Historic London: Its Teaching for the Child, Part II.
by D. L. Maguire, L.L.A.
Volume 12, 1901, pgs. 278-283
". . . I suppose the great value of a grasp and realization of the subject is that it impressed upon the mind the sense of continuity--the continuity of the nation's life.
(Continued from pg. 208.)
We are not far now from the end of our walk. Turning up the quaint little street I have mentioned, Cloth Fair, we say good-bye to the gay scene we have just been imagining. Cloth Fair is a very narrow street, and the upper stories of some of the houses project. This will help the child to realize a little what a street in Old London was like; and as we walk along we talk a little about the contrast between our London and that old one, and about the advantages we enjoy. The Londoners of that time threw out fragments of meat, decaying fish and vegetables into the streets, and in the middle of every thoroughfare there was a gutter, with a stream of not very clean water running through it. No wonder there was a great deal of sickness, and that from time to time London was visited by the Plague, or the Black Death. Perhaps we shall find that the child knows all about the terrible visitation in the reign of Edward III., when, Stow says, hardly one person in ten escaped, and in consequence there was not room enough in London to bury all the people who died. And now we come into Charterhouse Square, and we remember that just here is the plot of ground that Sir Walter Manny bought from the monks of St. Bartholomew's (when all this neighbourhood was waste land outside the walls of the city), with the compassionate desire of burying the victims of the Black Death, and so of lessening the danger of infection to those remaining alive in London.
I think, if we want to find a story of a brave man who, because he was full of true courage, therefore was also of a very tender heart, we cannot do better than tell our boys the tale of Sir Walter Manny. He was not an Englishman, but a native of Hainault, in Flanders. He had come to England with Queen Philippa when she married Edward III., and had been in the royal service ever since. He was one of the King's bravest knights, and fought for him in his French wars. At the time of the battle of Crecy, Sir Walter was holding the castle of Aiguillon, in the south of France, against Prince John, son of Philip of Valois. The Prince had sworn a vow that he would never leave the castle till he had taken it; but the English held out so stoutly that he was compelled at last, in spite of his promise, to raise the siege. Then Sir Walter, with his men-at-arms, burst out from the castle and dashed in among the retreating enemy, taking many prisoners. He heard from these of King Edward's victory at Crecy and of the siege of Calais then going on, and bargained with one of them, a rich knight, promising to set him free if he would obtain for him from Prince John a safe-conduct that he might go to his master at Calais. This was done, and Sir Walter set off with only 20 men-at-arms to travel through the enemy's country. He was taken prisoner on the way, and held captive by King Philip. But Prince John, always a man of his word, protested, and told his father that it would bring dishonour on them if the safe-conduct were broken. So Sir Walter Manny was released, and arrived at Calais before the surrender of the town. It was with him that the governor, John de Vienne, pleaded to intercede with Edward for the townspeople, and he was brave enough to speak plainly to the King. His gentle compassion and his courage both come out in this story, told us by the chronicler Froissart, who has other tales about him too. We have seen how this brave man, when he came home for a time to England, showed pity even to the dead. Then he went abroad to the wars again, but after a good many years, when he was quite an old man, it came into his mind that he would build a religious house close to the sad spot where he had made his cemetery. So he bought ten more acres of ground, and there he built a house for men of prayer, a monastery of Carthusian monks. This house, which in time came to be called the "Charterhouse," is what we have now come to see; but if we have succeeded in interesting the child in Sir Walter Manny, I fear he will be disappointed, when we have passed through the great gateway, to find how little is left of the old monastic buildings. Again imagination has to come to our aid, and we shall not be far wrong if we picture first a quadrangle, or four-sided court, surrounded by cloisters, with the monks' cells opening into them; on one side the beautiful chapel, which contains the founder's tomb; on another the chapter house and the refectory, a long low building, with the kitchens behind. Outside this court were others; among these, that called the Wash-house Court, the only part now remaining of 14th century work (except one wall of the present chapel). This is where the lay brothers lived, and there was a staircase leading up to their rooms above. The monks needed no staircase, as their rooms were on the ground. Then, too, there was the guest hall, large and spacious, an infirmary, and, of course, gardens, as always in a monastery. We have not time now to describe how the monks lived in this quiet spot, or to tell the story of their rude awakening and ejectment in the reign of Henry VIII.
Next we find the Charterhouse transformed into a stately town mansion, and belonging to the Howards, who named it Norfolk House. We realize this period best when we are taken into the great dining hall of that Duke of Norfolk who lived in the reign of Elizabeth, and suffered death for treasonably conspiring to set Mary Queen of Scots on the throne. We can tell that this hall belongs to Tudor times by the great windows, with the lines of the mullions running perpendicularly, crossed by others, dividing the windows into many lights. Here great feasts were held, while musicians played in the beautiful old minstrels' gallery at one end of the hall. In the old days this hall would be hung with tapestry, such as may still be seen in the great drawing-room to which we ascend by a wide oak staircase, with richly carved banisters. The tapestry is very old--so old that we cannot see the pictures at all plainly, the figures are so dim and the colours so faded. Imagine the gaiety and dancing that went on in this room; though the Duke himself must often have had a mind full of anxiety.
