Older Memories from Old Boys:

ROSES IN DECEMBER
J. M. Barrie said in one of his books "God gave us
memory that we might have roses in December", As
one gets older one finds this increasingly true; for one of
the greatest blessings we can have is a store of fragrant
memories. It has been my custom for many years-
I have passed the eightieth milestone-to spend a fort-
night or so in visiting some of the old familiar places
I knew long ago. It was on such a pilgrimage that I set
out on a day in May, 1959, with the original intention of
visiting friends at Pembury. But when I arrived at
Tonbridge Station and remembered the times I had
travelled down through there on my way to Bethany in
the years between 1887 and 1893, I thought here was a
fine opportunity to pay a quick visit to Cranbrook where
my father was born, on to Goudhurst where two of my
sisters and the girl who became my wife were pupils at
the Ladies' College, and if time permitted to make a call
at Bethany. I managed to carry out the programme, and
what a wealth of memories I added to my store.
One of the highlights of my pilgrimage was the journey
from Goudhurst to Bethany by the road I had travelled
so many times in very different circumstances. I hired
a car from the garage to the left of the Coffee Tavern
steps-at least it used to be known as the Coffee Tavern
in the old days. The dining room was reached by a
flight of wooden steps, on each side of which was a shop,
that on the left occupied by "W. Rootes, Cycle Agent
and Repairer' `-now Lord Rootes, founder of the vast
Rootes Group of motor manufacturers. We passed the
College buildings, sadly derelict, and went on down the
hill past "Harvey's Well ", up Combourne to Bethany,
where I had the pleasure of meeting the Headmaster,
Mr. Pengelly, and had a quick look round. The old
tree still stands in the playground, and round the tree the
seat where love-lorn boys would sometimes sit and gaze
at the distant hill on which the College stood! Which
brings me back to Harvey's Well. Does that name ring
a bell in your memory? It was the privilege of boys who
had sisters at the College to attend the Sunday morning
service there, after which the sisters were allowed to walk
as far as Harvey's Well with their brothers. Sometimes
there was a change-about, sisters walking with someone
else's brother. There was another and very useful side
to this Sunday morning parade: we were the bearers of
many notes between sundry Romeos and Juliets, probably
like myself not yet in their teens.
In conclusion, may I take you to another garden where
roses grow. The other day I came across a small and
dilapidated birthday book, the one I had at Bethany.
Nearly all the names in it are of my school friends or
College girls (forty of the latter). What a tale that book
could tell of happy days. Perhaps it could tell me who
"the Heavenly Smiler" was, whose birthday is 14th
November. Now, as I turn its tattered pages, I gather
a bunch of December roses and thank God for memory.
ERNEST BURNHAM, 1887-1893

We grieve that it is too late for Ernest to tell us any more.
This, which he wrote in 1961 for the College Old Girls'
News Sheet, will be all the more treasured. We are grateful
to Vera Vane, who lent her copy, and to Dorothy Glover
Clark, who wrote it out for us beautifully.

Many recollections of my boyhood days at Bethany are
inevitably centred on that lovable character my old
headmaster, Mr. W. A. Benians, I will only mention
the one which had such a profound influence on my
teenage life and possibly for ever after.
It was in the year 1894, when I was 8 years old. I saw
a snail making its slow progress. I succumbed to the
temptation to imagine that it was a football, and that
I would try to "kick a goal" between two supports of
the playground fence. It was a most successful shot;
but at that precise moment W.A.B. stepped out from the
indoor playground and witnessed the procedure.
He said, "Boy, come with me", I was very alarmed
at the severity of his countenance, and I knew I was in
trouble, though I couldn't at the time grasp the reason.
I noticed with relief, when we were both seated, that his
mood seemed to have completely changed, and that he
now looked quite benign. He merely said, " Take these
words down:
   I would not count among my friends the man 
   Who heedlessly sets foot upon the snail
   That crawls at even on the public path;
   For he that hath humanity, forewarned,
   Will tread aside and let the reptile live.
And now write that down 100 times and submit it to me
tomorrow".
I am sure these words were not his own composition.
They were simply imprinted on his brain as a great
humanitarian; but he certainly needed no reference; and
the fact that I can now after 72 years repeat those words-
I believe faultlessly-emphasises the profound impression
they made upon me. Would it be possible to find a
better example of the punishment fitting the crime;
or one more likely to reform the criminal?
HAROLD SHEATH, 1893-1899

Arthur Reader from Yalding, known as "Joey", was
with me at school about 1903. He was a true W. W.
Jacobs country character, bless him, full of wisdom and
leg-pulls, and not without guile. Few got the better of
this seemingly simple soul. When the old baths were
in use (about where the lower dining-room is now), he
was conscripted to carry buckets of hot water during
"Operation Wash". With a merry cry of "Pippy-O-
Poppy" he emptied a boiling bucket on my leg, and I was
laid up for a week-sustained by "Black Beauty" and
other books, lent me by Steve.
REG HOWES, 1900-1905

As a new boy in the autumn of 1901 I was amusing
myself pushing a piece of wood, with a feather as a sail,
across the pond where the swimming pool is now, when
Norman Pyle and Reggie Kenworthy passing by invited
me to join them in gathering chestnuts from a nearby
wood. As a new boy of about a week's duration I felt
greatly flattered and readily accepted the invitation.
Our excursion proved highly successful; but foolishly
we gave some of our proceeds to other boys, with the
result that we three incurred the wrath of the Headmaster,
W. A. Benians, for upsetting boys' stomachs with unripe
nuts; and the subsequent proceedings were extremely
painful.
I had some consolation, however, as a few days later
the Housemaster, Samuel Kendon, instructed me to go to
Goudhurst Station with my sister at the College to meet
our mother, who had decided to visit the schools and see
how her son and daughter were settling down, At the
station the Rev. J. J. Kendon arrived with pony and
carriage. Our journey to the Farm for tea, if not stately
was certainly slow, as the pony stopped every few yards
and had to be urged onwards. Mr. Kendon explained
that previously the pony had drawn a milk cart, and had
not yet realised its more exalted status ! Subsequently
Bert Kendon drove my mother and me to Marden
Station, and on the return journey the pony was made to
show his paces.
ARTHUR WARD, 1901-1905

As I was at the College from 1898-they used to take
nice little boys-and my two elder brothers, Cecil and
Victor, were at Bethany before me, I knew a good deal
about the school before I went there.
Aubrey Trench and George Vilvandré were friends of
Cecil and came to our house occasionally. Tom and
Will Foster, who lived at Bedgebury Home Farm, were
weekly boarders, and called on their way at week-ends.
I wonder what present day children would think about
walking four miles to school. Billy Blake was another
weekly boarder, who lived at Hawkhurst; he came by
train to Goudhurst Station and walked from there.
I well remember King Lewanika's visit in 1902, and
recollect the old covered playground, of tarred wood,
with its semi-circular, unglazed, wooden-barred windows,
which previously occupied the site of the new wing which
he opened. I went to see him unveil the commemoration
stone, and attended the celebrations afterwards in the
cricket field, I was in the same class as Lubasi and
Imasiku for a time. They found some difficulty in
taking dictation from George Vilvandré, whose French
accent was invincible.
Our small party of day-boys from Goudhurst village
consisted of Rex Eedes, Will Burfield, Henry Baker,
Stuart Kemp and myself. We usually all walked to-
gether. We brought sandwiches for our meal at the
mid-day break, This break was fairly long but of un-
certain duration, depending upon how long W.A.B. took
over his lunch and subsequent nap. A boy would stand
in the road and watch for him to appear; and as soon as
he was sighted, would rush in and ring the bell.
In the summer we spent much of the mid-day break
at the "swimming pool", and the bell often sounded
while we were sun-bathing on the bank, so I was occasion-
ally late for Alex Kendon's French class, which was held
in the chemistry lab, Later on we bathed in Three
Ponds (forbidden), where the water was cleaner. This
was a bit dangerous for us, as it was deep and largely
filled with water-lilies.
I used to assist some of the boys by taking notes from
them to their girl friends at the College, on my way home.
This went smoothly until one evening when, after
delivering the notes, I was talking to the girls at their senior
classroom window, and Miss Wear came into the room.
A day or so later W.A.B. discussed the matter with me,
and that was the end of that postal service.
After taking Matric in 1908 (Matthew Bush also took
it then) I became a very junior teacher. I think the boys
taught me more about teaching than I taught them about
other subjects. I remember one wise bit of advice given
me by W,A.B. at that time: if the boys get noisy or
unruly, open the windows-a most effective remedy.
From then until I came to Wye in 1911 was a happy
and care-free time, I often recall the times when Tommy
Wilson and I lodged together at Miss Ackland's and Mrs.
Todman's; the long walks after supper; filling hot-water
bottles in the kitchen under Miss Bing's supervision;
Sammy and Mrs. Kendon-often with a baby in her arms;
Tommy trying to make his curly hair lie down, using his
shadow as a mirror; painting the staff common room;
taking the boys for walks on Sunday afternoons (not good).
One summer holidays Frank Kendon and I made a
large number of lantern slides, by reducing from half-
plate negatives, to illustrate Sammy's Hop-Pickers'
Mission talks. He paid us for doing it, and with the
proceeds we bought apparatus for colour photography.
I still have some of the photographs. Frank and I also
used to work the lantern for lectures at the chapel. It
was an oxy-ether limelight, which appeared to me very
unsafe, Oxygen was passed through a packing of cotton
wool soaked in ether in a brass box, and the mixture of
ether vapour and oxygen (highly explosive) burned from
a jet as it emerged. But it never blew up. When we
had packed up the lantern and screen after the lecture
Frank would occasionally amuse himself by playing
popular tunes on the harmonium.
The welcome introduction of petrol-gas lighting, in
place of oil lamps, was made at some time during this
period.
One morning after Sunday school I saw a poster on the
chapel notice board advertising County Council Scholar-
ships for Wye College. This resulted in my coming to
Wye in October, 1911, after eight very pleasant years at
Bethany.
ABRAHAM BURGESS, 1903-1911

