and straighter than I well could at Winchester. It was a great gain,
having this opportunity with the leading men and heads of houses. It is
very wonderful that they never seemed to resent this at all; sometimes
I even flatter myself they liked it. They saw, too, the awful havoc
which sin makes in character. Their lives at Winchester are so happy
and so employed that they have little time or, perhaps inclination, to
imagine the lives of those who are the very opposite of themselves,
and, I think, seeing these lives did impress them very much. I judge
this not only from what they said, but from the fact that several, I
might say many, of them have privately helped me not only with money,
but by taking pains in getting lads situations. And this interest
has not been merely for a moment, just quickened by the sight of the
poverty or distress, but has lasted after they left Winchester. Men did
me even the honour of making me their confidant about themselves, or
about some other man in the school for whom they were anxious. I grieve
to-day, now that the chance has gone from me, over many opportunities
wasted, sloth and pride so often preventing one, and one’s own selfish
nature continually supplying the excuse, “This is not the proper moment
to speak,” or, “You might lose your influence by speaking.”
These days spent with me gave me the right to ask for hospitality in
return. At first I only went to College, Joseph, my first Prefect of
Hall, making this a very easy matter for me; and where Mrs. Richardson,
the second master’s wife, is, there can never be embarrassment. And
so under her hospitable roof I began my venture of spending one day a
week in Winchester. Then Harold Bilbrough, head of Mr. Kensington’s
house, asked me to go there. And soon the kind hospitality of the
House Dons enabled me to visit every House in the school. I arrived
in time to dine with the men in their hall. Then in the afternoon we
watched cricket or football, or whatever was going on; in the winter
the House Prefects giving me tea up at the House, in the summer ices,
or an equivalent, at Louisa’s. Alas! Louisa’s is now no more; there is
a school shop instead. The House Don usually asked four or five men
in to dinner in the evening; sometimes I was asked to say a few words
at “_Preces_”; then the head of the House would take me into each
gallery, and I saw all the fellows in bed, got to know, if possible,
the younger ones, saw if there were any clothes I could take down
to my people at home; a chance often arose of saying in jest a word
that went deeper, or sometimes a word of comfort, but at any rate it
broke down all shyness. I cannot for one single moment flatter myself
that I exercised much influence, certainly not a religious influence
strictly so-called. That was not my business. My religious mission was
to Landport, not to Winchester, and I should have been utterly disloyal
to the Winchester authorities and the parents of the boys if I had even
tried to exercise such influence. On the other hand, I do believe that
I was able to help many a man in the crisis of his school life, and to
say many a word which would last after he left Winchester, and I judge
from many letters received long after men have left the school, and
from kind words which Dr. Fearon and the masters have said to me, that
they thought the influence which I had at Winchester was really helpful
to the school life.
Though it is difficult for me to speak of this, it is very easy for me
to speak of the extraordinary help Winchester has been, personally, to
me. The days spent there were days of perfect relaxation. In the summer
watching cricket in Meads was a pure joy, one after another, men and
Dons coming up to tell of all the news, and to discuss what was going
on. There is, perhaps, no playing-field as beautiful in the whole of
England; in front of you S. Catherine’s Hill with its crown of trees,
on one side the College Chapel, on the other S. Cross; everywhere
gleams of beauty, and even on the sultriest day a delightful breeze.
Then the most restful of all surroundings, a perfectly smooth green
sward, and to give life the extraordinary excitement of the game,
when the one thing that one desired most was that a man’s batting or
bowling in a foreign match should entitle him to get into Lord’s; on
the less sacred sward games innumerable, the anxiety of House captains
about the younger men coming on, and dear Fort coaching and encouraging
everybody. Beautiful as it all was, I am not sure that the intense
excitement of Sixes or Fifteens, our Winchester football, was not even
greater; the endeavour to fathom the mystery why commoners have a
special go and _verve_ of their own, the discussing it over and
over again with House men and College men and with Dons. Sometimes
people talk as if too much is made of games, that they are altogether
Philistine, destroying refinement. At any rate, at Winchester this was
never the case. From an experience of ten years, I would say that the
vast majority of men in the Eleven and the Football teams were the
nicest men in the school, and I have grown to know most of these men
extremely well. My first year I did not; men were shy of me. Perhaps
they thought that, because I was a parson, I was likely to be a “smug.”
