Lives of great men all remind us
We should make our lives sublime,
And departing leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
So sang Longfellow! Yet how difficult is it for most men and women to
make their lives sublime, and how much more difficult for a child of
ten years! Still it is possible.
John Clinton was born on the 17th January, 1884, at Greek Street,
Soho. His father is a respectable carman, who, a year after little
Johnnie's birth, moved to 4 Church Terrace, Waterloo Road, Lambeth.
When three years old he was sent to the parish schools of St. John's,
Waterloo Road (Miss Towers being the mistress). While a scholar there
he met with a severe accident on the 27th January, 1890. Playing with
other children in the Waterloo Road, a heavy iron gate fell on him
and fractured his skull terribly. He was taken to the St. Thomas's
Hospital, where he remained for thirteen weeks. At first the doctors
said he would not get over it, then that if he got over it he would be
an idiot; but finally their surgical skill and careful nursing were
rewarded, and he came out well in every respect, except for an awful
scar along one side of his head. In due time he moved into the Boys'
School at St. John's, Waterloo Road (Mr. Davey, headmaster). In July,
1893, a tiny child was playing in the middle of Stamford Street when a
hansom cab came dashing along over the smooth wood paving. Little John
Clinton darted out and gave the child a violent push, at the risk of
being run over himself, and got the little one to the side of the road
in safety. A big brother of the child, not understanding what had
happened, gave John Clinton a blow on the nose for interfering with
the child, whose life John Clinton had saved. The blow was the cause
of this act of bravery becoming known, and the big brother afterwards
apologised for his hasty conduct. How many accidents to children are
caused by the lamentable absence of open spaces and playgrounds! 460
persons are yearly killed in the streets of London and over 2000
injured there, many of them being children playing in the only place
they have to play in.
On Sunday, 26th February, 1893, Johnnie was at home minding the baby.
During his temporary absence from the room the baby set itself on
fire. When he came back and saw the flames, instead of wasting time
calling for help, he rolled the baby on the floor, and succeeded in
putting the flames out. The curtain nearest the cot had also taken
fire. Johnnie then, though badly burnt, pulled the curtains, valance,
and all down on to the floor, and beat out the flames with his hands
and feet. The brave little fellow seriously hurt himself, but saved
the baby's life, and prevented the buildings catching fire, crowded as
they are with other families.
The family then moved to Walworth, 51 Brandon Street, and the boy
attended the schools of St. John's, Walworth (Mr. Ward, headmaster).
On the 18th July, 1894, he came home from school, had his tea, and
about 5:30 p.m. went out with a companion, Campbell Mortimer, to the
foreshore near London Bridge. Here the two boys took off their shoes
and stockings, and commenced paddling in the stream. Little Mortimer,
unfortunately, got out of his depth, and the tide running strongly he
disappeared in the muddy water. Directly the boy came to the surface,
John Clinton sprang at him, seized him, and, though Mortimer was the
heavier lad of the two, succeeded in landing him safely. In pushing
the boy on shore, John Clinton slipped back, and, being exhausted with
his exertions, the tide caught him and he disappeared beneath the
surface, and was carried down stream a few yards under the pier. The
river police dragged for him, and the lightermen did all they could
for some considerable time, but without success. After fifteen
minutes' fruitless search, a lighterman suggested that the boy must be
under the pier. He rowed his boat to the other end of the stage, and
there saw the boy's hand upright in the water. He soon got the body
out, but life was extinct, and the doctor could only pronounce him
to be dead. Thus died John Clinton, a boy of whom London ought to
be proud, giving his life for his friend. He was buried in a common
grave, at Manor Park Cemetery, after a funeral service in St. John's
Church, Walworth.
[_For the above account I am indebted to the Rev. Arthur W. Jephson,
M.A., Vicar of St. John's, Walworth_.]