Part 59

It would seem, however, that thus early in our twentieth century it is destined that a halt should be cried. The why and the wherefore of which it is not befitting that your pages should discuss, except in its one aspect, that of sport, yet, in truth, even sport cannot wholly be dissevered from the growth of democracy, which, for good or evil, has come like a March wind, untempered by sunshine, obliterating bright prospects of spring and summer happiness, foreboding a season of disappointment.

We many of us remember when on the last Tuesday in May, the Prime Minister rising in his place in Parliament moved the adjournment of the House of Commons over the Derby day, and the motion was agreed to _nem. con._ Our annual classic race at Epsom was a recognised holiday for our legislators. Lord Palmerston was never happier than when, as Premier, he was shaking off the cobwebs of office on this occasion; his horses more than once being competitors in the great race, and once he was second for it. Lord Derby also led his faithful Commons to Epsom, and almost carried off the Blue Ribband. Lord Beaconsfield, when Mr. Disraeli, followed the same practice, and I think it was Mr. Gladstone who first encountered dissentients to this motion. At first the minority of “noes” was an insignificant one, yet it grew, and Gladstone himself not being a sportsman, he soon gave way, and joined the “noes.” Thus the House of Commons has long come to disregard the call of “off to the Derby!” and who in the present Parliament would be bold enough to even raise the question?

In France the President of the Republic leads the way in pompous style to see the great Prix de Paris contested, and most popularly is he welcomed there by citizens of all classes. Why have we as a national community fallen away from a traditional custom?

More Parliamentary days are wasted in almost useless discussion than were wont to be claimed and given to this one day of distinguished sport. Our Gracious King is always present, the noblest patron of all. He must feel the enforced absence of his elected legislators. Painful as it is to admit the fact, we are now, nationally, handed over to people who not only decry sport, but rejoice in its possible overthrow. Some call them “faddists,” but they are worse, they are, many of them, at heart socialists—social democrats, whose aim and object it is to crush or set at naught the pleasures of those whom they are pleased to think are the class that stand between them and the enjoyment of advantages which all should enjoy alike, whether they have legitimately become entitled to them or not.

I am not going to dissect this problem any deeper. It is far too nasty a job for any one except a professional politician to attempt, but in order to prove our case let us see what are the component parts of the present House of Commons as regards sport.

There is only one member of the Cabinet who is a member of the Jockey Club—the Earl of Crewe—as against four in the last ministry.

There is only one Member of Parliament who is also a member of the Jockey Club, and he is Mr. C. D. Rose, representing the Newmarket Division.

There are only eleven Members of Parliament, as far as I can ascertain, who are owners of racehorses, and they are Colonel Hall Walker, Lord Dalmeny, Sir S. Scott, Mr. F. Lambton, Sir J. Jardine, Mr. G. H. Faber, Mr. C. D. Rose, Mr. Bottomley, Mr. E. Lamb, Mr. J. W. Phillips and Mr. John Barker. Hunting testifies to its popularity in spite of the change of opinions which have come over us. There are four M.F.H., in the assembly—Mr. Lane Fox, Lord Helmsley, Mr. Pike Pease and Mr. D. Davies—and four ex-M.F.H., in Lord Valentia, Colonel Legge, Mr. Rowland Hunt, and Mr. Vaughan Davies, backed up by at least a dozen well-known hunting men, such as Lord Castlereagh, Sir P. Muntz, Messrs. Mildmay, Tomkinson, Brocklehurst and Butcher, Sir Clement Hill, Mr. Long and Mr. Meysey Thompson; and, _en passant_, we can congratulate ourselves on the fact that in the hunting field all political opinions are forgotten, and that, although hunting M.P.’s so often vote in opposite lobbies they are none the less of one opinion as regards hunting.

Cricket seems poorly represented, although we find a Hornby or a Cobbold on the roll. For fishermen we will not answer, and of golfers there are galore—every man that has arms and legs in these days essays golf. It is alluring and easy until you try to excel in it—then follows disappointment. Probably I am old-fashioned, but I hang lovingly to the test of a public school education when seeking for reliable men, whatever be their walk in life. In classing them, this standard, to my thinking, comes before that of the Universities. Taking this test, I find Eton men in the House number 73, Harrow 21, Rugby 18, Cheltenham 9, Marlborough 7, Winchester 6, Charterhouse 4, Shrewsbury, Wellington and Repton, 2 each. Allowing for a few more men that claim their place as public school men at the smaller schools, we may take it that less than 200 of the total 670 members are public school men. This is not the worst point of our analysis in seeking for the germs of sport in our present House of Commons, for there are sixteen members who claim to be _self-taught_. In their case they must have either been beyond the age of boyhood before compulsory school education became law, or the school attendance officers must have, in their cases, neglected their duties—and yet these men, whose names it will serve no good purpose to give in these pages, have no mean influence in the Council of the Empire to-day.

