CHAIRMEN--_continued_
Only my fixed determination to avoid mentioning names prevents me from
giving the title of a noble chairman who filled that office for me in a
certain country town. Those of my late colleagues who do me the honour
to read these lines will quite understand what I mean when I say that
I had not the least idea, although I saw his name on the bills, that
the chairman would appear. The trick is a very old one, and so often
practised that it ceases to surprise. A good name brings the people,
and an apology for his _unavoidable_ absence and inability to keep his
engagement from some well-known substitute always seems to go down.
Therefore I was considerably astonished when the noble individual
arrived punctually, accompanied by his lady. He made a most charming
introductory speech, lasting barely ten minutes, during which he said
many pleasant things, but more especially made it evident that he had
carefully read my books, and so got up the subject on which I was to
lecture. And after the lecture was over he made another little speech,
to which I listened with extreme pleasure. In fact, I have rarely
enjoyed anything more than I did this noble gentleman’s two addresses,
so free were they from fulsome adulation on the one hand, and offensive
patronage on the other.
By way of contrast I recall a most unpleasant experience I had in a
Congregational church of all places. Now most of my lectures have been
given in connection with Nonconformist places of worship, and except
that they are rather given to lengthy proceedings at the end, when
everybody wants to get away, the lecturer most of all, I must say I
have always enjoyed them very much--especially Congregationalists.
Some of the other denominations are a bit inclined to be narrow
(though that is really personal), but I have always found among the
Congregationalists a broadness of toleration and outlook that is very
pleasant. It is no easy matter, then, to judge of my surprise when
during my lecture at this particular church of which I am speaking,
my chairman, who was the pastor, suddenly sprang to his feet and
flatly contradicted something I had said. The funny part was that it
was really a quotation I made, and the utterance of the chairman was:
“Professor So-and-so never said anything of the kind!”
This sudden outburst placed one in a grave difficulty. I had never
had a similar experience, and I, of course, did not carry books with
me to prove the correctness of my memory. For a few seconds there was
an utter silence and considerable nervous tension. Then I said very
quietly and distinctly:
“Perhaps the best thing to do under the circumstances, Mr. Chairman,
will be to allow the lecture to proceed, and at its close I will
endeavour to justify any statements I have made, and answer any of your
questions.”
The chairman just bobbed up and apologised, saying that he had
forgotten himself, and I proceeded. But at the close of the lecture,
though I professed my willingness to go freely into the matter, there
was no challenging word spoken by the chairman or anyone else, and the
matter then dropped, as they say in the House of Lords. But I have
often wondered since how far the chairman of a lecture is justified in
thus interrupting the lecturer, even when his knowledge of the subject
is far greater than that of the speaker. In this case it certainly was
not so, but the chairman was fanatic upon the subject of evolution, and
he was afraid that I was trying to teach evolution to his congregation
by a side-wind.
I had a great deal of fun out of one chairman, who was also my host, a
rough jewel, if ever there was one. It was in one of the dingy, dreary
Lancashire manufacturing towns, and my host was the Mayor as well as
being the biggest mill-owner in the place. He had risen literally from
the ranks, and his speech was hardly intelligible to me; also his
house, which was small, was so crammed with incongruous rubbish as to
be almost uninhabitable, while he and his good wife spoke their minds
to me and each other with a frankness that took a little getting used
to, as they say.
They were mightily amused at me, principally at my very small appetite.
Their table was loaded at meal-times with the most solid food, and I
specially remember the hot buttered toast, the hot, greasy cakes, the
great dish of fried fish at tea-time, the very thought of that mountain
of food gives me indigestion. That, however, is not the point. On the
day of my lecture the weather was very bad, and as the time approached
for us to go, the rain increased, until it was a regular tropical
downpour. His Worship’s carriage was at the door, and we scurried into
it, very nearly getting drenched in the passage. As soon as we had
started I said to his Worship: “It’s almost a pity to leave home, isn’t
it? There cannot be anybody there on a night like this.”
“They’ll be all there,” he replied sententiously. “The ’all’ll be full,
you’ll see. We don’t mind th’ weather up ’ere.”
I cannot hope to reproduce his Lancashire dialect, so do not try.
Indeed, it would be impossible, for most of the time he was quite
unintelligible to me, and I had previously prided myself on my ability,
not merely to pick up languages, but to assimilate any dialect of my
own tongue. Nothing more was said between us, and we duly arrived at
the hall, when his Worship at once asked the official who met us at the
side door if the audience were in their places, and was answered by a
laconic “Ay!” We entered the anteroom on the stroke of eight, and, to
my amazement as well as amusement, an official came forward with the
mayoral robes and insignia of office--very imposing and massive they
were too. Truly his Worship looked a gallant figure as he stalked on to
the platform, and I felt quite insignificant beside him in my evening
dress.
