HOW WE LEFT BORTH.
(From “The Cambrian News.”)
On Tuesday evening, April 10, the inhabitants of Borth, almost to a man, turned out to take part in a farewell demonstration to the masters and scholars of Uppingham School, after their twelve months’ residence in Wales. Shortly after seven o’clock a procession of the inhabitants was formed, and, headed by a flag-bearer, made its way to the square in front of the Cambrian Hotel, where several songs were sung by the assembly under the schoolmaster’s (Mr. Jones’s) direction; and at the conclusion a hearty round of cheers was given for the Uppingham School, who immediately responded by making the place ring again with three enthusiastic cheers for Borth. The assembly then adjourned to the wooden building in the hotel-yard, when Mr. Jones, Brynowen, was voted to the chair on the proposition of Mr. Lewis, Post Office, seconded by Mr. Jones, Neptune Baths.
The Chairman said, as the meeting was aware, the object of the demonstration—and he was exceedingly glad to see such a popular demonstration—was, that the Borth people might have a chance of giving public expression to the kind feeling of respect they entertained for Mr. Thring, the masters, and scholars of Uppingham
School before they left Borth, after a twelve months’ sojourn there. (Cheers.) When some twelve months ago a rumour came to Borth respecting the advent of Uppingham School, a few old women and nervous people, in the innocence of their hearts, were afraid they would be swamped by an inundation of Goths and Vandals. (Laughter.) The meeting would, however, agree with him that kinder-hearted gentlemen than the masters, and better-behaved boys than the scholars, could not be found. (Hear, hear.) There had been no town-and-gown feeling existing similar to what prevailed in places of greater pretensions. The people of the village and the School had pulled together in a friendly manner, and everything had gone on quite smoothly. (Hear.) After referring to the progress of the School under the headmastership of Mr. Thring, and remarking that the older schools would have to look to their laurels, as Uppingham was treading close upon their heels, the Chairman said that in some fifteen or twenty years to come many of the boys would be in Parliament, some of them officers in the army or navy, fighting the battles of the nation, some of them would be barristers, seeing that the people got fair play in the courts of law, others would no doubt be eminent merchants, importing the produce of foreign countries, whilst others would be surgeons, like Dr. Childs—(loud cheering)—and physicians. They would therefore exercise an influence over the destinies of the nation. (Cheers.) The people of Borth were exceedingly sorry that the school was going away. Its members would be missed very much indeed. He owed the Uppingham people no ill-feeling, but if a case of smallpox, the cholera, or some other virulent disease broke out in that place and prevented the return of the school, he was sure that
Borth people would not feel at all sorry. (Laughter and cheers.) There was the name of a gentleman whom he might mention. That gentleman had earned the gratitude of the Borth people perhaps more than anyone else. He referred to Dr. Childs. (Applause.) He had acted the part of the Good Samaritan thoroughly, responding as readily to the call of the sick and suffering at midnight as at noon. (Cheers.) He would detain them no longer, but ask Mr. Lewis to submit a proposition to the meeting.
Mr. Lewis, Post Office, said he had very great pleasure in reading the resolution, because he knew it would be heartily responded to by everyone present. It was as follows:—“We, the inhabitants of Borth, beg to tender our most sincere thanks to Dr. Thring, and all the masters and scholars of the celebrated Uppingham School, for the very many generous acts and kindly feelings exhibited towards us during their sojourn here.” Mr. Lewis followed by commenting upon the excellent discipline which evidently ruled the school, judging from their exemplary conduct out of school. He was not aware of any shabby, mean, or ungenerous act committed by the young gentlemen during the whole twelve months they had been at Borth. (Applause.) The meeting would remember the assistance rendered in the terrific storm in February. Even the ladies came out and helped the people in their distress—(loud applause)—thereby setting an excellent example to the women of Borth. (Cheers.) They had not only worked as hard as they could, but subscribed money among themselves which they distributed to the most needy of those who had sustained loss by the storm. (Applause.) The money then distributed would pass into other hands in a short time, but the kind feelings the act engendered would last
for ever. (Applause.) He only hoped that each and all connected with Uppingham School would enjoy long, prosperous, and useful lives. (Loud applause.)
Mr. Jones, The Baths, expressed the fears he once entertained, in common with others, that the Uppingham School would take Borth by storm, an opinion he had to change entirely after the boys had been there a week, for instead of laughing at the quaintness of some of the Welsh costumes or the peculiarities of the nation, they had obtained the goodwill of the inhabitants by their gentleness of demeanour, and completely won their hearts on that memorable day when masters and scholars, young and old, turned out to assist in reducing, as much as possible, the ill-effects of the storm. (Cheers.) He did not exactly wish that some contagious disease would break out at Uppingham, but he hoped that when the School got back it would repent, and so return to Borth. (Laughter and cheers.)
Speeches were also made by Mr. Thomas G. Thomas and Mr. R. Pritchard Roberts, Garibaldi House.