If we made a comparison on the same lines between the Parliament of 1900 and the present one of 1906, I fear that our figures would tell of a disastrous change in the whilom aristocracy of the House of Commons. It has been called a billycock House, but, forsooth, it is only by its actions that we must judge it; and let us hope that its bark will be worse than its bite when the realm of sport is on the tapis. If only the present Parliament would approach legislation on sport without malice, we are far from thinking that they may not be benefactors to its true interests, and they may dare to attack abuses which our friends would let severely alone. For instance, why should they not put down their foot on spurious sports, if it so pleases them? So many self-styled sportsmen are trying to spoil sport by artificial means—hunting, shooting and coursing semi-tame animals, and calling it sport. We, in my humble judgment, have the greatest need to uphold true, honest, genuine sport rather than its counterfeits, which only go to make our enemies blaspheme at us with some cause. Perhaps I shall be electrocuted for saying that the days of the carted deer are numbered, and that the trapped pigeon and bagged rabbit should be done away with.

Probably still more dreadful things will happen to me if I say that Dives, who turns his farms into pheasantries and his uplands into hare or rabbit warrens, should be liable for the waste thus created of what would otherwise be profitable to mankind; and should pay rates accordingly, and damage to tenants who took their holdings without the knowledge of the use to which their land, or that adjoining them, would be put.

It may also strike them that the gambling laws may be reasonably amended in such a way as to make betting profitable to the State, as it is now in almost every other country in Europe, as well as in the Colonies, and at the same time to do away with the evil and temptation which besets the working man in what is termed street betting.

To abolish betting altogether, as some faddists would have you attempt, is known by all practical people to be impossible. You may just as well pass a law to close the Stock Exchange, and all the other Exchanges, and make contracts in “futures” illegal. To abolish bookmakers or betting on the “nod,” as it is termed, or not permit it anywhere except on a racecourse under certain conditions, would be a reformation of which even the most Radical Government might be proud, and at the same time add to the prosperity of the country by compelling a percentage on all betting transactions to be paid over to the Board of Agriculture and the Local Government Board in equal proportions, for the benefit of the stock breeders and the poor of the country. This sum would amount to at least a million in the year, and would come out of the pockets of the wealthy and the unthrifty, without any injury to the State—as has been proved in the practice of the system of the Totaliser or _Pari mutuel_ in other countries. I have more than once ventilated this subject in your pages, and it has been discussed and advocated in the Press, although, as yet, the country at large does not appear to appreciate its importance, and very few Members of Parliament have given it a serious thought. There seems to be a holy horror of legalising betting, of which this savours, and this seems to make it impracticable; yet many good and wise people seem to forget that betting is not in itself illegal, and never has been so. The system which we advocate would make no difference in the law. It would only regulate it, with immense advantage to the State and the community.

Parliament very strictly regulates the drink traffic, and I have never, for the life of me, understood why it should not in a similar way regulate the betting business, because it appears to me that they stand on the same footing from a moral and legal standpoint.

However, I fear this subject will descend on deaf ears at Westminster at the present crisis, where anything in the nature of sport is likely to be tabooed, if possible, unless the independent party choose to take it up, in defiance of the somewhat elastic consciences of many of their _confrères_.

It is, nevertheless, a fact which no Government or Parliament can lose sight of, that sport plays an important part in Great Britain’s life as a nation; and that any serious interference with its material interests will be detrimental to the country, and if attempted will be seriously resented by the people in the future. Let us trust, therefore, that although we now deplore the absence from the House of Commons of so many men whose friendship to sport could be reckoned upon, yet that there are sufficient left to ensure an absence of legislation which will be inimical to the true sporting instincts of the people.

BORDERER.

Education at the Public Schools.

Perhaps the moment is hardly auspicious for dealing with the present subject, when the very word “education” has the ring of a challenge, but happily the Public Schools remain in a kind of secluded backwater, sheltered from the whirling eddies of political strife. Rightly or wrongly, they hold a sort of privileged position which no Government is likely to assail. In speaking of “education” at the Public Schools we employ the word in its widest significance, being not merely the assimilation by the boy of so many facts and figures, but his mental, moral and physical training. These three branches of a boy’s education are so closely connected together, acting and reacting on each other so continually that it is difficult to deal with them separately.