But I remember well my second year, when the Captain of Lord’s, I think
it was Thesiger, walked arm in arm with me across Meads, I felt I had
won a final victory. And the real beauty of the whole thing was, these
men never guessed what they were doing for me. Their pure kindness was
so modest, so unassuming, it was like eating and drinking new life. Age
has nothing to do with years, the Winchester Missioner never can become
an old man. Living amongst my own boys at home one did not gain this,
there is so much of tears and sorrow, so much that is sordid mixed
up in their lives, they are often so very old themselves. But to see
these, one succeeding to another, ever young, ever enthusiastic, with
literally no cares, and just as much work as was good for them, and
to be allowed to enter into their life, to become part of the school,
this rendered possible by their wonderful generosity, was to realise
all the liberality of their environment and the beauty of their homes.
I have come to Winchester oftentimes with a heart almost broken with
sorrow; that heart-break has never lasted out one hour. Of course there
is another side. We English deem that because a system suits eighty
out of every hundred boys, it must suit the other twenty, and so the
other twenty have to come to school. It is an atmosphere where they
do not develop, where what is best and truest in them seems to be for
ever driven back into their own hearts, until the best ceases to be
good and sometimes becomes the worst--boys timid in will, weak in body,
real cowards in spirit, they cannot help it. If parents, discovering
such a one in their family, would devise some other method of education
for them, it would be better for them and better for schools, for it
is these boys who bring out in others whatever is vulgar and cruel,
and there is latent vulgarity and cruelty in most boys from fourteen
to sixteen. The best set of Prefect’s eyes cannot be everywhere, and
consequently little eyes are sometimes dimmed with tears, and little
hearts are broken. And then there are bad boys. Take any four hundred
men, women, or girls, and you will find bad ones amongst them. And
badness has a strange way of impressing itself on others. Thank God, at
that age it does not sink very deep, the bad is very superficial, and
leaves little or no mark behind it. Oh, the blessed power of recovery
in the young!
We have two great blessings at Winchester. We are a small school--only
four hundred--and none of our men are very rich. There is a perfect
friendliness between all the masters and the men. Of course, I have
heard words of anger against Dons, but I have never known a real
hard thought about one of them. It is an extraordinary friendliness,
and this friendliness passes down into the whole school. There are
generations of brothers, coming one after the other, sometimes three
in the same house at the same time, the greatest safeguard possible.
And, above all, a deep, wholesome, religious spirit--not perhaps what
would satisfy exact theologians, but manly and straightforward. For as
I believe of my own children at Landport, so I believe of Winchester
men. All that is necessary for the soul’s salvation is all that it
is necessary for a boy to learn--the power of prayer, the power of
repentance, the power of the Sacraments, and these can be learned long
before a boy comes to school--his mother the one priceless teacher.
We need at school the opportunity of testing the religion learned,
far more than of learning religion, and when the boy is equipped
with the simple armour which I have spoken of, he is well prepared
for every emergency of temptation. I remember a little lad once
saying to me, when I saw him working late at night, “I am mugging
John.” I suppose when boys reach the sixth form they are intellectual
enough to understand criticism, even of the Greek Testament; but I
deprecate myself the Bible in any case being turned into a school
book, and I think the parents who imagine that they can impose upon
the school-master their duty of teaching religion to their children,
inflict on their children a cruel wrong, on the master an impossible
task.
I would I had the power to write what I feel about Winchester. I would
I had words to make you feel how I have realised the magnificence of
its great tradition--an unbroken chain of upright English gentlemen,
holding the most useful place in their nation’s history; not perchance
the most brilliant, but certainly amongst the most dependable men of
their time--and how earnestly I believe that this tradition is realised
by almost every man in the school, and that the nation will realise it
just as truly in times to come as in times past.
