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The Choir School of
St. Bede’s
BY
FREDERICK HARRISON
Author of “Wynport College”
_WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY EMILY A. COOK_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
CONTENTS.
CHAP. Page
I. THE NEW SOLO-BOY 5
II. THE FIRST OF APRIL 23
III. ALFRED AT THE DEANERY 40
IV. THE KEY TO THE SUMS 50
V. THE PAPER-CHASE 62
VI. AT MR. COTTENHAM’S 70
VII. POLLY AT SCHOOL 82
VIII. THE OLD PIT 92
THE CHOIR SCHOOL OF ST. BEDE’S.
CHAPTER I.
THE NEW SOLO-BOY.
It was a lovely morning, about eleven o’clock, and the boys of the
cathedral choir of St. Bede’s were playing in the cloister of the grand
old church. There was a square plot of grass in the centre, where the
boys used to amuse themselves during the intervals of school-work; when
it was wet they would walk round the covered cloister.
One boy, of about eleven years, was standing by himself, looking shyly
on without taking any part in the games of the others. He was leaning
against a stone pillar, when one of the bigger boys came up to him.
“You’re the new probationer solo-boy, aren’t you?” he demanded.
“Yes,” replied Alfred Davidson, for that was his name.
“Where do you come from?”
“From Darlton.”
“What’s your father?”
“He’s an engineer on a ship.”
“On board of a man-of-war?”
“No; on one of the big ships that go to Australia,” replied Alfred.
“I suppose you think no small cheese of yourself now you’ve got a place
in the choir, don’t you?” said the other with a sneer.
“I am very pleased to get into this choir, as I am fond of music, and I
hope I shall be an organist some day,” replied Alfred.
“Organist!” laughed the other. “You’ll never be fit for anything
except to blow the organ. I suppose you would consider that
assistant-organist?”
“Certainly! some people aren’t good enough even for that,” replied
Alfred, moving behind the stone pillar.
“Oh, indeed!” said King, “aren’t they?”
He aimed a backhanded slap at Alfred as he spoke, but the latter bobbed
his head, and King barked his knuckles.
“That’s your little game, is it?” he exclaimed, and seizing Alfred he
shook him and threw him on to the grass, nearly causing another boy,
who was stepping backwards, to roll over him. Alfred got up at once and
brushed his clothes, and while he was doing so another boy came up and
spoke to him.
“What’s up?” he exclaimed.
“I am, now,” replied Alfred, smiling.
“So I see,” said Walter Parker, laughing; “but you were down a moment
ago, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Has Herbert King been bullying you because you’ve got the place he
wanted his brother to have?”
“I don’t know the name of the boy who pushed me down,” replied Alfred,
“but he did not have it all his own way. He went to hit me, and as I
ducked my head he knocked his knuckles against the pillar instead.”
“I am glad of it,” said Walter. “It serves him right; he is far too
fond of bullying, especially new boys. If I catch him at it I will
punch his head again, as I did last week. You tell me if he hits you,
and I will square accounts with him. What is your name?”
“Alfred Davidson.”
“Very well, Davidson, I hope we shall be friends. My name is Walter
Parker, and I live in Cross Street.”
“So do I,” said Alfred. “I am staying with Mrs. Dawson.”
“I live next door, so we can go home together.”
These few words made Alfred feel quite happy, and at the invitation of
his new friend he joined in the game of prisoner’s base. Walter Parker
was thirteen years of age, a stout, well-built boy, although not very
tall.
Alfred Davidson, although so young, had a voice of wonderful power and
sweetness, and having been taught music by his mother for some time,
he had at eight entered the choir of the parish church of Darlton,
where he had continued his training for some three years. He had just
succeeded in obtaining not only a place in the choir by competition,
to the exclusion of Herbert King’s younger brother, but even the
appointment of a probationer soloist, which was very unusual for so
young a boy.
The deputy choir-master, who was also the schoolmaster, called the boys
in to work. The room was under the cathedral library, and led out of
the cloister.
“Alfred Davidson!” called Mr. Harmer.
“Davidson,” said Walter Parker to him, “‘uncle’ is calling you.”
“Is he your uncle?” inquired Alfred, as he moved out of his seat.
