MY SCHOOLING
The journey from Jerez to Scotland must have been full of interest and
excitement for my father. Our party numbered about thirty of all ages,
down to a couple of babies, my sister's children. My father found it more
practicable to arrange for what was then called a family train to take us
through Spain and France. We travelled during the day and got shunted at
night. Sometimes we slept in the carriages; other times at hotels. In
either case, as a rule, there were frequent and--for a time--hard-fought
battles among us young ones of both sexes for choice of sleeping places.
At meal times there were often considerable scrambles. We all seemed to
have the same tastes and we all wanted the same things. My parents (who,
poor dears, had to put up with us, and the Spanish nurses and servants,
who had never left their own homes before, and who, the farther we got,
seemed to think that they were never going to return to them) at last
came to the conclusion that any attempts at punishing us were without
satisfactory results, and that appealing to our love for them (for it was
no use appealing to our love for each other) and our honour paid better.
My elder sisters and brothers, who were in the party, knew English. I did
not. Not a word except two, and those were "all right," which,
immediately on arrival at Dover and all the way to London, I called out
to every person I met.
On reaching Charing Cross the party was to have a meal previous to
starting up to Scotland. The station restaurant manager was somewhat
surprised when my father informed him that he wanted a table for about
thirty persons, which, however, he arranged for. The Spanish nurses and
women-servants were dressed after the style of their own country. They,
of course, wore no hats, their hair being beautifully done with flowers
at the side (which had to be provided for them whether we wished it or
not), and characteristic shawls graced their shoulders. So that the
little party at the table was quite an object of interest, not only to
those others who were dining at the time, but also to a great many
ordinary passengers who practically were blocking the entrance to the
restaurant in order to obtain a glimpse of the foreigners.
All went well until the chef, with the huge sirloin of beef upon the
travelling table, appeared upon the scene. No sooner did he begin to
carve and the red, juicy gravy of the much under-done beef appeared, than
the nurses rose in a body, dropped the babies and bolted through the door
on to the platform. They thought they were going to be asked to eat raw
meat. Of course, they had never seen a joint in Spain. On their leaving,
we, the younger members of the family, were told to run after them and
catch them if we could. So off we went, and then began such a chase
through the station as I doubt if Charing Cross had ever witnessed before
or has since. The station police and porters, not understanding what was
going on, naturally started chasing and catching us youngsters, much to
the amusement and bewilderment of those looking on. Meanwhile my father
stood at the entrance of the restaurant, sad but resigned, and it was
after some considerable time and after the removal of the offending
joint, that the family party was again gathered together in peace and
quiet, and shortly afterwards proceeded on the last stage of its journey
and arrived safely at the old family home, which stands amidst some of
the most beautiful woods in Scotland. It is very old, but not so old as
the family itself.
My father decided that it would be better for me to get a little
knowledge of the English language before he sent me to school, so that I
might be able to look after myself when there. I was handed over to the
care of the head gamekeeper, Thomas Kennedy. Dear Tom died three years
ago, at a very old age; rather surprising he lived so long, as he had for
years to look after me. To him, from the start, I was "Master Joseph,"
and "Master Joseph" I remained until I embraced the old chap the last
time I saw him before he died. It was from Tom Kennedy that I first
learnt English, mixed with the broad Aberdeen-Scots, which when combined
with my Spanish accent was practically a language of my own.
I wonder if Britons have any idea how difficult it is, especially for one
whose native tongue is of the Latin origin, to get a thorough knowledge
and grasp of their language. To my mind, the English language is not
founded on any particular rules or principles. No matter how words are
spelt, they have got to be pronounced just as the early Britons decided.
There is no particular rule; if you want to spell properly, you pretty
well have to learn to spell each word on its own. This is proved by the
fact that the spelling of their own language correctly is certainly not
one of the proud achievements of their own race. In the good old days
before the War it may be stated without exaggeration that one of the
greatest stumbling blocks in the public examinations--especially those
for entrance into Woolwich and Sandhurst--was the qualification test in
spelling. There must be thousands of candidates still alive who well
remember receiving the foolscap blue envelopes notifying them that there
was no further necessity for their presence at the examination as they
had failed to qualify in spelling. As regards the pronunciation of words
as you find them written, it is quite an art to hit them off right.
Still, perseverance, patience and a good memory finally come to the
rescue, and the result is then quite gratifying.
It was from Tom Kennedy that I also learnt to shoot, fish, ride and
drink, for Tom always had a little flask of whisky to warm us up when we
were sitting in the snow and waiting for the rabbits to bolt, or--what
often took a great deal longer time--waiting for the ferrets to come out.
And--last but not least--he taught me to smoke. I well remember Tom's
short black pipe and his old black twist tobacco. I shall never forget
the times I had and the physical and mental agonies I endured in trying
to enjoy that pipe.
