"_Happy is the people which has no history_." _Stands this too among
the beatitudes_? _Surely this were a fit evangel only for sheep and
oxen_, _or for such human kine as covet the fat pastures rather than
the high places of existence_. _For whoso is ill-content to live long
and see good days_, _save he may also live much and see great days_,
_will not be so tamely gospelled_, _seeing that every past is mother
of a future_, _and that there is no history but is a prophecy as
well_.
In our late digression on the conditions and circumstances of our life at
Borth, we have somewhat anticipated the narrative of events. But it was
a plan agreeable to the facts of the case, that narrative should pass
into description at the point where the stream of our little history,
after descending the rapid of alarms and difficulties, abrupt resolves
and swift action, fell quietly again into the smooth channel of a new
routine. Not that the story of the succeeding months was really
uneventful. If our readers suppose that from this point onward we led a
prosperous untroubled existence, it will be due to the illusion, which,
in fiction, makes us cheerful over the woes of the struggling hero,
because we have glanced at the end of the book, and view the present
trouble in the light of the successful issue: what the end would be we
did not know, nor when it would come. And if, to resume our metaphor,
the current of the enterprise flowed for the most part smoothly, there
were rocks underneath which those who saw them could not forget, though
they seldom raised an eddy on the surface. Here, however, we must ask
the reader to believe us that it was so, without demanding explanations,
which at this date would be inconvenient. We will go on then to notice
the chief incidents of the term.
The wooden school-room, the slow completion of which had been watched
with some impatience, was ready for use on April 29th. On the next day,
being Sunday, we inaugurated it by reuniting under its shelter our
scattered congregations, hitherto distributed over the three largest
rooms at our disposal. It was not a noble building, being,
architecturally, a long shed of rough planks against the bowling-green
wall, which was whitewashed for the better lighting of the room. But it
was apt to the conditions of a colony, looking as it did like a log-house
in a backwoods-clearing. Internally it was well lighted and ventilated,
and just sufficient for our numbers. _Heureusement il n'y on a pas
beaucoup_. This was not the only occasion on which we were thankful for
the school's self-imposed limit of numbers. The completion of this poor
structure was a fact of which those who have but little knowledge of
school affairs will appreciate the value. It was a new burden on an
embarrassed exchequer, but not a gratuitous one. It is not too much to
say that the social life of the school would have been of a different and
lower stamp, and its organisation crude and ineffective, if there had
been no place of assembly where we could meet for common occasions, for
roll-call, prayers, addresses, lectures, entertainments--no place to
furnish the visible unity, which is so large an influence in a healthy
social life. And did the school ever feel surer of its oneness, or more
proud of its name, than when it sat on those rude benches within the
ruder walls of their makeshift great school-room?
The next day, May 1st, is the Uppingham Encoenia, the commemoration of
the Chapel opening. It forced one to contrast the wooden walls in which
the Saint's-day's service was held, with the high rooftree and the deep
buttresses, which this year would not echo the chanting procession. The
anniversary rites lapsed of necessity. An accidental piece of ceremony
marked this day; for that morning a flagstaff was erected on the terrace
in front of the hotel, and a flag run up, by the lowering of which the
hour of dinner or roll-call could be signalled to ramblers on the shore
or the hill. On the 19th of the month we hoisted with much cheering our
own colours: a banner, on which some of the ladies had worked the
Founder's device, the antique schoolmaster and his ring of scholars. The
flags (there were three in all) were carried home with us, and the faded
and tattered folds which had fought with the sou'-wester, now droop in a
graceful canopy at one end of the great school-room.
By the middle of June the new church of Borth, so opportunely built in
time for our settlement, was declared ready. It was courteously placed
at our disposal for two services on Sunday before the hours of the parish
services. The building exactly held us, with a little pinching. The
first occasion of our using it was a confirmation held by the Bishop of
St. David's. The Bishop, whose early connections are with this
neighbourhood, and who had already in his capacity of landowner given us
proof of his goodwill, seemed to rejoice in the occasion of expressing
his sympathy with the immigrants into his quiet home. The kindness of
the visit was not slight; for the journey, to and fro, from difficulties
of transport, demanded two days. We have the more reason to be grateful
for his willing sacrifice of time, because, in view of the interval since
the last confirmation and of the long sojourn in Wales before us, we
should otherwise have suffered a kind of mitigated excommunication.
