Memories of "The Madras"

By LORD SANDS

On October 1, 1833, Madras College, St. Andrews, founded by Dr. Andrew Bell to promote his once admired Madras System of Mutual Instruction, was opened. The school continues, though the educational principles of its founder have long since been superseded, and the centenary was duly celebrated last month. In the following article, Lord Sands gives a picture of Madras College sixty years ago.

I have been invited as an "old boy" to write some reminiscences of Madras College, St Andrews, in the old days. If the accent be laid upon the word "old,' I am well qualified for the task, for I entered the school in 1869 at the age of twelve and left it in July, 1873, when I was a month or two short of sixteen. I shall confine myself to personal reminiscences of the school as I knew it, for the history earlier and later of the school has been fully and adequately dealt with elsewhere.

A SUBDIVIDED SCHOOL.

In my time there were four different branches of Madras College. There was a large primary branch, corresponding to what would now be an ordinary Education Authority school of a lower grade. This was attended by children of the humbler classes. It was a purely local school. Next, there was an upper school for boys. This was not a higher rung of the same ladder. It was really a distinct school. According to my recollection, these classes were called the 14 "private" classes, which was quite a misnomer, for this branch of the institution was in no sense private. Indeed, it corresponded, according to English nomenclature, more to a public school than did the more humble branch which was described as "public". The boys in this branch were not boys who had moved up from the primary school, except in a few cases of lads of parts. The one school was not graded tip to the other : the ages of many of the boys overlapped. In addition to these two schools there was a small higher grade school for girls. Finally there was what was called the "private private" school for girls of a better social position, which was conducted in a separate building on the west side of the quadrangle. There were thus, as it would appear, social distinctions, but there was not, I think, any social discrimination. It was simply a question of higher fees.

My concern, however, was with the higher or "private boys" school, and to this I confine myself. The position of St Andrews as a centre of education for boys of the upper middle class was then unique. In addition to the Madras there were four boarding schools for boys of this type - Browning's, Hodge's, Clifton Bank, and Abbey Park or "Smeaton's". But the Madras was the most important school. There was no school boarding house. But there were four or five private boarding houses. The largest were Jack's on the Scores, where there were between forty and fifty boys, and McCulloch's, beside Hope Park Church; whilst three at least of the masters Armstrong, Fogo, and Schaefer had private boarding houses. Dollar Academy was perhaps the only rival of the Madras, and it was on a much smaller scale. Boys came to St Andrews to attend the Madras and other schools from all parts of Scotland and even from England and the Colonies. The Madras was somewhat cheaper than Merchiston, or Loretto, or Craigmount, and yet it was "genteel". It was just about the time of my school days that a change began to set in. The first and the heaviest blow was the opening up of the Edinburgh Hospitals, such as Watson's and Stewart's, as general day schools rather than as charity boarding schools for a limited number.

THE STAFF

An anomalous and not satisfactory feature of the old Madras was that there was no headmaster. Each master was head of his own department. No master had a general supervision of the boys either as regards education or conduct. The only central authority was the governing body, consisting of the Provost of the town, the two ministers of St Andrews, and a county magnate the Lord Lieutenant, I think. If a skating or other holiday was wanted, the signatures of the three resident governors had to be obtained. When any serious breach of discipline had occurred, not connected with any particular class (a rare event, I am glad to say), Dr Boyd and his local colleagues had to be called in.

The heads of departments in my time were :

English, Dr Armstrong;
Classics, Dr Fogo;
Mathematics and Physics, and Geometry, Dr Lonie;
Arithmetic, Mr Reid;
French and German, Dr Schaefer;
Writing, Mr Morrison;
Drawing, Mr Paterson.

