Reminiscences of a Pupil of the Sixties, 1858-68.

By W.J. MACDONALD, M.A., F.R.S.A.

I. The Examinations.

There lies before me as I write a little book, bound in orange-coloured cloth, published bv Nelson, and entitled: "Alicia, and her Aunt." In it is pasted a label, signed R. Armstrong, and dated July 1859. It is my first prize and the date on the label fixes my entry into the Madras College as a little boy at October 1858. My mother had kept the book for many years, and on one of my visits to her she handed it over to me. As she had kept it so long for my sake I have never had the heart to burn it. and as for giving it away no modern child would condescend to take it. Curiously I have never read it, I don't know why, except that perhaps at first the title may have suggested a girl's book. Now while many girls prefer boys' books, it is very seldom that a boy cares to read a girl's one. I have occasionally thought of reading it when I have come across it in my book-case, but I have a feeling that it would be unlucky to do so now and I suppose I never shall read it.
The occasion on which these prizes were given away was called "The Examinations". The function lasted three days, and attracted to St Andrews people from far and near. It was a solemn and stately occasion, and differed as widely as possible from the base mechanical modern school examinations in which poor little boys and girls are labelled with marks running from one to a hundred, and a government official draws an arbitrary line somewhere about 50. All above this are accepted and all below rejected to the disappointment of their teachers, their parents, and themselves. No! in my time the boy who couldn't pass exams, was better off, for he could recite, or he could draw, and his pictures might be seen in Mr. Paterson's exhibition in neat gilt frames, which, perhaps, even now decorate the walls of his home. At the very worst he "didn't get a prize" and as this disqualification was common to the bulk of every class he was not singled out for any special infamy.
On the first day came the Latin and Greek exams, in the Latin Room upstairs, with the portrait of Dr. Woodford over the door. Here, sitting on armchairs in front of Dr. Auld's desk, were the Trustees, Dr. Hoyd, Mr. Hill, and Provost Milton. The fourth Trustee, The Sheriff of Fife, I never saw or heard of about the School. Perhaps he did his duty best by staying away and leaving an odd number to manage the affairs of the Trust so that no deadlock was possible. Here, too, was Mr. Stuart Grace, who for so many years ably managed the financial affairs of the School. The University was conspicuous by its absence; no Professor was ever present at any of these gatherings except Prof. Birrell, and at the time I speak of he was probably still Minister of Dunino. and came in virtue of his status as a member of the Presbytery and an old pupil.
Then under Dr. Auld and his able assistant, Mr. William Aitken, we appeared class by class. The first or lowest class would be put through the rules of Syntax from the Edinburgh Academy Latin Rudiments. These rules we knew by heart, examples and all. and could fire them off one after another like lightning. With a little revisal I could say them all yet: "Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur," etc., etc. Or it might be the two highest classes, the fourth and fifth, which were always taught together.
Copies of Horace are handed out to the Trustees, and such prominent citizens as have been favoured with front seats. They are asked to suggest an ode. Here Prof. Birrell comes out strong, he fearlessly suggests "Vides ut alta." or some such, while the others try to make sure that their books are not upside down, an easier matter than when we attack a bit of Greek. Then after some Greek recitations, in which I remember saying something about Charon and an obolus, came a competition which was more interesting to the bulk of the audience. In Pillan's Ancient Geography, which we studied, were quotations from the great authors, each containing the name of some place in the ancient world. These we were encouraged to learn and to supplement from our own reading. Two prolific sources were Macaulay's Lays and Milton's Paradise Regained - this latter I don't suppose I should ever have read had it not been for this competition. The mode of competition was thus: the competitors were drawn up in a line and each in turn gave a quotation, e.g.:

Athens :
"Behold
Where on the Aegean shore a city stands.
Built nobly; pure the air, and light the soil,
Athens, the Eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence."