This intimate knowledge of men at school naturally led to my knowing
many of their families, in Winchester language their “pitch-up”; and
truly the Mission has discovered a new interpretation of that notion,
if not perhaps its origin; for I think almost every family that I have
known has contributed to the funds of the Mission, not only in money,
but in clothes, in asking parties of us to spend the day with them,
sometimes even in supporting cases that we were very anxious about.
It has led, too, to a kind of association of prayer for the Mission’s
welfare, composed of relatives of past and present Wykehamists. Miss
Wigram, of South Lodge, Champion Hill, S.E., the sister of
“The Cat” and “The Kitten,” would be glad to give particulars.
Once or twice a year, too, I was able to go up to Oxford, sometimes
to Cambridge, and thus keep in touch with the men there. There is
something especially charming in this hospitality, though I doubt if
one could stand it for very long, unless one could discover the curious
secret of Mr. Lucraft. There is perhaps nothing more attractive than
seeing a man act host for the first time, especially when he has got
the kitchens and plate-closet of Magdalen behind him. I remember on
one visit a distinguished Low Church clergyman suddenly asking me
what I had been doing for the spread of religion, and I could only
answer, “Taking three square meals a day.” I think he was very much
shocked; but you will likely understand that under this hospitality
there was hidden a true generosity, and an interest in the Mission and
myself. New College was naturally my head-quarters, and men took really
extraordinary pains to arrange that I should see as many Wykehamists
as possible at the different centres of hospitality, and I have always
thought that taking trouble, certainly at Oxford, was the greatest
proof of taking real interest. God, too, allows one to speak more
plainly at Oxford than one could at Winchester, and there come into
my memory now many conversations full of the deepest interest. At any
rate, it is a great privilege to have won the right to speak, even if
men did not always follow the advice given, and letters received years
after the conversation--many received since men knew that I was leaving
Landport--almost induce me to flatter myself that the Mission has been
a much greater help than at the time I ever realised. Of course, it is
natural that men who knew me at Winchester should have some interest
in the Mission, one would have been disappointed if they had not; but
to discover that a large number of old Wykehamists were cordially
ready to befriend us, not only with money, but with sympathy, was a
very astonishing revelation to me. The larger part of the money has
come from them; and when you think that it was given into the hands
of a socialistic Ritualist to use and to distribute, you can measure
something of the generosity. It would not be becoming for me to mention
names, but if this book falls into the hands of men who have been on
the Committee, especially the Treasurers and Secretaries for the last
ten years, I would like them to realise how their loyalty to us has
been one of the chief factors in a generous Wykehamical support, which
gave us the grace of perseverance in the most difficult time of our
work. I am conscious, as no one else can be, how often my own actions
have strained this loyalty. I know that not only old Wykehamists, but
even the school authorities themselves, have often been very severely
tried by things we have deemed it our duty to say or to do. Sometimes
a word in a letter, or reading between the lines, might suggest
caution to us, but never during the whole of these ten years has any
single word been said by anyone in authority, or by others who had
gained the right by having contributed to our funds, that could be
construed into any other meaning than the tenderest love and the truest
desire to help. Perhaps there could be no greater sign of that real
liberalism that permeates every true Englishman, in whatever camp,
either political or religious, circumstance may have placed him. To
Wykehamists at Oxford or Cambridge, to men in the City and at the Bar,
to soldiers scattered throughout the world, and to priests working at
home and abroad, to schoolmasters, Indian civilians, and to Bishops, I,
who have failed in my endeavour to do some work for Winchester, venture
to offer my heartiest thanks for innumerable acts of kindness and
generosity during these ten years.
XIV.
