slowly to his greatness. By the time he has reached his last year -the days of conflict are infinitely remote. He can hardly believe it -possible that he was ever caned. He is, in fact, a great deal too old -for a Public School. And as things are now it is impossible for any, -save the exceptional boy, to reach a position of authority till he is -eighteen, or at least seventeen. - -A great many boys do undoubtedly leave between the ages of sixteen and -eighteen, but by doing so they lose the most valuable lessons they -should learn at school. A boy who leaves before he has been a house -prefect fails to put the coping stone to his education. The -responsibilities of prefectship are an invaluable experience. And when -the house master begs the parent to let 'Arthur stop on another year,' -the parent naturally gives way. And it is, of course, always the wrong -type of person who stays on that extra year. It is the clever, the -brilliant, the athletic boy, the boy who already stands out above his -contemporaries and in the course of the next year will be even more -prominent, that is encouraged to remain. It would not matter if the dull -boy stayed on another year. His natural talents would not be sufficient -to lift him to the rarefied atmosphere of Olympus. It is the second -eleven colour who is urged to stay on to get his firsts. The fast bowler -who is asked to captain the side next year, the exhibitioner who hopes -that another year's work will win him a scholarship at Balliol. The -great become more great, and, as their undistinguished contemporaries -fall out of the race, the gap between the prefect and the fag grows more -pronounced. The intermediate steps are few and dimly seen. It is not -surprising that the blood system should gloriously flourish. It would -not so flourish were the leaving age to be fixed at seventeen. We have -the proof of this in the knowledge of what happened during the war, when -the big men left suddenly in August, 1914, when boys of sixteen sat at -the Sixth Form table, and when no one stayed on at school after his -eighteenth birthday. - -War conditions were, of course, abnormal. It was inevitable that at such -a time the rewards of school life should lose their value. It was -impossible to feel the old excitement about the result of a house match -when the morning paper had brought with it the story of Neuve Chapelle. -The winning of cups and the gaining of colours ceased to be an end in -themselves. For the boy who was prevented by lack of years from joining -the army in 1914 school life became a period of probation, of marking -time. Life in its fullest sense was waiting for him on the other side; -no prefect ever looked forward to Oxford more eagerly than those of us -who were still at school in 1915 looked forward to the day when we -should join the army. Our imagination was quickened by the stories told -us by old boys returning from depots and from the front. Was it possible -that Smith, who had played with us only eight months earlier in the Two -Cock, should be in charge of a company in the front line trenches? We -fretted at our tether; our eyes were fixed on the future. We scorned the -prizes that lay to our hand. We began to reconstruct our scale of -values: it was not only the giants of the football field who were -winning honours for themselves and for the school in France. Queer, -insignificant fellows who had never risen above the Upper Fourth, and -had never been in the running for a house cap, came home on leave with -the blue and white riband of the military cross. We began to realise -that it was not only the blood that was entitled to our respect. The -blood system received a rude shock in August, 1914. It will never, -unless we become involved in social revolution, receive such another. I -believe, however, that it would be considerably modified were the -leaving age to be altered. - -There would be also less hooliganism and less bullying. The third yearer -would no longer be in a position of reckless freedom. Studies would -still be stripped, scholars would still be ragged, but the process would -be compressed. The swash-buckling element would find itself sooner in -authority. The scholar would reach sooner the immunity of the Sixth. And -the prefect would be no less capable of keeping order. For, after all, -the prefect owes his power as much to the system that is behind him as -to himself. - -But perhaps the greatest difference that the change would effect would -be in the boy's attitude to his own life. Six years is a very long time -to be in one place. I remember at the end of my first year overhearing a -conversation between the barber and a boy who was leaving the next day. - -'Well, Mr. Meredith,' the barber was saying, 'I suppose this is the last -time I shall cut your hair. I have cut it a good many times.' - -'I have been in this town,' said Meredith, 'for ten years: five years at -the prep, and five years at the school. I'm jolly well sick of it.' - -It is certainly a mistake to send a boy to the prep. of the school to -which he will one day go. Ten years is too long. But six is too long, -too--at that age. - -It is not easy for any one under thirty to picture himself in six years' -time. We look back and remember ourselves six years ago in the -discomfort and disquiet