Once more the scene changes, and we see the Charterhouse passing into yet other hands. We show the child the portrait of Thomas Sutton, the founder of the celebrated school, dressed in a black gown and seated in a high-backed chair; the picture hangs at the upper end of the great dining-hall. He was a kind-hearted and good man, living in the reign of James I.; he had grown rich by trading, and, in his old age, thought how he could do good with his money. It was in 1611 that he refounded the Charterhouse as an almshouse for aged men and a school for boys. A new chapel was built at the same time, and we can go in and look at the founder's tomb, with the painted figure of old Thomas Sutton recumbent upon it. Then we think of the many, many boys who have been proud to belong to the Charterhouse School--Carthusians, as they are called. Some among them have become famous men--great soldiers, divines, artists, writers. There are the two great essayists, Steele and Addison, whose friendship began at school; clever, but lazy Dick Steele; Addison, with calm, gentle face and manner. There is John Wesley, the great preacher; Sir Henry Havelock, the gallant soldier; and Thackeray, the novelist, who has given is in The Newcomes a vivid picture of his old school under the name of "Grey Friars." Though Colonel Newcome is only a character in fiction, we are glad to introduce him to our boy-companion--for he is a grand character to know; so we trace his history from his life as a schoolboy to his death as one of the "Poor Brothers" at the Charterhouse. Other names might be mentioned; but at the present time the old Carthusian most interesting to boys is, of course, the brave soldier Baden-Powell; a hero of their own day means so much to them, and helps, too, to form a connecting link between present and past.
At the Charterhouse our walk ends; and now we want to consider briefly what teaching such an expedition as this has for the child-learner. I do not mean, of course, that I would give all this information to a child on one single walk, nor do I think we ought directly to teach much, but by suggestion and reminder help him to see these pictures of the past. My aim has been to show how much material for this there is in one fragment of Old London, leaving untouched such great historic monuments as Westminster Abbey, the Tower, etc.
The uses of such a walk are, I think, manifold. First, it will help the child to a greater realization of the past. To see the actual place where an interesting thing happened, or, even if the building itself has disappeared, to identify the spot where it once stood, is a help to the imagination. Thus a name alone, such as Giltspur Street, or the names of streets connected with the old market of Chepe, have power to carry us back to past days. I shall never forget a class of children whom I once took a part of this walk. They had been prepared for it, and knew what they were going to see, and I never had more delightful companions on a historical ramble, they were so eager and excited at every reminder of the past. Such a realization must of course lead to a deeper and more intelligent interest in history. Speaking of the history of our own country only, I suppose the great value of a grasp and realization of the subject is that it impressed upon the mind the sense of continuity--the continuity of the nation's life. There on the hill rises the mighty dome of St. Paul's, dominating the great city; the oldest part of it, as it were, the first-fruits of its life consecrated to God. It speaks to us of continuity of worship. Cheapside, on which St. Paul's looks down, roughly marks the spot on which our forefathers were wont to assemble to make their own laws and settle their own affairs--it is the place of the old Folk-moot. Here has always been the centre of trade and of civic life--of the national life. It was so in the time of Richard Whittington, when he entertained Henry V. magnificently in the Guildhall of those days, and when, a few years earlier, there was a gorgeous procession to St. Paul's to give thanks for the victory at Agincourt. So it is now, even this very week, (the lecture was given on October 25th, 1900) when the City Imperial Volunteers will march in procession to St. Paul's, returning from their victories in South Africa to be entertained by the Lord Mayor of 1900. How we felt the beating of the nation's heart--nay, of the heart of the Empire--on Ladysmith day, on Mafeking day; on that mystic spot of which the Mansion House forms the centre; how all London gravitated towards that centre, as by some irresistible attraction. We want the children to know why.
Then, too, let the child have a vivid realization of the men and the spirit of the men who founded the great hospitals of London (we have considered the origin of one), where the blessed work of healing is still carried on day after day, and he cannot think of the twelfth century as part of a dry history book which has nothing to do with us. Our great schools carry us back in thought to their founders, who gave so lavishly, so generously, to future generations. It must be good for the children's minds to be peopled with living memories of such men. There is old Thomas Sutton, in gown and ruff, thinking how best he can do good with his wealth. Sir Walter Manny, in armour, his shield dinted with blows got in many a battle, yet caring not for his own glory, but for the glory of God. Whittington, in the Mayor's scarlet or crimson gown and hood, full of thought for the good of London, caring for the poor prisoners at Newgate, rebuilding St. Bartholomew's hospital, giving a library to the Grey Friars. There are the Grey Friars themselves, going quietly about their self-denying work among the very poorest. The practical part of all this is the influence we hope it will have on the children's own lives. For when a child realizes that the life of the English nation is from first to last one continuous whole, then he will see that he, too, forms a link in the chain of the national life; and with that comes the sense of individual responsibility. We Londoners of to-day enjoy many good things which, only for the generous forethought and unselfishness of the past, we should not have. The child is the future citizen, and, if he is to be worthy of so great an ancestry, he must learn to bear his part nobly, as one who shares in the nation's life. The great king, Alfred, to whom we have been looking back as, in a sense, the founder of London, wrote some wise words as to the responsibility involved in the having a noble ancestry. He asks, "Art thou more fair for other men's fairness? The only thing which is good in noble descent is this--that it makes men ashamed of being worse than their elders, and strive to do better than they."
They are to be an inspiration to us, that the citizen of to-day may think, as they did, not of the present alone, but of those who are to come after him. A great man lately passed away from us has said that we have not rightly done our duty on the earth unless we have done something to benefit "not only the companions, but the successors of our pilgrimage." And he goes on to say, "God has lent us the earth for our life; it is a great entail. It belongs as much to those who are to come after us, and whose names are already written in the book of creation." And he adds, in the spirit of Rahere and other great men of the past, "Therefore, when we build, let us think that we build for ever."
Proofread by LNL, May 2011