THE SCHOOLS OF THE POOR
Need of Non-Sectarian Education—Charity and Pauperism—Friendship
with Working Men—The Voice that linked.
[Sidenote: Need of Non-Sectarian Education.]
But co-operation without intelligence and education in all classes was
impossible. Fawcett felt keenly the need of non-sectarian national
education, especially for the rural population. Schools would enlighten
the workman so that he could learn how to make his work more profitable
to himself and others, and how to make the best of his free hours, and
so work out his independence.
[Sidenote: Charity and Pauperism.]
To the argument that compulsory school attendance, when the schooling
was not gratuitous, would impose additional burdens upon the poor, he
replied that the wages of labourers were determined not by open
competition, but by what was absolutely necessary to keep soul and body
together. The payment for schools would therefore not come out of their
pockets, but be made up in their wages. The employer would be reimbursed
either by a reduction of his rent or, it might be confidently hoped, by
the increased efficiency of labour. A man considers himself repaid for
keeping his horses in good condition, whilst he leaves his labourers in
a state of semi-starvation. Fawcett held that whatever would give and
stimulate the best in men was good, but he abhorred all that tended to
restrict the independence and freedom of action of the poor. This latter
principle made him a strong opponent of any form of State regulation of
the lives and labour of the adult poor. It seemed to him that charity
unsafeguarded which inevitably increases pauperism. He realised that
tyranny always tries to justify itself; his interest in America made him
familiar with the doctrine that slavery is best for the slave.
‘Interference may be tyranny in disguise even when it is really based on
the best motives.’ He wrote sternly against State socialism and the
nationalisation of the land. These plans, he said, regarded the State as
a kind of supernatural milch cow, a body capable of making something out
of nothing, of directly commanding supplies of manna from the heavens
and water from the rocks; whereas, in point of fact, these were simply
schemes for taking money from the prudent and handing it over to the
idle.
In his search for practical solutions to these questions he put himself
in close touch with the individual workman and his conditions, as well
as with Trade Union officials. When at Bradford, during a strike against
the introduction of new labour-saving machinery, the blind man went
fearlessly among the excited workmen and cautioned the men against
driving away their trade by their methods. He strongly denounced
violence, and arguing calmly to these under-fed, discontented men, he
compelled their interest; they listened, and were largely convinced by
his logic and good-will. Many working men regarded him as their hero and
champion.
Recently a London locksmith told the writer that he was a member of the
Henry Fawcett Club for Workmen, and that one of their proudest memories
was that Fawcett had at one time addressed the club and taught it great
principles of life and work.
[Sidenote: Friendships with Working Men.]
The working men and women appreciated what his friendship meant, and
felt that there was no one who could better speak for them.
[Sidenote: Odger.]
[Sidenote: Frank Fairness.]
George Odger, a shoemaker, the first workman to stand for Parliament,
was a great friend of Fawcett’s. He used to tell this tale of his
candidature. It was before the ballot, and it was the custom to publish
the state of the poll from time to time throughout the day. There were
two Conservatives and two Liberals standing for two seats, and Odger
standing as an independent working-class candidate. As the day went on
it became clear that one of the Liberals would be returned, but that if
the second Liberal and Odger held on a Conservative would win the second
seat. Fawcett and some other Liberal politicians went more than once to
the Liberal Whip’s headquarters, and implored him as the chief of the
Liberal party organisation to allow the second Liberal candidate to
withdraw from the contest, and thus both save a seat for the Liberal
party and allow a workman to get in. Out of dislike to a working-class
candidate, the party leader refused. The result was that both Odger and
the second Liberal were defeated and a Conservative got in; and also a
lasting bitterness on the part of Odger and his sympathisers towards the
wire-pullers of the Liberal party, and apparently an enduring affection
for Fawcett. At one of his political meetings, years after, Odger
appeared to make a speech in defence of his friend, about whom he said,
that if he or any other working-class leader went to see the professor
in the House of Commons or elsewhere to ask him for his support for some
Bill or proposal in which they were interested, Fawcett would not keep
them standing in the lobby as some members would, but would receive them
in the most friendly and unassuming manner. If he didn’t agree with
their proposal he would tell them so in the clearest and most direct
terms, so that they always knew where they stood with him; if he agreed
with them and thought them right he would back them through thick and
thin, and if he thought their views unsound he would with equal candour
tell them so and oppose them.
Odger had shown the same liking for plain speaking when he was present
at the extraordinary meeting held during Mill’s election for
Westminster. In an essay in which he compared the working classes in
different countries, Mill had said that in England the working classes
were generally liars. At this meeting Mill was publicly asked if he had
made the statement. Mill replied, ‘I did.’ His courage was received with
a great burst of applause, and Odger, who spoke next, said that the
working classes wanted friends not flatterers, and were truly obliged to
any one who could treat them so straightforwardly.
[Sidenote: Friendship till Death.]