So six months passed away and I was sent, with my two elder brothers, to
the Oratory School in Edgware Road, Edgbaston, Birmingham. The head of
the school was the celebrated Doctor, and later on Cardinal, Newman. Even
to this day my recollections of that ascetic holy man are most vivid. At
that time his name was a household word in religious controversy. He
stood far above his contemporaries, whether they were those who agreed
with or differed from his views. He was respected by all, loved by those
who followed him; never hated, but somewhat feared, by those who opposed
him. I remember that one of the greatest privileges to which the boys at
our school at that time looked forward, was being selected to go and
listen to Doctor Newman playing the violin. Five or six of us were taken
to his study in the evening. In mute silence, with rapt attention, we
watched the thin-featured man, whose countenance to us seemed to belong
even then to a world beyond this, and we listened to what to us seemed
the sweetest sounding music.
But yet there are other recollections which were not so pleasant. The
head prefect was a man of very different physical qualities. Dear Father
St. John Ambrose erred on the side of physical attainments. He was by no
means thin or ascetic. He possessed a powerful arm, which he wielded with
very considerable freedom when applying the birch in the recesses of the
boot-room. I must admit that my interviews with Father St. John in the
boot-room were not infrequent. But, after all, the immediate effect soon
passed away and the incident was forgotten. Still, to my surprise, when
the school accounts were rendered at the end of the year, my father was
puzzled over one item, namely, "Birches--L1 2s. 6d." (at the rate of half
a crown each)! He asked me what it meant, and I explained to him as best
I could that dear Father St. John was really the responsible person in
the matter, and I had no doubt my father would get a full explanation
from him if he wrote. But it brought home to me the recollection of nine
visits to the boot-room with that amiable and much-respected Father St.
John. I have within the last few months met again, after my long absence
in other countries, several of my school mates. They are all going strong
and well, holding high positions in this world, and as devoted as ever to
the old school at Edgbaston. One of them is now Viscount Fitzalan,
Viceroy of Ireland.
When my two elder brothers left the Oratory, which I may say was a school
where the boys were allowed very considerable liberty, my father must
have thought, no doubt, when he remembered the twenty-two and sixpence
for birches, that it would be wise to send me somewhere where the rules
of the college were, in his opinion, somewhat stricter. So off I was
sent, early in 1870, to dear old Beaumont College, the Jesuit school,
situated in that beautiful spot on the River Thames just where the old
hostelry The Bells of Ouseley still exists, at the foot of the range of
hills which the glorious Burnham Beeches adorn. The original house was
once the home of Warren Hastings. Four delightful years of school life
followed. It was a pleasure to me to find that there was no extra charge
for birches. The implement that was used to conserve discipline was not
made out of the pliable birch tree, but of a very solid piece of leather
with some stiffening to it--I fancy of steel--called a "ferrula." This
was applied to the palm of the hand, and not to where my old friend the
birch found its billet. As the same ferrula not only lasted a long time
without detriment to itself, but, on the contrary, seemed rather to
improve with age, the authorities were kind enough not to charge for its
use.
No event of any particular interest, except perhaps being taught cricket
by old John Lillywhite, with his very best top hat of those days, and
battles fought on the football ground against rival colleges, occurred
until the end of the third year. I happened to have come out, at the end
of that year, top of my class. I had practically won most of the prizes.
It was the custom of the school that the senior boys of the upper classes
were permitted to study more advanced subjects than the school had
actually laid down for the curriculum of that particular class for the
year. These extra subjects were called "honours." They were studied in
voluntary time; the examinations therein and the marks gained in no way
counted towards the result of the class examinations for the year.
These class examinations were held before the "honours" examination. A
friend of mine in a higher class, who was sitting behind me in the study
room, asked me if I'd like to read an English translation of "Caesar." I
promptly said "Yes" and borrowed it, and was soon lost in its perusal,
with my elbows on my desk and my head between my hands. Presently I felt
a gentle tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see the prefect of studies
standing by me. He told me afterwards that he had thought, from the
interest I was taking in my book, that I was reading some naughty and
forbidden novel, which he intended to confiscate, of course, and probably
read. He was surprised to find it was an old friend, "Caesar." Being an
English translation it was considered to be a "crib." He asked me where I
had got it. I couldn't give away my pal, just behind me, so I said I
didn't know. "Don't add impertinence to the fact that you've got a
'crib.' Just tell me where you did get this book," he remarked. "I don't
want to be impertinent," I said, "but I refuse to tell you." "Very well,
then," he said, "go straight to bed."
I heard nothing more on the subject till a few days afterwards, at the
presentation of the prizes, the breaking-up day, on which occasion the
parents and friends of the scholars were invited to be present. At an
interval in the performance the prizes were presented. The prefect of
studies would begin to read from the printed prize list, which all the
visitors were supplied with, the names of all the fortunate prize winners
in succession, from the highest to the lowest. As the name of each prize
winner was called he stood up, walked to the table at which the prizes
were presented, received his, and, after making a polite bow, returned to
his seat.
When the prefect of studies reached the class to which I belonged he
called out: "Grammar, first prize. Aggregate for the year, Joseph M.
