* * *
Macdonald is an ass. He came to me this afternoon. "Look here," he
began, "I wonder if you've any objection to my making a few alterations
in the school live stock?"
"Want to introduce a cow?" I asked. "You believe in utilitarianism in
education I fancy."
"It's the pigeons and rabbits," he went on; "I was wondering if you
would object to my getting rid of one or two."
"What's wrong?"
"It's the sex matter," he said hurriedly. "I don't like the thing; I
don't so much mind the infants asking awkward questions, but why the
deuce should they keep them till I am speaking to the infant mistress?"
"Refer them to the lady," I said with a chuckle.
He looked troubled.
"I must get rid of one sex," he said.
"Macdonald," I said severely, "I don't know that you can do that without
the permission of the children. The rabbits and doos are their's; they
bought them with their own money."
"That's no great difficulty," he said lightly.
"Possibly not ... not for you, Macdonald. If you use authority the
bairns will hardly question it. But I don't see that you have the right
to be an autocrat in this affair."
"It is my duty to protect the children," he said with dignity.
"Protect yourself, you mean!" I cried; "you have just confessed that
your one aim is to get rid of awkward questions."
"But what can I do?" he stammered.
"Do! Do nothing, just as I did. Let the creatures breed as much as they
darned well please; that's what they are there for. You can't very well
make sex an object lesson; the logical thing to do is to give a lesson
on pollination of plants and then go on to fertilisation of the bird's
egg, but if you do that you'll get the sack at once. But there's quite
enough of prudery in the world already without your turning a
rabbit-hutch into a sultanless harem."
"There are things that children shouldn't know," he said with a touch of
aggression.
"And there are things that grown-ups should know and don't," I said.
"They ought to know that the sex conspiracy of silence is idiotic and
criminal."
"Anyway," he said sullenly, "I'll tell them to-morrow that there are too
many in the house and that I mean to get rid of a few."
"All right," I said resignedly, "you can lie to them if you want to."
Then I added: "Although, mind you, Macdonald, I feel like telling the
bairns the real reason for your action."
He looked startled.
"Don't be alarmed," I said with a smile, "I won't do it," and he looked
relieved.
"Why not look in at the school some afternoon?" he said amiably when we
parted, "but perhaps you feel that you've shaken off the dust from your
feet down there?"
"I'll be delighted to come down," I said; "I didn't shake off the dust
from my feet when I left ... there was quite enough dust there already."
I think I'll go down to-morrow afternoon; it was decent of Macdonald to
ask me after all that I have said to him.
* * *
A man spends his life wishing he had done certain things and wishing
that he had not done certain things. I half wish that I had not accepted
Macdonald's invitation; I feel lonely up here now: on the other hand I
am glad that I went. I think now that Macdonald's real idea was to show
me how he has improved the school.
From his point of view he has improved it. He showed me exercise books
that were models of neatness and care; he showed me classes swotting up
subjects laboriously; the rooms were as silent as the grave.
When I went in Macdonald shook hands with me formally, and I noticed
that his school voice and manner were prim and professional. I turned to
the bairns and said: "Hullo, kids!" and they rose in a body and said:
"Good afternoon, sir!"
"Ah!" I whispered to Macdonald, "I see I ought to have said: 'Good
afternoon, children!' eh?" and he smiled professionally.
The higher classes were drawing. The model was a vase. I walked round
the class ... and swore silently. I had spent two years persuading these
bairns that there is no boundary line in nature; a white vase appears to
have lines as boundaries simply because it usually stands in front of a
dark background. I made them work in the background to show up the
model, although I never gave them vases or pails; my drawing was all
outside sketching of trees and houses. He was making them "line in" the
drawing.
"I am not much good at drawing," he explained apologetically, "as a
matter of fact I know nothing about it."
"In that case," I said, "why not let them go on with the methods I gave
them? I know something about the subject."
He asked what my methods were and I explained them in a few minutes. He
expressed his gratitude and seemed honestly glad to learn something
about the subject.
"I won't take them out drawing though," he said; "an inspector might
come to the school in my absence."
"You conscientious devil!" I said, "let's have a squint at their
exercise books."
As he moved to the cupboard a boy whispered to his neighbour and
Macdonald turned like a flash; the lad visibly quailed before his fixing
eye. I fancied that the next inspector's report would commence with the
words: "The discipline of this school is excellent."
The books were much neater than mine had been. I began to look for
blots, but the search was hopeless.
"Oh! for God's sake, Macdonald, show me Peter Mackay's book; surely a
good healthy blot will be found there!" But Peter's book was
scrupulously clean.
"I had to deal with that boy with a stern hand," said Macdonald grimly,
and as I stood looking at the book I saddened.
"On the outside of this book you should write the words: 'Peter Mackay
... a Tragedy, by William Macdonald,'" I said, but I don't think the man
understood me.
The three o'clock interval came. "Stand!" commanded Macdonald, and the
class rose as one child. "Front seat ... quick march!" The boys saluted
him as they passed out, and the girls curtsied. I tried not to laugh at
the fatuous fellow's inculcation of "respect." Poor devil, I think they
will hate him in after years; he is of the brand of dominie that is
responsible for the post-schooldays habit of shying divots and
opprobrious epithets at teachers passing along the road.
On the way out Janet touched my arm playfully, but the eagle-eyed
disciplinarian saw the action and he glared at her.
"Had you any trouble with swearing?" he asked when the last boy had gone
out.
"Not particularly. Have you?"
"I've put it down with a very firm hand."
