CARTHUSIAN
A gentleman once wrote to the late headmaster of Charterhouse, Dr.
William Haig-Brown, saying that he wished to have his son "interred"
at that school. The headmaster wrote back immediately saying he would
be glad to "undertake" the boy. The same headmaster being shown over a
model farm remarked of the ornamental piggery, built after the manner
of a Chinese Pagoda, that if there was Pagoda outside there was
certainly pig odour inside.
Such a man as this is sure to have been impressed by the personality
of Master Ste, who, in 1870, came to him in the old Charterhouse, that
hoary, venerable pile which seems to shrink into itself, as if to shut
out the unpoetic and modern atmosphere of Smithfield Meat Market.
B.-P. went to Charterhouse as a gown boy, nominated by the Duke of
Marlborough, and owing to the ease with which his infant studies had
been conducted, was obliged to enter by a low form. But he had, as we
have already said, an enquiring mind. He had also a clear brain, all
the better for not having been crammed in childhood; and, therefore,
strong in body, full of health and good spirits, and just as keen to
get knowledge as to get a rare bird's egg, he began his school-days
with everything in his favour. The result was that 1874 found him in
the sixth, and one of the brilliant boys of his time.
Dr. Haig-Brown, as we have said, was sure to have been impressed by
B.-P., and there is no need for his assurance that he remembers the
boy perfectly. Of course, when one sits in his medieval study and asks
the Doctor to discourse of B.-P., he begins by recalling Ste's love of
fun; indeed, it is with no great willingness that he leaves that view
of his pupil. But the boy's inflexibility of purpose, his uprightness
and his eagerness to learn are as equally impressed upon the
headmaster's mind, and he likes to talk about the exhilarating effect
which B.-P.'s virile character had upon the moral tone of the school.
"I never doubted his word," Dr. Haig-Brown told me, and by the tone of
the headmaster's voice one realised that B.-P. was just one of those
boys whose word it is impossible to doubt. A clean, self-respecting
boy.
He was the life of the school in those entertainments for which
Charterhouse has always been famous, and his reputation as a wit
followed him from the stage into the playground. B.-P. was a keen
footballer, and whenever he kept goal there was always a knot of
grinning boys round the posts listening with huge delight to their
hero's facetiæ. He also had the habit, such were his animal spirits,
of giving the most nerve-fluttering war-whoop imaginable when rushing
the ball forward, and this cry is said to have been of so terrifying a
nature as to fling the opposing side into a state of fear not very far
removed from absolute panic. By the way, it is interesting in the
light of after-events to read in the school's _Football Annual_ (1876,
p. 30) that "R.S.S. B.-P. is a good goalkeeper, _keeping cool, and
always to be depended upon_."
But it was not only at football that Baden-Powell spent his time in
the playground, although it was only in football that he shone. Into
every game he threw himself with zest and earnestness, playing hard
for his side, and finding himself always regarded by his opponents as
an enemy to be treated with respect. That he continued to play
cricket, racquets, and fives, although not a great success, is
characteristic of his devotion to sports, and his habit of doing what
is the right thing to do. Then he was a faithful and lively
contributor to the school magazine, added his lusty young voice to the
chapel choir, and was for ever seeking out excuses for getting up
theatricals. Of one of his performances at the end of the Long Quarter
in 1872 it is interesting to note that the _Era_ of that time remarked
that it was "full of vivacity and mischief." He was always a great
success as an old woman, and we shall see that in later days he played
a woman's part with huge success in far Afghanistan. At one of these
school entertainments big brother Warington was present, and he
laughingly recalls how the vast audience of shiny-faced boys broke
into a great roar of delight directly B.-P. appeared in the
wings--before he had uttered a word or made a grimace. Dr. Haig-Brown
and the other masters who remember B.-P. like to recall scenes of
this kind, and it is no disparagement of Ste's other sterling
qualities that they seem to have been more impressed by his excellent
fooling than by any other of his good qualities. It is the greater
tribute to his genius for acting.
[Illustration: Rev. William Haig-Brown, LL.D.
Lombardi & Co., Photographers, 27, Sloane Street, S.W.]
So long as the world lasts, I suppose, the intelligent boy who works
hard at school will play the clown's part in popular fiction. Tom
Sawyer is the kind of youth we like to see given the chief part in a
novel, while George Washington, we are all agreed, is fit target for
our lofty scorn. But how few of the people we love to read about in
the airy realm of fiction, or the still airier realm of history,
really possess our hearts? Think over the heroes in novels who would
be drawn in with both hands to the fireside did they step out from
between covers and present themselves at our front door in flesh as
solid as the oak itself. And the good boy in fiction is anathema.
Shakespeare himself believed that
Love goes towards love, as schoolboys from their books;
and the man is regarded almost as un-English who would have the world
believe that there are British boys for whom the acquisition of
knowledge has almost the same attraction as for their heroes in
fiction has the acquisition of somebody's apples, or the tormenting of
helpless animals.