Gordon." Upon which I rose from my seat, and for a moment the applause of
the audience, which was freely given to all prize winners, followed. I
was on the point of moving off towards the table in question, when, as
the applause ceased, the voice of the prefect of studies once more made
itself clearly heard. It was only one word he said, but that word was
"Forfeited." No more. I sat down again. Then he continued: "First prize
in Latin, J. M. G." I must admit I didn't know what to do, but I stood up
all right again. The audience didn't quite appear to understand what was
going on, but the prefect of studies gave them no time to commence any
further applause, for that one word, "Forfeited," came quickly out of his
mouth. Down again I sat. However, I immediately made up my mind, though,
of course, not knowing how many prizes I had won, to stand up every time
and sit down as soon as that old word "Forfeited" came along, which
actually happened about four times.
I often wonder now how I really did look on that celebrated occasion. But
I remember making up my mind there and then that I would remain in that
school for one year more, but no more, even if I was forced to leave the
country, and to win every prize I could that next year, and make sure, as
the Irishman says, that they would not be "forfeited." So I remained
another year. I was fortunate enough to win the prizes--I even won the
silver medal, special prize for religion--and it was a proud day for me
when I got them safely into my bag, which I did as soon as possible after
the ceremony, in case someone else should come along and attempt to
"_forfeit_" them. I had taken care to order a special cab of my own and
to have my portmanteau close to the front door, so that I could get away
at the very earliest opportunity to Windsor Station.
But I had not forgotten that I had made up my mind to leave the school
then, so on my arrival at home I duly informed my venerable father that I
had made up my mind to be a soldier, and that as I was then over 17, and
as candidates for the Woolwich Academy were not admitted after reaching
their eighteenth birthday, it was necessary that I should leave school at
once and go to a crammer. My father made no objection at all, but he
said, "As your time is so short to prepare, we will at once go back to
London and get a tutor." Considering this was the first day of my
well-earned holidays, it was rather rough; but I was adamant about not
returning to school, so turned southwards with my few goods and chattels,
except my much-cherished prizes, which I left with the family, and
proceeded to London on the next day.
So I lost my holidays, but I got my way.
My father selected a man called Wolfram, who up to that time had been
master at several old-fashioned crammers', but was anxious to start an
establishment of his own, and I became his first pupil at Blackheath. As
I had practically only some five months odd to prepare for the only
examination that would be held before I reached my eighteenth birthday, I
entered into an agreement with Mr. Wolfram that I would work as hard as
ever he liked, and for as many hours as he wished, from each Monday
morning till each Saturday at noon, and that from that hour till Sunday
night I meant to enjoy myself and have a complete rest, so as to be quite
fresh to tackle the next week's work. This compact was carried out and
worked admirably, at any rate from my point of view. All went quite
satisfactorily, for when the results of the examination were published I
had come out twenty-second on the list out of some seventeen hundred
candidates, and as there were thirty-three vacancies to be filled, I was
amongst the fortunate ones. As I had found it so difficult to learn the
English language, I was surprised that I practically received full marks
in that subject.
There was generally an interval of six weeks from the time when the
actual examination was completed till the publication of the results. The
examination took place late in the year, and as my people generally went
to Spain for the winter, they decided to take me with them, which pleased
me immensely. We arrived back at Jerez, which I had not seen since our
departure from there in the family train some seven years before, and,
considering myself quite a grown-up young man, I looked forward to a lot
of fun. The journey took some time. We stayed in Paris, Bayonne, Madrid,
and finally reached Jerez. The Carlist War had then been going on for
three or four years (of this more anon), and caused us much delay in that
part of the journey which took us across the Pyrenees, as the railways
had been destroyed.
By the time we arrived in Jerez some five weeks had elapsed, with the
result that, a very few days after our arrival, just as I was beginning
to enjoy myself thoroughly, a telegram arrived from the War Office,
notifying me that I had been one of the successful candidates at the
recent examinations and that I was to report myself at Woolwich in ten
days' time.
This telegram arrived one evening when a masked ball was being held at
one of the Casinos. Being carnival time, it was the custom at these balls
for the ladies to go masked, but not so the men. This was a source of
much amusement to all, as the women were able to know who their partners
were and chaff them at pleasure, while the men had all their time cut out
to recognize the gay deceivers. At the beginning of the ball I had seen a
masked lady who appeared to me just perfection. She was sylph-like; her
figure was slight, of medium height, feet as perfect as Spanish women's
feet can be; a head whose shape rivalled those of Murillo's angels,
blue-black tresses adorning it, and eyes--oh! what eyes--looking at you
through the openings in the mask. I lost no time in asking her to dance.
I did not expect she would know who I was, but _she_ lost no time in
saying "Yes," and round we went. I found I didn't like to leave her, so I
asked her to dance again--and again. She was sweetness itself. She always
said "Yes." It was in the middle of this that I was informed by my father
of the telegram to return to Woolwich. I wished Woolwich in a very hot
place. Soon came the time for the ladies to unmask. She did so, and I
beheld, in front of me, a married aunt of mine! Going back to Woolwich
didn't then appear to me so hard.