All my life I remember W.A.B.'s (Feeny's) sayings:
Keep cool; Don't lose your head; Never throw away an
envelope without holding it up to the light, there may be
something inside.
1 remember being involved with others in Room 21 on
a late Saturday night, when hop-pickers were passing the
school, having come from the pub in a bad state. I
believe soap and washbowls were thrown from the top
windows. Next morning the whole school had half-an-
hour's dictation!
My contemporaries were Ronald Lemmon, Dennis
Brass, Whit, Spencer Young, Cyril Wing, Fred May and
the Kendons down as far as Norman.
THOMAS TURNBULL, 1906-1912

Reggie Kenworthy was rather a character. He was
deaf, which made possible two of the following incidents.
One day he had committed some misdeed for which
W.A.B. ticked him off at some length, amid a small crowd
which had gathered to hear the news and the eloquence.
He let the Head finish his masterly judgment, and then
inquired, with an innocent expression, "Were you
speaking to me, Sir?"
Because he was deaf, Reggie had to sit in the front row,
right under the mouthpiece of instruction. W.A.B. was
wont to close his eyes while hearing a boy read his essay,
for the greater concentration and enjoyment. At such
a time Reggie would lift his hands towards the august
countenance, and twiddle sacrilegious fingers within a
perilous inch of the sacred beard. But the head was not
facing south, and Reggie had a shrewd sense of timing,
and was never caught in the act.
Years later, in 1915 or 1916, Reggie, now a R.F.C.
pilot, made an unofficial landing on the football field.
His plane, "A Nightjar from Ceylon", was a gift from
that colony. His landing was the signal for a general
holiday in the neighbourhood: even Mr. Bloor brought
along his pupils from Winchet Hill School. But few
estates can be less suitable for a take-off; and in attempting
this Reggie crashed his plane into a hedge. He promptly
turned off the heat, so no fire broke out. He was nothing
if not cool. We did not hear what sort of a ticking-off
his less sympathetic superiors gave him.
JOHN WILSON, 1906-1930

My father was among the pioneers of photography.
His self-portraits, in the wet-plate days, involved first
opening the lens and then walking to and from the
subject-position, remaining static long enough for the
impression to register. How he obtained two German
"Frena" box-cameras I do not know; but one day he
gave me one.
Rol films were in their adolescence at this time, and the
impecunious amateur was frustrated in many ways. The
"Frena" flat film packs circumvented most of these.
In the darkroom each exposed film could be dealt with
separately. Many times I have exposed, developed and
gas-printed (by enlarger, because the negative would be
wet) within 7 minutes-an excellent selling gimmick.
Before the pack could be inserted it was necessary to
use a stiff card to support the first face. This card had
two holes for finger and thumb; and you "dropped"
this card before making your first exposure. Should you
be over-excited (as when surreptitiously snapping your
Headmaster during a history lesson, when he sat on his
desk with his eyes shut) you might well omit to "drop".
On this daring occasion I was lucky enough to secure just
the head of the subject framed by the thumb-hole. The
picture made a lantern-slide, and was publicly displayed-
later on.
Much romance has been written about 'nightingales'.
One surprise of my early life brought the bird down to
earth for me.
This bird was reputed to return annually to the same
haunt. Certainly he used the same perch throughout his
singing period. One dark night we planned to pin-point
him. From three compass points we moved inwards
while he sang, and halted during his silences, By
assuming that he would resent us we made this slow
progress very exciting, the thrill mounting as we con-
verged. We met at a chestnut-tot and were filled with
his song. After a while I dared to use a torch; then crept
the light to within inches of the singer. He made no
objection; and when my other hand reached gently to
touch him, without loss of song-phrase he fluttered to a
near perch. This was for me an experience as thrilling
as the song to a poet.
                                 * * *
The demand from Colonial parents, for schools to
accept full responsibility for their children, was met by
many private schools as it was by my grandfather and my
father, We sometimes had 20 or 30 boys with us for
holiday weeks. Thus we enjoyed two very different
lives, one strictly regimented and the other practically
untrammelled. The transition was immediate, on the
last day of term; and the summer holiday of eight weeks
was a Bevis-like existence. We were mixed from
Brazil, Costa Rica, South Africa, British Guiana, Egypt,
India and even China. Some were coloured but most
were English, born abroad. All had some contribution
strange to us natives, and they taught us much. We
learnt that kites could be home-made in all sizes and
shapes; that these could compete not only in height and
distance, but to the extent of destroying their competitors.
Hot-air balloons could sail out of sight. Long-bows,
cross-bows, spears and boomerangs became real weapons.
Fishing expeditions, with packed food for the day,
involved dawn marches, river bathes, rain-soaked clothes;
but never disappointment. Farmers were friendly, and
there was little damage to their property or our reputation.
The life was Elysian.
Once we planned to profit on the last day of holiday by
displaying to the returning boarders a monster hot-air
balloon, larger than any we had previously made. This
parti-coloured ellipse was suspended from a roof, was
distended by fanning, and then the methylated spirit
heater was ignited. The balloon ascended, to the cheers
of the wondering invitees (who had contributed from
beginning-of-term pockets "to cover our expenses" ).
It began slowly to swing from side to side, Disaster
impended-we knew the inevitable end-until the flame
holed the tilted paper, and the whole flared to destruction.
The falling wire framework "bombed" the onlookers,
and failure became exciting success.
The shorter winter break was just as enjoyable in
different pleasures. Most of us learnt to play chess,
started our stamp collections or spent hours in the carpen-
try shops.
It must have been an easy method for our elders in
supervising our adolescence; but there must have been
much more supervision than we noticed, Meals com-
pelled us to attend, and someone would have known had
beds been vacant. The freedom we enjoyed allowed us
to contribute to our own upbringing, and we acquired the
happy knack of making our own amusements and sharing
our endeavours. The older boys, in pursuing their own
interests, instructed the younger. If automatic amuse-
ments had been more advanced we would surely have
used them-and omitted other occupations. No modern
boy would envy us what we had, but neither would he
know how to use it. We had no thought that we were
out-of-date. To be "with it" had not yet arrived.
NORMAN KENDON, 1905-1917

First impressions are the most vivid. On the day of
my arrival at Bethany I found myself caught up in a surge
of boys, and was astonished to discover that the centre of
attraction was a fresh-complexioned, bearded, stocky man
with twinkling eyes and a friendly smile. In a powerful
voice he was urging all to equip themselves for the work
of the new term; and from a well-stocked table he was
selling notebooks, exercise-books, pens, pencils, rubbers,
rulers, blotters and other educational sundries. He was
giving change for tendered cash seemingly without a
glance, and at the same time was delivering lively little
lectures on the value of mental arithmetic and speedy
calculation.
I turned to a boy who was watching the proceedings
with a puckish grin, and asked, "Who is the old fellow
with the whiskers?
That ", came the reply, "is Feeny, himself. He is
a most versatile person". An unusual introduction,
perhaps, to a headmaster who commanded the respect
and won the affection of all who came under his influence.
The boy, Clement Smith of Tunbridge Wells, became
my inseparable companion, and although since Bethany
days he has lived in Australia, we still correspond and
recall old happenings.
                                     * * *
The day was done; and below stairs the teaching staff
were enjoying their well-earned respite from keeping the
noses of their spirited young charges to the grindstone of
learning. In the rooms above, the scions drowsed off
one by one to join in the Great Snore. All was still.
But not for long! Unseen hands opened cubicle
doors, words were whispered, pyjama-clad figures issued
forth, silently stealing along the corridors to the wash-
place. The enamelled wash-basins were transported to
the main staircase and piled high, precariously perched
like some tottering totem on the top step. From the
shadowy group, now on bended knees, came the thrice
uttered wail, "0 Baal, hear us", the basins were given a
sharp push, and shot clattering, clanging, twanging,
strumming down the stairs.
Long before the din had subsided the perpetrators
were back in their beds; and when Jonah-why was it
always Jonah ?-had leapt up the stairs, spluttering and
trailing clouds of wrath, he found only Sleeping Beauties,
blissfully snoring.
ALBERT MARTIN, 1912-1913

