“There is a remarkable contrast between the villages of Armenians and the villages of Kurds. We had traveled for days in a Kurdish district, a waste of bare, sandy hills, with never a tree or any sign of cultivation. Our halting-place for lunch proved to be an Armenian village, and luscious melons were put before us, which the arid soil produces in abundance as soon as a little irrigation is applied to it. While we sat in the Khan (inn), the local schoolmaster appeared—a wonder still more remarkable than the melons, for whoever heard of a school in a Kurdish village? We seemed to be suddenly transported to a center of civilization. This educational activity is beyond all praise. Here was a man of some ability, prepared to live a lonely life in an isolated village, for the sake of his nation and the younger generation.”
They go on to tell us of the school system, which is voluntary and without Government aid. There is—or perhaps since the War, one should say was—a National Committee for Education which sat at Constantinople; the teachers were paid by the Committee, and there were School inspectors for each district, in Turkish Armenia. Pupils who could afford it paid for their schooling, but those who were poor were not kept out by their poverty. Does not this sound very modern, and American, and democratic? Surely, these are people who will make good Americans.
And going to school in Armenia was an exciting adventure, before the War. Listen to the story which the Buxtons tell of a Secondary Boys’ School founded more than fifty years ago at Varag, by an Armenian Bishop, a pioneer in modern education in Armenia:
“At the time of the massacres (1909) masters and boys had to fly to the mountains, and while they were absent, the buildings were completely destroyed by fire. Nevertheless, an entire reconstruction was undertaken. The Church, which happily was not destroyed, occupies one side of the courtyard and the new buildings occupy the other three; a second courtyard is now nearing completion (1914). A second attempt was made less than three years ago to despoil this institution. The attacking party, about a hundred strong, was repelled by five Armenian revolutionaries, aided no doubt by the ‘young blood’ of the college. Now (1914) there are seventy boys and seven teachers, all laymen. The system is pre-eminently practical. The pupils are destined for teaching, and since it is considered part of a village schoolmaster’s duty in Armenia to be able to assist peasants in agricultural matters, thorough instruction is given in fruit, vegetable, and poultry culture, dairy work, and general gardening. The school grounds form a delightful oasis of irrigated lands in the midst of surrounding desert. The school printing press was stolen by the Government and the compositor abducted; but a more modern machine has taken its place. Every boy takes his share, out of school hours, in carpentry and house-work. The court-yard forms a fine play-ground, and here, having mentioned Boy Scouts, I found myself surrounded by an ardent crowd, thirsting for scout lore, and begging to be enrolled at once as ‘tenderfeet.’”
What may have been the fate of this boys’ school at Varag, since 1914, I dread to imagine. As it was a native school, there is no mention of it, so far as I know, in the reports of American Missionary Schools. We can only hope that some of those seventy boys and their seven masters still live, and will one day take heart to build up the old school again.
Besides the native schools, there are the schools and colleges established in Asia Minor by American Missionaries, and to these also the Armenians flock. The author of “Archag” has laid some of the scenes of his story in one of these famous missionary schools, the Central Turkey College at Aintab, and has given us a lively picture of the ardent young Armenians at their games and their studies. Ever since “Tom Brown at Rugby,” school stories have been the fashion, and it is reassuring to see how curiously akin schoolboys are, all the world over, whether they be English lads at Rugby, or Oriental youngsters at Aintab. Beneath their fezzes and zoubouns, our Armenian hero and his friends are genuine boys at heart, with a boy’s sense of honor and love of good sport. The picture of the school, too, is one for Americans to be proud of, with its devoted teachers, its high intellectual standards, and its Christian atmosphere. And its record during the War has been very fine. In the Report of the American Board of Missions, 1918, I read that the four missionaries who were able to stay there “have all been carrying a heavy burden for, unlike many of our stations to the north which were practically depopulated, Aintab has had an ever-increasing number of refugees to care for. At times the attitude of the local officials was distinctly hostile and the danger of further massacre was great, but the opportune arrival of a British force on December 15, 1918, saved the day and already there are signs of recovery. Christian services are being attended by great crowds. The Mission paper, Rahnuma, is being published by the College press, and has practically become the official organ of the British Commander. Schools will doubtless open soon.”
But if schools and schoolboys are much alike, the world over, vacations in Armenia are very different from American holidays. No boys’ camps for Archag and his friends! Their adventures are much more thrilling than your summer hikes and canoeings. There are no patriot-outlaws in our mountains. But I must stop, or I shall be telling you Archag’s story, and that would not be fair. Only this, let me say: our author, like all good story-tellers, uses his imagination to make his story come alive; he embroiders, as the French say, upon his facts; but if you will read in the “New York Evening Post,” for Saturday, November 29, 1919, the account of Antranik, the Armenian patriot who came to this country to ask help for his countrymen, you will find that fiction is no more romantic than fact, in Asia Minor; and you will find Antranik,—this very same hero, I think,—mentioned in our story.
Read the story, dear Schoolmate, and make friends with these Armenian boys, who suffer so steadfastly for their country and their God.
Affectionately yours,