St. Peter's Eighty Years Ago

Sir Frank Swettenham was one of the principal benefactors of British Malaya, who will be remembered as a real lover of the Malay countries, an expert in the language and customs of the people, and one of a band of writers who introduced Malaya to the world outside. His great vision and foresight, his keen and critical judgment, his sharp sense of humour, and his business acumen were a few of the attributes which made him such a great administrator. By those who worked under him he was always loved for his ready advice and encouragement and recognition of their services. He was a loyal friend, a brilliant conversationalist, and a charming companion. His death will be mourned by all those who knew him."

ST. PETER'S EIGHTY YEARS AGO

(The following is an extract, reprinted by permission of Messrs.

Hutchinson, Ltd., from Sir Frank Swettenham's autobiography, " Footprints in Malaya.")

. . . Well, I was transferred to St. Peter's School, York, under the headmastership of that highly gifted man, Mr. Richard Elwyn, formerly of Charterhouse. What a change for me ! From home, to board with about thirty boys in a master's house. From the hills, the moors and the glittering streams of Scotland, to the flat land and the deep, wide and muddy Ouse ; from a small straggling village to an ancient county town ; and from a plain stark Presbyterian church to a school chapel and a magnificent cathedral !

There were other novelties as well : groups of scarlet-coated men and more soberly garbed women riding to meets of hounds and, occasionally, strings of thoroughbreds on their way to exercise on Knavesmire. But what attracted me most were the Minster and the river ; the former for its splendour and its services, and the latter, not for its looks but as a training and racing course for rowing.

Inspired by Elwyn, the school had then attained a high reputation, and, in the time I was there, hardly a week passed during which we were not given a half-holiday to celebrate the gain of some distinction at Oxford or Cambridge by a member, or former member, of the School. I went into the fourth form under Tommy Richardson and, after a year there, passed into the fifth form under Mr. Scarlett, and for divinity under the Headmaster, for all of whom I learned a great admiration, reverence and affection. I was keen about all school games, but the boats drew me to the river, and, when Robert Lesley— who later stroked the Oxford eight for three years in succession—came from Radley to board in the same house, I learned to row and to scull under his eye and coaching. Not without result, for it was a proud day for me when, as stroke of our second boat, we beat in a trial our own house's first boat, and they beat the rest of the school. My greatest joy was sculling in a covered outrigger, and, when I could do it, that was how Q spent any leisure I could get from study and classes.

Those years at St. Peter's seemed then, and for long afterwards, the happiest of my life. My masters were satisfied ; I had all the friends I wanted ; school life was both interesting and amusing, and I got into trouble only once. It was summer, and an open-air show was being given on a ground not far away, but invisible to anyone in our house. I had a friend called Bennett, and it occurred to us that if we got on the roof we should have a good view of the show. There were dormer windows in the top storey, and out of one of these we climbed up the slates on to the ridge ; arrived there, we made ourselves comfortable on a rug we had brought and, having an excellent view of the show ground, we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. But not for long. A commanding voice from the window below us ordered our immediate descent, and when we had scrambled down, we found our housemaster waiting to receive us with many unkind words, and the order that we should present ourselves to the headmaster at eight o'clock the next morning to be dealt with as we deserved.

It appeared that our housemaster, walking on the pathway opposite his house, just outside the school railings, had either seen us on the roof himself, or some meddlesome person had called his attention to the unusual spectacle, and the master had at once informed Mr. Elwyn and then called us in, without taking any precautions to see that we did not slip on the slates and fall into the street.

The interview with the headmaster was not altogether painful. For one reason because we felt we had done nothing disgraceful, and for another because he treated us to a lecture in which he told us how pained he was to punish two boys whom he regarded " as the salt of the school." I have forgotten how many strokes of his cane we then received on our outstretched hands, but we accepted them in silence as probably deserved, and removed ourselves from the presence, more mindful of what had been said than of what had been done to us.

Members of the fifth and sixth forms were allowed a great privilege. For the school generally, Bootham Bar, which stands in the city wall, was the limit beyond which no boy could go citywards. But boys in those two highest forms were allowed to pass the bar in order to attend afternoon service in the Minster, should they wish to do so. I made use of that privilege whenever I could, for the evening service, and especially the singing of the choir, was as lovely as it was impressive. I well remember the exquisite high treble voice of a boy who often sang solo parts, and the strangely thrilling notes of a counter-tenor whose local fame was such that other cathedrals— Durham and elsewhere—often borrowed his services for special occasions.

We were allowed to sit in the choir stalls at the Minster, and that gave an opportunity to see and hear everything without effort and in great comfort. At these services there was always an anthem, 6