A great shout of welcome went up from the audience at which I bowed,
but his Worship stood stiffly erect, and then, taking my seat, I stared
with utter astonishment at the sight before me. The great hall was
packed from end to end, even to the standing room, and there was quite
a haze hanging over them, from the heat acting on their wet clothes.
Some one, I forget who, had told me that many of them had been in their
places since seven o’clock, and as I looked at them I felt full of
pity, for I thought how dull and drab their lives must be for them to
crowd like this to a lecture. There can be little else here to amuse
them.
But my chairman began to speak, and I listened with strained attention,
for, indeed, I had a difficulty in gathering the purport of what he
said. Presently it dawned upon me, though, that he was telling them
how interested he was in the lecture that was to come, because it was
on the subject of the catching of whales, and whale-oil was of so much
importance in his business of spinning. So far all was well, but now he
began to tell that audience, nearly all of whom were employed in his
mills, what whale-oil was used for, and how it was used. In fact, he
delivered a lecture on the subject, which did not conclude until 8.25;
and even then he only reluctantly made way for me. No doubt he knew his
subject thoroughly, and as time did not matter, I felt much entertained.
It was quite a pleasant experience, take it all round, but I had
another surprise the next morning. Coming down at eight, and entering
the morning-room, I saw there in conversation with my host a man whom
I should certainly have taken for the lowest kind of tramp, had I met
him on the road. Eccentricities in dress, I hope, make no difference
to me, poor clothes have been my own wear for many years, for while at
sea I often patched my raiment, until, as Jack said, “you couldn’t tell
which was the standing part,” and still I say that this man’s bodily
coverings were an offence to me. He hurt the eyes, he looked so dirty,
so unkempt, so regardless of all the decencies, cleanliness among them.
And he had on a pair of awful old boots, shapeless trotter cases, which
were unlaced, and into which the ends of his ragged trousers were
half-tucked, as if he had shuffled into them on tumbling out of his
lair, and had never thought of them since.
Seeing me come in, my host gave me a cheery good morning, and waving a
hand towards the nondescript, said:
“My brother Ben. He’s my manager down at th’ mills.”
Brother Ben muttered something I could not understand, finished his
colloquy with his brother, and went away, not being asked to stay to
breakfast. I have since heard that the two brothers possessed very
little short of a quarter of a million of money, and I have often
wondered what they did with it, or what good it was to them, or anybody
else. I saw no young people about the house, so I assume that there
were no children. But I don’t know. A lady who was my hostess in a
village near Bradford showed me a house and mill, and told me that
the owner had been a mill-hand, was now worth (as we say) nearly half
a million, and had three sons and two daughters, all of whom he made
work in the mill for wages. They wore the usual mill-hand’s dress, with
clogs, and lived in the basement of the fine house, as they had always
been accustomed to do, never spending or giving a penny towards the
gracious, gentle things of life. My host was much better than that, but
I don’t think he had any children.
Perhaps the most extraordinary experience I have ever had with a
chairman was at Christmastide a few years ago. I am very anxious to
give no clue to either the name of the gentleman nor the place, for I
would be deeply grieved to give him a moment’s pain, recognising as I
do how whole-souled and heartily he gave himself and his means for what
he considered the highest interests of his fellow men and women. So
I will only say that in that period of rest which lecturers usually
enjoy between the middle of December and the middle of January, I
received a letter, asking me what my fee would be to deliver a lecture
at a place about 450 miles distant, on a night shortly after Christmas,
beginning about 10 p.m. I had worked very hard that season, and did not
want to go at all, but, of course, I could not send a blunt refusal.
But I said that I was tired, it was my only period for rest, and that
if I came I should want twenty guineas for my lecture, and first-class
return fare. And I dismissed the matter from my mind with the posting
of my reply, for I never dreamed that such terms would be considered
for a moment.
My surprise, then, may be faintly imagined when I received a telegram
the next day, “Please come on date, specified terms agreed.” There
was now nothing to do but go, and go I did. On arrival at the place
it was evident at once that I was only one item in a long programme,
and my chairman was, at tremendous expense to his mental and physical
tissue, keeping the whole thing going. It was 10.45 p.m. before my turn
began, and it lasted exactly half an hour. For the mixed audience was
almost worn out, and many of them were over-fed as well. I afterwards
heard that the efforts to amuse them had been carried on continuously
from 8 p.m., the only stipulation being that none of them should leave
before midnight. I make no comment whatever on the wisdom or otherwise
of this stupendous altruistic effort; I can only hint at it, as I
am doing; but think of it for a moment, four hours of miscellaneous
entertainment, varied by eating and drinking tea, coffee and mineral
waters! I have seldom seen a man more weary than the host was--poor
fellow, he had lavished himself for what he felt was a good cause, and
as for the money--that was a mere detail, for he was a millionaire.
