by Alec Waugh
For Fernhurst was primarily a footer school. Buller had captained England and had infused much of his own enthusiasm into his Fifteens; but the cricket coach, a Somerset professional, lacked “the Bull’s” personality and force, and so for the last few years the doings of the Eleven had been slight and unmeritable. Even Lovelace major had been unable to carry a whole side on his shoulders. As soon as he was out the school ceased to take any interest in the game. Fernhurst batting was of the stolid, lifeless type, and showed an almost mechanical subservience to the bowling.
But for Gordon this term was sheer joy. He loved cricket passionately—last season at his preparatory school he had headed the batting averages, and kept wicket with a certain measure of success. As a bat he was reckless in the extreme; time after time he flung away-his wicket, trying to cut straight balls past point; he was the despair of anyone who tried to coach him; but he managed to get runs.
For cricket the School House was divided into A-K and L-Z, according to which division the names of the boys fell into. Meredith was captain of the House and of L-Z, while FitzMorris captained A-K. For the first half of the term there were Junior House Single-Innings matches played in the American method, and afterwards came the Two-Innings Senior matches on the knock-out system. A-K Junior this year had quite a decent side. Foster was not at all a bad slow bowler, and was known to have made runs. Collins had a useful but unorthodox shot which he applied to every ball, no matter where it pitched, and which landed the ball either over shortslip’s head or over the long-on boundary In the nets it was a hideous performance, but in Junior House matches, where runs are the one consideration it was extremely useful. A certain Betteridge captained the side, not because of any personal attainments, but because he was on the V. A table, and had played in Junior House matches with consistent results for three years. He went in tenth and sometimes bowled.
These matches began at once, as Stewart, the captain of the Eleven, was anxious to spot useful men for the Colts, the under sixteen side, who wore white caps with a blue dragon worked on them. And so on the second Saturday of the term A-K drew Buller’s in the first round. Before the game FitzMorris had the whole side in his study to fix the positions in the field. Some of the side had played little serious cricket before. Brown, in fact, asked if he might field middle and leg. But at last they were placed more or less to their own satisfaction, and FitzMorris gave them a short “jaw” on keenness. Cricket was about the one thing he really cared for; as a chemistry specialist he spent most of his day adoze in the laboratory. It was only in the cricket field that he really woke up.
With great solemnity Betteridge walked forward to toss with Felsted, the Buller’s captain. A few seconds later he returned to announce that Buller’s had won the toss and put them in. The captain of a Junior House side is always very fond of putting the other side in first. P.F. Warner would demand rain overnight, a drying ground, a fast wind and a baking sun before he would dare do such a thing. But Felsted was made of sterner stuff.
Gordon was sent in first with Collins. The idea was to try and knock the bowlers off their length early. Gordon was very nervous. “The Bull” was umpire at one end and FitzMorris at the other. Meredith had strolled over to watch, as L-Z had drawn a bye. Mansell was in the Pavilion eating an ice. All eyes seemed on him. He had made Collins take the first ball. The start was worthy of the best School House traditions. The first ball was well outside the off-stump; it landed in the National School grounds that ran alongside of the school field. A howl of untuneful applause went up. This was the cricket anyone could appreciate, and this was the cricket that was always seen on a School House game. Its only drawback was that could not last. Collins made a few more daring strokes. In the second over he made a superb drive over shortslip’s head to the boundary, and his next shot nearly ended FitzMorris’ somnolent existence. It was great while it lasted, but, like all great things, it came to an end. He gave the simplest of chances to cover point, and Buller’s rarely missed their catches.
It was so with nearly all the other members of the side. Three or four terrific hits and then back under the trees again. Gordon alone seemed at all comfortable. Either the novelty of the surroundings (it was only his second innings at Fernhurst), or else the presence of “the Bull,” quieted his customary recklessness. At any rate, he attempted no leg-glides on the off-stump, and in consequence found little difficulty in staying in. The boundaries, as was natural on a side ground, were quite close. Runs came quite easily. During the interval after Foster’s dismissal “the Bull” walked across to him:
“How old are you, Caruthers?”