June 29th and 30th were the days of the "Old Boys' Match," the annual
reunion of the Past and Present School. There seemed no reason why
absence from our native soil should sever our ties with the Past. Quite
the contrary. _Ubi Caesar ibi patria_, thought our Old Boys, who,
indeed, never before felt so glad to claim their heritage in the fortunes
of Uppingham. The game, which was like other games of cricket, and need
not be described, was played on the Gogerddan field, where the
Headmaster, in lieu of his customary supper, not practicable at Borth,
gave a luncheon each day. On the first day, as the company rose from
table, a signal was given to the school to draw up to the tent, outside
which the guests were standing. They formed a kind of hollow square to
see what would happen, and an old Uppinghamian (Mr. R. L. Nettleship,
Fellow of Balliol College, Oxford) came forward and presented an "Address
from the Old Boys at Oxford, to the Headmaster and Masters of Uppingham
School." He noticed briefly the circumstances under which it had been
drawn up, explaining why (through lack of time to concert matters with
the sister university) it had come from Oxford only, and added that they
hoped shortly to give something more substantial than parchment. "What
they could offer was a slight thing, it was true, yet one which their old
Headmaster and his coadjutors would not think valueless." He proceeded
to read the address, which ran thus:
"We, the undersigned old members of Uppingham School, now resident at
Oxford, write to express our deep sympathy with the Headmaster and
Masters of Uppingham School in the great difficulties with which they
have lately had to contend. Feeling as we do, that though we have
left the school, we still, in the truest sense, belong to it, we can
but testify our gratitude to those whose courage and skill have
carried it safely through such a crisis, and converted a great
misfortune into a proof that it is strong enough to defy accidents.
Our confidence in the Headmaster is, as always, entire and unabated,
and we are sure that the school which he has so successfully led to
Borth will come back under the same leadership, with its vigour
undiminished, to its home at Uppingham." {66}
In reply the Headmaster said, addressing himself to the memorialists and
the school, "the past and future (for what we are doing has a past and
future), I thank you for this with all my heart, for this which you call
'a slight thing.' It is a slight thing; but yet, like a flag which
armies have rallied round and have died for, it can give spirit and
endurance and confidence. Yes, it is true, as you say, that these have
been hard times, as those know who have had day by day to watch ruin
coming closer and closer, with no hope, no room for escape. Like men in
the story tied to the stake in front of the advancing tide, we had to see
wave on wave coming up to bring a slow but sure destruction." Then,
after speaking of the incidents which ended in our coming to this spot,
he continued: "We have been brought by our troubles much before the eyes
of the public. They speak of 'the fierce light that beats upon a
throne,' but that is hardly so intolerable as the fierce light that beats
upon a great calamity. Yet I trust that fierce light may prove to the
school a refining fire. Certainly the present school has behaved
worthily under their novel circumstances; they have shown themselves true
sons of Uppingham. You of the past school see round you your successors,
and you may be proud of them; at least we have suffered no trouble
through those you see before you here.
"The end of all this which of us knows? But we have faith that it shall
be good. Though all seems to fail and perish, all our work to die, yet I
am sure there shall be no real death of the life of the school, but that
it shall have its resurrection."
The words were meant for the ears to which they were addressed. If to
readers remote from the facts and the feeling of the hour they perhaps
strike a note of scarcely intelligible emotion yet our story cannot spare
them. To us who heard them they were an expressive summary of many
thoughts, and fears, and hopes of that time, which our narrative cannot
give expression to otherwise than in this indirect fashion. Had those
thoughts and hopes been other, we should not, perhaps, have had this
story to tell.
The choir gave an _al fresco_ concert on the night of the second day of
the match in the grass close. The resonance from the surrounding
buildings made the songs very effective for an outdoor entertainment.
_Surgit amari aliquid_. Just at this time came news of a new fever case
at Uppingham. We knew what might be the significance of the news, and
began to make up our minds for another term at Borth.
On July 5th a public concert was given by the choir, and attended by the
rest of the school, at Aberystwith. It was the second of two given in
support of the new church at Borth, to the debt on which the proceeds
were devoted. The first was held in the Assembly Room of the Queen's
Hotel, a beautiful room, with fine acoustic properties. We cannot say as
much for the Temperance Hall, in which the second was given. It is a
structure of the very severest Georgian architecture. "Why," asks a
reporter, "should water-drinkers allow it to be supposed that the graces
of art are all in the hands of Bacchus?" The journey to and fro by rail
was, in the popular estimate, an integral part of the entertainment; its
charm lay in the uncertainty as to whether the laden train would be able
to climb the abrupt incline to Langfihangel, or would keep on the rickety
rails as it spun down the same curve in returning. Otherwise, that the
school should make a railway journey _en masse_ to hold an evening
concert seemed, under our nomad conditions, to be only in the common
course of things.