The fault is not with the world but with the silly writers of
goody-goody stories, who have so emasculated and effeminated the boy
who works hard and holds his head high that it is now well-nigh
impossible to hear of such an one in real life without instantly
setting him down as an intolerable prig. These writers have committed
the greatest crime against their creations that authors can
commit--they have made them non-human. If the stories about George
Washington had narrated how on one occasion he laughed uproariously,
or how he once ate too many mince-pies, he might have escaped the
lamentable and unjust reputation which seems likely to be his fate for
another æon or two. That boys can be good and human everybody knows,
and the man who loves Tom Sawyer and sneers at Eric would be the first
to flog and abuse his son if he bore a closer resemblance to the
former than to the latter.
Baden-Powell as a boy was delightful. A grin always hovered about his
face, and the Spirit of Fun herself looked out of his sharp, brown
eyes. He was for ever making "the other chaps" roar; keeping a
football field on the giggle; sending a concert-audience into fits.
But he was just the sort of schoolboy of whom there would be no
incidents to record. Men who knew him and lived with him in those days
remember him, perhaps, more distinctly than any other boy of their
time, and at the merest mention of his name their eyes twinkle with
delight. "Oh, old Bathing Towel. George! what a funny beggar he was.
Remember him? I should think I did. Stories about him? Well, I don't
remember any just now, but dear old Bathing Towel----!" and off they
go into another roar of laughter. All they can tell you is how he used
to act and recite, and play all manner of musical instruments, or, if
you drag them away from the stage, how he used to rend the air with
his terrible war-whoop at the critical moment in a football match.
But although this is how it strikes a contemporary, Baden-Powell was
in deadly earnest when it was a matter of books and ink-pots. He might
be the funny man of the school, but he was also one of the most
brilliant. He gave his masters the impression of a boy who really
delighted in getting on; who was really keen about mastering a
difficult subject. His vivacity and freshness, his energy and vigour,
helped him to take pleasure in work which to another boy, less
physically blessed, would have been an irksome toil; but though his
body may have projected him some distance upon his way, it was his
soul that really carried him triumphantly through. The spirit of
Baden-Powell in those days was what it is now--supremely intent upon
beating down obstacles in his path, and resolute to do well whatever
the moment's duty might be. So the boy who was setting a football
field on the roar at one moment, at the next would be sitting with
fixed eyes and knit brows, "hashing" at Latin verses, as serious as a
leader-writer hurling his bolts at the European Powers.
The master who best remembers B.-P. is Mr. Girdlestone, in whose house
our hero spent four years of his school-days. Looking back over the
past Mr. Girdlestone finds that what impressed him most in B.-P.
during his school-days was the boy's manner with his elders. He was
reserved, very reserved, and he never had any one close chum at
school; but apparently he was quite free of shyness, as he would
approach his masters without any trace of that timidity which too
often marks the commerce of boy with master. On an afternoon's walk,
for instance, B.-P. would not be found among the boys, but side by
side deep in conversation with his master. And these conversations, I
find, convinced his gubernators that he was very much above the
average cut of boy in intelligence; not (Heaven forbid!) that he made
parade of his little knowledge, but rather that he was eager to get
information in really useful subjects from his superiors, and not
above boldly declaring his eagerness. In those days Dr. Haig-Brown had
a great reputation for sternness, and it is said that even the masters
would sometimes quail when they entered his presence; but B.-P. was
perfectly at his ease and entirely self-possessed even in approaching
the presence of the great Doctor. He was never bashful in addressing a
master on new schemes for the benefit of the school, and it was solely
owing to his application to Mr. Girdlestone that Charterhouse first
started its string orchestra, which is now one of the best boys' bands
in the kingdom. Music, it seems, was one of his chief delights at
school, he played the violin really well; but while he loved that king
of instruments, he would stoop to baser, and oft delight his
contemporaries, holding them entranced, by spirited performances on
the mouth organ and the ocarina.
With no close friend Baden-Powell was a boy without an enemy, and his
popularity may be seen in many ways. Although, for instance, he was
not successful in athletics, he was a regular member of the Sports
Committee, and worked with intense enthusiasm for the success of
Sports-Day. And, another instance; as a memento of their favourite,
the butler of B.-P.'s house and his wife saved a part of the dress he
wore in his last theatrical performance. When the news came of the
relief of Ladysmith this garment was drawn forth from the back of a
drawer and used as a flag of rejoicing, and as I write it is being
jealously guarded to be hung out from the school windows when the
little boy who wore it is delivered from his glorious prison of
Mafeking.
This butler has a very vivid recollection of Baden-Powell. He
remembers him as a boy "up to mischief," but too much of a gentleman
ever to go beyond proper bounds. His mischief was of the harmless
nature, and he was never "shown up" for a row of any description. Many
a time did the observant butler come upon Baden-Powell in the House
Music Room practising his tunes; but not by any means in a dull and
unoriginal fashion. It was the boy's habit to take off his boots and
stockings, set a chair on a table, climb up to his perch, and from
thence draw forth melody of sorts with his ten toes. After this it is
surely a wonder that Baden-Powell in joining the army did not insist
upon doing Manual Exercise with his extremities.