I was past the stage of learning writing, so I was never taught by Mr Morrison (father of Dr Edward Morrison) nor (unfortunately) did I take French or German under Dr Schaefer. There was no headmaster to guide a to a course or to adjust hours. I chose my own classes and alas ! I chose those where I thought I would shine. I wanted to take geometry as I had a knack for it. Lonie refused at first to take me into the geometry class because he deemed me too young for geometry. He gave way, and at the end of the session I was first prizeman in the junior class Of the teachers under whom I worked I entertain the most grateful and affectionate memories. I shall not particularise except as regards one Dr Lonie. This teacher was a character. He was short, bearded, and stout, with a huge head and a glass eye, and another eye which possessed a power of glaring more terrifying than even the tawse. He was immensely interested in his work, most painstaking and kind, and vet he was afflicted with a fiery and I fear a somewhat rancorous temper. With one at least of his principal colleagues he was not on speaking terms. He was an excellent teacher of both geometry and physics. In geometry he was the inventor of a device, which caused some talk at the time, but I fancy came to nothing, for ocularly demonstrating the conclusions reached through ratiocination by means of small slips of wood with many joints. The peculiar interest of his class, however, was his digressions on all sorts of topics of the day which interested him, and he had many interests from the Franco German war to the freezing of the water in his bedroom ewer. I do not suggest that he wasted time, but he got into the hour a great deal that was topical and also stimulating to general intelligence. A favourite topic was the United States and what he had seen on a visit there. I recall that he told us that the trip cost him £99 19s 11d. Corporal punishment was rare in the upper school. Dr Lonie never used it. If he detected a boy in any flagrant delinquency he gave him a glare of his one live eye and exclaimed, "Moont the form". Lonie's nickname was "Bim". Why, I have forgotten.. Another familiar nickname was "Green", that of Aitken, the assistant classical master, an elderly man and perhaps the most popular of all the staff. Armstrong was "Bobby", and Morrison was "Cheesy".

PRIZES AND EXAMINATIONS.

Class prizes were a feature of the school. They were very numerous. The distribution took place at the close of two days of public examination. Perhaps "exhibition" would be a more appropriate word than "examination", though the proceedings were no doubt a survival of the time when serious examinations were conducted by governors, or presbyteries to test the quality of the teaching. The only contest at this public ceremony was, I think, one for "The Silver Knife" in mental arithmetic. Several posers were put in succession. After each had been propounded the boys competing were expected to put down the answer on their slates. Having done so, the boy plunked down his slate on an open space on the floor in front of the class. Then the next and the next piled up their slates. When all the slates were thus planted, the heap was lifted tip and turned over so that the slate put down first was on the top. The slates were examined in their order until a correct answer was found, and the owner of this slate counted one. The others, whether correct or not, counted nil. The Tullis Gold Medal for Mathematics, Algebra, Trigonometry and Physics was deemed the premier trophy. In my last year I won this by a hairsbreadth. When all the written examinations were concluded, I had most marks. But I was only a few ahead of another boy, Frank Scott. Dr Lonie thought it would not do to allow the matter to turn on such a small margin. So he prescribed certain subjects for a "corker" competition between Scott and me, and gave us five days to prepare. It did not occur to me to resent this, and I set about grinding up the qualities of parabolas. &c., as did Scott. But on the day before the examination, Scott informed me that he had withdrawn. This was brought about by the intervention of Mr Macdonald, the assistant master. Rightly or wrongly, he deemed the course adopted unfair to me, and he made a strong representation to Dr Lonie, reinforcing his argument by the consideration of what was to be done if it happened that in this test Scott was no further ahead of me than I had been of him. Dr Lonie saw his mistake, but what was to be done? In the end Scott was approached and he behaved in the most handsome manner and at once agreed to withdraw. I always felt that it was a great hardship on Scott to have had to swot up all these difficult subjects in three or four strenuous days and all for nothing

THE RHETORICAL FINALE.

