His early education was given by governesses, but the boys of the family used to ride twice or thrice a week to be instructed in Latin by Mr. Reed, the Rector of Hayes—the kindest of teachers. For myself, I chiefly remember the cake we used to have at 11 o’clock, and the occasional diversion of looking at the pictures in the great Dutch Bible. George must have impressed his parents with his solidity and self-reliance, since he was more than once allowed to undertake alone the 20-mile ride to the house of a relative at Hartfield in Sussex. For a boy of ten to bait his pony and order his luncheon at the Edenbridge inn was probably more alarming than the rest of the adventure. There is indeed a touch of David Copperfield in his recollections as preserved in family tradition. The waiter always said, “What will you have for lunch, Sir?” to which he replied, “What is there?” and the waiter said, “Eggs and bacon”; and though he hated bacon more than anything else in the world, he felt obliged to have it.
On August 16th, 1856, George was sent to school. Our elder brother, William, was at Rugby, and his parents felt his long absences from home such an evil that they fixed on the Clapham Grammar School for their younger sons. Besides its nearness to Down, Clapham had the merit of giving more mathematics and science than could then be found in public schools. It was kept by the Rev. Charles Pritchard, [157] a man of strong character, and with a gift for teaching mathematics by which George undoubtedly profited. In, I think, 1861 Pritchard left Clapham and was succeeded by the Rev. Alfred Wrigley, a man of kindly mood but without the force or vigour of Pritchard. As a mathematical instructor I imagine Wrigley was a good drillmaster rather than an inspiring teacher. Under him the place degenerated to some extent; it no longer sent so many boys to the Universities, and became more like a “crammer’s” and less like a public school. My own recollections of George at Clapham are coloured by an abiding gratitude for his kindly protection of me as a shrinking and very unhappy “new boy” in 1860.
George records in his diary that in 1863 he tried in vain for a Minor Scholarship at St. John’s College, Cambridge, and again failed to get one at Trinity in 1864, though he became a Foundation Scholar in 1866. These facts suggested to me that this capacity as a mathematician was the result of slow growth. I accordingly applied to Lord
Moulton, who was kind enough to give me his impressions:
My memories of your brother during his undergraduate career correspond closely to your suggestion that his mathematical power developed somewhat slowly and late. Throughout most, if not the whole, of his undergraduate years he was in the same class as myself and Christie, the ex-Astronomer Royal, at Routh’s. [158a] We all recognised him as one who was certain of being high in the Tripos, but he did not display any of that colossal power of work and taking infinite trouble that characterised him afterwards. On the contrary, he treated his work rather jauntily. At that time his health was excellent and he took his studies lightly, so that they did not interfere with his enjoyment of other things. [158b] I remember that as the time of the examination came near I used to tell him that he was unfairly handicapped in being in such robust health and such excellent spirits.
Even when he had taken his degree I do not think he realised his innate mathematical power. . . . It has been a standing wonder to me that he developed the patience for making the laborious numerical calculations on which so much of his most original work was necessarily based. He certainly showed no tendency in that direction during his undergraduate years. Indeed, he told me more than once in later life that he detested arithmetic, and that these calculations were as tedious and painful to him as they would have been to any other man, but that he realised that they must be done, and that it was impossible to train anyone else to do them.
As a Freshman he ‘kept’ (i.e. lived) in A 6, the staircase at the N.W. corner of the New Court, afterwards moving to F 3 in the Old Court, pleasant rooms entered by a spiral staircase on the south side of the Great Gate. Below him, in the ground floor room, now used as the College offices, lived Mr. Colvill, who remained a faithful but rarely seen friend as long as George lived.
Lord Moulton, who, as we have seen, was a fellow pupil of George’s at Routh’s, was held even as a Freshman to be an assured Senior Wrangler, a prophecy that he easily made good. The second place was held by George, and was a much more glorious position than he had dared to hope for. In those days the examiners read out the list in the Senate House at an early hour, 8 a.m. I think. George remained in bed and sent me to bring the news. I remember charging out through the crowd the moment the magnificent “Darwin of Trinity” had followed the expected “Moulton of St. John’s.” I have a general impression of a cheerful crowd sitting on George’s bed and literally almost smothering him with congratulations. He received the following characteristic letter from his father: [159]
My dear old fellow,
I am so pleased. I congratulate you with all my heart and soul. I always said from your early days that such energy, perseverance and talent as yours would be sure to succeed: but I never expected such brilliant success as this. Again and again I congratulate you. But you have made my hand tremble so I can hardly write. The telegram came here at eleven. We have written to W. and the boys.
God bless you, my dear old fellow—may your life so continue.
Your affectionate Father,
Ch. Darwin.
In those days the Tripos examination was held in the winter, and the successful candidates got their degrees early in the Lent Term. George records in his diary that he took his B.A. on January 25th, 1868; also that he won the second of the two Smith’s Prizes—the first being the natural heritage of the Senior Wrangler. There is little to record in this year. He had a pleasant time in the summer, coaching Clement, the nephew of Sir Charles Bunbury, at his beautiful place Barton Hall in Suffolk. In the autumn he was elected a Fellow of Trinity, as he records, “with Galabin, young Niven, Clifford, [Sir Frederick] Pollock, and [Sir Sidney] Colvin.” W. K. Clifford was the well-known brilliant mathematician who died comparatively early.
Chief among his Cambridge friends were the