One concert we held in the wooden school-room on the 22nd of May; on that
occasion (we quote the magazine's reporter) "All the members of the choir
might be seen flocking to the school-room, with candle and candlestick in
hand, to furnish light for the performance. The candles were arranged in
sevens on wooden shelves all down the sides of the room, and though the
whole spectacle had its laughable side, as most things have, the general
effect was far from bad. It was cheerful enough; in fact, only a
Christmas-tree and some more disorder was needed to turn the
entertainment into as good an imitation of a happy school-treat as you
would get at a day's notice." But the music sounded dully in the timber
walls, and the experiment was not repeated.
Meanwhile a new inroad of care had for the last fortnight, since the late
news from Uppingham, disquieted the colony. Major Tulloch, a Government
Inspector, who, on behalf of the Local Sanitary Board, had reported on
the state of the town of Uppingham, had expressed a strong opinion that
the school ought not to return thither before Christmas. In consequence
of this a memorial was sent from the masters to the Trustees, requesting
them to reverse their decision of June 17th, which recalled the school in
September. At a meeting of the Trustees, on July 14th, the following
resolution was passed:
Resolved--"That, while in the opinion of the Trustees there is nothing
in the present condition of the town of Uppingham which calls upon
them to rescind their resolution of the 17th ult, yet, having regard
to a memorial addressed to them by the whole body of the assistant-
masters, they are willing, in compliance with the same, that the
school shall remain at Borth during the autumn term."
Arrangements were at once begun for returning to camp after the holidays.
The responsibility for this step, which was thus devolved upon the
masters, though it was accepted without hesitation, was felt to be no
light one. Our engagement with the lessee of the hotel had provided for
a renewal of the contract at will; but there remained the owners of some
thirty houses, large and small, with whom we should have to reckon. They
would have us in their hands, and might, if so minded, "turn our
necessity to glorious gain." Then, too, many of the lodging-houses,
excellent as airy summer pavilions, did not promise much comfort in
winter time, to those who remembered how in the spring weeks the curtains
and everything movable within doors
Fluttered in the besieging wind's uproar,
And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
Moreover, natives who knew, threatened us with rain all day and every
day, from the beginning of September till the end of October, after which
it would be dry. Others, who also knew, promised us fine weather till
the latter date, and then wet till Christmas. Putting the two assurances
together, one inferred that weather at Borth would be like weather in
general. However, in prospect of winds and wet, the open porch of the
hotel was walled up with planks so as to put another door between the
sou'-wester and the diners in the corridor. Also a long lean-to shed,
like a cloister without windows, was run along two sides of the bowling-
green wall. The outlay on the latter yielded no adequate return. It
afforded some shelter for chapel roll-call, and for the few minutes'
lounge before evening prayers, except when it rained hard enough, and
then the water poured through the contractor's felt roof. It was too
narrow to be used, as was hoped, for games; unless, indeed, we had turned
it into a skittle-alley. But then skittles is a game of low connections.
Finally, well-wishers were solemn in their warnings that the drainage of
the spot was defective (which, indeed, was no otherwise than true, till
we brought about a reform), and that our settlement by the sea was
nothing if it was not healthy.
The outlook then was not unclouded. But one bright day we had before we
said good-bye to the past, and fronted the future cares. Sir Pryse had
invited the school to spend a day with him at Gogerddan, Thursday, July
20th, the last day of term. Room was found for all his guests to dine
together in a large barn near the house, where, from the high and narrow
windows, the light fell in picturesque mellowness on the close-packed
ranks. A match was played in the grounds between the school and an
Aberystwith eleven; the rest whiled away the afternoon right pleasantly
among the flowers and grass-slopes. At a pause in the game there was a
gathering on the lawn to watch the execution of a little surprise which
the cricketers had prepared for our host. From a box which had been
perilously smuggled in, was produced a memorial gift (it consisted of a
study-clock and inkstand), which "the cricketers of Uppingham begged Sir
Pryse to accept, as a slight acknowledgment of his special liberality to
themselves;" for so it was set forth in an address which the captain of
the eleven proceeded to read to him. Our host, as much startled as if
the present and the address had been shot at him out of a cannon,
answered in a brief but not the less effective speech. Then, as if to
relieve the warmth of feeling generated between us, a piano was run into
the bow of an open window, and the choir outside delivered themselves of
some hearty music. Soon the evening train was carrying us home for the
reading of the class-list and the prize-giving. In the customary
address, the Headmaster could congratulate the school on having borne
themselves well during the great time in the school's history which this
day brought to a close: he called on them to "come back with the soldier
spirit" to face whatever remained.
There was dark work going on in the street that night. When dawn broke,
it disclosed an array of flags, streamers, and devices, along the
approach to the station, where "the special" was waiting. Prominent
among the devices was the motto, _Au revoir_. For the feeling it spoke,
all were grateful; but not all rejoiced in the occasion of it. The train
moved out of the station with the school, to a boy, on board of it, to
the sound of a farewell cheer, and so the curtain fell on the first act
of the play.