=Our Method of Services.=
I hope through all this description of social work at Landport,
Winchester, Oxford, and elsewhere, you have been able to read a
deeper truth than mere Socialism even at its best. The lesson which
is the foundation of all work like ours is that, however earnestly
you may strive to change circumstances, you must realise that change
of character is the thing to be aimed at, and practically if you
do not achieve this, you have hardly achieved anything at all. And
I know but one method by which this change of character can be
effected, the method of Jesus Christ, not merely to show to people
the perfection and beauty of His character--that oftentimes might
lead only to despair--but to enable them, by the means which He
Himself has ordained, to be partakers of His very nature. To say to a
poor sin-ruled creature, whom you know all his old companions, every
public-house door as it swings open, will allure into the ways of sin
again, “Be like Jesus, be good,” is only making a demand that you
yourself know can never be fulfilled. But to be able to say to him,
“Here is this Jesus, Who for your sake became a real man, as you are
a man, Who worked in the carpenter’s shop, earning, with the sweat
of His brow, daily bread for Himself, His dear mother, and her
husband, Who was disappointed and injured by His friends as well as
by His enemies, Who was really tempted by the devil, Whose life in
many respects was just like your own, Who never turned away His face
from any poor wretched outcast, but spoke to them tenderly and gently
words of love and hope, Who when He could do no more for you by way of
example, willed to die for you: having nothing else to give, He gave
His own life-blood, and in the giving of that, won for you a power of
union with Himself, that though you must do your part, and be sorry
for your sins, and try to be better, He will as surely do His part by
letting His precious blood wash away your sin, and strengthen you to
live an amended life. Here is this Jesus standing as it were between
the living and the dead, so few, few living, so many, many dead, dead
with a death more terrible by far than the worm and corruption can
effect, for they but touch the outward covering of a man, with a death
which has destroyed the real life, the knowledge that God was their
Father, that they had souls capable of everything that was beautiful
and true. Here is Jesus, Who can give even to the clumsy vulgar body
the power of doing gracious acts, of speaking true words, Who can
give to the intellect the power of realising true noble ideals, and
so assimilating them, that they may become a very fibre of their
thoughts.” In almost all our people there was this death, this living,
hopeless, faithless death. Who could deliver them from the body of
this death? One Who could restore to them faith in the supernatural,
hope in themselves, love towards their fellow-men. No preaching can do
this. I believe nothing can but the Blessed Sacrament. The compassion,
which Jesus learned in the trials of His life, taught Him to realise
that man, if he is to be touched, must be touched in his entirety,
that an attempt to deal with him spiritually alone is bound to fail.
How Christ-destroying is all that theology that tries to be wiser and
more spiritual than the Christ! The Blessed Sacrament is not only the
prolongation of the Incarnation in the world, but it is a means by
which Jesus wills that He shall be apprehended by the multitude. And
so ten and a half years ago I set before myself this as the method
of my ministry. Some I know make the Blessed Sacrament the crown of
their religion. I desired to make it the foundation as well. As the
Incarnation is the revelation to us of God the Father, so the Divine
Son wills to be known in the breaking of bread.
[Illustration: OUR CHOIR AND ACOLYTES.]
How far we succeeded in this, the following letter from Father Maturin
will show:
“ST. ANDREW’S, N.B.,
“_April 1st, 1896_.
“MY DEAR DOLLING,
“The wrench from S. Agatha’s must be a great one for you, and
I deplore it very much. For I had exceptional opportunities of
seeing behind the scenes into the real work, and its effects
upon the people, during the mission which Robinson and I gave
there a few months ago. Some things have left an impression upon
my mind which I shall never, I think, quite forget.
“One was the extraordinary simplicity and reality of the
people’s worship. I do not think I have ever seen anything
quite like it in the Church of England, though I have had a
rather exceptionally wide experience of different parishes in
England and America. The stiffness and formalism which haunts
us and hampers us everywhere, was not known at S. Agatha’s.