One of the consolations of advancing years is the
ability to recall in detail events of fifty years earlier,
though often at the price of a complete blank about what
happened yesterday.
Old Bethanians of around 1913 will remember that
W.A.B. was apt at times to drop his aitches; and this was
often imitated by his pupils. On one occasion the class,
when asked to recite in chorus the soliloquy in Macbeth
which questions the position of a murderous weapon,
with one accord chanted
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The `andle toward my `and?"
If the kindly old gentleman sensed the undercurrent of
fun, he gave no indication thereof.
CLEMENT SMITH, 1912-1913

                 BETHANY-SOME MEMORIES
                        Jan., 1918 to Dec., 1920
Of the bearded, frock-coated Mr. Benians, assisted by
the devoted Billy Ruzzak, in the dim light of petrol-gas
inverted mantles, pinning on the walls of the lobby our
only links with the outer world-the pages of the Illus-
trated London News.
* * *
Of the savoury smell of toasting bread, laced with
scorched boxwood, as we cooked smuggled tokes pre-
cariously balanced on inky rulers before the classroom fire.
And of the rich flavour of the extruded meat of sweet
chestnuts boiled in a tin can on the same fire.
And, best of all, of brown beef dripping on thick new
tokes coaxed surreptitiously from warm-hearted maids
through the kitchen hatch on bath nights. What hungry
little beasts we were !
* * *
Of the stories of Mr. Samuel Kendon assailing the
London Markets, during the days of food shortages, to
obtain food for the hungry horde at Bethany; and bringing
back barrels of treacle, sacks of oatmeal and flour through
the war-time night in the "Goudhurst Ghost", his
famous T-model Ford open tourer.
* * *

Of the delirious merriment noisily expressed by little
boys when a flimsy, hastily-built toboggan descending
the hillside at breakneck speed disintegrated into a cloud
of snow and timber fragments beneath the hefty mass of
Mr. Steve.
* * *
Of Mr. Steve bleakly drawing in his nostrils while
surveying the scrawny dripping youths, who in 1921
succeeded in winning from all other British schools and
colleges the Darnell Trophy of the Royal Life-Saving
Society.
* * *
Of John Wilson, our " Tort", taking us at a smart trot
round the Green in the early mornings, no doubt to
stimulate the circulation or to awaken our sluggish
intellectual awareness-if any.
Of his kindly provision of khaki mittens to insulate
chronically chilblained hands from the cold conductivity
of exercise-book pages, at their coldest in morning lessons
when "old Feeny" (Mr. Benians) dictated his marathon
attempt to paraphrase the Old Testament! I date my
degenerate scribble from this time.
Of hot summer Sunday afternoons, when, spared from
walking round the Continent, we lay in the shade of leafy
trees listening enthralled to the reading of The Broad
Highway in the best Kentish dialect of our " Tort",
VERNON COSTER, 1918-1920

What a host of memories comes crowding to the mind
with the mention of Bethany! The peace and quiet of
a verdant oasis, broken by the thump of boot or the
satisfying crack of bat on ball, and an occasional shout-
the smell of the oil lamps in Chapel, and the long-drawn
terminal wail of Saville's tenor-the blundering flight of
may-bugs round the oak tree-the fakir beds and Jacob's
pillows-the rough-edged rendering of bathroom ballads
-the misplaced interest of the Old Man in a report that
a flock of birds had been seen in the direction of Goud-
hurst.
Of the many pictures that remain, some of the dearest
concern an episode which has never ceased to bring a
smile to my lips. It was on the occasion of a Speech
Day. Bert Harding and I were having a leisurely shave
after dinner, when we were suddenly struck by an un-
natural silence; and investigation confirmed that we were
the only two on the premises. In fact the rest of the
staff and school were to be seen half-way up Well Hill.
We refused, however, to be stampeded, and set off with
our customary sangfroid, when our toilet had been com-
pleted, for Goudhurst Village Hall. In due course we
arrived, to be met at the door by Mr. Samuel, who
conducted us in state up the aisle, between the rows of
turning heads of the expectant audience, to reserved seats
at the front. We were told afterwards that our dignified
deportment conveyed the impression of honoured guests
being received.
ROBERT WEBB, 1918-1924

Close upon forty years have passed since I left Bethany;
but I remember for always, with affection and deep
respect, the debt I owe to Kendon and Benians, the two
remarkable Heads of this small community, quietly
nestling amid the Kent hills and hop gardens. You have
only to run your eyes down the list in The Old Bethanian
to realise how far their tremendous influence must have
spread-wider even than the travels of St. Paul. That
influence, by both precept and example, has maintained
its hold through the years, so that we have carried a torch
to many corners of the world. I have often thought that
if the Governments of the world were predominantly
composed of old Benianites and Kendonites, there would
not be the remotest chance of another world war.
During the years Bethany has had to move with the
times, yet has retained its essential characteristics, for
the simple reason that it was founded upon a rock, the
Christian faith of the young man who, in 1866 or there-
abouts, was led to make a new home there, and called it
Bethany because that was a place where his Master was
made at home.
Our elders used to tell us that our schooldays should be
the happiest of our lives. Certainly I have known no
happier ones.
A few days ago, for the first time since I left, I had the
pleasure of calling on Miss Ella Kendon, still to me a
sprightly young Bethanian little changed in all these
years, and still with the firm, remembered speech. Once
before I visited the old spot, in September in holiday
time, How small the desks seemed, from my loftier
stature; how small the classrooms; how silent the cloisters
and playground; how strange yet familiar. Completely
unchanged the dear old playground oak, the lovely view
across the valley, and the smell of hops. As I stood
where the old stile used to lead to the field, the ghosts of
friends of old seemed to be around me, the playground
filled with boys and noise, and in the field the sound of
bat against ball. The new Hall had vanished. Ralph
Shallis turned to meet me on his way to the field. Ocken-
den was ambling by, chewing a whipped cream walnut.
75% of my weekly pocket-money of sixpence disappeared
in Whipped Cream Walnuts. They don't seem to taste
the same now.
Ralph Shallis, my closest contemporary, soon dis-
covered the greed and hardness of the world, He
sickened of it and became a free-lance missionary,
spreading the good word through France, Spain and
Algiers. Occasionally I receive a news-letter of travels
and progress. He is married, and often travels with his
wife, Rangeley. He serves his Master well and faithfully,
and has sustained me and encouraged my flagging faith
in troublous times.
What news of Pyrke? We were both ex-polios, and
had very serious contests nightly at pulling up on the
crossbar over our bedroom door. I now have a strong
right arm. I hope he has.
You New Boys, do you still top-and-tail gooseberries,
call bread "tokes", put up sham mark-lists? How
unlucky you are: you cannot hear dear old Mr. Benians,
with a sad wag of lovely white beard, say, "You'll never
be more than a crossing sweeper! Don't waste your
father's money! " Are the tokes still half-an-inch thick
with dripping? If caught smoking behind a hedge or
other friendly cover, are you made to smoke a cigar in
front of the class until you make a hasty exit with pale
green visage ?-a favourite punishment from D. A.
Fairman. You have not the good fortune to experience
the thrill of History made to live in " Tort's" skilful
hands and quiet voice, or Geography likewise. Nor will
you have Miss Ella for French, or Miss Clarrie for Music
(shades of Ossie Ross playing Chopin!). However,
I have no doubt you have teachers equally well chosen.
From the Magazine, your Plays seem to continue the
same high standard. How enjoyable to witness, and
what fun to perform.
And at night time, as I lie listening on earphones to
D. A. Fairman's super valve set, I still see Ossie Ross in
pyjamas, printing photos by torch light; and I see" Mac"
fixing up an aerial from the dorm window across "the
flats", and getting Radio Paris on one valve and a coil I
(In 1929 MacPherson was wireless operator in a ship that
ran on the rocks in Islay Sound. He stuck at his post, and
got the S.O.S. through, with resulting saving of the
whole crew.)
And in winter I remember ice on washbowls-and
washing in singlets strictly forbidden. Those were the days.
I have left no mark at Bethany, save some initials
carved on a desk. What is important is that Bethany has
left its mark on me-made a man of a weakling, a Christian
of an agnostic, a man more tolerant of his brothers and
sisters of all creeds and colours.
REG. PRITCHARD, 1926-1928