of khaki. What a lot has happened since then. -Who can tell what the next six years may hold? Very few men under thirty -can look far ahead, and the new boy at a Public School who can see his -life mapped out for six years naturally does not look beyond them. He -hardly realises that there is a world outside. He will have to travel so -far before he reaches it. He comes to consider his Public School not as -a prelude, but as the whole sphere in which his personality has to move. -Certain prizes and certain honours await him. He does not pause to -think whether those prizes and those honours will be of much or little -service to him after he has put the cloistered world behind him. Not -only is he incapable of viewing his life under the hard light of -eternity, he is incapable of viewing it under the light of the fifty odd -years of traffic that wait for him among phenomena. He accepts -unquestioningly the standards and values of his school. He does not feel -that he is preparing for a contest. That phase of endeavour belonged to -his 'prep.' He has started the race. - -There is a big difference between four years and six. It is a wall over -which even the fag can peer on tiptoe. The passage of ambitions and -loyalties and jealousies is much more swift. It is possible to consider -four years as a prelude; and as soon as public school life is regarded -as a prelude the scale of values becomes changed. The boy begins to -wonder whether he is doing his best to fit himself for after life. He -will cease to be contented with the honours that come to him on the way. -Because his school is a fixed institution, because the scope of his -masters is fixed within its walls, there is a tendency to regard him as -an inhabitant and not a sojourner there. That is what the schoolboy -should never be allowed to forget--that he is passing through one phase -of his life into another; it is because he has forgotten that that he so -often pauses bewildered and irresolute on the threshold of life. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -CONCLUSION - - -Were the moral question to be tackled sensibly, and were the reduction -of the age limit to modify the 'blood' system, and insist upon the fact -that school life is only a prelude, I believe that athletics would -occupy their proper place in the life of the school. The social force of -religion depends, to a large extent, on the appreciation of the -importance of what will follow the 'here and now.' During the war, when -the future was insecure, and no one could see anything certainly beyond -the limits of a fortnight's leave, the country plunged recklessly in -search of pleasure. No one looked ahead. No one paused to consider what -would be the harvest of their sowing. - -The eyes of the preparatory school boy are fixed upon the future. He -knows that the successes and failures of the moment are unimportant. He -knows that a strenuous contest lies in wait for him. In consequence -there is at a Preparatory School little of the fanatical devotion that -colours the fabric of public school life. I remember a house master once -saying that it was impossible for a member of a house side to do much -work while the house matches were in progress. And, as the house matches -covered a period of six weeks, this was a pretty generous allowance. At -the same time the house master only spoke the truth: it was practically -impossible to do much work during the house matches term; we could think -of little else. Every evening we would discuss at considerable length -the afternoon's punt-about and the morrow's match. We would devise -schemes for the better outwitting of our opponents. We would discuss the -weakness and strength of individual players. And the majority of -masters, certainly of house masters, shared this fervour. It is true -that a certain house master, when presented with the excuse for an -indifferent prose that house matches were too exciting, remarked: 'I -don't know whom they excite, they don't excite me.' But this assertion -was belied by his subsequent behaviour on the touchline. During house -matches there is an educational moratorium. In peace time the energies -and interests of a nation are directed into a thousand different -channels, but in war time every interest is secondary to that of war. -And, while house matches are in progress, the atmosphere of a house is -not unlike that of a nation that is at war. Individual members may have -their private troubles, but they realise that these troubles are of -small account at such a time. And, though it is no doubt admirable for -the individual to feel himself of less importance than the community, it -will hardly be conceded that self-negation in such a cause is likely to -prove of any very permanent value to him. - -Now there are those who will urge that boy nature cannot be altered, -that it is natural for a boy to worship games, and that you cannot -expect him to be otherwise. But that I shall never believe is so. For -myself, I know that I play cricket and football as keenly as I did seven -years ago, that I spend a great many evenings with a Wisden in my hands; -but that I manage to get through a fair amount of work between each -January and December. That is not in itself a fair argument. One cannot -arraign the enthusiasms of