The Rev. E. Thring, M.A., then rose amid cheers and said: Mr. Chairman and our friends at Borth, I have made many speeches in my life since I have been master of this school. Two-and-twenty years of school-mastering gives a good deal of exercise for the tongue from time to time; but never in my life have I stood up to make any speech which I feel so little capable of making as I do to-night; not from want of practice, but because the feelings you have aroused in us are such—and our sojourn here has been such a boon to us (cheers)—that it is impossible for me to tell you the value we set on living here, and the welcome we have received. (Applause.) I never heard anything sweeter to my ear
than your singing to-night. The time it must have taken, the goodwill manifested in the songs, and altogether the circumstances under which they were delivered, and we on our last day here, made them go down into my heart, and into all our hearts with peculiar power. (Cheers.) Never in my life have I had such testimony to the school which I cared so much for, as the testimony you have given to-night. We get our reputation in the English world, but what is that compared to the inner life to which you have borne witness. What signifies it whether we know much or little in comparison with the fact that we have a character of life which you like. It is life answering unto life across all those ties, both of nationality—for I grieve I cannot speak in your native tongue—and also of distance which set gulfs between man and man, but cannot separate life when it is true. (Hear, hear.) If your life is true, and our lives are true, then it flows across and we meet as to-night one united body of living men. (Cheers.) And this is what gives a peculiar value to our being here. You know as none can know what this school is. We came among you as strangers, and you looked upon us with the eyes of strangers; we stayed among you as friends, and we part from you as friends. (Cheers.) Everybody knows that the one thing on earth which makes life pleasant is the friendly atmosphere in which men live—the one thing that makes it hateful is to be surrounded by thoroughly bitter hearts. There is an old saying that “stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage.” No, the life within can make any place enjoyable—nay, happy. Yet, I think it is better to be in happy surroundings too. Of this, however, you may be sure: those glorious hills of yours, this sea, and
all the happy hours we have spent wandering about, will not easily pass out of our minds. The jewel of a friendly spirit has also been set in very bright surroundings. We do rejoice in the life we have had here, and all that we have found. (Cheers.) You have spoken to-night of the good conduct of the school, and have said that we have caused no trouble since our stay here. That like many other questions, has two sides. Is it not a great credit to this place that when between a hundred and seventy and a hundred and eighty strange boys have been put into your cottages and homes, there has not arisen a single difficulty for the whole year? I say it is quite as much a feather in your caps as in ours. I am proud of it—very proud of it. (Applause.) I would also refer to the extensive power which lies in a great school. It is quite true that some few years hence, these boys whom you have looked on with interest will be schoolmasters, barristers, and leaders in every part of the world. (Applause.) There is not a quarter of the globe where we have not our representative. It is now, and not in the future only, that I may venture to say that there is no part of this globe where men are to be found, where, here and there, Borth has not been heard of this year. (Cheers.) I will mention two facts only which may interest you. This very week, quite unconscious of this meeting to-night, I sent a letter to North Canada, with, I may say, a very glowing account of Borth in it—(cheers)—and the day before yesterday, having a little leisure, I wrote to the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Provinces of India, when I mentioned Borth in equally warm terms. (Applause.) That, I need not say, is going on all around us. These three hundred pens of our school are busy day
by day giving to their friends their own views of our life here, and I may no doubt say that on the whole they are pleasant views. (Cheers.) It is not only a pleasant fact to mention, but I hold that where life is working well with life it is a real power for good that goes out into all lands, a sort of missionary force traversing this earth, speaking of us as capable of coming here, and of the welcome you have given us. (Hear, hear.) That, however, would be a slight thing if we did not leave behind us, as I am sure we do, that feeling of happy life which we take away with us. (Cheers.) For my own part, at all events, if I leave, it is not the last time I hope to spend in Borth. (Applause.) I know no place that has been more attractive to me, no place where, if I can, I shall more readily come back to—not, I hope, next time as an exile, but coming from home to happy holiday to spend it pleasantly among my friends here. (Applause.)
Mr. Lewis proposed a hearty vote of thanks to Dr. Childs for his gratuitous attendance on the sick in his professional capacity. (Loud cheers.)
Dr. Childs referred to the pleasure experienced in doing a kindly action, and afterwards humorously added that at one time he thought of setting up in practice at Borth, but finding the place so healthy he had given up the idea. (Laughter and cheers.) He should, however, know where to send his convalescent patients in future. He should recommend them to take the first train, and spend a week on the sands at Borth, with an occasional dip in the Neptune Baths. (Loud laughter and cheers.) Three cheers were given for the ladies of Uppingham School, and the assembly separated after singing the National Anthem.
HOW WE CAME BACK TO UPPINGHAM.
(From the School Magazine.)
(Signifer, statue signum, hic manebimus optime.)