Whenever a competitor gave a quotation that had already been given, or made a mistake, or failed to remember another one he dropped out, and the prize went to the one who remained in longest. I must have been eligible for this competition twice, but on one occasion, probably the first. I may not have competed as I only remember taking part in it once, and I had cause to remember it as you will see. Some days before the real competition a trial one was held, and in it another boy, Edward Stiven by name, I think, and myself were left in. Now there are two quotations from Macaulay's " Horatius ":—

"Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome."

While the other runs:—

"And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must shall foam
Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to Rome."

It was Stiven's turn, and in one of these quotations he misplaced the for and the to. This I challenged, and the Dr. on looking up the original, upheld my challenge; I gave the other one correctly and was proclaimed victor. But this was only a trial. Now, on the examination day, we two were again left in, and, in a foolish moment, remembering my former triumph, I attempted one of these two quotations, but of course this time I misplaced the two words, and was challenged and displaced by my rival to my great chagrin and no doubt to his entire satisfaction. I don't think I was ever a pot-hunter, and I think I have always been a good loser, so that the loss of the prize didn't much vex me, but to be hoist with my own petard was a bit galling.
The French and German Examination was, I believe, on that same day, but I don't remember anything about it. I suppose it would be rather quiet in my years, which were the last of Dr. Freuler's and the first of Dr. Schaefer's.
Was it on that evening that the Concert was held? The Concert was a most popular event. When we entered from the East Room we found the West Room packed to suffocation, all except the space round the organ left for the singers. I was an alto, which was desirable for two reasons: first, we were few in number and therefore had a feeling of superiority and selectness, and, second, Mr. Salter had us once or twice to his house for practice, and after practice had the good sense to give us strawberries and cream. Now we are all standing on forms, a row of basses and tenors (Scott, the upholsterer, with his grand bass voice, Halkerstone, the shoemaker, and others) leaning against the organ, which seems to me to have been about as big as the Crystal Palace one (is it there still?); Mr. Salter jumps up to the organ stool, peeps through the orange-tawny curtain, and with "weng, two, three" off we go. It is a psalm tune, Eastgate (Behold how good a thing it is), which I never hear now ; or St. George's, Edinburgh, which is still a favourite in the Church I go to, and which always takes me back to those days when the basses thought to pose us by demanding "Who of glory is the King?" and I remember the triumphant shout with which we let them know that we knew all about him. Then there was an anthem: "How beautiful upon the Mountains" must have impressed itself very deeply upon me, for I never heard it any where else, and when I am alone and feel disposed to whistle, it is one of the likeliest things to come to my lips. A round "White Sand and Grey Sand" or "Three Blind Mice" was always included, and was much appreciated both by singers and audience. After various other items we dispersed, and being picked up by our people, who had waited for us, we made our way home to supper and bed.
I think it was on the second day that the displays of drawings, of specimens of writing and printing, and of needlework were held. Many of the exhibits were of great excellence, but I was never an exhibitor. Mathematics and arithmetic were also on this day. I can't remember anything about the mathematics, which is rather strange since mathematics was my special subject, and I was also for five years there as Dr. Louie's assistant. Money for the Tullis Medal had been left to the School, but there had not accumulated enough of interest on it to enable one to be given in my year. However, I got a much more useful prize, the opera-glass given by Bailie Aikman (the elder), He always chose it himself when he was in London, and a very good choice he made when he chose mine, for it has been in constant use, and to this day is as good (almost even in appearance) as it was on the day I got it.