You somehow succeeded in laying that ghost, and in teaching
the people that the church is their home, where they should
behave as if they are at home. Men came and went there as to a
place of rest which they loved. Some time ago the Archbishop
of Canterbury, and other bishops, made a move to have the
churches left open for private prayer, but the people seldom use
them. Somehow at S. Agatha’s they do use their church; it had
the appearance of being homelike and in constant use. I have
often gone into some of our best-known churches in London in
the daytime, and felt chilled and lonely. I have a very vivid
memory of two occasions, amongst others, at S. Agatha’s--one
was a Saturday during the mission, when I had to go over to
Southampton, and coming back in the afternoon I went straight
to the church, and found many people in the church on their
knees, and a constant stream of people coming and going. The
other occasion was your last day at S. Agatha’s. I got there
late in the evening, and found a large congregation saying their
own prayers, no service, and the people seeming to feel no need
of help, but knowing themselves how to lay their needs before
God. I shall never forget that devout congregation kneeling in
perfect stillness in the dark church, having apparently learnt
that lesson so hard to teach, especially to those who can’t
read, how to pour out their souls to God. It was the same at the
Masses and other services; the people seemed to know how to pray.
“If you ask me to what this quite exceptional power of prayer is
to be attributed, I think I can say without hesitation that, so
far as I could judge, I should trace it to two things:
“(i.) One is your constantly keeping up their interest in all
that was going on amongst them, by telling them of the needs and
troubles of others, and suggesting prayers, _extempore_ and
others, to them. I could feel myself its power, and the way in
which the people appeared to have grown used to bringing their
own and others’ difficulties constantly before God. Rigidity had
to bend and yield before this, and it did, and real personal
devotion took its place. At the same time the regular services
in no sense lost any of their dignity. I have never seen a more
dignified and devout Mass anywhere.
“(ii.) The other cause to which I attribute so much of the
spirit of prayer, and the chief one, was that the people,
however poor and ignorant, seemed to have a grasp upon and a
love of the Blessed Sacrament such as I have seldom, if ever,
seen elsewhere. Their worship and their Christian life centred
round it. You had wholly banished from their minds the idea
that the Presence was only confined to the act of communion.
It was enough for them to know the Blessed Sacrament was upon
the altar, to crowd to the church--that attraction which draws
Christendom was exercising its full sway over them, and the
result was what one would expect. I feel convinced by what I
saw, that we shall never get people to realise the Real Presence
in all its fulness without reservation. The poorest at S.
Agatha’s ‘knew what they worshipped.’
“No doubt along with all this there must have been careful and
thorough teaching, but of that I will not speak. Only one other
thing I will notice, though I might speak of many things. I
was very much struck with the very extraordinary conversions.
Some of those who had led very bad lives a few years before,
appeared to have broken from the past in a way I have seldom
seen before, and in the place of vice and degradation there was
an extraordinary refinement; the past seemed gone. I have some
cases especially in my mind at this moment. I believe--indeed,
I have no doubt--this was owing in part, at least, to the fact
that probably these poor people had never resisted; for they
had never had the offer of the grace of the Sacraments, and
with the first waking of conscience came the blessing of the
knowledge of the Catholic Faith in its fulness. I should like to
have taken some of those who criticise any departure from rigid
conformity to Prayer Book methods, to see what I saw. Certainly
no good results would justify anything that is wrong, but I
conceive that, so far as I could see, the methods of S. Agatha’s
were no greater a departure from Prayer Book ways than is used,
I suppose, in the vast majority of parishes in England.
“But I must not write more. I only hope that S. Agatha’s may go
on for the future upon the lines so well and so prayerfully laid
down.
“Ever affectionately yours,
“B. W. MATURIN.”
Dr. Linklater built a very fitting Mission Church; it seated about five
hundred people, and I found Celebrations on Sunday at seven and eight,
morning and evening prayer, and a children’s service; and on week-days,
Celebrations twice a week, and evensong every night. I felt that it
would be wiser to leave the Sunday services unchanged for two years,
supplementing them if I saw it was needed. But the week-day services
I took in hand very soon after I came. For my brother priests and for
my workers, it was very soon necessary to have a daily Celebration,
not only for the nourishment of our own souls, but to give us the
opportunity of pleading that Sacrifice for the whole body of Christ’s
Church, and especially for the wants of our own district. I say it with
the fullest confidence, that this daily Celebration has been the chief
strength of the parochial life.