“No,” replied Walter; “but we always call him uncle behind his back.”
“Come here,” said Mr. Harmer; “I want to examine you, to see in which
division I can place you.”
Alfred answered the questions put to him sufficiently well to be placed
in the first division.
“I hope, Davidson, you will work well, so that I may be able to keep
you in this division. If not, of course I shall put you down into the
second. You can go back to your seat again.”
Walter Parker assisted Mr. Harmer by taking the youngest and the
most backward boys. Herbert King was his equal as far as knowledge
went, but the master had chosen Walter in preference to King, as he
was more patient and careful in the work. These two boys were the
principal soloists, but as King’s voice was beginning to show signs of
breaking, it was necessary to have another boy in training, ready to
take his place later on. King had hoped that his brother would obtain
a place in the choir, but the organist, Dr. Phillips, and Mr. Young,
the precentor (one of the clergy who assist in directing the musical
services), had both chosen Alfred to fill the vacancy. This was one
reason why King felt anything but friendly towards the newcomer.
As the boys were going home, one of them, Stephen Gray, filled a paper
bag with water at the school tap, unseen by Alfred, who was slowly
sauntering along.
“What are you going to do with that?” inquired Walter Parker.
“Wait and see,” replied Steve, running on and calling out to Alfred.
“Davidson!”
“What do you want?” replied Alfred.
“Can you catch?”
“I think so.”
“Then catch this,” said Steve, throwing the bag as he spoke.
Alfred, being quite unused to the tricks of schoolboys--choir-boys are
not a bit different from other boys--attempted to catch the bag, and
the moment it reached his hands the water spurted all over his face and
clothes. He was too much surprised to say anything, and Steve, who was
a good-natured boy, after laughing at the success of his joke, wiped
him with his handkerchief, and accompanied him and Walter, as he lived
near them.
When Alfred had finished his tea he wrote home a long letter to his
mother and sister, trying to make them feel quite happy about him. He
hoped that in a few days he should like all the boys as much as he
liked Walter and Stephen. Mrs. Dawson was very kind to him, and he went
to bed feeling hopeful and happy.
The next morning, as he was walking up to the cathedral, the Rev. Mr.
Young, the precentor, met him.
“You are the new boy, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred.
“How are you getting on, my boy?”
“Very well, sir, thank you.”
“I shall inquire from time to time of Mr. Harmer to see how you
progress in your work, and if you do well in your Latin, later on I
will teach you Greek, if you think you would care to learn it.”
“Thank you, sir; I should very much like to.”
“Your name is Davidson, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, Alfred Davidson.”
“Well, Davidson, stick to your work and be a good boy. My old college
friend is vicar of Darlton, and knows your mother well, so I shall feel
an extra interest in you, and he can tell your mother, when I write to
him, how you get on with your work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now run on and join your fellow-choristers. As you are early, you will
have a quarter of an hour for play before work.”
Alfred raised his cap and ran away to catch his new friends, Walter and
Stephen. They met Herbert King and three other boys, who joined them,
and walked up to a large open space near the cathedral, where they
played cricket and football. It was a very pretty place. There were
several large trees, and close by ran the river, on which some of the
boys used to row, as the father of one of the choristers owned boats,
and let them out.
“Can you play football, Davidson?” asked King.
“No--that is, not much,” replied Alfred.
“He will be on our side,” exclaimed Walter. “He will soon learn.”
The game began. It was near the end of March, so they had not yet
commenced cricket, as the weather had been too wet and cold. Alfred was
put among the forwards, and being a very quick runner, succeeded in
shooting a goal for his side.
“It was off-side,” exclaimed King angrily.
“No it wasn’t,” replied Walter.
[Illustration]
“You always say ‘off-side’ when we score a goal,” said Stephen Gray;
“but if you kick one it is always quite fair.”
“Very well, have your own way,” replied King, moving off to kick the
ball.
The game then became very exciting. King seemed on the point of scoring
a goal for his side, when Alfred cleverly got the ball away, and
carried it right down the field into the enemy’s quarters. King did
not say anything, but there was an angry look on his face. Shortly
afterwards Alfred was violently pushed from the back and sent off the
grass on to the gravel path, where he lay for a few moments, too much
shaken to move.