“Thirteen and a half, sir.”
“Oh, good thing to come young. I did myself. Keep that left foot well across and you’ll stop in all day. Well done. Stick to it.”
Gordon was amazingly bucked up. He had always heard “the Bull” was anti-School House, and here he was encouraging one of his enemies. What rot fellows did talk. Splendid man “the Bull”! He would tell Mansell so that night.
And his opinion was even more strengthened when, after he had been clean bowled for forty-three without a chance, “the Bull” stopped him on the way out and said:
“Well done, Caruthers! Plucky knock. Go and have a tea at the tuck-shop, and put it down to my account.”
The School House innings closed for one hundred and forty-eight. “Nothing like big enough,” said Foster.
FitzMorris overheard him.
“Rot! Absolute rot! If you go on the field in that spirit you won’t get a single man out. Go in and win.”
And a very fine fight the House put up. Foster bowled splendidly, Betteridge was fast asleep at point and brought off a marvellous one-handed catch, while Gordon stumped Felsted in his third over. After an hour’s play seven men were out for about ninety. The scorers were at variance, so the exact score could not be discovered. There seemed a reasonable chance of winning. And to his dying day Gordon will maintain that they would have won but for that silly ass of an umpire, FitzMorris. Bridges, the Buller’s wicket-keep, was run out by yards; there was no doubt about it. Everyone saw it. But long hours at the laboratory had made it very hard for FitzMorris to concentrate his brain on anything for a long time; he was happily dreaming, let us hope, of carbon bisulphate, when the roar, “How’s that?” woke him up. He had to give the man “not out”; there was nothing else to do. Twenty minutes later, with a scandalous scythe-stroke, Bridges made the winning hit.
“Never mind, your men put up a good fight; the luck was all on our side,” said “the Bull” to Caruthers. “Let’s see, it’s Sunday tomorrow, isn’t it? Well, on Monday, then, come round to the nets; you want to practise getting that left foot across. Look here, just get your bat and I’ll toss you up one or two now at the nets!”
That night “the Bull,” talking over the game with his side in the dormitories, said: “That Caruthers, you know, he’s a good man; sort of fellow we want in the school. Can fight an uphill game. Got grit. He’ll make a lot of runs for the school some day.”
On Monday Gordon saw his name down for nets with the Colts Eleven. Life was good just then. If only Jeffries were there too . . .
Chapter VI
Clarke
“Ferguson, the House is getting jolly slack; something’s got to be done.”
Ferguson sat up in his chair. Clarke had been quiet nearly the whole of hall; there was obviously something up.
“Oh, I don’t know. Why, only a quarter of an hour ago I came across Collins and Brown playing stump cricket in the cloisters instead of studying Thucydides. That’s what I call keenness.”
“What did you say to them?”
“Oh, I’ve forgotten now, but it was something rather brilliant. I know it was quite lost on them. The Shell can’t appreciate epigram. They ought to read more Wilde. Great book Intentions. Ever read it, Clarke?
“Oh, confound your Wildes and Shaws; that’s just what I object to. Here are these kids, who ought to be working, simply wasti
ng their time, thinking of nothing but games. Why, I was up in the House tutor’s room last night and was glancing down the list of form orders. Over half the House was in double figures.”
“But, my good man, why worry? As long as the lads keep quiet in hall, and leave us in peace, what does it matter? Peace at any price, that’s what I say; we get so little of it in this world, let us hang on to the little we have got.”
“But look what a name the House will get.”
“The House will get much the same reputation in the school as England has in Europe. The English as a whole are pleasure-loving and slack. They worship games; and, after all, the Englishman is a jolly sight better fellow than the average German or Frenchman.”
