Grain and Chaff from an English Manor

by Arthur Herbert Savory

All went well thereafter until we were settled in the new building, and Vicar No. 3 was in possession of the living. He was young and inexperienced in the conduct of a parish, and was imbued with ideas of what he considered a more ornate and elaborate form of worship. Innovations followed—lighted candles over the altar and the appointment of a Server at the Communion Service. Almost immediately I heard objections from the villagers; they could not understand the necessity for a couple of dim candles in a church on a summer day, when the whole world outside was ablaze with the glory of the sun.

A member arose at a Board meeting, and began: "Mr. Chairman, I wish to draw the attention of the Board to the question of religious instruction in the school, for I reckon that our children are being taught a lot of Popery." I could see that he had been in consultation with other members of the Board, and that he had a majority behind him. I tried hard to smooth matters over, but they had made up their minds, and he carried his resolution that, in future, the new Vicar should be authorized to enter the school for the purpose of religious instruction only one day a week! I think this small indulgence was accorded only as a result of my efforts in his favour, though I was by no means pleased with the innovations myself.

I put the matter before the Vicar, asking him if he thought his novelties were worth while in the face of the opposition of the village and the loss of his religious influence with the children. He would not go back from what, he said, he regarded as a matter of principle, and could not see that he was throwing away a unique opportunity, but he agreed to withdraw the unwelcome Server.

In spite of the fact that every detail of the new school building had been submitted to, and approved by, the Education Department, trouble began with an officious inspector, who on his first visit complained of the ventilation. An elementary school is never exactly a bed of roses, but we had a lofty building and classrooms, with plenty of windows, which could be adjusted to admit as much or as little fresh air as was requisite. We protested without result, and we had eventually to pull the new walls about and spend £20 on what we considered an uncalled-for alteration.

Our inspectors of schools varied greatly: some were quiet with the children and considerate with the teachers; others vindicated their authority by unnecessary fault-finding, upsetting the teachers and alarming the children. In the days of our voluntary school I have seen a room full of children in a state of nervous tension, and the mistress and pupil-teachers in tears, as the result of inconsiderate reprimands and irritable speech. My sympathies have been strongly aroused on such occasions with a child's terror of being made an exhibition before the others. As a boy at Harrow, in the form of the Rev. F.W. Farrar, afterwards Dean of Canterbury, I had an unpleasant experience, though it was no fault of his and quite unintentional. The Russian Government had sent a deputation of two learned professors to England, to inquire into the educational system of the Public Schools, with the view of sending a member of the Royal family for education in this country. Among other schools, they visited Harrow, and Mr. Farrar's form was one of those selected for inspection. It was the evening of a winter's day, when, at the four o'clock school, we found two very formidable-looking old gentlemen in spectacles and many furs seated near the master's desk. Great was the consternation, but Mr. Farrar was careful not to call upon any boy who would be likely to exhibit himself as a failure. I was seated near Mr. Farrar, at one end of a bench. He had a habit, when wanting to change his position, of moving quite unconsciously across the intervening space between his desk and this bench, and placing one foot on the bench close to the nearest boy, he would, with one hand, play with the boy's hair, while he held his book in the other. With horror, I found him approaching, and shortly his hand was on my head, rubbing my hair round and round, and ruffling it in a fashion very trying to any boy who was neat and careful of his personal appearance. I could see the Russians staring through their spectacles at these proceedings; possibly they thought it a form of punishment unknown in Russia, and my feelings of humiliation can be imagined. Finally he gave me a smack on the cheek and retired to his desk, leaving my hair in a state of chaos, though he had not the least idea of having done anything which might appear unusual to the foreigners.

Dear "old Farrar"!—as we irreverently called him—it was an education in itself to be in his form. I had the uncommon privilege of moving upwards in the School at very much the same rate as he did as a master, though I fear for my school reputation none too quickly. He first kindled my admiration for the classic giants of English literature, more especially the poets, taught me to appreciate the rolling periods of Homer, and even the beauty of the characters of the Greek alphabet. He was a voluminous student of the best in every form of ancient and modern literature. He always kept a copy of Milton, his favourite poet I think, on his desk, and, whenever a passage in the Greek or Latin classics occurred, for which he could produce a parallel, quoted pages without reference to the book.

I recall my delight and pride when I was sent on two occasions to the headmaster, Dr. Butler, the late Master of Trinity, with copies of original verses; and the honour I felt it to inscribe them, at Mr. Farrar's request, in a MS. book he kept for the purpose of collecting approved original efforts in the author's own writing. For it was his habit once a week to give us subjects for verses or composition. A unique effort of the Captain of the School cricket eleven, C.F. Buller, comes back to me as I write; it did not however appear in the MS. book. The School Chapel was the subject, full of interest and stirring to the imagination, if only for the aisle to the memory of Harrow officers who fell in the Crimea. Buller's flight of imagination was as absurd as it was impertinent:

"The things in the Chapel nonsense are,
Don't you think so dear Fa_rrar_!"

Mr. Farrar, however, never took offence at such sallies. I remember, when he was denouncing the old "yellow back" novels, murmurs becoming audible, which were intended to reach him, of "Eric! Eric!"—the title of his early school-boy story—he only smiled in acknowledgment. And on an April 1st several boys who had plotted beforehand gazed simultaneously and persistently at a spot on the ceiling, until his eyes followed theirs unthinkingly in the same direction, when it occurred to him, as nothing unusual was visible, that it was All Fools' Day. He was very playful and indulgent; he kept a "squash" racquet ball on his desk, and could throw it with accurate aim if he noticed a boy dreaming or inattentive. He would never when scoring the marks enter a 0, even after an abject failure, always saying, "Give him a charity 1!"

Boys are quick judges of sermons: if interested, they listen without an effort; if not interested, they cannot listen. Whenever Mr. Farrar's turn came as preacher in the School Chapel there was a subtle stir and whisper of appreciation, "It's Farrar to-day." He was a natural orator. I can still hear his magnificent voice swelling in tones of passionate denunciation decreasing to gentle appeal, and dying away in tender pathos. This was education in the true sense of the word, and though I have wandered a long way from my immediate subject, I feel that the digression is not irrelevant in contrast with the mechanical instruction that goes by the name of education in the Board Schools. I cannot help recalling too that in the ancient IVth Form Room at Harrow, the roughest of old benches were, and I believe still are, considered good enough for future bishops, judges, and statesmen; while in the Board Schools expensive polished desks and seats have to be provided at the cost of the ratepayers to be shortly kicked to pieces by hobnailed shoes.