A SHOEMAKER'S APPRENTICE WHO BECAME A GREAT SCHOLAR.
On the last day of November, 1852, a lad was born near the village of
Llangernyw, in Denbigshire, Wales. The proud father, who was the
village shoemaker, took the baby to church that same day, and there
he was baptized--Henry Jones.
Young Henry's parents were poor, and his grandparents were if
anything, poorer. His grandfather worked on the estate of the local
squire, and as he grew older his wages were repeatedly reduced, until
he was receiving only four shillings a week. But even this was not
the worst, for he was offered two shillings and sixpence a week.
That seemed too much for the old man, and very soon after he died.
The house in which young Henry was born, was very small. It
consisted of one small room downstairs, about ten feet square, and
another room the same size upstairs. This tiny downstairs room, was
almost always terribly overcrowded. It had to serve as kitchen,
dining-room, and living-room all in one. Seven persons had their
meals each day in that small room. How to find a seat for every one
was a problem, but a way out of the difficulty was found by having
the children take their meals in relays. Young Henry, being in a
great hurry to get out to play, often took his meals standing, or
sitting on the doorstep.
When Henry's little baby sister was born, they all wondered how room
could be found for the cradle in that already over-crowded room. But
there was a way out. The cradle was put upstairs, and a string let
down from it through a hole in the ceiling. Whenever the baby cried,
the mother bade one of the children pull the string, which rocked the
cradle. Many a time Henry's play was interrupted so that he might
spend a time pulling that old string.
There was a constant struggle against poverty in that home, for Elias
Jones--Henry's father--never earned more than twenty shillings a
week, and generally quite a bit less. The food was plain, but
wholesome, consisting for the most part of bread and milk and "shot",
that is, ground oat-cake and milk. There were no dull moments in
that home. It was crowded and restless all day long. Either the
mother was cooking or the father was heating his irons in the fire,
or some of the children were clamouring for bread and butter, or
perhaps a neighbour had dropped in to see if his shoes were ready and
then lingered for a chat. In spite of poverty, which sometimes was
severe, it was a happy home, for each one sought to help the others.
Henry did not enjoy attending the village school, in fact none of the
children in that village did. The schoolmaster was very cruel and
ignorant. The cane was very seldom out of his hands. Any fault or
error was punished very severely. If a child whispered and the
master was not sure which one it was, he thrashed the entire school.
In fact, there was wailing and lamentation in that school the whole
day long, and small wonder that when four o'clock came each day, the
scholars breathed more freely.
When the school holidays came around, each year in June, the boys
were sent out in gangs to thin the turnips for the neighbouring
farmers. The whole of the five weeks of summer holidays were spent
at this work. The boys were paid from eight-pence to one shilling a
day, fourpence being deducted if the farmer provided meals. Young
Henry Jones went with his brothers to do this hard work when he was
only five and a half years old. When evening came he was often too
exhausted to walk, and had to be carried home by the bigger boys.
From that time until he was taken to work as a shoemaker, Henry
helped to thin turnips each year.
While still a very young boy Henry began to help his father make and
repair shoes. It was the greatest ambition of his life to become a
good shoemaker. One day an incident happened which made him very
proud. Toe-caps for boots were just coming into fashion, and they
had to be carefully stitched. When it came to putting on the caps,
Elias Jones was not sure of himself, so he went over to the school
and asked permission for Henry to return home and do the sewing.
When twelve years of age Henry left school to become a shoemaker's
apprentice with his father. It was a happy moment in his life when
he put on the leather apron. His mother wanted him to be a
blacksmith, or a gardener like his brothers, or a grocer, anything in
fact, other than a shoemaker, but Henry stubbornly refused to listen.
His mind was made up. He wanted to be a shoemaker like his father.
The little workshop in which Henry and his father worked, was a
little lean-to at the gable-end of the cottage. Out of the window
Henry could see a barn and an old thatched cottage. The room was so
small that those working had to get into opposite corners so as not
to interfere with each other's movements. Sometimes there was a
hired workman, and even a fourth place was often made for the local
postman, who worked at making and repairing ladies' boots between his
arrival with the letters and his departure. Henry used to think that
there was so little room for privacy that it was impossible to keep
even one's thoughts to oneself.