A very popular event in the arithmetic examination was the competition for the "Silver Knife," also given by Bailie Aikman (wasn't it?). A copy of Barnard Smith was given to some one. Prof. Birrell again very likely, who selected certain sums between certain specified pages. These were written down on the blackboard by an assistant, and the competitors standing in a semi-circle worked them on slates. Each competitor as he finished put his slate down in a space chalked on the floor, the slates were checked and speed and correctness determined the result. Many of the competitors had learnt the questions off by heart, and some of them had their slates in before the question was completely written on the board. Partly because I couldn't be bothered doing this and partly because I thought I could have given most of the competitors points had the, questions been "unseens," I was never a candidate, though both years I got first prize in the highest class.
The Third day was Dr. Armstrong's field day; English took up the whole day. Perhaps it is Mr. Matthewson's history class that is giving a display - the class sits in the gallery at the west end of the West Room, and Mr. Matthewson withdraws to a point between the clock and the door, about two-thirds down the room. Collier's History is the book — a book which, though now out of date, has left more traces of its contents in the memories of its students than many a more scientific treatise. A period, say, the Plantagenet is chosen, Mr. Matthewson tosses his long, fair hair back from his pale forehead and question and answer follow each other in rapid succession. This display impressed many of the visitors immensely, and I remember my mother telling me on one occasion that a gentleman sitting beside her had the greatest difficulty in restraining his expressions of admiration within reasonable limits.
Then Dr. Armstrong came himself on the stage. One of his show pieces was an imaginary journey from London to some far-distant place suggested by some our of the audience, He had a fine map of the world with blue sea, and a long pointer, which were kept for this special occasion, and were never seen at any other time. Indeed, maps were not a strong point in the school — I remember learning the geography of Scotland from a map from which whole counties had been worn away. Another show subject of his was reading — he himself was a fine reader, and he was very successful in getting girls to read well. I have heard such pieces as "Edinburgh after Flodden" and "The Burial March of Dundee" read most beautifully at some of these exhibitions. Here, again, was held one of those popular competitions, "The Essay."
Slates were handed round and a subject was taken from a sealed envelope. In my year it was "The Lifeboat." Now, I knew all about lifeboats, why they righted themselves, how they rid themselves of the water they shipped, had been on board of one, had seen one capsized in the harbour by means of a crane with a daring member of the crew aboard (Tam Chisholm by name, if I remember right). This surely was a subject for me. But all my knowledge was of no avail, it was expended before I had one side of one slate filled while all around me were demands for a second slate. I didn't give mine in, and glad I was that I hadn't when I heard the winning essay read. It was by a boy named Rhind. He came from Cupar, and perhaps never had seen a lifeboat, but he pictured the calm sea — the ship with its merry passengers and crew — the oncoming storm — the lee shore — the despair of the shipmen — the agony of the spectators — the opportune arrival of the lifeboat — the gallant rescue — the happy meeting of the rescued with their friends ashore. How poor after this seemed my petty details about iron keels and cork compartments, and I think that when listening to this essay I felt as humble as ever I did in all my life.

Then came a speech or two, the distribution of the prizes, the rush for trains, and home for the holidays.
I think I hear some of my young readers saying "Mighty poor stuff this!" Well, perhaps; but I prefer it to anything you will be able to write about your L.C. Exams. 45 years hence. How will your reminiscences run? thus perhaps:

Extracts from my School Diary:—
39th March 1957 — Sat the Latin - Leaving to-day. By good luck we had read the passages set a few days ago. Did poorly.

July 40th - Got the results of L.C. to-day. I scraped through. Johnnie Smith failed —what an ass!

From Madras College Magazine Christmas 1912

 

II.—My Teachers.