sixteen before the enthusiasms of -twenty-three any more than one can arraign the enthusiasms of -twenty-three before those of forty. There is no more fallacious argument -than the 'when you have reached my age, young man.' At different stages -of our life we are vexed by different problems. At twenty-three our -sexual life is of vast importance; it stretches before us, a wide field -for courage, enterprise, adventure. In the man of forty, curiosity has -been satisfied. He has settled many of the problems that perplexed him -when he was a young man. And he says: 'My dear fellow, all this that is -worrying you does not really matter.' But he is wrong. It does matter to -a young man of twenty. And nothing is trivial that has ever exercised -deeply the human spirit. - -In a world that is in flux the permanence or impermanence of any emotion -is of less matter than its intensity while it lasts. Sooner or later -everything must desert us. Is the brain a useless possession because it -will one day soften. Are teeth less efficacious now because one day -they will decay. Is a young man of twenty going to listen to the -impotent man of sixty who mutters: 'Young man, the charms of woman are a -snare and an illusion. When you have reached my age you will be no -longer moved by them.' For that is where the 'when you are my age, young -man,' argument finally lands us. And it is not fair to say to a boy of -seventeen: 'This mad excitement about games is absurd. In six years even -you will have outgrown it.' It is for us to decide whether this mad -excitement is the natural expression of a boy's temperament, or whether -it is the peculiar growth of a peculiar environment. - -I will take as an example Sandhurst as it was in the autumn of 1916. It -was composed almost entirely of boys straight from the Public Schools, -and I should imagine that the average age of a company was about -eighteen, the age, that is to say, at which most of them would have been -about to start on their last year. They brought with them the standards -of public school life. One would have expected them to establish their -standards at Sandhurst. They did nothing of the sort. There was nothing -that bore the least approach to a blood system. There were seniors and -juniors, that was all. There was no fierce cult of athleticism. The G.C. -who scored tries in company matches was not granted a general permission -to drive his bayonet through college furniture. In the daily life games -played a prominent part. Indeed, the under officer whose company did not -make use of the ground allotted to it would have had to face an -unpleasant half-hour with the commandant. But games never became the -business of life. They were played for their own sake. They were -untouched by professionalism. If a three-quarter missed a pass five -yards from the line he did not bury himself in a far corner of the -anteroom, apart from the gaiety of his companions. The average company -side played just as keenly as a house fifteen at school. While we were -on the field we were as desperately anxious to win. But we did not spend -the morning in a state of nervous irritation, nor did the issue of the -contests drive us to deep despondency, or to hysterical elation. A -certain intensity had passed. Yet I do not think that ever before had I -derived such pleasure from the actual playing of the game as I did at -Sandhurst. - -One would not, of course, hold up a military institution as the model -for an educational system. But, from the point of view of athletics, the -Sandhurst that I knew in the winter of 1916 and the spring of 1917 -possessed all the merits and none of the faults that one associates with -the average Public School. And yet that Sandhurst was composed of the -same boys that a few months earlier had, at their Public Schools, -rigidly observed the exacting ritual of the great god of sport. - -Reasons for this change are not difficult to find, and it may be noticed -that they are in line with the improvements suggested in an earlier -chapter. There is no blood system, because there is little disparity of -age between the G.C.'s. Juniors belong to a lower caste than the -seniors, but they inhabit that lower world without worrying much about -what is happening in the superior world. Contact between the two is not -established. There is a hard dividing line. A junior may not sit on a -certain side of the anteroom. There is no social fluidity. One is one -thing or the other. Athletic worship in school was due largely, I -suggested, to the absence of any other focus for a boy's enthusiasm. At -Sandhurst several such focuses were provided. To begin with, the work -was interesting. The morning was not a mere succession of tiresome hours -relieved by a quarter of an hour's break. The G.C. did not listen to -lectures and tactics with the listless condescension that he had paid -formerly to the Greek syntax; he realised that the knowledge of the -subjects he was studying would be of practical value to him at a later -date. He was anxious to be a good officer. He was, therefore, interested -in his work. He was also at Sandhurst for a very little while. He -regarded Sandhurst quite definitely as the anteroom to a career; he -never imagined it to be anything else. In a few months he would have -joined his