It was five o'clock on a Wednesday evening and a voice
snapped: " Haven't you got another jacket, Baker?
The school matron seized the sleeve of my jacket and
indicated the frayed cuffs.
I've got another upstairs" I offered hopefully.
"Well, go and change at once. You can't possibly go
to the meeting like that, especially with Mr. Church
coming."
We knew Richard Church was a writer, who lived in
a converted oast house about 5 minutes' walk from the
school. We used to see him walking round the lanes and
sometimes leaning over a gate. It seemed a wonderful
life to me, particularly when exams loomed up. I wanted
to spend a lifetime "just leaning".
But we all thought poetry a bit wet. And in 1940 or
so there were dog-fights between Spitfires and Messer-
schmidts to watch, there were girls, there was cricket and
swimming and football and a thousand and one things to
do. Poets were a nuisance, poets like Richard Church
who made me change my jacket.
But as secretary of the school literary society I would
feel rather superior sitting up in front next to a real
writer.
The Headmaster, who always chaired meetings with
important visitors, called for the minutes. I read them,
and then went on to read the Chronicle. The Chronicle
was an account of the past week's happenings, and we
used to see how far we could go. "Go on," the sneaky
boys would urge, "put it in. Bet you won't say we had
a boiled egg for breakfast"-"the egg" being a reference
to a certain master's close-cropped scalp. I said it and
everyone roared; but Richard Church didn't bat an
eyelid. Indeed the joke was rather obscure.
He spoke that evening on W. H. Davies. I don't
think anyone of us had ever heard of W. H. Davies,
although being a tramp for life was a distinct possibility
for us, or so the Head constantly told us.
Not long after that we were invited to Mr. Church's
house. We put on our Sunday suits and pushed the
more brazen members of the party through the gate and
up to the door.
I expect you'd all like to see the house," said Mr.
Church. We said we would. "This is where I do my
writing. Sometimes I stay here for several days when
I'm working". A few of us murmured approximately
the right thing. I thought this room was absolutely
marvellous. Lined with books-" Review copies" Mr.
Church explained-overlooking the orchard, it must
have been like a lighthouse with the seas of cherry-
blossom foaming round the house in springtime. It was
just what a writer's room should be; and I liked oast
houses anyway, those little cowled figures, their dim
interiors, vaguely mysterious and smelling of hops long
since dried and drunk.
Downstairs, Mrs. Church said, "Come into the garden".
We followed her outside and squatted on the grass.
Now who'd like some cherries?" she asked, producing
a bag of the big juicy red ones.
"Didn't think there were any left," whispered Fatty.
Our highly organised cherry raids had taken their toll as
usual. "Cherry raid?" someone would say. "OK,
when?" "Just before tea. Have to watch it though.
Old Roberts has got a new cherry-minder with a twelve-
bore". And we went out, empty pocketed, to return
shortly afterwards with revealing bulges in our jackets.
Then there would be minor explosions all over the place
when anyone stood on a cherry stone. And questions
would be asked and...
"Take a few". Mrs. Church offered me the bag and
I felt a little guilty. We were half bloated with cherries
already, but you couldn't say so.
The party broke up and we walked back down the lane
heavy with the scent of meadowsweet. Perhaps we were
thankful the visit was over; we were all a bit awkward and
embarrassed. Everyone laughed about the cherries, and
the talk turned to girls.
But for once I was thinking of something else: that
room with all the books and the orchard and the views
and what it was like to be a writer. Having won the
school essay prize not long before, I rather fancied myself
as an author, What a wonderful life, I thought, to be
a real author like Richard Church, important enough to
get my jacket changed.
DONALD BAKER, 1939-1941

MEMORIES OF J. J. KENDON     (from The Bethanian, 1960)

During the closing years of last century, the part played by our Founder in
the running of the School, apart from conducting two services and preaching two
lengthy sermons every Sunday at the little Chapel-to which the left-hand aisle
had not yet been added-consisted almost entirely of acting as a " recruiting
sergeant," and visiting prospective parents who had made enquiries about the
school. With his white hair and long white beard, he presented such a venerable
figure that I am sure most parents whom he visited would feel that they could
safely entrust their off-spring to the care of an institution of which he was the
founder and co-principal. At any rate, my parents did, when he came to see us.
I wonder how many Bethanians know why Bethany House was so named.
Mr. Kendon used to say that he read in the Gospels that Our Lord visited Bethany
and rested there; and it was his hope that his new school would be similarly
honoured, He was indeed a man of "The Book," and took its contents very
literally, if ever any man did. He did not believe in spending time on sermon
preparation, but when in the pulpit he spoke "as the spirit moved him"; and
often we thought and said-very irreverently-that the spirit did not move him very
fast, for his sermons were usually punctuated by frequent pauses, during which
all we heard was an occasional " er-er"
The story of the first boarder at Bethany, who stayed only one night, I have
always found a very touching one. Here it is as it was told to me by Mr. Samuel
many years ago. After Mr. Kendon had conducted a day school for the boys of
Curtisden Green for several years (as related by Frank Kendon in his delightful
Memoir of his Father), he received a letter from a London acquaintance, asking
him to take his son as a boarder, and offering him an attractive fee if he would
consent to receive him. It would have been a welcome addition to the few pence
contributed weekly by the local boys, and arrangements were made for the new
boarder to come. Mr. Kendon borrowed a handcart and trudged all the way to
Marden station to meet him and to bring back his tin trunk containing his clothes
and books. Whilst Mrs. Kendon was preparing some tea, the boy was shown his
bedroom and told to unpack his belongings, which he did at once. As he was
having his meal, Mr. Kendon went upstairs and found the boy's books arranged
neatly on a chest of drawers, and on examining them he quickly discovered that
the new pupil had already advanced a good deal further in his studies than he
himself had, and he felt that he could not really help him. After the boy had gone
up to bed, Mr. Kendon talked the matter over with Mrs. Kendon, and then they
both knelt down and prayed for guidance-as their custom was-concerning what
action they ought to take; and, having received such guidance, they went to bed
sadly yet serenely. Next morning the boy was given his breakfast, and then the
situation was explained to him, and he re-packed his box, and again they trudged
to Marden station with his trunk on the same borrowed handcart, and so he
returned to his London home, and that was the end of the first boarder at Bethany!
A truly strange beginning to the remarkable story of Bethany's next hundred years,
is it not? It was after this experience that Mr. Kendon obtained the assistance of
Mr. and Mrs. W. A. Benians, both of them experienced London teachers, in
conducting the academic work of the young school.
Sometimes I think that J. J. K. would have made a good detective. On one
occasion, he was returning home to " The Firs " from Goudhurst rather late at
night, when he noticed a light in one of the Bethany bedrooms long after lights
were supposed to have been collected. (Old boys of those days will remember
well the " half-hour candles" which were the only illumination of the bedrooms
and which were given out every night after evening prep. They were placed on a
small bracket in each bedroom, and after about 15 or 20 minutes the master on duty
came round and collected the remaining small " ends." But occasionally a piece
of these" contraband" goods would fall into the hands of some young rascal. It has
always been a source of amazement to me that, with all those wooden partitions
between the bedrooms and the flimsy nature of the candle brackets, the school was
never set on fire and burnt to the ground !). Knowing that Mr. Samuel was away
for the day, on business in London, Mr. Kendon entered the school and crept
upstairs to the guilty bedroom, Its occupants, of course, heard his footsteps on
the stairs, and hurriedly extinguished the light. But those half-hour candles
developed a long wick, which, when they were put out, emitted a horrible reek,"
which continued to pervade a bedroom for minutes afterwards. So when Mr.
Kendon entered the bedroom and accused the boys of having had an illegal light
after hours, they of course vehemently denied the accusation, whereupon he
exclaimed " But, -er-er-look at the smell !" And when one cheeky rascal
declared that he could not see it, the visitor-like Queen Victoria on a famous
occasion-was decidedly "not amused," and dire results followed,
Then there was another occasion, when Mr. Samuel was again away for the
day on business in London. During the morning, Mr. Kendon, being aware of
this, came across to Bethany from The Firs" and was just descending the brick
steps from the old cricket field, when he noticed J.B., the general factotum who
looked after the school garden, and cleaned the masters' and the family's Sunday
shoes, etc., etc., etc., just coming out of the front gate with the sack on his back
in which he was in the habit of taking the boys' boots and shoes that needed repair
up to the cobbler's shop on "The Green." But instead of proceeding there by
the shortest route, he was walking towards the chapel. Thinking it strange that he
should prefer to carry the heavy sack on two sides of the triangle instead of one,
Mr. Kendon followed him at a short distance and discovered the sack contained
-not boots and shoes for repair-but cabbages from the school garden, which he
was taking to the small public-house (now closed and empty) just across from the
chapel. Whereupon Mr. Kendon "sacked" him on the spot! But when Mr.
Samuel returned from London and heard what had happened, he decided that
J. B. was too valuable a servant to lose for the sake of a few cabbages, and he was
soon re-instated,
And so among these memories of over 60 years ago, there remains the memory
of a very faithful servant of God, who founded not only (as Frank Kendon says)
"a school to which now some thousands of men look back with affection, a school
with a strong and personal tradition," but also the " Weald of Kent Hop-pickers'
Mission," which for many years did valuable Christian work among the thousands
of East-enders who in those days came down from London every autumn for the
hop-picking season, All honour to the memory of J. J. K.!
WILLIAM T. BLAKE 1895-1906.