When, years later, Odger lay dying in the slums of St. Giles, Fawcett
went to his bedside, giving what comfort he could, and an unfailing
sympathy. When the old man died, Fawcett went to his funeral in Brompton
Cemetery. His secretary, who accompanied him, gives this description, it
was ‘a long walk in a procession of many thousands, with trade bands
playing funeral marches, alternating with the Marseillaise, and the
banners of working-class organisations flying. We joined the procession
in Knightsbridge and walked all the way to Brompton, and the throng at
the cemetery was immense. Mr. Fawcett and I were dragged through the
crowd to the grave, where the leader who had arranged the procession
insisted on his making a short speech in eulogy of their dead comrade.’
A characteristic glimpse of Fawcett and his surroundings at this time is
given to us by one of his sympathisers, who says:
‘The first time I saw Mr. Fawcett was at a meeting summoned, as I
understood, by himself, for the purpose of hearing an address from him
on some subject connected with political economy and the interests of
the working class. I was introduced to Mr. Fawcett after the lecture.
Neither he nor anybody else had ever heard of my name at that time, but
he was as frank and friendly as if we had met before and had known each
other. He told me he was determined to try for a seat in the House of
Commons, and he added cheerily, “I know I shall get a seat there some
time.”
‘I did not meet him again for more than a year, it may have been two
years, after. I happened to sit next to him at a small meeting of
politicians and philanthropists. Mr. Mill was at the same meeting. We
had the Reform question to interest us, the question between the
Northern and Southern States of America, the question of legislation
affecting the position of working men, the Irish question. Radicalism
was then at once curiously robust and “viewy,” a combination of
qualities which politicians of a more recent birth find it perhaps a
little difficult to understand. Mr. Mill belonged to some of our
fraternities. Mr. Herbert Spencer was at one of them, at least. Mr.
Huxley rather later came into one or two.
[Sidenote: The Voice that linked.]
‘Some speaker got up who spoke well, and whom I did not know, and I
asked Mr. Fawcett who it was. He told me promptly, and then to my
surprise addressed me by name, and reminded me of the fact that we had
talked together after his speech in St. Martin’s Hall. His power of
recognising men by the sound of their voices was something wonderful.
Seventeen or eighteen years afterwards, I happened to sit two rows of
benches behind him in the House of Commons. The House was nearly empty.
Fawcett had spoken a few words on some subject of interest in India.
When he sat down I uttered one quiet “Hear, hear.” In a moment he turned
towards me, and addressing me by my name, asked me whether I had seen a
friend of his, the late Sir David Wedderburn, anywhere in the House that
evening.’
[Sidenote: The Call of the Outside.]
However great his absorption in political affairs, Fawcett never forgot
to satisfy his craving for fresh air and exercise. His sanity of outlook
on serious things was largely due to his power of throwing them aside to
enjoy a long tramp, a ride or a wintry skate. His nerve never failed
him. One frosty day he walked across the frozen fens from Cambridge to
Newmarket. The country is intersected with dikes and at any moment it
was possible to plunge beyond one’s depth into a half-frozen ditch. To
Fawcett this was part of the fun, but his companion was far more
anxious, and said that the Victoria Cross had been won by deeds
requiring no greater courage and strength than this feat required of a
blind man. Fawcett had learnt his lesson that for him life without
courage was no life, and he habituated himself to hourly risks.
In company with a seeing confederate, he would have made a good scout.
His knowledge of the country, of the mysteries of the woods and fields,
intensified as he grew older. In the Wilderness, many an Indian
path-finder would have lost the crackling of the branches under the
swift hoof of a distant hurrying deer, or the soft call of the partridge
to her young which Fawcett always heard. The distinctive smells and
sounds of the seasons were clearly marked for him. The swish of the
rollicking crisp leaves dancing before the wind along the roadways, and
the thud of the falling apples on the hard ground in the orchard, made
him laugh as it brought autumn to his senses. Winter, with its clear-cut
noises, cracklings of ice and snow under foot, lost none of its
sternness because he could not see its long white robes. He loved the
smells of spring, and seemed to feel the pushing and striving in the
dank earth and to divine the fragrance soon to burst forth. Like a giant
lizard he revelled and basked in the heat of the summer sun, and
rejoiced in the contrast of the cool shadow beneath the heavy-laden
trees, the smell of the hot grass and of fully opened fragrant flowers,
and the sedate ‘brum’ of the bourgeois bumble-bee.
[Sidenote: Increasing Interests.]
Though by his professorship attached for life to Cambridge, Fawcett’s
interests were deep in the world of politics, in which he had already
made his début as the member of Parliament for Brighton. To simplify our
story we will take up the history of his early political efforts in a
new chapter.
The new M.P. was extremely popular; his friends were among the greatest
men of the day—three of them at least, Darwin, Mill, Thackeray, gave new
life to widely different callings.