“Foul!” shouted Stephen. “You know, King, that isn’t fair.”
“What do you mean?” exclaimed King in a passion. “Do you dare to say I
cheat?”
“Yes,” replied Steve fearlessly. “You pushed Davidson down on purpose;
I saw you.”
“Then take that,” exclaimed King, aiming at Steve a blow, which he
dodged, and in return hit out.
Alfred had got up, but his hands and face were bleeding from the
scratches. The other boys had gone on with the game and had not noticed
the disturbance. Steve was goal-keeper, while Walter was playing centre
forward and was making a dash for the goal. Alfred wiped his face
and hands with his handkerchief, and although he was hurt, was going
forward to rejoin the game, when he saw Steve hit King back. King was a
bigger boy than Steve, but the latter was not afraid of him.
“You dare to hit me!” said King. “I’ll give you one for yourself.”
“No, you won’t,” exclaimed Walter, running up; “it’s football we’re
playing, not boxing. What’s all this row about?”
Stephen had not time to answer, as the school bell rang, and the boys
had to run in. Alfred dipped his handkerchief in some water at the
school tap and wiped his face and hands.
“Boys,” said Mr. Harmer, directly after calling over the names, “I have
something to say to you. First, I hear that some of you are in the
habit of playing near the old pit-mouth; in fact I have been told that
you go down it with a rope, and sometimes play in it. I must forbid
your doing so, as it is very dangerous. You know it was a coal-mine,
but has been closed for several years, and in all probability there is
a great quantity of water at the bottom after the rain. The ground also
might at any time fall in, as it has done before. The second thing is,
that you must not row on the river near the weir, as it is dangerous
even for a good rower. You may go up the river above the bridge as
far as you like, as the water is not very deep and the current is not
strong. Now get your books.”
Alfred was busily engaged in doing his sums, and not noticing anything
or anybody else, when Harry Cox asked him to help him, as he was very
bad at figures. Alfred showed him how to do the practice sums and some
decimals, and then finished his own.
“Cox,” said the master, “bring up your work.”
Cox took up his book and showed it to Mr. Harmer.
“These are much better, Cox, than usual,” said Mr. Harmer. “Did you do
them all alone, or did anyone help you?”
“I did them, sir, all alone,” replied Harry promptly.
“I thought I saw you talking to Davidson just now.”
“Yes, sir, but it was not about the sums.”
“Oh, indeed!” replied the master, as if he did not altogether believe
what Cox said. “You can go back to your seat.”
When the boys met again, before afternoon school, Cox came up to Alfred.
“Look here, Davidson,” he said, “if Mr. Harmer asks you about my sums
at any time, mind you just keep your mouth shut.”
“And supposing I shouldn’t?” inquired Alfred.
“Then I shall punch your head after school,” replied Cox.
“Then punch away!” exclaimed Alfred, darting round a lamp-post.
Cox ran after him to carry out Alfred’s suggestion, when the latter
dodged round a man walking along the street, and Cox, not being quite
quick enough, charged the stranger before he could stop himself.
“Take that!” exclaimed the irritated man, giving Cox a hearty box on
the ears, which made them sing for some minutes.
Meanwhile Alfred had run on and reached the school before Cox had any
chance of catching him.
“Cox, come here!” exclaimed Mr. Harmer, when the school was reassembled.
Cox promptly went up.
“I wish you to do those two sums again that you did this morning,” said
the master. “Sit down there where I can see you.”
Cox sat down, knowing very well that he could not do the sums alone.
Alfred heard this, and felt almost as uncomfortable as Cox himself.
While he was writing out some parsing in English, a small piece of
paper was put into his hand. He opened it.
_Just do those sums again for me or I shall split on you.--H. C._
“What are you doing, Davidson?” demanded the master.
“Someone put a piece of paper in my hand, sir,” replied Alfred.
“Give it to me.”
Alfred took it up to his master.
“You wrote this, Cox?” said Mr. Harmer.
“No, sir,” replied Harry Cox quickly, and then stammered out: “I mean
yes, sir.”
“You told me a lie then when you said you had not been assisted?”