There is a story about Master Ste which clearly shows, I think, the
estimation in which he was held by the other boys. Who but a general
favourite could have played the following part? On Shrove Tuesday at
Charterhouse there was of old time a custom called the Lemon Peel
Fight. With every pancake the boys were given a lemon, or half a
lemon, and these were never eaten, being jealously reserved for the
great fight on the green outside after the pancakes had
unmysteriously disappeared. On one occasion, when the sides were drawn
up in grim battle array, facing each other lemon in hand, every boy as
dauntless as Horatius, Herminius, and Spurius Lartius, and just when
the signal for the conflict was to be given,--suddenly upon the scene
appeared Baden-Powell, swathed from head to foot in tremendous
padding, with nothing to be seen of his little brown face save the
bright, mischievous eyes peeping out of two slits. Rushing between the
two lines with a fearsome war-whoop, this alarming apparition squatted
suddenly upon the grass, and looking first on one army and then on the
other, said in the most nonchalant tone of voice: "Let the battle
commence!"
From the battle-field one goes naturally to the butts. In some of the
newspaper articles concerning Baden-Powell it has been said that he
had nothing to do with the Rifle Corps. This is quite wrong. There was
nothing going on at Charterhouse into which Baden-Powell did not fling
himself with infinite zest, and shooting, of course, had special
attractions for a boy bred in the country and deep-learned in the
mysteries of field and covert. Not only did he take part in the
shooting, but he was an active member of the Shooting Committee. His
last score, shooting as a member of the School VIII. _versus_ the 6th
Regiment at Aldershot on 6th March 1876, was as follows:--
200 yards 500 yards Total
22 14 36
The school was beaten, and Sergeant B.-P. came out of the contest as
third best shot for Charterhouse. The day, says the historian, was
bitterly cold, and a violent and gusty wind blew across the range.
Seven shots were fired at each distance, class targets being used.
If there is interest in Baden-Powell's score as a schoolboy-marksman,
how much greater interest should there be in Baden-Powell's hit as
orator? It is not always the ready actor who makes the best polemical
speech, but Baden-Powell had a reputation at Charterhouse as a debater
as well as fame as a mimic. That the boy was more than ordinarily
intelligent may even be seen in the abbreviated report of one of his
speeches preserved in the school magazine. The subject of debate was
that "Marshal Bazaine was a traitor to his country," and Baden-Powell
spoke against the motion. The report says that he "appeared to be
firmly convinced that the French plan of the war was to get the
Prussians between Sedan and Metz, and play a kind of game of ball with
them. By surrendering, Bazaine saved lives which would be of use
against the Communists. As there was only a government _de facto_ in
Paris he was compelled to act for himself." But even eloquence of this
order was not sufficient to persuade Charterhouse that Bazaine
deserved no censure. The motion was carried by a majority of 1.
In those days, too, Baden-Powell was famous as an artist, and his
sketches, with the left hand, were admired and commented upon by
masters as well as boys. One can fancy with what great reverence B.-P.
the caricaturist must have looked upon Thackeray's pencil in the
Charterhouse Library--the pencil of the great man whose shilling he
was then hoarding with the jealousy of a miser.
Baden-Powell's quality as a schoolboy may be judged by his later life.
Few things are so pleasant about him as his intense loyalty to his
old school. Before leaving India for England in 1898, he wrote to Mr.
Girdlestone, asking his old House Master to send to his London address
a list of all the interesting fixtures at Charterhouse, so that he
might see what was going on directly he arrived in England. Whenever
he is in the old country he pays a visit to Godalming, and one of his
last acts before leaving for South Africa was to call on Dr.
Haig-Brown at the Charterhouse, where he first went to school, to bid
his old Head a brave and cheerful farewell. And what was more English,
what more typical of the public-school man, than the letter B.-P. sent
to England from bombarded Mafeking, saying that he had been looking up
old Carthusians to join him in a dinner on Founder's Day? In India he
never allowed the 12th of December to pass unhonoured, and whether he
be journeying through the bush of the Gold Coast Hinterland, or riding
across the South African veldt, he is always quick to recognise the
face of an old schoolboy, or the Carthusian colours in a necktie.
The estimation in which Charterhouse holds Baden-Powell may be seen in
the result of a "whip round" for the hero besieged in Mafeking--nearly
a hundred and forty cases of useful goods. These cases contained, among
other things, 962 lbs. of tobacco, 1200 cigars, 23,000 cigarettes, 640
pipes, 160 dozens of wine and spirits, seven cases of provisions, 490
shirts, 730 "helmets," 1350 pairs of socks, and 168 pairs of boots. In
addition to this over £1000 was raised by Old Carthusians to be sent
out in its own useful shape.
Popularity such as this has been justly earned. Baden-Powell's record
as a Carthusian will, as we have seen, bear looking into, and though
the old school may boast of more brilliant scholars and more
world-wide names on its roll, I do not think it has ever sent into the
world a more useful all-round man, a more intrepid soldier, a more
upright gentleman, and a more loyal son. And one knows that there is
no British cheer so likely to touch the heart of Baden-Powell when he
returns to England as the great roar which will assuredly go up in
Charterhouse when this Old Boy comes beaming into the Great Hall.