MY FIRST TERM
21st January, 1895 is a day I have never forgotten and shall remember as long
as I live, for on that day my Father brought me, a small boy of eleven, over from
Hawkhurst to become a weekly boarder at Bethany. Till then the Winter had
been quite mild in Kent, with little or no snow or frost; but, as David Kendon,
then aged about 15, drove him back to Horsmonden station in the old four-wheeled
carriage, with ancient Tommy between the shafts, it began to snow steadily, and
it went on snowing, and freezing too, almost without cessation, for at least six
weeks. All the ponds were frozen over, and we had skating and sliding on the
Furnace Pond at Horsmonden, (Lake Windermere itself was frozen over for
fully ten weeks before a thaw came). There had not been such a very severe
wintry spell in England for about 50 years, nor has there been one like it since.
I was allotted a bed in the room nearest the top of the stairs leading to the
upper storey of the block at the front of the school, Each of the three bedrooms
on this corridor contained six beds, and when you added six boys as well there was
little room for anything else. It is a mystery to me now where we put our
clothes after we had undressed-probably we laid them on top of our bedclothes during those bitterly cold weeks, to get a little more warmth. When I rose next
morning, I found that in order to wash we had to go along to the end of the
corridor, where seven or eight enamel bowls had been placed on a lead-lined shelf
in front of the small window looking down on the gate into the playground.
These bowls had been half-filled with water over night, and by the morning that
water had frozen over, and so we had to break the ice before we could wash.
Small wonder was it that when I reached home on the first Friday evening and my
Mother began to examine me all over in the way that Mothers have, she gave one
look at the back of my head and then exclaimed in horror stricken tones: "What-
ever have you been doing to your neck?" I replied" Nothing "-an answer which
was absolutely correct It was a grim start for an only child who had been rather
"coddled" at home until then ! Little did I think I should remain at Bethany for
l1~ years, as pupil, then pupil teacher and finally as a junior master.
The big boys of the school at that time included, amongst others, " Jos"
Stamp, Macquarie and Butcher. Stamp left at the end of the Summer Term of
1895, though still not yet 16 years old, having obtained by examination a Second
Division clerkship in the civil service. His home was then at Sidcup, but on
reaching London he continued his studies in the evenings at Clark's College, and
soon gained a brilliant position in the examination for First Division Clerks.
After that he progressed steadily until Mr. Lloyd George became Chancellor of the
Exchequer and was attracted by Stamp's great statistical ability; and from then on
his success was assured, and he became first Sir Josiah Stamp and finally Lord
Stamp, until during the second World War a German bomb destroyed both his
London home and himself simultaneously. I recall that a few years after he left
Bethany he returned for a week-end, and on the Sunday conducted the services
at the little chapel, or at any rate one of them; and he took for his text the words of
St. Paul in the fourth chapter of his Epistle to the Philippians " Finally, brethren,
whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are
just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, .....think on these
things."
Macquarie was a burly Scot from the distant Island of Mull, and I never
understood how his parents ever heard of Bethany in that far-off island of the Inner
Hebrides. Butcher was a tall thin boy, who had a strong partiality for pickles and
nearly always kept in his locker in the top back desk in the Upper School a jar of
pickled onions or of "Piccalilli" and, when Mr. Benians turned his back for a
moment to write on the blackboard, "Butch" would lift the lid of his desk and
with the aid of a small school fork would pop into his mouth a piece of his favourite
but unusual delicacy, eating it without any bread or other accompaniment.
Perhaps the consumption of so much food soaked in vinegar accounted for his
thin-ness. Fortunately Mr. Benians never asked him a question whilst his mouth
was still busily chewing.
Amongst the other bigger boys were Tom and Bert Benians, Bill and Ernest
Hatch (of Hawkhurst) and the two Gamages (from Leamington)-_cousins of the
well-known Holborn firm of sports outfitters-of all of whom many vivid memories
remain, even after sixty-five years have come and gone. But enough for this time !
W. T. B.