Harry Cox turned very red and said nothing. It was useless for him to
deny it.
“I am perfectly well aware that you had been assisted. For telling me
an untruth I shall give you six sums extra to do; and if I find you out
in another lie, I shall cane you. Davidson, as you are not a teacher
here, I shall be obliged to you if you will confine your attention to
your own work. If the boys require assistance, either Walter Parker or
myself will help them. As you are a new boy, I will say nothing more
this time, but don’t do it again.”
Alfred looked somewhat foolish, but not so much so as Cox, who was less
grieved at his fault than at being found out and punished.
Several of the boys had arranged to have an hour on the river later in
the day, and as Alfred was running off to join his new friends, Walter
Parker and Steve Gray, King met him.
[Illustration]
“Davidson, come here,” he cried out. “Where are you off to?”
“The boats,” replied Alfred, without stopping.
King soon overtook him, and giving him a slap on the face, exclaimed:
“Take that, you little sneak! Now you can go and tell ‘uncle’ that
virtue has been rewarded.”
Alfred ran away again as quickly as he could, and found Walter and
Steve waiting for him in a boat. They were going to row, while he was
to steer.
“What makes your face so red on one side?” asked Steve.
“It was hit.”
“Who did it? Herbert King, I suppose?” demanded Walter.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“He said I was a sneak.”
“When we meet him again we’ll give him one back,” exclaimed Steve, who
had not yet settled his own quarrel with King.
They rowed up the river for about half an hour, and then pulled the
boat up to the side of the bank and got out their fishing-rods.
Although it was still the month of March the weather was quite warm.
They fished in silence for some time, when a second boat came up with
King and three other boys in it.
“You don’t mean to say, Parker,” exclaimed King, “that you have let
that little sneak come with you?”
“He isn’t a little sneak,” retorted Walter. “What did you hit him for?
He only spoke the truth, as I should have done in his place.”
“Sneaking, of course,” replied King, splashing the water so as to
disturb their fishing.
“Stop that!” cried Steve.
“Make me!” replied King, pulling away and splashing more than ever.
“All right!” said Walter, “I’ll make you pay for that!”
“When?” demanded King, rowing off.
“To-morrow, if you’ll come to the green early,” replied Walter, who was
now thoroughly angry.
After they had gone, Walter and Steve fished for some time, but caught
nothing, so they put their rods away and began to row gently back. They
heard a shout, and saw the other boat coming after them as fast as the
boys could pull it.
“Come, Steve!” cried Walter; “don’t let them catch us up; pull away!”
“All right, Walter,” replied Steve, “I’ll back you up!”
The boat moved quickly through the water, but, after a few minutes, the
other began to gain on them. They pulled as hard as they could, when
they heard a noise, and saw that one of the boys in the other boat had
caught a crab and had lost his oar. They were near the bridge, where
the water was deep, and the current, being narrowed in width, ran more
quickly. Steve and Walter shot through the middle arch and left off
rowing.
“Walter,” cried out Steve, “they haven’t got a rudder, and are drifting
against the bridge!”
“Look out, King,” shouted Walter, “or you’ll be dashed against the
bridge!”
King turned his head round, and in a moment saw the danger which
threatened his boat; it was rapidly drifting nearly broadside towards
the centre pier of the bridge. If it struck it, there was every
probability of its being capsized. He began to pull vigorously with his
one oar, when it snapped, and, with a grating noise, the boat struck
the bridge.
“Sit still all of you,” shouted King, “or you’ll have the boat over!”
Standing up, he held tightly to the bridge, while Walter and Steve
turned their boat round and pulled hard against the stream to their
help.
“Don’t stir!” cried King, as one of the boys in fear tried to clutch
hold of the pier. “If you move we shall all be in the water.”
Walter and Steve pulled through the next arch, and, coming close to
the boat, Alfred laid hold of the stern of it while they rowed. In a
few minutes they had drawn the second boat up the stream, clear of the
bridge; then, again pulling round, they fastened it behind theirs, shot
the bridge, and soon reached the landing-stage.
“That was a near shave, King,” said Walter.
King knew it, although he did not answer. He was pale, and directly
they landed he ran off to his home, hardly thanking them for their
timely assistance.