The first and foremost care of the school—the one in which it takes most pride—is the “tone” of its members. This word serves to describe the general behaviour and opinions of the boys, their religious beliefs, relations to their masters and to one another, the ideals, aspirations and traditions which every school holds dear.

When a boy goes to his Public School for the first time, he is overawed by the mass of customs and unwritten laws which insist upon his doing one thing and forbid him to do another. Although some of them may strike him as absurd, being merely survivals of a practice of which the use no longer exists, he will come to learn that the life of a school is bound up in its traditions, and will cherish them accordingly. He will first discover that the home estimate and school estimate of his capacities are very different, that he is, in fact, a nonentity. When he has recovered from the shock of this discovery, he will set himself to find out—or more probably he will learn instinctively—what is or is not sanctioned by the public opinion of the school, what he may do or say. As the “tone” of the place largely depends upon the discipline, which is shared by the masters with the bigger boys, who—from their position in the school or from their athletic and other qualifications—are chosen as præfects, monitors or præpostere, it is easy to perceive how essentially bound up together are these various branches of school training.

As regards education in its more restricted sense, many would have us believe that too great prominence is given to games, and that the school-boy’s great ambition is to get into the Eleven or Fifteen, whilst success at work is, in his opinion, of very secondary importance. It is argued—with some justification—that it is of no use in the battle of life to be a good cricketer or a good footballer; that education needs to be more practical and scientific; that it must, in fact, move with the times; and although it may be highly edifying to be able to write good Latin verses, or to read Greek plays at sight, such things have little real value in the twentieth century. Shakespeare, indeed, tells us that he had “small Latin and no Greek,” yet his education does not seem to have materially suffered. It may be of more practical use to a boy to have a thorough knowledge of French and German, for example—a knowledge which may be more easily acquired by a sojourn of two or three years in France or Germany—than the somewhat elementary acquaintance with the Classics which frequently represents the sum total of school education; but to say that the British boy—as boy—would be improved by spending the last two or three years of his school-life abroad is something amounting to sacrilege. It must not be forgotten that at all the big Public Schools there is an adequate “Army Side,” where boys are coached for Woolwich or Sandhurst; here, at least, the teaching is eminently practical for the end in view. There is, moreover, a “Modern” or “Civil Side,” where the theoretical work is often supplemented by practical work in the laboratories and workshops. Those parents, therefore, who cavil at the classical education, have only to put their boys on the Modern side, where the time devoted to Classics is more in proportion to the other subjects.

In the matter of education, the Public Schools labour under this disadvantage, that the parents have frequently not decided what their boy is to be, or what particular line his studies are to follow. Most parents are naturally anxious that the boy should choose his own career for himself, whilst the majority of boys are quite unable to do any such thing, never quite knowing their own mind for more than two days together. But in these days of competition it is essential that a boy should specialise, almost from the beginning; and the sooner his mind is made up, either by himself or by those responsible for him, the better it will be for his studies. It is no uncommon thing for a boy to learn Greek for a few terms, then drop it and go on the Modern side, and subsequently take it up again in order to pass Responsions or Little Go, after which he frequently drops it again. The human faculty of forgetting being far more highly developed than the power of remembering, it is obvious that this sort of “see-saw” learning can have little educational value, but it is through no fault of the Public Schools that such things occur. Most parents are convinced that their boy or boys must have a deal of latent talent, which they consider it the duty of the master to discover; hence, the latter are often faced with the problem of making bricks without straw, and the result is that the boy acquires a smattering of endless subjects without attaining a thorough knowledge of anything. If, on the other hand, the course of a boy’s studies has been decided upon, his mind need not be hampered with useless and imperfectly acquired information, and much valuable time can thus be devoted to the subjects which are necessary for his purpose. There are subjects, it is true, which do not seem to be of any practical value, yet which cannot well be dispensed with. Many boys cry out about geometry, for example, forgetful of the fact that this is a form of mental exercise which, in the majority of cases, must have the most beneficial effect, although they are glad enough to waste hours in the laboratories, doing what is euphemistically called “Practical Chemistry,” a branch of study to which the old adage about “a little knowledge” most emphatically applies. If it is intended that a boy shall follow a scientific career, let him, by all means, make a good use of the excellent laboratories which all the big schools possess; but for the ordinary boy it is advisable to limit his subjects as much as possible. There are subjects with which some boys can never grapple. It is useless, for example, for a boy who has no mathematical capacity to struggle with the difficulties of higher mathematics; and whereas one boy may have the “ear” for foreign languages, another is probably wasting his time in attempting to learn them. It is, therefore, advisable that as few subjects as possible should be made compulsory, and that a boy’s whole energy should be concentrated on those subjects for which he shows some aptitude or which are essential to the end he has in view; and that the system of general education—which theoretically develops the mind by a diversity of study, but which practically leaves the boy a “Jack of all trades, master of none”—should, in certain cases, give way to a more special treatment. This is not meant to advocate a system of cramming, which is foreign to the principles of the Public Schools, but is rather a suggestion that the system of education should be adapted to the somewhat limited capabilities of the average school-boy.