THE OLD BOY
The Old Boy parked his unobtrusive Morris beside the larger cars and
shooting brakes that straddled the lane in front of the school, their chromium and
varnish gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He had driven leisurely through the
countryside, the shadows of trees and bushes dappling an intricate pattern on the
bonnet of his car, wondering all the time why he was going back there after so many
years. Whitsuns had come and gone, and the friends of his school days were dead,
dispersed or forgotten, and he doubted very much whether he would meet anybody
he knew; for he was an old Old Boy. His wife had been indignant at his going.
"Why," she had said, "do you have to go gallivanting off down there when the
lawn needs mowing, the house front needs painting, and you know that you rarely
get time to do all these things, and now you go wasting your time chasing down to
that old school of yours. Anybody would think you were going childish or
something. Why, when you took me there once, nobody took the slightest notice
of me !" After listening to her tirade in silence he had slammed the car door and
driven off; and as he drove he felt that his wife, his life, even he himself, were
distasteful, though he was not aware of any standard by which he could hold
them in contempt.
He had had what is generally termed a successful life in his small way, He
had been thirty years at the office. For the first few years he had no illusions as to
what constituted his job. The office, like many of its kind, had a system which
really ran itself, so that practically half the staff could be declared redundant
without affecting efficiency. The secret of success lay in convincing people that
you were indispensable, which you did by continually muttering about the pressure
of work. Like everyone else he had done this, and after about ten years had
succeeded in convincing not only everyone else, but also himself, Yes, he had
been successful, had married comfortably, and now lived comfortably in a suburb
with thousands of other successful people who based their comfort on discreet
overdrafts and maintained it with carefully adjusted social blinkers. His wife
had proved respectably fertile, enabling him to reproduce himself twice in both
sexes, for which miracle, being sufficiently conceited to deem it a blessing, he was
grateful. Such was his situation-comfortable, respectable, successful: yet as he
drove through the countryside that Whitsun afternoon, he began more and more
to hate it, and thought to himself that his life had been nothing but an unexpurgated
version of Mrs. Dale's Diary
Now he had arrived at the school, and though he saw nobody he knew, he
remembered. There were the lanes he had walked with friends. There were
the swamps where he had crept to smoke, and no cigarette since had had the
exquisite flavour of those secret ones, There were the creeper-covered walls,
which in late summer would be all russet and glowing, the creeper blending with
the red of the old brick, And there was the view from the playground, the
ever-changing view. The pale green and white of spring; the summer when the
earth is a darker green and the sun is brazen; but most beautiful in the Autumn
when a soft mist blurs all the outlines in the valley, fingers of smoke point through,
the windless air is scented with the sharp tang of fallen leaves and woodsmoke,
and the trees seem to sigh a little sadly at the approach of sleep.
He stood for a few moments looking out over the fields, and then remembered
his initials, These were probably the only thing remaining of him in the school,
if they had not been defaced or painted over. One night in the bottom corridor, he
had carved his initials on the bedroom wall with a clasp knife, and he hoped that
they were still there, for he had not been brilliant and his name did not feature in
any roll of honour, either academic or athletic. He would go and see; so he entered
the cloisters, went through the lobby, and found himself ascending the narrow
stairs with some difficulty, remembering how he used to chase up and down them
as a boy. He felt rather embarrassed when he reached the top, for there was a group
of boys outside his old room. He smiled at them and told them what he was
looking for, and they politely opened the door for him and stood watching
curiously and a trifle incredulously while he rummaged behind the bed, pulling it
away from the wall in his eagerness. " Here it is !" he cried. " My name
Do you know, I carved that thirty-six years ago; that's something, isn't it ?" and
he laughed delightedly and turned to the group of watching boys.
You ought to be happy here: I was and I never knew it; I don't think I've
ever known it, and now I suppose it's too late, Here, do you smoke? Yes I'm
sure you do. Here !" He thrust cigarettes upon all of them; and they smiled
and were embarrassed, thanked him and thrust the cigarettes into their pockets.
"So long. Enjoy yourselves." And he stumbled down the staircase that
he had run down as a boy.
It was when he was walking by himself in the fields that he remembered
the jump down by the stream in the valley. In his day the boys used to jump over
the stream at a certain point where one of the banks was higher than the other, so
that one jumped from a height Onto a lower bank of slippery mud that sloped down
into the stream, Not a long jump but a trifle unnerving, and the Old Boy had
never been able to do it, Not that his failure resulted in any social difficulties, for
he was popular enough to prevent any accusations of softness or cowardice from
sticking; but some of his friends would laugh at him, and his sense of failure had
always dogged him, and many times he had stood alone on the bank of the stream,
trying to pluck up enough resolution to leap. He would close his eyes, tense his
muscles and will himself, but after a few seconds he would open his eyes again to see
the stream tinkling over pebbles beneath his feet, kissed along its length by weeping
willow trees; and he would spit in disgust and trudge back up the hill to the school.
Now his earlier failure seemed to return to him with all the poignancy of a deep-
seated regret, and it occurred to him to revisit the stream to see if the jump was
still there, So he strolled through the fields past Three Ponds and descended the
steep slope of a ploughed field which soon brought him to the stream.
He had little difficulty in finding the jump. It was very much the same as he
remembered it, though he thought that the farther bank had been worn down a bit,
making it a trifle steeper. The afternoon was hot, and after standing for a few
moments gazing down into the water, the Old Boy found himself a p1ace to lie
down in the grass with his head and shoulders propped against a tree. For a while
he lay there, the sun shining pale red through his lightly closed eyelids, thinking
about the jump, Some of his old exasperation at failure had returned, but he
shrugged it off; he was old now, so what did it matter; and he drifted off into a
doze, sleepily aware of the sun and the stream and the birds darting through
the trees of the orchard opposite.
He found himself awake, for he did not remember waking. He found himself
standing on the high bank of the jump staring down into the stream; found
himself closing his eyes, tensing his muscles; and somehow the stream, the fields,
the very air seemed different to when he had come there a few minutes before,
Everything seemed as it had been when he was a boy; clearer and fresher. It
seemed to him that the chance had returned, and with the chance the fear and
uncertainty; and surely he could hear his old friends calling to him across death
and forgetfulness, urging him on,
"Go on, you idiot, jump !"
"You can't hurt yourself, jump !"
Their voices rang through his head like echoes in a cave and their faces
passed before his eyes, the Old Boy standing poised at the jump. Then suddenly
he jumped, and the world seemed to open like a flower, radiating a long-sought-
after joy, only to close again like a trap when he found himself lying face down in
the mud, his feet trailing ridiculously in the water.
Slowly, painfully, he clambered out of the mud and the water, and slowly and
sadly he made his way up the steep slope of the ploughed field towards the school.
Two boys had come down to the swamp to smoke. Creeping into their lair,
they carefully dispersed the smoke by blowing it through the closely intertwined
twigs and branches, They both heard the strange sound and stopped, thinking
that it might be a master. But when they peered cautiously round the bushes,
they saw that the sound was made by an old boy, and when they looked again
they saw that he was crying.
GEORGE WILSON.