On the closing day there was a rhetorical display before the governors and the assembled citizens and parents. This was arranged by Mr Armstrong, the English master (he was not then Doctor: his LL.D. came later). Picked boys recited pieces "Hohenlinden", "The Charge of the Light Brigade", &c. On one occasion, however, Mr Armstrong varied matters by substituting a Parliamentary debate. There had been a discussion in the House of Commons on female suffrage. Mr Armstrong, having cut down the speeches somewhat, assigned a part to each boy. I was "Mr Bouverie, M.P. for Kilmarnock Burghs", the protagonist of opposition to the proposal. I can still recall my (i.e., Mr Bouverie's) peroration : It is Addison, I think, who says that the glory of the state is the valour of its men and the modesty of its women, and I believe that if the sex succeed in their aspirations to enter into all the pursuits and occupations of men they will destroy the glory and the purity of that sex and will shake the foundations of the state in which they live". Little did I then imagine that more than forty years later I should be a member of the House of Commons which was finally to decide that question. On this latter occasion, divided between a sense of the futility of delaying the inevitable, on the one hand, and the lingering spell of Mr Bouverie's eloquence, on the other, I stayed away from the division and so did nothing either to buttress or to shake "the foundations of the state".

SPORTS.

It is perhaps not generally known that St Andrews was the nursery of Rugby football in Scotland in the 'sixties of last century, when clubs were being formed in the great towns and school teams were being organised. The first batch of famous players just before the days of internationals were St Andrews men. The Edinburgh Wanderers, which is still going strong, started as the "St Andrews Wanderers", formed by St Andrews men who had found their way to Edinburgh. Rugby football accordingly was in my day the chief Madras game. But things were different then in football as in some other sports. Matches and competitions now predominate. Then the game predominated. A match was a special and rare event. A game with sides picked on the spot was the normal form of the sport. The same held true of cricket, though I confess cricket was not of very much account at St Andrews in those days. During my first year, the school had a field at Rathelpie. Then a field was acquired opposite the old station just beyond the famous 17th hole. Craigmount, Edinburgh, was, I think, the only away school with which we had an annual match. Abbey Park was the only St Andrews School which could make a show of standing up to us. I recall a unique match. The late Peter Anton, afterwards minister of Kilsyth, and, I think, one of Scotland's team in the first international, was a very tall and a very powerful man. He was an all-round athlete, as was shown by the fact that lie carried off both the hammer and the hundred yards. Now Peter made a bet with some of his chums that he would single-handed play ten Madras schoolboys. A crowd assembled to see the match. Hacking, which was then lawful, was barred for the occasion. The match did not last a quarter of an hour. Peter was hopelessly outclassed or rather outnumbered, and after several goals had been scored against him, he chucked it. I can well remember how, when this happened, another student a divinity student, too who had a bet with Anton exclaimed : "Now for the beer! "

This match recalls to my memory another contest. it took place in the Clifton Bank field which was just beyond the old railway station. On the occasion of a heavy fall of snow on a Saturday, the Clifton Bank boys were in their field and had been Joined by the boys from Hodge's School. An army of Madras boys crossed over to the field and challenged for a snow fight. We were somewhat stronger than the two schools combined, and to equalise matters we gave them David Strath, the famous golf professional, and Sandy Dishart, a stalwart loafer. The two armies stood some fifteen yards apart and pelted each other. There was no charging. Small boys, of whom I was one, made snowballs behind the ranks and supplied our elders. Strath slung his balls with enormous force. He was at cricket, I think, the fastest round arm bowler I have ever seen. I saw Strath aim at Donald Grant, one of our seniors. It got him in the eye and he fell stunned. But he soon recovered and the fight went on in quite good temper. By and by Hodge's boys had to leave to keep school hours. We at once called off and we cheered them as they left the ground. Now there were no masters with us. It was all a boys' affair, and I have always remembered it as a most sporting episode.

I have referred to skating holidays. The resort was to Tents Muir, beyond Leuchars, where there were then, as perhaps there are still, a number of sheets of shallow water. But Tents Muir was also a great resort on Saturday forenoons in spring for bird nesting. Earlshall was restored by my friend Mr Robert Mackenzie as a modern residence, but it was then a ruin, and I have climbed up to the roof for jackdaws' eggs. But there were far greater egg treasures on Tents Muir. We got eggs there of great rarity. The rarest I got, I think, was that of the owl that nests upon the ground.