As far as regards my teachers I was, on the whole, very fortunate in the ten years I was a pupil at the Madras College. The headmasters were all gentlemen, men of character, in the prime of life, excellent disciplinarians, and good teachers. Of the assistants, some were good, some bad, and some indifferent; but as many of them were only teaching to make a little money while attending college, they had little interest in the school in which they had no intention of remaining. Of them I remember very little except that I began my school life under two lady teachers, who had this in common that they palmied us with a short, hard, mahogany pointer. I daresay they were very amiable young ladies in private life, but I don't think they can have fully realized how little flesh we had on our hands to act as a buffer between the mahogany rod and our poor little hands. In my first year we came to school for an hour or two on Saturday morning and learnt something — I think it was Shorter Catechism — but this was abolished and from that time forth we had the whole of Saturday to ourselves. Dr. Armstrong and Mr. Matthewson, the two principal English Masters, were both excellent teachers: by them we were taught to use the English language with exactness, and I am constantly annoyed by two things which they would never have allowed: (i) the use of inst. for a day in the current month which is already past, as for example in the Births. Marriages, and Deaths column of the daily papers; and (ii) the constant use of a singular noun with a plural verb, examples of which we find broadcast in the newspapers. To-day for example, I read "a bundle of written questions were handed up." In one matter usage has gone against Mr. Matthewson who told us that a Scotchman was a man and a Scotsman a newspaper. From Dr.Armstrong I, at any rate, got an insight into and a love for English Literature which has been a valuable possession to me all my life.
Poor Dr. Auld died soon after I left school from the worry caused by the objections raised to his appointment to the Latin Chair in the University, he may not have been a very great scholar, but as a teacher he could hardly have been worse than the man who created the deadlock or the man who ultimately succeeded to the Chair. Mr. William Aitken, who was his assistant, was a disciplinarian of the old School who believed that he who spares the rod hates the child. But we learned our Latin Rudiments thoroughly, and had each and all of us to say " tupto " from beginning to end. It was a revelation to meet him in the evening in your father's house where he proved to be an altogether different man, full of quaint stories and always ready to enjoy a share of the family supper.
Dr. Freuler in my time confined himself to coming up at ten minutes to live and thrashing the row of delinquents who had been lined up for him by the one of his various assistants who happened to be in office. Each of these assistants lasted about a quarter, each of them knew French but little English, and nothing of Scotch boys. With a class containing three divisions of boys and two of girls, and thus numbering in all somewhere about eighty, it is not to be wondered at that there was more fun than French going. At last the Rev. George Jack took us in hand, and if he knew little French he knew more than we did, and at all events he kept us quiet so that I suppose we did learn something. The advent of Dr Schaefer next session changed all that. He was an excellent teacher, and the worst I can record of him is that he was somewhat unpopular, because he took off half a mark for each i that was left undotted and for each i that was left unstroked in our exercises. Mr. Morrison, the Writing master, was a man of strong character and marked individuality, He owed his position to some relationship to Dr. Bell as his name Andrew Bell Morrison was supposed to indicate. He was more a farmer than a teacher; for while he jogged in in his gig from his farm at North Bank to be a writing master for four hours, he jogged out again at one o'clock to be a farmer for the other twenty. From him I learned one thing which has been of use to me, and that was to draw a straight line by means of a chalked string held tight at the ends and flicked away from the blackboard in the middle. He was a strict disciplinarian, but sometimes his methods did not meet with my approval. I was once one of a lot of six who were brought before him when he was Convener. We were tried and found guilty. What he no doubt thought a humourous idea occurred to him; he would give one palmy to the smallest, two to the next, and so on. As I was the biggest the idea was far from seeming funny to me; and as some of the others were older than I was, I still think that a distribution according to age would have been much more rational. He had rules for making the capital letters which we had to learn and to repeat, certain lines being described as straight, strong, and well sloped; others as strong irregular curves, and so on. What were called specimens were written three or four times a session, and the best of these appeared in the exhibition at the end of the Session. No one of mine ever appeared. I was more famous for quick writing than for for good, and as for printing I never got beyond a set of plain capitals. There were some fellows, however, who did splendid things upon drawing paper stretched upon a board, the letters filled in with China ink and surrounded with all kinds of flourishes and scrolls after what is now I suppose an extinct fashion. A great thing in this class was to get to within half a page or so of the end of your copybook by the end of an hour, so that next day having provided yourself with twopence you could finish the book ten minutes or so after the hour. You then could ask out to buy a new copybook, and the break this little journey made in the day's toil was a thing worth striving for. Sometimes, however, he did you by ruling a few lines on the inside of the back cover of the book and telling you to bring a new one next day.
Of Mr. Paterson, the Drawing master, I can say little, as I was only a short time in his class. He was a hard worker and an excellent teacher of the old school.
The Rev. D. Fraser, the Arithmetical master, has left little impression upon me. He seems to have left us to teach ourselves a good deal, which was all right for those who did so, but perhaps not so good for those who merely copied.
I have left to the last my clear old teacher, colleague, and friend, Dr. W. O. Lonie: he was the greatest Roman of them all. Who but he could have stopped an Algebra class in the middle of the hour, sung "Cheer, Boys Cheer!" to it and had the class busy again at work in a couple of minutes as if nothing had happened? He never used a strap, and yet there was no class in ours or any other school in which the discipline was so nearly perfect. True he had a sharp tongue and sometimes rated a boy for a very small offence as if he and his father before him had been criminals of the deepest dye. This he himself recognised: and many a time after brooding over it for a whole night would the next day apologise to the victim. But no one ever thought any the worse of him for it, rather we loved him all the more. As a teacher he was nearly perfect, and all that has been good in my own teaching I got from him. No doubt some of his methods would have been disastrous in any hands but his own, these, however, were the exception and not the rule. I wonder what a Government Inspector now-a-days would say if on paying a surprise visit to a class with geometry marked on the time-table, he found the teacher wasting the time of the class and cheating the Treasury by telling his boys about his voyage across the Atlantic and singing to them some of the sailors' chanties which he had heard on the voyage. After all, isn't it the personality of the teacher which makes his pupils men? And from the Doctor we learned to be honest, manly, pure, and truthful in thought and word and deed, and to take a lively interest in everything that God has made. Between rules and regulations, examinations and passes, the Mathematical master of to-day is nearly shut up to impressing on his pupils that two and two make four, and is practically told that all else is without his province. The Doctor thought and acted otherwise, and I am sure no teacher I have ever known has exerted so great an influence for good on all who ever came in contact with him. When the old system was broken up he took very much to heart his being thrust out without any pension, and while he was quite able to continue his work. This was, I am sure, more for the sake of his sisters than of himself, for no man was ever less mercenary. He came to live in Edinburgh, and though our dwellings were far apart we often visited each other, he was always cheery, and many a time has he sung to my children the songs my wife and I had heard when we were his pupils; or he would recite his favourite: "Often I think of the old, old town that is seated by the Sea." He and his two faithful sisters passed away within a few years of each other at a good, old age, and he has left none behind him.