Henry soon became a good shoemaker. The work was hard, and the hours
very long, but he liked it, and there was not a lazy bone in his
body. Just at this time something happened which had a great
influence over Henry's life. A lad named Tom Redfern, about his own
age, came to Llangernyw to take charge of the school; a friendship
sprung up between the two, and soon Tom Redfern told Henry of his
ambition to attend the university. Soon that same ambition came to
Henry, although it seemed madness for him even to think about such a
thing, as his parents were so poor, and his own education had been
sadly neglected.
For some time Henry was most unhappy. It seemed to him as if there
were no way whereby his ambition could be realized. But his purpose
became more resolute, and he made up his mind that if at all possible
he would reach his goal. At last arrangements were made enabling
Henry to attend a school at a place called Pandy, some distance away,
three days each week. Henry got out his old schoolbooks and began to
attend Pandy School every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The
remaining three days he worked away at his trade harder than ever.
There was an examination known as the Queen's Scholarship held each
year, and successful students earned the right to attend Bangor
Training College for teachers. Henry determined to try for this,
although it did seem an almost impossible task. He retired to rest
about eight o'clock each evening, and at one o'clock in the morning
the village policeman tapped at his window. Then he got up and
dressed and worked away at his books until morning came. There was
so much to be learned that at times he almost despaired, but he never
gave up.
At last the time came for him to try the examination. He went to
Bangor in fear and trembling. One of his brothers had loaned him a
suit of clothes, and another brother loaned him a watch. He stayed
at the college during the days of the examination. There were quite
a number of competitors, and only a few could succeed. Henry was
appalled by the look of cleverness and by the smart appearance of
most of the students. He felt he had made a horrible mistake in even
giving in his name. When he was alone he wept like a child and felt
he had no chance whatever. Although he was terribly nervous and
covered with confusion he did his best, and when the examination
results were published, a few weeks later, his name appeared among
those who had passed in the first class.
He entered the training college at Bangor and studied hard for two
years. He had to be extremely careful, as he had very little money.
Throughout those two years he maintained his place at the head of the
college list, and then in 1873--when he was just nineteen, he was put
in charge of a school at Brynamman, a mining village in Wales. He
remained there for two years, greatly beloved by the pupils in the
school, and by the people of the village. Then in 1875 he passed the
examinations for entrance into Glasgow University.
The years Henry Jones spent at Glasgow University were packed full of
interest for him. There was much hard work for him, and there was a
constant struggle with poverty. His parents were not in a position
to help him, and sometimes it almost seemed as though he must give
up, but somehow a way always opened, and he was able to continue his
studies. At the close of his term he sat for an examination, known
as the "Clark Fellowship." This was the "blue ribbon," of the
University, and, of course, was the most coveted honour among the
students. He had no intention of trying for it, but one of the
professors, who was interested in him, persuaded him to sit for the
examination. He did, and to his amazement, he was awarded the prize,
although all the cleverest students of the University, who were
eligible, had also tried. In addition to the great distinction the
fellowship carried with it a grant of £225 (about $1,100) a year for
four years. And then, for the first time in his life, Henry Jones
knew what it was to have money to pay his way and a little left over.
A great day came for him, when in 1884 he was elected to a
professorship in Bangor College, Wales. He remained there for
several years, and then was made a professor in the University of St.
Andrews, in Scotland. After three years there--years of hard work,
but of great power and wide influence, he was elected to a very
important position; that of Professor of Moral Philosophy in Glasgow
University. This was one of the great positions in the universities
of Great Britain. It was one which only a great scholar could fill
and Henry Jones did fill it with credit to himself and with very
great profit to the students, for a period of twenty-eight years.
From being a shoemaker's apprentice, Henry Jones rose to a position
of great power and influence. It was not by any means an easy road.
There was a terrific struggle with poverty, and at times it seemed as
though it would be too much for him. But his tremendous perseverence
and grit carried him along, and he succeeded to an extent that he had
never dared even to dream of. During the Great War he delivered
scores of lectures throughout Great Britain and in the United States.
His three sons were on the firing line, and the youngest of them was
killed in France. Henry Jones died in 1922, and left behind him the
memory of a brave and noble life.