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boots。 Glorious！ And being plastic human beings we would consent
that it was glorious； and some of us even achieved an answering
reverberation and a sympathetic flush。 I at times responded freely。
We all accepted from him unquestioningly that these melodies； these
strange sounds； exceeded any possibility of beauty that lay in the
Gothic intricacy； the splash and glitter； the jar and recovery； the
stabbing lights； the heights and broad distances of our English
tongue。 That indeed was the chief sin of him。 It was not that he
was for Greek and Latin； but that he was fiercely against every
beauty that was neither classic nor deferred to classical canons。
And what exactly did we make of it； we seniors who understood it
best？ We visualised dimly through that dust and the grammatical
difficulties； the spectacle of the chorus chanting grotesquely；
helping out protagonist and antagonist； masked and buskined； with
the telling of incomprehensible parricides； of inexplicable incest；
of gods faded beyond symbolism； of that Relentless Law we did not
believe in for a moment； that no modern western European can believe
in。 We thought of the characters in the unconvincing wigs and
costumes of our school performance。 No Gilbert Murray had come as
yet to touch these things to life again。 It was like the ghost of
an antiquarian's toy theatre； a ghost that crumbled and condensed
into a gritty dust of construing as one looked at it。
Marks； shindies； prayers and punishments； all flavoured with the
leathery stuffiness of time…worn Big Hall。 。 。 。
And then out one would come through our grey old gate into the
evening light and the spectacle of London hurrying like a cataract；
London in black and brown and blue and gleaming silver； roaring like
the very loom of Time。 We came out into the new world no teacher
has yet had the power and courage to grasp and expound。 Life and
death sang all about one； joys and fears on such a scale； in such an
intricacy as never Greek nor Roman knew。 The interminable
procession of horse omnibuses went lumbering past； bearing countless
people we knew not whence； we knew not whither。 Hansoms clattered；
foot passengers jostled one； a thousand appeals of shop and boarding
caught the eye。 The multi…coloured lights of window and street
mingled with the warm glow of the declining day under the softly
flushing London skies； the ever…changing placards； the shouting
news…vendors； told of a kaleidoscopic drama all about the globe。
One did not realise what had happened to us； but the voice of Topham
was suddenly drowned and lost； he and his minute； remote
gesticulations。 。 。 。
That submerged and isolated curriculum did not even join on to
living interests where it might have done so。 We were left
absolutely to the hints of the newspapers； to casual political
speeches； to the cartoons of the comic papers or a chance reading of
some Socialist pamphlet for any general ideas whatever about the
huge swirling world process in which we found ourselves。 I always
look back with particular exasperation to the cessation of our
modern history at the year 1815。 There it pulled up abruptly； as
though it had come upon something indelicate。 。 。 。
But； after all； what would Topham or Flack have made of the huge
adjustments of the nineteenth century？ Flack was the chief
cricketer on the staff； he belonged to that great cult which
pretends that the place of this or that county in the struggle for
the championship is a matter of supreme importance to boys。 He
obliged us to affect a passionate interest in the progress of county
matches； to work up unnatural enthusiasms。 What a fuss there would
be when some well…trained boy； panting as if from Marathon； appeared
with an evening paper！ 〃I say； you chaps； Middlesex all out for a
hundred and five！〃
Under Flack's pressure I became； I confess； a cricket humbug of the
first class。 I applied myself industriously year by year to
mastering scores and averages； I pretended that Lords or the Oval
were the places nearest Paradise for me。 （I never went to either。）
Through a slight mistake about the county boundary I adopted Surrey
for my loyalty； though as a matter of fact we were by some five
hundred yards or so in Kent。 It did quite as well for my purposes。
I bowled rather straight and fast； and spent endless hours acquiring
the skill to bowl Flack out。 He was a bat in the Corinthian style；
rich and voluminous； and succumbed very easily to a low shooter or
an unexpected Yorker； hut usually he was caught early by long leg。
The difficulty was to bowl him before he got caught。 He loved to
lift a ball to leg。 After one had clean bowled him at the practice
nets one deliberately gave him a ball to leg just to make him feel
nice again。
Flack went about a world of marvels dreaming of leg hits。 He has
been observed； going across the Park on his way to his highly
respectable club in Piccadilly； to break from profound musings into
a strange brief dance that ended with an imaginary swipe with his
umbrella； a roofer； over the trees towards Buckingham Palace。 The
hit accomplished； Flack resumed his way。
Inadequately instructed foreigners would pass him in terror；
needlessly alert。
6
These schoolmasters move through my memory as always a little
distant and more than a little incomprehensible。 Except when they
wore flannels； I saw them almost always in old college caps and
gowns； a uniform which greatly increased their detachment from the
world of actual men。 Gates； the head； was a lean loose…limbed man；
rather stupid I discovered when I reached the Sixth and came into
contact with him； but honest； simple and very eager to be liberal…
minded。 He was bald； with an almost conical baldness； with a
grizzled pointed beard； small featured and； under the stresses of a
Zeitgeist that demanded liberality； with an expression of puzzled
but resolute resistance to his own unalterable opinions。 He made a
tall dignified figure in his gown。 In my junior days he spoke to me
only three or four times； and then he annoyed me by giving me a
wrong surname； it was a sore point because I was an outsider and not
one of the old school families； the Shoesmiths； the Naylors； the
Marklows； the Tophams； the Pevises and suchlike； who came generation
after generation。 I recall him most vividly against the background
of faded brown book…backs in the old library in which we less
destructive seniors were trusted to work； with the light from the
stained…glass window falling in coloured patches on his face。 It
gave him the appearance of having no colour of his own。 He had a
habit of scratching the beard on his cheek as he talked； and he used
to come and consult us about things and invariably do as we said。
That； in his phraseology； was 〃maintaining the traditions of the