The Lanchester tradition

by G. F. Bradby

In Mr. Chowdler’s eyes the place undoubtedly was “going to pot.” In season and out of season he called everybody’s attention to this lamentable truth, and the fact that he was unable to prevent it preyed upon his mind. It preyed to such an extent that a moment came when he committed an act which brought on the inevitable crisis.

In the third week of Term the headmaster convened a special masters’ meeting to discuss certain matters which he considered urgent. Not only did he convene it for the particular time at which Mr. Chowdler was accustomed to play a round of golf, but the first item on the programme was the question of Sunday hours.

Now the Sunday arrangements at Chiltern were perhaps unusual, but they were hallowed by tradition and shared, in a way, the sacred character of the day. Briefly, they left a clear break, interrupted only by tea, between lunch at 1.30 and chapel at eight. Exact contemporaries of Mr. Chowdler might have recalled that, in his early days, he himself had viewed this long interval with disfavour. But it is no reproach to a man to change his mind, and, with a riper experience, Mr. Chowdler had learned to love and value the Chiltern Sunday. To himself it meant a long country walk and a most refreshing snooze afterwards; but that was not the reason why he valued it. He valued it because it was so good for the boys; because it gave them, what no other school gives its boys, time to know themselves, time for thought, and especially home thoughts; and because it made of Sunday what Sunday ought to be, “a morally recuperative day.” “We must put our foot down,” he said to his colleagues; “there must be no tampering with Sunday.”

Masters’ meetings at Chiltern were held in the library. The headmaster and the ten housemasters sat round an oak table; and others occupied chairs wherever chairs happened to be. This disposition of forces created a rather invidious distinction between the juniors and the ten who often abused their position to make important remarks in tones which were inaudible to the rest of the meeting. But the invidiousness was felt more keenly by the juniors than by the ten. Mr. Flaggon disliked the arrangement for other reasons. Seated at the head of the table, primus inter pares, he felt uncomfortably close to the housemasters and inconveniently removed from the rest of the staff; and, if he wished to be heard by all, he had to raise his voice and speak through, or over, his immediate neighbours in a way that was unpleasant for both. He sighed for a dais and a more elevated seat, and, accordingly, he had suggested tentatively to some of the senior men the advisability of holding the meetings elsewhere. But the suggestion had given genuine pain. It was unthinkable that Chiltern masters should meet anywhere but under the portrait of Dr. Lanchester; and the only other portrait of Dr. Lanchester was in the Great Hall, an obviously impossible place. So, wishing to avoid unnecessary friction, Mr. Flaggon had resigned himself to the library for the present. Perhaps, as he sat with his back to the portrait, he was less conscious of inspiration than his colleagues.

It was therefore from the traditional place, at the head of the oak table, that Mr. Flaggon made the remarks which provoked a scene memorable in the annals of Chiltern. It had been borne in upon him, he said, by events in the preceding Term, that the long interval between dinner and chapel was fraught with considerable danger. The danger was obviously greater in the summer Term than in any other, when lock-up was later; and, some time in March, he proposed to consider a complete rearrangement of the time-table for the day. But, for the present, he wished to make as little change as possible. He was therefore going to ask housemasters to arrange for a preparation in their houses at half-past four on Sundays. Tea would be at 5.30 and chapel at the usual time.

Mr. Chowdler had come to the meeting in the worst of tempers. Apart from the fact that he was deeply attached to the status quo, he had been deprived of his golf, and, being a man full of habit of body, he could not afford to miss his exercise. And so, the headmaster had scarcely finished speaking, when he broke in with no attempt to conceal his anger.

“It has always been customary,” he said, “to consult housemasters on matters of this kind before raising them at a general meeting.”

Mr. Flaggon lifted his eyebrows slightly, but replied quite calmly: “I shall be glad to consider any difficulties that may be put to me in private; but, in a matter of this kind, on which I feel very strongly, I must decide for myself and in accordance with my own judgment.”

“Do I understand,” cried Mr. Chowdler, raising his voice and glaring at his chief, “that we are to have this ill-considered ukase thrust down our throats without discussion? Because, if so, let me say that that is an indignity to which we are not accustomed.”

“I think I have made it clear,” said Mr. Flaggon, “that I do not propose to take a vote on this question, and I have stated my reasons: I wish to see the experiment tried.”