“Yes, of course he’s a better fellow, but the rotten thing is that he might be a much better fellow still. If as a country we had only ourselves to think about, let us put up a god of sport. But we have not. We have to compete with the other nations of the world. And late cuts are precious little use in commerce. This athleticism is ruining the country. At any rate, I am not going to have it in the House. In hall they’ve got to work; and if their places in form aren’t better next week there’s going to be trouble.”
“Yes there’ll most certainly be trouble. I can’t think why you won’t leave well alone. Lord Henry Wootton used to say—”
But Clarke was paying no attention.
That evening he got up after prayers to address the House.
“Will nothing stop this fellow’s love of oratory?” murmured Betteridge.
“I have to speak to the House on a subject which I consider important,” began Clarke. (“Which probably means that it’s most damnable nonsense,” whispered Mansell.) “The position of the members of the House in form order is not at all creditable. In future every week the senior member of each form will bring me a list with the places of each School House member of the form on it. I intend to deal severely with anyone I find consistently low. I hope, however, that I shall not have need to. This is the best house socially and athletically; there is no reason why we should not be the best house at work too.”
“As I prophesied,” said Mansell, “most damnable nonsense!”
On the Second and Third Forms this speech had a considerable effect. For the first time in his life Cockburn did some work, and at the end of the week he was able to announce that he had gone up two places—from seventeenth to fifteenth. There were seventeen in the form.
The Shell and the Lower Fourth were, of course, too old to consider the possibility of actually working. It was a preposterous idea. Something had to be done, however, so Collins bought excellent translations of the works of Vergil and Xenophon. A vote of thanks proposed by Foster and seconded by Brown was very properly carried nem. con.
But in V. B and IV. A there were some strong, rebellious spirits who would not bow down under any tyranny. In Study No. 1, at the end of the passage on the lower landing, Mansell addressed a meeting of delegates with great fervour.
“From time immemorial,” he thundered out, “it has been the privilege of the members of this House” (he had been reading John Bull the day before) “to enjoy themselves, to work if they wanted to, to smoke if they wanted to, to do any damned thing they wanted to. The only thing they’d got to do was to play like hell in the Easter term, and here’s that—Clarke trying to make us do work, and, what is more, to work for Claremont! Gentlemen, let us stand by our traditions.” (Mr Bottomley is useful at times.)
“That’s all very jolly,” said the practical Farrow, “but what are you doing?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter what we do, as long as we stand up for our rights. Who ever heard of School House men working?”
“Now look here, my good fellows,” said the ingenious Archie, “it’s quite simple, if you will only do as I tell you. Clarke told us to bring him a form list; the obvious thing to do is not to bring one at all.”
“But, you silly ass, the fellow who ought to have brought it will get into the very Hades of a row.”
“Exactly. But who is the responsible person? Clarke said the senior man. Well, now, in IV. A I am, as far as work is concerned, the senior man in the form. But Hasel has been in the form a term longer than me, while Farrow, a most arrant idiot, who has only just reached the form, has been in the House a year longer than either of us. There is no senior man. We have all excellent claims to the position, but we waive them in favour of our inferiors.”
Archie was at once acclaimed as the Napoleon of deceit. That week Clarke found no form order either from IV.A or V.B. After prayers that evening he asked to see all those in IV.A and V.B.
When the conspirators arrived at his study Clarke found that everything had been elaborately prepared. There was not a single hitch in the argument. No one was at fault. There had been a general misunderstanding. They were, of course, very sorry. Clarke listened in silence.
“Well, I’m sorry this has happened. But when I say that I want a thing done, I expect it to be done. None of you are to blame particularly; but you are all equally guilty. I shall be forced to cane the lot of you.”
There was a gasp. They had known Clarke was a strong man, but they had hardly expected this. Mansell was indignant.
“But look here, Clarke, you can’t beat me, I’m a House cap.”
“Can’t I?”
“It has been a House tradition for years that a House cap can’t be beaten.”
“I am sorry, Mansell, but I have little respect for traditions. Will you all wait for me in the Sixth Form room?”