"I never bothered about it," I said carelessly. "I very seldom heard it;
if I did happen to hear a boy string together a few strong words I
ridiculed him, told him they didn't mean anything. Once I was trying to
unscrew a stiff nut from my motor-bike and I addressed it audibly. I
heard a snigger and on looking round found that Jim Jackson had come up
to watch my efforts."
Macdonald raised his eyebrows and whistled.
"Pretty awkward, eh?"
"Not in the least, Macdonald; I merely said: 'Jim, never waste good bad
language; one day you may be a motor-cyclist and you'll need it all
then.' Jim nodded approvingly."
"You would have persuaded Jim that he never heard your words," I added.
I find that I cannot dislike Macdonald. He is essentially a decent
fellow with a kindly nature; sometimes I feel that I am quite fond of
him. His equanimity is charming; he seldom shows the least trace of
irritation when I talk to him. But his mental laziness riles me; he is
so cock-sure about his methods of education, and I know that I never can
induce him to think the matter out for himself. The tragedy is that
there are a thousand Macdonalds in Scots schools to-day. Of course they
are hopelessly wrong. I don't know whether I am right, but I know that
they are wrong. They stick to a narrow code; they force youth to follow
their silly behests regarding respect; they kill the individuality of
each child. Why in all the earth does civilisation allow such asses to
warp the children? Who is Macdonald that any human being should quail
before his awful eye? Is he so righteous that he shall punish a boy for
swearing? He spent a whole morning lately cross-examining the bairns to
discover who wrote the words: "Mr. Macdonald is daft" on the
pigeon-house door. At last one wee chap was intimidated into
confessing, and Macdonald whacked him and then harangued the whole
school. The bairns were convinced that the lad had committed the sin
against the Holy Ghost.
What a mind the man has! I discovered an obscene writing about myself
three weeks after I had come to the school. The bairns held their breath
while I read it. I sent for a cloth and erased the words.
"What's the use of scribbling silly rot like that?" I said, and lit my
pipe. There never was any more writing on the wall in my time.
How the devil are bairns to gain any perspective in life if a fool like
Macdonald spends half a day investigating nothing? Education should aim
at giving a child a philosophy, and philosophy simply means the
contemplation of the important things in life. If teachers emphasise the
importance of things like silence and manners and dignity and respect,
we cannot expect our children to rise higher in later years than the
cheap gossipy lying press and the absurd system we call party politics.
The Macdonalds start out with the assumption that human nature is bad; I
start out with the realisation that human nature is good. That is the
real distinction between the disciplinarian and the believer in freedom.
When my boys stole turnips, wrote swear words on walls, talked and ate
sweets as they sat in class I attached little or no importance to their
actions; all I tried to do was to bring out the best that was in a lad's
nature ... and I succeeded. Every child improved ... no, I was
forgetting one boy! He came from a city school, and his face was full of
impudence. He looked round my free school and marvelled; he had come
from a Macdonaldised school and he naturally concluded that I was a soft
mark. One day I said to him very mildly: "My gentle youth, this school
is Liberty Hall, not because I am weak but because I happen to be rather
strong.... I could whack you effectively if I started to you." But I
never managed to fit that boy into my scheme of things. He left after a
few months, and after he had gone he bounced to other boys that he had
shoved many pens and ink-pots down a hole in the floor. I found that he
was telling the truth.
What would have happened if the boy had remained at school I don't know,
but I think that he would have gradually adapted himself to his
environment. He had been reared in the schools where physical force
reigned, and he understood no other system. Yes, I fancy I could have
converted that youth. I think of Homer T. Lane and his Little
Commonwealth in Dorset, where so called criminal children from the
police courts are given self-government and become excellent citizens,
and I know that the Macdonalds are wrong.
Not long ago Edinburgh School Board passed a motion asking the local
magistrates to make their birch-rod sentences severe enough to be
effective. Once upon a time people thought that lunatics were criminals
and they lashed them with whips. A time came when people realised that
a lunatic was a diseased person and they at once began to care for him
tenderly. Nowadays the enlightened members of society realise that a
criminal is a diseased person ... usually the victim of a diseased
society ... and they passionately advocate his being treated as a sick
man is treated. And the School Board of the capital of Scotland
recommend that extra stripes with the rod be given to poor laddies who
steal a few pence.
I feel quite sure that no minister in the country mentioned the fact
from his pulpit. I expect they were all too busy anathematising the
"Hun" to consider what the attitude of Jesus Christ was to men and women
taken in sin. I should like to preach to that School Board from the text
"Suffer little children to come unto Me."
There are two ways in education: Macdonalds with Authority in the shape
of School Boards and magistrates and prisons to support him; and mine
with the Christlike experiment of Homer Lane to encourage me.
I wonder why there are two sides to this question of education? No one
but a fool will contend that the birch rod is better than the Little
Commonwealth. I think that ninety per cent. of the Macdonalds of
Scotland would believe in the Little Commonwealth. Why then would they
argue that their system of teaching is better than mine? Obviously
coercion and authority make a child less individual than he might be.
Ah! it all turns on our respective attitudes to life. "Boys are innately
bad," they say, "whack 'em!" "Boys are innately good," I say, "I'll
light my pipe and ask them how their rabbits are getting on."
* * *
Macdonald came hurrying up to me to-night.
"I quite forgot to ask you when you came down what you used to do about
your desk. The lock's broken; how long has it been like that?"
"Since my first week in school," I said.
"Good gracious! Mean to tell me your desk was open for two years?"