regiment. The honours he won at Sandhurst would be of little -value in themselves, and were only worth the gaining in as far as they -would enhance the reputation which he would take with him to his -regiment. A Sandhurst cadet was always looking beyond the present. - -Nor did the officers in charge of companies feel any compunction to -prescribe athleticism as an antidote to immorality. In the first place, -they were not responsible for the G.C.'s moral welfare, nor was there, -indeed, any occasion for alarm. The amount of immoral conduct between -G.C.'s, if there was any, must have been extremely small. Such conduct -is essentially _faute de mieux_: women were abundantly available for -those who wanted them. And in a town such as Camberley there were -endless opportunities for innocent romance. - -The three main causes for athleticism were removed, and in consequence -there was no athleticism. Now it is obviously impossible for all these -conditions to be introduced into a Public School. There must be a -disparity of age, schoolmasters must feel some anxiety about the morals -of the boys that are to be entrusted to them. But, if we can show that -the complete removal of certain conditions of public school life can -entirely remove certain evils, we can only assume that the modification -of these conditions would cause considerable improvement. The smaller -the disparity of age between the eldest and the youngest boy, the less -intense will be the blood system. The shorter the period that a boy -spends at school, the less will be the tendency to regard school life as -the complete compass of his life. The supply of another focus for a -boy's enthusiasm will diminish the strength of his athletic ardour. The -greater the honesty in tackling the moral question, the less will -masters feel themselves forced to recommend athleticism as an antidote -to immorality. And these changes are, I believe, possible without -altering appreciably the principle of public school education. The -supply of other focuses may, at first glance, seem a highly difficult -job. It may, indeed, be advanced that were there another focus, -athleticism could not exist in its present state, and that there would -be no need for a reduction of the age limit. But I am inclined to think -that it would be hardly possible to run any school which contained boys -of thirteen and boys of nineteen and not have a blood system and an -athletic worship. The forces of a natural inclination are too strongly -entrenched behind the barricade of six years. The masters do not stand a -fair chance. But the weakening of one force means the strengthening of -another. A lowering of the barricade by a couple of years would give the -other side a chance of contending equally. The moment a boy realised -that the prizes of school life had only a temporary value, he would -question his blind devotion to the religion of athleticism. He would -wonder whether other things were not worth while. His allegiance would -be divided. - -But the passing of regulations cannot in themselves effect a -reformation. They can be of great assistance; they can support and they -can protect. They cannot build. And, in the study of public school life, -we have to return in the end to the point from which we started. Boys -and parents and schoolmasters must meet on a common ground and discuss -their mutual welfare. They can do nothing till they are honest with -each other, till they face the facts together. When they had once done -that they would not find the road hopelessly barricaded. The solutions -that I have, from time to time, suggested in these chapters, would, I -believe, prove beneficial. But it is as a statement of facts, an -analysis of certain conditions, tendencies, and lines of thought, that I -would chiefly submit this book to the consideration of parents and -schoolmasters and those others who are interested in these questions. -For nothing can be done till the conspiracy of silence, the policy of -evasion and self-deception, the diplomacy of the merchant and his goods -is broken down, till, that is to say, parents and schoolmasters meet on -the common ground of co-operation, till they can look each other in the -face and say: 'Things are so, and it is for us to find a remedy.' - - -GLASGOW: W. COLLINS SONS AND CO. LTD. - - - - -Some New Publications - -_from_ MESSRS COLLINS' LIST - -Published from their London Offices, 48 PALL MALL, S.W. - - NOTE.--_Messrs Collins will always be pleased to send lists of - their forthcoming books to any one who will send name and address._ - - -Old England BERNARD GILBERT - -Royal 8vo, Cloth, 20/- net - -A God's-Eye view of a village. This book is unique in English literature -both in conception and treatment. The author presents a whole community -to the reader, taking for his subject our largest social unit--an -English village--where everybody knows everything about every one. He -has taken a typical village during one day of the war and given a camera -obscura presentment of the multitudinous intrigues, ambitions, desires, -disputes, relationships, and interests which thread its fabric so -closely. There is no hero or heroine, for the author presents some -hundreds of characters, each all important to himself. 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