“All right, I shall go to the Chief then.”
“I don’t think you will, Mansell.”
The Chief was not very fond of receiving complaints about his House prefects.
It was, of course, obvious that Clarke, when he had started on a job like this, had to carry it through. If he had gone back, his position would have been impossible; but there could be no doubt that it was a disastrous campaign as far as the unity of the House was concerned. At once the House was divided into sides, and nearly the whole of the Sixth Form was against Clarke.
“It’s not the duty of the head of the House to see how people are working. That is a House master’s job,” pointed out FitzMorris. “All Clarke has got to do is to see that the kids don’t rag in hall, and at other times more or less behave themselves.”
The House was in a state of open rebellion.
And the worst of it was that none of the other prefects made any attempt to keep order. Now there was a rule that in hall only three people might be allowed in one study, the idea being that, if more got in, work would be bound to change into conversation. One evening, however, a huge crowd slowly congregated in Mansell’s study. Lovelace dropped in to borrow a book, and stayed. Hunter and Gordon came for a chat, and stayed too. Archie Fletcher had, as was usual with him, done all his preparation in half-an-hour, and was in search of something to do. Betteridge heard a noise outside, walked in, and stopped to give his opinion on the chances of A-K beating L-Z that week. In a few minutes the conversation got rather heated. The noise could be heard all down the passage.
Meredith came down to see what was going on.
“Ah, ‘some’ party! Well, Mansell, got over your beating yet?”
There was subdued laughter.
“I say, Meredith, have A-K the slightest chance of beating us on Thursday?” Lovelace was captain of L-Z Junior, and had laid rather heavily on a victory.
“Of course not, my good man, I’m going to umpire.”
This time the laughter was not subdued.
In his retreat at the far end of the studies Clarke heard it. Down the passage he thundered, knocked at the door, and came in.
“What’s the meaning of this? You know quite well that not more than three are allowed in here at one time. Come to my study, the lot of you.”
All this time Meredith was being jammed behind the door.
“When you have quite finished, Clarke,” he said.
“I
am sorry, Meredith. Are you responsible for this?”
“In a way, yes. I was rather afraid that the House was getting slack about their work. A very bad thing for a house, Clarke! So I took this opportunity of holding a little viva voce examination. We were studying ‘The Sermon on the Mount,’ a singularly beautiful and impressive passage, Clarke. Have you read it?”
Clarke had read it that day as the lesson in chapel. He had also read it rather badly, having a cold in his head.
“You seem to have rather a large class, Meredith,” he said sarcastically.
“Yes; like our good Lord, I have beaten the by-ways and the hedges, and I am almost afraid I shall also have to beat Mansell. He has singularly failed to appreciate the full meaning of that passage about ‘humility.’”
Clarke saw he was beaten, and turned away. As he walked down the passage he heard a roar of laughter coming from Study No. 1.
The story was all round the House in half-an-hour, and on his way down to prayers Clarke heard FitzMorris say before a whole crowd:
“You are a great fellow, Meredith. That’s the way to keep these upstarts in order.”
That night there was merriment in the games study, and Ferguson advised Clarke to let the matter drop.
“After all, you know, it’s not your business.”
And perhaps Clarke realised that Ferguson was for once right. But he had to go on; it was very hard, though. He had been quite popular before he was head of the House. He wished he had left a year ago. For it is hard to be hated where one loves. And Clarke, well as he loved Fernhurst, loved the House a hundred times more.
* * * * *
“Well played, Caruthers; jolly good knock.”
“Well done, Caruthers!”
Lovelace and Mansell banged excitedly into Gordon’s study the evening after the Colts match v. Murchester. Gordon had made thirty-seven on a wet wicket, and a defeat by over a hundred runs was no fault of his. He had gone in first wicket down, and stayed till the close.
“It was splendid! You ought to be a cert, for your Colts’ cap. ‘The Bull’ was fearfully bucked.”