I must admit, however, that such behaviour towards a lecturer is most unusual, and, in any case, it implies a great compliment, for it assumes that there is no chance of default on the part of the principal figure in the entertainment. But I must get on to the positive side of chairmen, and here I find myself embarrassed with riches. Strangely enough, one of the very last lectures I gave was embittered by an unwise chairman, who should have known better, since he was the pastor of the chapel where the lecture was given. My host, who lived near, had invited a wealthy friend to join us in the drive to the chapel—it was a bitterly cold, foggy night—and on arrival I was asked at what time the carriage should call for us, so as not to keep the coachman or the horse waiting in such inclement weather. Of course I said 9.40, the lecture being announced to begin at eight, and the coachman drove away.
Right here I find that I was just about to do a very worthy gentleman a grave injustice. My chairman was his worship the Mayor, but his functions were usurped by the parson, who led us on to the platform. The proceedings were opened by the parson giving out a long hymn, which was sung right through. Then followed a prayer, which lasted twelve minutes. Then another hymn was sung, and on its completion the pastor gave us an address about nothing in particular, but really, I think, for the pleasure of hearing himself speak. After ten minutes of this he introduced the chairman, who was commendably brief, but still occupied another five minutes. Then we sang another long hymn, after which that irrepressible parson introduced me with a great deal of tiresome eulogy. Eventually I faced the audience at 8.40, the forty minutes having been worse than wasted, for I was fretted almost beyond endurance, and so, I am sure, were many of the audience. I did my best to hurry through the lecture, but with the best will in the world it was 10.5 when I had finished. I am glad to say that I protested to the parson, in the interests of the next lecturer, but he only seemed surprised that anyone should object to what he considered were essential preliminaries. What my host and his guest said I leave to the imagination, my host being especially angry because of his coachman and valuable horse, condemned to endure that bitter fog for over half an hour to no purpose whatever.
Still, I suppose I must be grateful for small mercies in this case, for, owing to the Mayor saying that he must needs leave, we were spared what I am sure would otherwise have been another half-hour’s piffle, my undaunted parson being fully wound up to make three or four speeches more. On other occasions I have not been so fortunate. I have always tried my utmost to keep within the limits of an hour and a half, believing, as I firmly do, that more than that must bore an audience, besides rendering some of them liable to lose their trains in many cases. But alas! I have often found that the persons responsible for the lecture seemed to have no account of time or thought for anybody’s convenience, much less comfort. One such occasion I remember with considerable bitterness. The hall was immense, seating over two thousand on one floor, and at the back the people’s heads touched the ceiling. It was not ventilated at all, and packed with people, and as many of them had been in their places since 7.30, it may be imagined that the air was pretty thick when I marched on the platform, escorted by eight of the committee. No time was lost by the chairman in getting to work, but he had not been speaking for two minutes before I recognised what I was in for.
I have not the least idea what his speech was about, except that it had nothing to do with my lecture or lecturing in the abstract. After about ten minutes of it the audience began to signify their uneasiness by shuffling their feet, clapping and an occasional “sit down.” The chairman, however, held steadily on, raising his voice, as it became necessary, to make it heard above the growing hubbub, until at last there was a veritable pandemonium of noise, and he had to stop. But he waited only until the noise subsided, and then cried:
“Ye can mak’ all the noise ye’re a mind to. Ah’m goin’ ta deliver ma speech if Ah stand here a’ neet.”
Well! One would have thought Bedlam had broken loose. The uproar was terrific. I began to wonder what was going to happen. But though I hated that chairman violently, I could not help admiring him for his pluck and tenacity. Every one of the seven committee men begged him to sit down, but in vain, and at last, by sheer force of will and lung power, he did finish his speech, at 8.25. It was a fine exhibition of pertinacity, but it did me no good, for I was in momentary dread that the platform would be stormed, so furious had the audience become. But it was nothing short of wonderful to see how, directly the chairman had retired, every one settled down in perfect quiet. I could not have wished for a better hearing. But as soon as I had finished, which I did at ten o’clock, the hall began to empty with much noise of scuffling and chatter. That made no sort of difference to the committee. The chairman at some length called upon Mr. So-and-so to propose a vote of thanks to the lecturer. Eagerly Mr. So-and-so responded, also at some length, and when he had resumed his seat the chairman called upon Mr. Thingumy to second the motion. More speech—I may say that owing to the hubbub in the hall and the “hushing” of the committee, not a word of these addresses was heard, not that it seemed to matter to the speakers—and when the seconder had finished, the motion was put in due form, declared carried, and I was informed that the meeting unanimously thanked me for my address.
I merely bowed. I could not trust myself to speak, for fear of prolonging the proceedings. By now the hall was nearly empty, but still the dreary business went on—the chairman and lanternist had to be thanked, and, of course, the speaker could not be expected to curtail the speech he had waited so long to deliver. And so the long evening wore on until at 10.45 I emerged from the building, thoroughly weary, and feeling that I had well earned my fee. To many people I know that what I have stated will appear incredible, but I have no interest in stating untruths, even if I would do so, and I hope that no one will think me capable of so doing.
One quaint experience brings a smile even now, although I doubt very much if the chief performer saw any fun in the matter, and I am sure I hope that he was none the worse. Everything was very nice indeed as regards the preliminaries, and I quite fraternised with the secretary, a charming man. But as we were waiting for the chairman he said:
“I ought to warn you, Mr. Bullen, that our chairman is inclined to be a little long-winded. He can’t speak for nuts, but he’s the mainstay of the society, and most generous, and as all he expects in return is that he shall be chairman, we can’t very well refuse. But I’ll own that he’s a bit of a trial sometimes. Still, you’ll overlook that, won’t you, seeing matters are as I tell you?”
I readily assented, more especially when the chairman came in, and I was introduced to him. He was a fine soldierly-looking man, of about sixty-five, I should judge, and though he spoke little, what he did say was full of sense and to the point. Moreover, it was easy to see that he had the welfare of the Lecture Society very much at heart, and was anxious above all things that it should be a success. I was greatly taken with him, so much so, indeed, that I began to feel sure that the secretary was pulling my leg—it seemed impossible that such a man as the chairman seemed to be could be as foolish as the secretary’s words implied. However, eight o’clock struck, and we went on the platform, to the usual accompaniment of applause, to which I bowed and sat down.