Who has not known the moment when, as he looked on some familiar landscape, its homely features and sober colouring have suddenly, under some chance inspiration of the changing sky, become alive with an unexpected beauty: its unambitious hills take on them the dignity of mountains, its woods and streams swell and broaden with a majesty not their own. Though, perhaps, it is their own, if Nature, like Man, is most herself when seen in her best self; if her brightest moments are her truest.
Shall we be thought fanciful if we confess that we felt something of this same kind when, returning from a year-long exile, in the last gleams of a bright May evening we turned the corner of the High Street of Uppingham, and came face to face with our welcome. The old street, seen again at last after so many months of banishment, the same and not the same; the old, homely street—forgive us, walls and roofs of Uppingham, and forgive us, you who tenant them, if sometimes perhaps to some of us, as our eyes swept the grand range of Welsh mountain-tops, or travelled out over limitless sea distances, there would rise forbidden feelings of reluctance to exchange these fair things for the bounded views and less unstinted beauties of our midland home: forgive us, as you may the more readily because these thoughts, if any such lingered, were charmed away on the instant by the sight of the real Uppingham. There lay the path to our home, an avenue of triumphal arches soaring on pillars of greenery, plumed with sheaves of banners, and enscrolled with such words as those to whom they spoke
will know how to read and remember. Our eyes could follow through arch after arch the reaches of the gently-winding street, alive from end to end with waving flags, green boughs, and fanciful devices, till the quiet golden light in the western sky closed the vista, and glorified with such a touch of its own mellow splendour the ranges of brown gables and their floating banners, that for a moment we half dreamed ourselves spectators of an historic pageant in some “dim, rich city” of old-world renown. Only for a moment, though; for when we drop our eyes to the street below us, those are our own townsfolk, well-remembered faces, that throng every doorstep and fill the overflowing pavements and swarming roadway. Yes, they are our own townsfolk, and they are taking care to let us know it—such a welcome they have made ready for us.
We hardly know how to describe with the epic dignity which it merits the act by which they testified their joy at our return. We who saw the sight were reminded of an incident in the Æneid—
Instar montis equum divina Palladis arte
Aedificant, sectaque intexunt abiete costas;
Votum pro reditu simulant.* * * * *
Pueri circum innuptaeque puellae
Sacra canuut, funemque manu contingere gaudent.
But the ill-starred folk of Troy could not have shown more enthusiasm in haling within their walls the fatal wooden horse, than did the men and boys of Uppingham, who harnessed themselves, some four-score of them, to that guileless structure, which, though indeed it has some other name, we will call at present our triumphal car. They harnessed themselves to it at the
east-end of the town, and drew it with the pomp of a swarming multitude all the length of the long street to its western mouth and half the way back again. On went that unwieldy car of triumph, bearing a freight of eager faces behind its windows, and carrying a crowd of sitters, precariously clustered wherever a perch could be found on its swaying roof, under the verdant span of the arches and the flow of the streamers:
Ilia subit mediæque minans inlabitur urbi.
On it went, with the hum of applauding voices increasing round it, till the popular fervour found articulate utterance in a burst of jubilant music. There swept past our ears, first, the moving strains of “Auld lang syne,” and then, as if in answer to the appeal to “Auld acquaintance,” came the jocund chorus “There is nae luck about the house”—most eloquent assurance that we were welcome home. And then in turn the music died down, and the crowd round the now halted procession cheered with a will for “the school,” “the Headmaster and the masters,” and the school taking up with zest the genial challenge, returned the blessing with such a shout as if they meant the echoes of that merry evening to make amends in full to street and houses for their fourteen months of silence.
It was “all over but the shouting:” but that was not over till some hours of dusk had gathered over school and town. For first the multitude besieged the well-known mighty gates, behind which lies the studious quiet of the Schoolhouse Quad. When they were admitted they came in like a flood, and filled the space within; but for all they were so many, there was an orderliness and quietude in the strange assemblage which made their
presence there seem not strange at all, and they listened like one man to the words in which the Headmaster, who came out to meet them, framed his thanks for this unequivocal welcome. This done, they flowed out again, and streamed across the valley and up the hill to carry the same message of goodwill to the distant houses, and so with more cheering and more speeches came to an end a day of happiest omen for the joint fortunes of Uppingham School and Town.
A few additional details are needed to complete our account. A friend, remarkable for his plain common-sense, reminds us that the epic vehicle we so indistinctly describe, was the Seaton ’bus, and that the music was due to “the splendid band connected with Mrs. Edmonds’ menagerie, which happened to be in the town.” We are not in a position to deny either statement, or another to the effect that “the conveyances which accompanied the ’bus formed a procession of considerable length,” having been halted by arrangement outside the town, and formed into file for the entry. When the same friend hazards some further criticism on a confusion of dates and incidents in our narrative, in which he finds the events of two days, a Friday and a Saturday, presented as in a single scene, we feel it time to silence him by an appeal, which he does not follow, to the “truer historic sense” and the “massive grouping” of imaginative history.