Dorothea Beale of Cheltenham

by Elizabeth Raikes

Photo. G. H. Martyn & Sons.

Ladies’ College and Garden 1908.

That she was but one worker among many, that she was only part of an ‘order’ which must be temporary, were facts ever before Miss Beale’s eyes. Those who remember their school-days at Cheltenham with love and gratitude think not only of the Principal, but of many others, some of whom passed out of sight before her, some of whom are still faithfully carrying out the ideas she inspired, but whose influence, like her own, left an abiding impression. One spirit, one aim, an equal strenuous effort were what she strove before all things to gain for her fellow-labourers, and did undoubtedly to a marvellous extent produce throughout the College. Though Miss Beale did occasionally make mistakes in her choice of workers, expecting too much, or perhaps taking too much for granted, this was very rarely the case where class-teachers were concerned. These, who had the responsibility of forming character as well as of giving instruction, were always teachers whom she thoroughly knew and trusted, and had generally trained herself. By these, the thought and inspiration of the Head were handed on. But beyond this, all who passed through the College, even if they did not have the opportunity of knowing Miss Beale personally, came in contact with her in one way or another. Even the youngest heard her Scripture lessons; all the pupils in Division I. had their marks read by her, and thus came individually before her. Those who were confirmed while at school were brought into closer touch with her, and many through some incident in their school career, or through peculiar circumstances of home life, learned to know her as a friend. The highest class in College, and the pupils who were hopefully named B.A.’s, saw a good deal of her even to the end. And from first to last in her long headship, it was possible for any child, big or little, in any part of the College, to know the Principal,—by herself taking notice of her. Miss Beale’s fastidious honesty, which led her to dread even the least appearance of stealing hearts away from home, largely held her back from making personal friends among the girls still at College. ‘Yearned to be loved,’ she wrote once in her diary; but consistently brought to her work a special gift of self-sacrifice in never seeking affection for herself personally. She had, moreover, a horror of the unhealthy attachments which are often a source of danger in girls’ schools. In this connection may be read one of her many letters to Miss Clara Arnold:[67]—

‘Yes, you are right, that does point to a fatal error. If we make our children lean on us (broken reeds), they will not stand long. If they make an idol of any human being, when the idol is broken their faith goes too. We must try to bid them fly upwards into the sunlight; they must not tumble about on the ground like those poor birds whose wings are clipped. They must look up, not to us, but with us, to our common Lord. What miserable, weak, sickly creatures many women are, who must always have a Pope. The children should give you respect and esteem, and you can give them sympathy and affection too, and as they are children they may have a helping hand, but make them give up, if possible, sentimental worship. They must not do right for love of you, but because it is right.

‘How fight against this? Well, tell the children some of these things, and talk it over with Miss —— and the other teachers. There must be harmony of action. I speak strongly, because I have seen this spirit eat away the higher life of one large school. I have such a dread of its getting in here.

‘I know there must be a certain amount of hero-worship in the young. They need help from parents and teacher, but we must train them out of dependence. This sort of thing, too, leads to injustice to those who are not worshipped. They are “puffed up for one, against another.” They waste time and strength in day-dreams about their idol. When a little older they are always fancying themselves in love, because they have got used to an excitement of feeling.

‘I feel inclined to say I wish I could help you more; always ask me if you think I can. But I advise you chiefly to make this a subject of prayer. I say daily that Collect for Whitsunday, about a “right judgment in all things.” Then I think I should see where the evil is most apparent, not speak to the whole class but to some few. Very likely, if you try to prevent this wrong worship, you will create an antagonism which will give you much trouble; such affection easily turns to hatred.... This sort of thing does make homes so unhappy because the wife takes “tiffs.” Try earnestly to brace them, my dear child.’

Miss Beale’s own shyness also stood in the way of her personal intimacy with her pupils. She liked to be met more than half-way. She liked the birthday-book brought to her to sign,[68] the rare wild-flower found and gathered for her, the little note of sympathy or inquiry or thanks. A hundred reasons would keep most girls back from taking the simple steps which would have led them early to find a friend in Miss Beale. While they were reverencing in silence and at a distance there would come along some bright thing of quick perception, accustomed to society and to be welcome everywhere, untroubled by self-consciousness, who would approach the throne with no ‘unaccustomed awe,’ but stand, and chat, and smile, and be obviously acceptable to the lonely sovereign. ‘You know, A.,’ she said once to an old girl, ‘it was your freedom from shyness with me that first drew me to you.’ And, as a matter of fact, Miss Beale was really the most accessible of sovereigns. She longed to know all her children, and to help each personally. It was only a girl whose career was very short or wholly uneventful, and led in the lower classes of the school, who could remain wholly unacquainted with her. Even then, it would be found that the ten minutes’ individual talk which the Principal had with each as she left the College finally, impressed itself on the mind of the hearer. Her sympathies were ever most readily drawn out by those likely in after years to exercise influence—in some prominent, possibly Imperial position, or as teachers.

At all times a silent, strong, unconscious impression was produced upon most by Miss Beale’s rare absence from her post, her minute attention to her own share of the work of the College, her obvious self-devotion. ‘I can’t picture the College without her, she always seemed to be everywhere,’ one wrote after her death. Another said, ‘Although she might never speak to you, still the fact that she was not there on any day always made the College feel strange and empty.’