At most Public Schools a full day’s work is about six and a half or seven hours in school, with an hour or an hour and a half for preparation. At some schools, Harrow and Rugby, for example, all the boys are provided with studies, but at the majority of schools these are reserved for the privileged few. At Eton it has been the custom to divide the day’s work up into a variety of short periods, in order that boys may not be compelled to sit at their books for too long a time. This enables boys, for example, to play football in the morning, which is quite a common practice at some of the schools in Scotland, whilst at Winchester and Clifton football is played in the morning on whole school days; but the majority of schools prefer to break the back of the work before dinner. Wednesdays and Saturdays are usually half holidays, though Tuesday and Thursday are “half remedies” at Winchester, whilst Thursday is frequently a whole holiday at Harrow. At a few schools, red-letter Saints’ Days are observed as whole holidays. Sunday at the Public School is not a day of rest. Perhaps with the idea that the only way to keep boys out of mischief is to keep them employed, they do not have a great deal of time to themselves. It is no uncommon thing for boys to have Chapel three and, occasionally, four times on the Sunday, with a scripture lesson in the course of the day, whilst at some schools, where walks are permitted, the boys have frequently to return for “call-over” in the middle of the afternoon. The late headmaster of one of our greatest Public Schools stated that, although he had received many letters referring to the boys’ work and games, he had never had any with reference to religious training. This may have been due to indifference on the part of the parents, but more probably to the certain knowledge that there was no danger of this side of the boy’s education being neglected. Nearly every big school has its chapel. Rugby Chapel has been immortalised by Matthew Arnold, whilst many persons are familiar with the Chapel at Eton. Winchester Chapel, once a gem of Gothic architecture, has been deprived of almost every claim to beauty by the hand of the restorer. In the choir are the eighteen old “Miserere” seats, so contrived that, if the occupant went to sleep, they tilted over and deposited him on the ground. At Charterhouse the Chapel is built of white stone, like the rest of the school. The seats face north and south, and the choir seats are in the centre of the building, which is peculiar. Clifton College is very proud of the reredos in its chapel, which is a very fine mosaic. The first of the “School Laws” at Winchester refers to behaviour in Chapel:—

Deus colitor.—Worship God.

Preces cum pio animi affectu peraguntor.—Say your prayers in a pious frame of mind.

Oculi ne vagantor.—Let not your eyes wander about.

Silentium esto.—Keep silence.

Nihil profanum legitor.—Read nothing profane.

We thus see that the moral training of the boy is the first consideration at the Public School. Carlyle would have us believe that work is the only guarantee of happiness for a man, but for a boy it is different. He must have so many hours enjoyment every day to keep his mind and body in a healthy condition; and so it is that every Public School encourages and fosters those games and pastimes which take such a prominent place in our national life, and which contribute so enormously to the physique of our boys. Space, forbids anything but a passing mention of these games and customs, which play such an important part in the life of the English school-boy. Suffice it to notice that with the increased interest which has been taken in athletics and in the physical development of the boys, more attention has been bestowed upon their feeding and general health, and thus one of the greatest reproaches has been removed from the Public Schools. Nevertheless, the “tuck-shop” still figures large at most big schools, and the average boy prefers the dainties there supplied, however unwholesome, to the simple but wholesome food with which he is now provided. It is, however, worthy of notice that the “tuck-shop” has advanced with the times. At Harrow, hot sausages and boiled eggs are supplied, whilst at Haileybury loaves of bread, with the most delicious fresh butter, were obtainable. Except from the smaller boys, there is less demand for sweets and confections than there used to be. The old idea of large dormitories, with twenty or thirty boys in them, though it has much to recommend it from a disciplinary point of view, has generally given way to smaller rooms with three or four beds in them. Thus if any epidemic arises there is less fear of infection. At Harrow the boys sleep in their studies, the beds and bedsteads being folded back into a kind of cupboard during the day. At some schools boys are allowed to “brew” in their studies, which therefore may be differently regarded as workroom, bedroom, or kitchen, according to the hour of the day or the occupation of the owner.