It is only now that I remember that I have not once alluded to his
efforts as a chairman. Well, he was as near my ideal as can be, but
such was the condition of the audience that, in spite of his lucid
little introduction, I am firmly convinced that the great majority of
them had not the least idea what to expect of me, did not in the least
know whether I was a conjurer or a vocalist or a politician. And, as
somebody said, it didn’t matter, anyhow, his great end was achieved if
he kept the people off the streets on that particular night, and if his
lavish expenditure in order to instruct as well as amuse them seemed
wasteful--well, it hardly mattered.
I will close these chairman reminiscences on a high note, one of the
pleasantest recollections of my life, as well as one of the greatest
privileges I ever enjoyed. In the summer of 1899 I was privileged to
act as special correspondent for a London newspaper on board H.M.S.
_Mars_ during the summer manœuvres, and I spent then the jolliest time
of my life. Towards the close of the manœuvres, however, things got
a bit tedious, and during some golden days we lay (the hostile fleet,
that is) somewhere off the Biscayan coast on a sleeping sea, awaiting
some orders or some development that never came. In order that the men
should not feel any lack of interest, much was done to amuse them, or
to help them amuse themselves in the way of athletic sports, etc., and
one morning Captain May asked me whether I would oblige him by giving
the crew a lecture.
Now I had never lectured before without my slides, and I need not say
how difficult such a task appeared to me, but I had not got them with
me, and I could not refuse a request so kindly made; so I at once
agreed, and was very graciously thanked. I may say that I was assured
that if I had brought my slides with me, the absence of the lantern
would have been no hindrance, for one would have been invented and
fixed up somehow. And I am perfectly sure from what I know of the naval
man that this feat would have been performed. However, I did not tax
their ingenuity so far, and with the customary promptitude the lecture
was fixed to come off that same evening.
Coming on deck after dinner, I was surprised to see in the middle of
the broad quarter-deck a high platform rigged and draped with bunting,
backed by the Union Jack. Right across the front of it chairs were
placed for the officers, and behind them, stretching far away to the
rear, rows and rows of mess benches neatly arrayed. A brief command,
a short bugle call, and with the muffled thunder of hundreds of bare
feet, my audience assembled, took their seats, and lit their tobacco.
Amidst perfect silence Captain May mounted the platform, and introduced
me in a brief speech which filled me with the deepest glow of pride and
humble gratitude I have ever felt. Of course, I cannot reproduce it,
but every syllable is indelibly printed on my heart, the more because
that good friend and brave man passed away not very long after.
Then, amidst a deep thunder of applause, I mounted the platform. But
for at least a minute I was unable to speak. The magnificence of the
whole scene overwhelmed me. I looked down upon nearly 800 young men,
the fine flower of our race, whose shrewd, strong faces looked keenly
expectant, but all kindly towards me. I looked around at the mighty
ship in all her beauty of strength and cleanliness, upon her seven
gigantic sisters lying motionless in their exact stations near, at the
soft splendours of the evening sky, and silken, many-coloured sea, and
I felt truly that, although such a moment comes to a man but once in
his lifetime, he cannot then appreciate all its wonders.
I did not attempt to lecture. I just fell back upon the well-known
vernacular, and talked pure sailor, giving them all the yarns in my
budget that were appropriate. And the time allotted me--an hour and
a half--sped like a dream, punctuated by laughter and applause as
generous and as full as only the handy man can give. And as soon as
I had finished uprose the stately figure of the commander, giving in
trumpet tones the formula to which I have so often listened in the
public schools:
“Three cheers for Mr. Bullen!”
I cannot say any more, except that the thunder of those cheers will
echo in my ears until my dying day. They had hardly died away when my
audience disappeared, mess benches and all, and the disciplined routine
of the great ship resumed its course. The sequel, however, remains to
be told, for it gives a keen insight to the tone of the navy man for
his joke. As was my practice, I went on the navigating bridge next
morning to glance at the signal log and greet the watch-keeper. The
chief yeoman of signals, always a very able man, saluted me, and asked
casually:
“Do you happen to know the ship’s steward, sir?”
“No, Flags,” I replied, “I can’t say I do. I know him by sight, but
that’s all.”
“Ah, well,” Flags rejoined, “he’s a funny man, but a great chum o’
mine. Last night, as we was a-goin’ down from the lecture, he says to
me, ‘Flags, from ’enceforth I regard you as a perfectly truthful man.’
I may as well say, sir, that I’ve ’itherto ’ad the reputation of bein’
the biggest liar in the fleet.”
And it was not until some time afterwards that I fully appreciated the
somewhat oblique compliment.