Football is a recognised form of sport, but there was a form of game peculiar to the Madras. There were two paved ways on either side of the quadrangle. In the intervals between the classes, a sort of game was organised. Some boys, generally the biggest and stoutest, ran across from the one pavement to the other. Other boys endeavoured to catch them, and the sign of victory was to pat the captive on the head. Edward Morrison was one of the most difficult men to stop. Some things like this which we did in those days would nowadays, I fancy, be considered quite undignified for schoolboys of over twelve. But things were different then. We even played at marbles when a marble boom was on, except perhaps a few of the seniors. At this game I was generally an onlooker, for the skill whereby time after time a boy would cause his "agate" to hit a marble at a yard and a half was quite beyond me.

HAPPY DAYS ?
I might wander on indefinitely with these reminiscences, but I must call a halt. They may be deemed to suggest many happy days and so in a way they seem to me to do. But there is a measure of delusion in this. I remember that an old St Andrews student once said to me: "When I recall the events of my student days, I fancy I must have been extremely happy. But when I fairly consider the matter I realise that now I am settled into a humdrum and reasonably comfortable life I am happier than I was then". I realise the force of this. One forgets the worries. I was worried over matters which seem to me now quite insignificant - my place in the class, my success in an examination, my prospect of a prize. Freud has taught us the doctrine of complexes. In my dreams after sixty years I am still a victim of schoolday complexes and worry over examinations. I mention an amusing but apropos detail. In my answer in a history examination I inadvertently wrote Maria Theresa for Maria Louisa. I realised afterwards that I had done so and I mentioned it to my mother. She happened to meet Mr Armstrong on the street, who told her I had given him a very good paper. Unfortunately she mentioned to him that I was much annoyed over the slip about the Marias. "Oh", said Mr Armstrong, "I had not noticed that when I examined his paper. I had given him full marks but I must now take one off". I was not then learned in the law as I am now reputed to be, but I think Mr Armstrong was wrong. A judge ought to pay no attention to private information. But this does not affect my affectionate remembrance of "Bobby", who taught me, according to the manner of the time, to get by rote, as though they were the articles of a creed, that Milton was distinguished for "sublimity of imagination, grandeur of imagery. melody and variety of expression, vast erudition and an unlimited command of appropriate and melodious epithet". To have given this enumeration in a written examination would have counted five, one for each point. "Ridiculous", I dare say a modern educationist would exclaim. But learned by rote it has stuck in my mind for sixty years, which is more than can be said of a good deal that boys are taught at school.

A VAIN REGRET.

To turn for a moment from reminiscence to reflection. As I have indicated, in my time a change was just beginning, or just threatening to begin, as regards the Madras as a boys' school of a national rather than a local character. That change progressed rapidly in the concluding decades of the century. I do not make any reference to the recent history of the school, or the work now carried on, which I believe to be admirable. But undoubtedly there was a loss of prestige of the Madras and of St Andrews as an educational centre for boys from all parts of Scotland and from beyond Scotland. Oddly enough, education for girls of the same class has run precisely a converse course at St Andrews. In my day at St Andrews, girls' education, such as it was, was purely a local concern. Now St Andrews is the great educational centre in Scotland for girls, other than those in the locality, and its fame as such has travelled far beyond Scotland.

My generation have nearly all passed away, so it does not now much matter. But as regards that generation of old Madras boys, the change that set in and rapidly advanced was a handicap so far as tradition and esprit de corps were concerned. A Fettesian, or a Lorettonian, or an Academical, remains such all his life. The old boys, as far as sunderance will permit, remain a community; the old school is the centre and rallying point, and they take, many of them, an interest in what concerns it. I am sorry to admit that it was somewhat different as regards the Madras. In the 'eighties or 'nineties of last century, if one happened to meet an old schoolfellow of the 'seventies who knew anything about contemporary St Andrews, and mentioned to him the Madras, he shrugged his shoulders, and if he did not use the language of the distressed Hebrew woman, his purport was the same: "Ichabod. The glory is departed".

All this, however, so far as I am concerned, has to do with the past, with the Madras of 1900 as contrasted with the Madras of 1870. The past is beyond recall. The present is with us. The future is before us. So, looking back through a long vista of years and marking that once familiar pile behind the ruin of Blackfriars Chapel, I murmur "Floreat".