MEMORIES OF W. A. B.       (From The Bethanian, 1961)
William Alfred Benians was a very remarkable man. He was also the
father of five gifted sons-four of whom lived to become distinguished members
of four different professions-as well as three daughters, one of whom rose to a
very high administrative post in the West of England, in the Queen Victoria
Nurses' Association, and another gave many years of devoted service to teaching
in the junior school at Bethany. But Mr. Benians always maintained that Willie,
his eldest son, whose untimely death in very early manhood he never ceased to
mourn, would have proved, if he had lived, the most brilliant of them all; but he
became a victim of that fell and then still unconquered scourge of tuberculosis
whilst on a sea voyage in the Pacific Ocean in a vain endeavour to regain his
health.
W. A. B. was a born teacher, Although his academic qualification-an
Associateship of the College of Preceptors-if judged by modern standards was
somewhat slight, he was quite willing, and able too, to teach almost any subject,
even though his own knowledge of it was very limited. Old Boys will no doubt
remember his lessons on " political economy," as it was called at the turn of the
century, which was regarded as a "snip" subject at the First Class C.O.P.
Examinations, A mere half dozen lessons in this subject were quite sufficient to
enable one pupil, at any rate, to obtain a high mark. I also remember that after
I had passed the London Matriculation Examination, in June, 1900, I had to
begin to learn Greek, which was at that time still a compulsory subject for the
London Intermediate Arts Examination; and once every day before either
morning or afternoon school, I used to walk along the road towards Mount Villas,
armed with my copy of Dr. William Smith's Initia Graeca Part One, to meet
Mr. Benians on his way to school, and he then heard me repeat the declensions
of Greek nouns or part of the conjugations of Greek verbs, which I had memorised
on the previous evening; and I am pretty sure that his knowledge of Greek at
that time did not extend much beyond the Greek alphabet! But one never
suspected this at the time.
His handwriting could be almost copper-plate when he chose-as when he
inscribed the names of prize-winners in book prizes at the end of the year-but
when he was writing in chalk on the blackboard it often degenerated almost,
if not quite, into illegibility; and his spelling too was not altogether impeccable.
On one occasion, during a lesson on general elementary science, or "Heat, Light
and Sound " as it was then called, he spelt the word " gases" with two s' in the
middle, and formed the initial letter like a figure eight; and when a rash youth
inquired what 8 asses were doing in a science lesson, he received the acid reply
that he was undoubtedly one of the asses, and would almost certainly become
a crossing sweeper when he left school, as it seemed the only occupation for which
he was fit ! (Mr. Benians never foresaw the coming of tarmac roads, which
eliminated all need for the "profession" to which he was fond of consigning
all boys who incurred his wrath). When he gave a lesson in handwriting he often used to make us write the first four letters of the word " minute" in our
exercise-books some twenty or thirty times, and then to turn the books the other
way round, whereupon we would easily detect any faults in our writing of the
four letters, as they should look just the same whichever way the book was held.
His Scripture lessons, of which we had one every morning immediately
after prayers-not the paltry one, or at most two, lessons a week as are now
usual in most Grammar Schools-were always vivid and practical, like all his
teaching, and covered a four-year course in Old Testament study, running from
the beginning of Joshua to the end of Second Kings, and in New Testament
work a similar course on the three synoptic Gospels and the Book of The Acts.
He never attempted to tackle either the writings of the Hebrew Prophets or the
Epistles of St. Paul, These scripture lessons were often enlivened by touches
of humour, intentional or not, either on his part or on that of his hearers, On one
occasion he was dealing with Our Lord's remark in the Sermon on the Mount
"first cast Out the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly
to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye," when he suddenly pounced on a
boy who appeared not to be attending very well, with the question: "What kind
of a beam did he mean, do you think?" and the unfortunate youth answered
hastily: "A sunbeam, sir," and was thereafter nicknamed "Sunbeam Hardy"
for the rest of his stay at Bethany.
Mr. Benians always acted as the school doctor for minor ailments, and his
favourite remedies included Gregory Powder (in tablets in later years, but formerly
in a particularly unpleasant liquid form) and Castor Oil in extreme cases, and an
occasional tablet or two of Aspirin. Fortunately we seldom had any very serious
illnesses at Bethany in those days, thanks probably to its healthy position or its
very plain diet, or the iron in its water (Does the tea ever turn black nowadays, when
it has been made with water not quite boiling ?). The most serious case I can
recall was that of Willie Watson, the second of three brothers from Kingston,
Jamaica, who developed pneumonia, and whose life was in great danger for several
weeks and was only saved by the devoted nursing of the Bethany women-folk.
There was of course the famous epidemic of mumps which many Old Boys will
remember, when no fewer than forty-six of the hundred or more boarders suffered
from that unpleasant and often painful complaint. At first an attempt was made
to isolate the victims, but quite soon the sick bay accommodation proved altogether
inadequate, so that the disease had to be allowed to run its course through the
school. During the later stages of the epidemic, Mr. Benians conducted a
"mumps class" of some thirty boys in the Upper School; and I can still see him
going round the classroom every morning with a large paint-brush in one hand
and in the other a big jam-pot filled with some sticky and evil-smelling liquid.
Each boy in turn had to undo the bandage in which his neck was swathed, and then
Mr. Benians anointed his glands liberally with that loathsome semi-liquid, after
which the bandages were replaced, and the lesson was continued!
W. A. B. had a great fear of rheumatism, and in his opinion two of the most
heinous crimes we could commit were (1) to sit on the grass, even in the driest
of summers. (The writer can remember being sent to "stand in the corner"
of the Big School for an hour, after he had discovered six of us lying on the ground
on the Second Eleven cricket pitch at the top of the field, after an exhausting
game on a hot summer's day; it was quite useless to point out to him that one had
provided oneself with a couple of cricket pads, on which to sit!) and (2) to throw
down on the bed, especially an unmade bed, a towel which had just been used,
These were two unforgivable sins.
During the month of July each summer, after the College of Preceptors
Examinations were over, it was usual to spend much time on physical drill in
the open air, and in the practice of ambulance work, in preparation for one of the
two great events in the Bethany year of those days-the Exhibition of Hobbies
and display of Drill and Ambulance, with which the summer term ended. In
preparation for the ambulance work, Mr. Benians always gave a series of half-a-
dozen lessons on its theoretical aspects, including several on human anatomy and
physiology, and also vivid descriptions of the kind of accident with which a
Red-Cross worker might have to deal; and every year as those descriptions
grew gorier and gorier, and blood flowed like water, at least one listener, after
gradually growing paler and paler, was obliged to leave the classroom hurriedly
before he fainted! But W. A. B. believed in making us realise fully the emergencies
we might have to meet when called to deal with an accident.
The other great occasion in the Bethany year was the Celebration of 5th
November, There were no fireworks, but an entertainment at which the fair
denizens of the Ladies' College were our honoured guests-the only occasion in
the year when such intercourse was legally authorised, On the Fifth of November,
Mr. Benians was always in great form, First of all, he wrote for it a play-a new
one every year, with numerous topical allusions-in which he carefully rehearsed
the actors for several weeks beforehand, He was also an excellent performer in
the now defunct art of shadowgraphy," in which, using a minimum of" props,"
he would throw on the back of the screen, merely by working with his hands,
life-like representations of various animals, etc., etc., whilst the audience sat in
darkness on the other side of the screen. But the high-light of the occasion
was the interval, when the old covered playground with its corrugated iron roof
became a veritable fairyland, with lights in coloured lanterns everywhere, and
filled with well-stocked "stalls," overflowing with sweets and cakes of all kinds,
or flowers, or bottles of scent, provided by senior boys who were the stall holders;
and whose only lawful opportunity this was of meeting and entertaining the fair
ladies from the College whose attractions had "tangled their eyes," (Whatever
have present Bethanians done since the Ladies' College was removed to far-off
Cheshire some twenty years ago ?).
I have said that this was the only opportunity for legal traffic between the two  schools, but on Sundays those boys who had sisters at the College were allowed
to attend the morning service at that well-guarded establishment, and this gave
plenty of opportunity for an illegal postal system, which was often much in use.
Occasionally one of these epistles from love-lorn boys fell into the hands of the
redoubtable Miss Rebecca, who then forwarded it to Mr. Benians to deal with.
His method of" dealing with it" on more than one occasion was to read it aloud
to the whole Upper School, in the presence of the unfortunate writer, whose
blushes grew deeper as the reading proceeded, whilst the rest of us howled with
laughter (and W. A. B, chuckled with glee) at the more tender passages.
Two more memories of W, A. B, and then I have done. He was gifted
with many original ideas, and one was to allow each senior boy in turn to choose
a text from the Bible every morning and to write it in large letters on the black-
board at the top end of the Upper School, Then at morning prayers the Head
would turn and read aloud this text, and ask the whole school to repeat it after
him several times until they had memorised it. All went well with this plan until
one morning, when the Head turned right and discovered on the blackboard these
words from the Book of Ecclesiastes: "Of making many books there is no end;
and much study is a weariness of the flesh." Whereupon, before prayers could
proceed, we had to listen to a short homily on the dangers of becoming a disillusioned pessimist like the writer of that book.
Sometimes his obiter dicta were quite epigrammatic, On one occasion
during the morning break he passed through the dining room, where the masters
were having a modest lunch of bread and cheese and cold milk, Pausing by the
table, W. A. B. gazed for a moment on these articles of food and then remarked:
Cheese-yes, good stuff cheese-but to eat it you need the digestion of an ox,"
and passed on into the kitchen.
Yes, W. A. B. was indeed a remarkable man and a great schoolmaster,
to whom hundreds of Old Bethanians owe a debt of honour and gratitude, if not
perhaps of affection: for his somewhat brusque manner and rather rugged
appearance (faintly reminiscent, in the writer's mind, of Thomas Carlyle) did
not evoke affection so much as respect.
W. T. B.

A CRICKET REMINISCENCE
Or "How we staved off defeat by Brunswick House" nearly sixty years ago.
At the beginning of this century, the "match of the season" was certainly
that which we played early in June ("strawberry time ") every year against
Brunswick House School, Maidstone, then a private school very similar to
Bethany, of which the owner and headmaster was Alderman Brownscombe, a
prominent Maidstone Methodist and a member of Maidstone Borough Council.
Now it has become a Primary School under the Kent Education Committee.
The match was always played in Lock Meadow, at that time a lovely level
stretch of grassy turf alongside the Medway and overlooked by the tall tower
of All Saints' Church, the parish church of Maidstone. (Alas l when, for old
time's sake, I went to look at it whilst visiting the town a few months ago, I found,
not a green and level cricket ground, but a gravel-covered cattle-market, on which
not a single blade of grass was to be seen. Sic tempora mutaotur !).
The drive to and from Maidstone, whither the team journeyed in a two-
horse "brake," contributed greatly to the pleasure of the day's outing. There
was much competition for the task of adjusting the "skid-pan "-the heavy
iron shoe, which hung by a chain at the back, near one of the rear wheels, under
which it had to be placed, in order to act as a brake, before we descended Winchet
Hill on the outward, and Linton Hill on the homeward journeys-and considerable
skill was needed for this, or it tore up the road very badly as we descended;
and again at the bottom of the hill, removing it from the wheel was also a ticklish
job, as the friction on the road developed great heat, and it was easy to burn one's
hand badly when taking it off.
The summer of which I write was either 1903 or 1904, and Bethany had
won the previous year's match by a good margin, and our opponents were con-
sequently eager for revenge. In those days, it was customary for each school,
by agreement, to play three masters and eight boys in their teams. Mr. Browns-
combe's son, who afterwards became the headmaster of a well-known Methodist
School, Kent College, Canterbury, had just come down from Cambridge and was
an excellent batsman. Since the previous year they had also added to their
Staff a young master who was a very good fast bowler, and whose speed in bowling
exceeded even that of our two "demon" bowlers of those years-Ernie Hatch
(of Hawkhurst) and" Greenie" Easton.
Brunswick House won the toss and of course batted first. The match
started shortly after 2 p.m., and it was agreed that stumps should be drawn at
six o'clock, as it was always followed by a visit to the Maidstone Swimming
Baths-a great treat in those days for Bethanians, whose bathing had to be taken
in a small pond, at the bottom of which the mud was inches deep. (I have seen
a boy's feet wriggling at the top of the water for some seconds, as he struggled
to extricate his head from that mud after an incautious vertical dive !).
Our opponents scored quickly, and by 4 p.m., when they decided to declare
the innings closed, they had amassed a total of one-hundred and twenty runs,
thanks largely to an excellent fifty by Mr. Brownscombe Junior. Then Bethany
went in to bat and to face their new bowler, and by 5.15 p.m., seven of our
wickets had fallen for about fifty, and they thought that the match was " in-the-
bag "-when it was my turn to go in to bat, I was not a great cricketer, as my
position in the batting order (ninth) clearly showed. My only forte was that
of " stone-walling," which-as I was frequently and rightly assured-was
"not cricket at all."
However, our captain, my old friend and former colleague, Alec Kendon,
was still in and batting steadily, with a score of about twenty, and, as I passed him
on my way to the wicket, he muttered to me: "Poke for all you are worth 1"
This I proceeded to try to do; but never in all my life since have I experienced
such a long forty-five minutes, and many were the glances I cast up at the clock
on the tower of All Saints' Church, to see how near we were getting to six o'clock.
Meanwhile, that bowler hit me on every part of my body, except (fortunately)
my head. At last the clock struck six, and we were both still not out, with a score
of eighty-three, of which Alec had made thirty-five, and I had eleven runs to my
credit, chiefly from lucky snips through the slips; and so Brunswick House were
deprived of the victory which they certainly deserved.
Then followed the welcome visit to the Baths, and after that an excellent
tea at the School, with strawberries and cream, for Mr. Brownscombe always
treated us to a very good meal, knowing well what boys' appetites were like.
Finally came the ride back to Curtisden Green in the evening light, when it
seemed as if every roadside bush in the hedges between Stile Bridge and Marden,
and Marden and "The Woolpack" at the top of Winchet Hill, contained a
nightingale singing lustily to its mate; to which we responded by bawling loudly
the popular songs of the day, such as:-
"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do.
I'm half crazy, all for the love of you!
It won't be a stylish marriage, for I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet, upon the seat,
Of a bicycle made for two
following it perhaps by the mournful song of disillusion:-
"At Trinity Church I met my doom,
Now we live in a top back room,
Up to the eyes in debt for rent, and
That's what she's done for me !"
Happy days, the memories of which return to one's mind yet more and more
vividly, even when one is approaching octogenarian status! For, as Shakespeare
nearly wrote:-
" Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But we'll remember with advantages,
What feats we did that day.
W. T. B.
August 1960