From Madras College Magazine Easter 1913

III. My Schoolfellows.

This section of my reminiscences which deals with my fellow-pupils bids fair to rival the famous chapter upon "Snakes in Iceland." Not because there weren't any; in my time there were more than a thousand pupils in the school. But all the boys with whom I was specially chummy are either dead or have disappeared from my ken. I suppose we were it very ordinary lot, for while many have attained good positions in their respective callings, I can't think of anyone who was in class with me who has become specially famous (or infamous). There was not the same solidarity among us that obtains in a class of most other schools, where the same boys are together all their school life. Owing to the method in operation in the Madras College by which each person took out tickets for such classes as he chose, two boys might be in the same class for one subject and for no other; or again they might be together one year and separated in the next. Also football and cricket hardly existed except to a small extent in some of the boarding houses. In the list of members of the Madras College Club I recognise the names of not a few who were at school about my time, but not one who I am quite sure was in the same class with me unless Thomas Darling, F.C.S., was once a curly-headed boy and boarded with Miss Russell.
I have just looked over the two groups of Dr. Louie's prize-winners for 1864 and 1868. The three masters Dr. Louie, Dr. Macpherson, and Mr. Brodie are all dead, and of the forty pupils about a quarter I know to be alive, another quarter dead, and of the remaining half I know nothing — not even the names of one or two of them.

"I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the Schoolboy's brain;
The Song and the Silence in the heart,
That in part are Prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain"

From Madras College Magazine Easter 1913

W.J.M.