SEVENTY YEARS BACK
Reminiscences of this period can only, I fear, be of interest to a small pro-
portion of the present Membership of the O.B.S., but of these-does anyone
remember "the Rev, J. J." coming in to us at Breakfast on Saturday mornings
with his trousers pockets full of coin for distribution as Pocket Money? The
usual range was from 1d. to 3d., but a few had 6d. and one boy (whose father
we felt sure must be a millionaire) received One Shilling. Some of this money
was spent at the little shop on the Green, but mostly it was carried to Goudhurst
where at a small shop tins of Bloater Paste could be obtained for 1d., and slices
of Bread and Jam (obviously for consumption off the premises) for one-halfpenny.
The Beds in the Dormitory were of wood, and the mattress was supported
by short pieces of board laid cross-wise in the frame, These could be easily
removed by getting under the bed and heaving the mattress up, without altering
the appearance of the bed in any way. A boy kept back after Prep, for any
reason was liable to have his bed thus " prepared " for him by his room mates,
who awaited the moment of arrival and getting into bed-when, of course, the
mattress and bedclothes and the boy collapsed onto the floor. As only one inch
of candle was permitted for undressing, this was burnt out long before the victim
arrived, who consequently had to endure his ordeal in complete darkness. An
unpopular boy was liable to receive a shower of boots to complicate his ordeal.
Supper in those days consisted of thick slices of bread and butter known as
"Tokes," plates of which were held by a Master at the foot of the stairs, each
boy taking one as he passed. In the Hop-picking Season the crusts were often
used as missiles to hurl at noisy Hop-pickers wending home from the pub:
a yell from one of these (indicating a hit) was considered more than worth the loss
of the crust.
Our sense of adventure was fostered by the nocturnal game of Going Out
on the creep." The idea was to leave our beds as soon as all was quiet and the
Masters asleep, creep down the stairs in our bare feet and chase each other round
the old tree in the playground. An entirely futile performance, but if our beds
were regained undetected we had the thrill of having defied " authority" without
being found out.
I recall one incident at Prep., which was held in the big Classroom. That
evening we had to draw a Map of Palestine and colour it. I had finished mine
and was admiring the production when the boy on my right, having a dob of
unwanted " crimson lake" on his brush, leaned over, planted it on my beautiful
map, saying "Look, there's a whale in your Dead Sea." I let out a violent
right-hand swipe and sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor. Was he
punished? Oh I no. I was kept back, and caned, after the other boys had gone
up to bed, duly receiving the "bed" treatment already described, less boots.
That was my first lesson on the result of taking the law into my own hands, but the
injustice rankled badly.
Two duties which I suppose were shared by all in turn were (1) pumping
the water to fill the tank-the pump was in the Kitchen; and (2) fetching the week-
end joint of meat from Goudhurst. This latter was a nerve-racking job in the
winter after dark, parts of the road having overhanging trees where all sorts of
danger might lurk, though they never did, The reward for either duty was a
hunk of home-made cake-a rare treat.
Our weekly bath was a communal affair taken in an enormous concrete
bath in a covered yard-no encouragement to daily, and no pretence of privacy;
but it served its purpose, though somewhat crudely by to-day's standards.
A pleasant interlude for those of us who had sisters at the Lades' College
was a weekly visit to Goudhurst after morning Service on Sunday, where we met
and exchanged news and experiences. This touch of home was greatly appre-
ciated, but the time passed all too quickly.
The only Public Transport was the Carrier's Cart, in which passenger~
and goods were both accommodated-bringing them to and from the rail-head at
Marden (three miles) and proceeding to Goudhurst and beyond. Of course we
boys had no money for such a luxury.
Memories of individual boys are dim, but I do remember Stamp, who later
became Lord Stamp. We sat for our College of Preceptors Examination
together-he passing at the top of the list and I at the bottom.
But the outstanding and unforgettable figures were, of course, the Rev.
J. J. Kendon, W. A. Benians, and Samuel Kendon, and those boys who were
privileged to know them and to work under them should count themselves
happy to have been taught by these Victorian stalwarts their first lessons in
honesty, industry and Christian principles. They were men of high character
and lofty purpose who inculcated their high ideals unobtrusively, but effectively
because they lived up to them.
J. B. GEALE.

THE OLDEST O.B.?

I wonder if any other Old Bethanian can claim a longer record than Gilbert
Simmonds, who left School in 1887? I met him recently. He was one of five
brothers at Bethany: Ernest (Mayor of Deptford), Gilbert, Montague (father of
Donald), Gordon and George.
He recently celebrated his ninetieth birthday, and in a long conversation
recalled many incidents and names at Bethany in the 1880's.
In Gilbert's school days the Rev. J. J. was a stern patron, respected and
somewhat feared. His academic ability, apparently, was strictly limited to teaching
grammar, but his moral instruction was inflexible. His only assistant then was
Mr. W. A. Benians, and the forty or fifty pupils acquired all their instruction
from him until H. Burr and Joe Benians were promoted to be " pupil-teachers."
About this time, Gilbert recalls, my father (then about twenty!) assumed
prodigious responsibilities.
Domestic comfort hardly existed. Gilbert was one of ten crammed into
No. 3 ("two in a bed "). The sudden striking of a match might be the first
warning that J. J. K. was checking security, and an empty space demanded a
truthful explanation. Bathing was an uncomfortable necessity and took place
"in the long shed adjoining the playground." A large bar of yellow soap
figured prominently and a great pother of lather was essential. Sunday was a
dreary experience. The Ladies' College Sunday visitors provided some leaven,
but it was not easy to invent relationship - the only passport on the return walk to
Goudhurst.
Food was considered only for sustenance: it seems to have been limited to
bread and tinned meat, but it was also firmly believed that when butter was
applied to a slice of bread it was immediately scraped off and offered temporarily
to the next slice ?
Gilbert mentioned names, some of which (if correctly reported) are Greek
to me. W. R. (Turkey) Warren, Frank Butcher (founder of Houghton Butcher),
Ned Wright, Braddock, Hunt (who was remembered as having died, the funeral
cortege being followed by fellow pupils to Goudhurst Cemetery), Cramphorn,
Grayson (then, as now, of the timber-merchant family of Maidstone) and others.
It appears that organised sport started during Gilbert's time. He remembered
Sir Charles Jessel and his Bat presentation, recalls that he himself once achieved
some fifty or sixty runs against Sutton Valence, but denies that this was anything
but an exception, as he "was really a bowler."
Gilbert has only occasionally revisited Bethany, the latest time being about
1936, when he met my father and discussed the old days. For many recent
years he has been restricted with rheumatism. His memories of Bethany are
statements, not criticisms," he says. The hardships did not kill him.
Gilbert Simmonds is the uncle of Donald, whose relative Mike Kirkby is a
Present Boy, He commissioned me to convey to Bethany and to Old Bethanians
his very good wishes. He very much regrets he cannot renew his acquaintance
with the old buildings and with any Old Bethanian whose connections enlighten
his period of School history. He would delight in letters, but cannot guarantee
to reply. I gave him modern news of School and kind wishes from the O.B.S,
He seemed very pleased I looked him up.
N. L. KENDON.

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