distinguished member of a Home University Staff, it failed to draw. After some thought we changed its title to âMining Areas in the North of Englandâ, and the roll call leapt up. âApplied Artâ despite its dull title, was a great success â partly because of its first-rate teacher, in peacetime design artist to the best jewellersâ firms in London, Paris and New York â and partly because in it the men were taught to make something and anything they did with their hands was popular. Where they failed, of course, was in intellectual flexibility but that was only to be expected. Just as âApplied Artâ drew crowds, so did âMotoringâ. The War Office handed us over an old car and every morning from 8 to 10, relays of soldiers and WAACs â all hoping to earn their living by their new knowledge in the peace world â were instructed in the mechanics of Motoring.
Whenever a subject grew unpopular, we camouflaged its title. âHow to Write Lettersâ and âHow to Make a Languageâ introduced the study of grammar. But you canât do much with Latin or Greek â they refuse to be disguised. Still, I had pupils for both, all the time I was there â few certainly, but very earnest. They would trudge on the wettest of wet nights for nearly two miles for a lesson on a Latin declension; they were all married men with families, printers, gardeners and the like, and they never missed a lesson all the time I was there. I think they wanted to learn because it was such a relief to get into a beautiful house, quite away from the Army atmosphere â we were not official â and to hear nothing but English around them. They also liked having Englishwomen to talk to and they had more chance of that at the School than at the crowded canteen. Finally I do think they liked Latin â at any rate they liked its logic and they loved the beauty of the Greek script. One of them used to make me the most exquisite Greek exercises, simply by copying out sentences he hardly understood.
There were a few freak turns too. There was the gentleman who came to learn the violin every afternoon and squeaked unbearably in the process above our heads, and the smart young motor-despatch rider â South-American born â who wanted to keep up his Spanish. He was a problem. Our Spanish master had left and nobody then on the Staff knew any Spanish. The Chief hated to say, âNoâ and the boy was waiting. Such a nice-looking, pleasant-mannered boy! It was a shame to turn him away. I explained things to the Chief and he assented. So, with the boyâs consent, I, not knowing the language myself, took on the Spanish. Latin and French and likewise Italian were part of my âstar turnâ, so it did not take much ingenuity to learn a little more Spanish than he did. He could pronounce the thing and I knew the grammar and we got on famously. Latterly we used to read The Scarlet Pimpernel in Spanish together. It was the only book we could get, and he got it by scouring the whole countryside in his off hours on his motorcycle. Then there was the Australian doctor who wanted to learn Italian, as she was going to spend her leave in Italy, and who informed me with disgust on her return that she wanted no more lessons. Italy was a third-rate country and the Bay of Naples wasnât in the same street as Sidney Harbour. And there was the natty WAAC Commandant â also Girton trained â who came to read Italian, and the EFC [Emergency Fleet Corporation?] Captain who had been a year in Italy and whose Italian was better than mine.
But our prize lecturer was the philosopher who came out prepared to instruct the troops in the Psychology of Dreams. No one at all responded to his invitation on the bills, so we rushed him out to the canteens, on the well-known principle that if the mountains wonât go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. Of him more anon.
Talking
Whenever a subject grew unpopular, we camouflaged its title. âHow to Write Lettersâ and âHow to Make a Languageâ introduced the study of grammar. But you canât do much with Latin or Greek â they refuse to be disguised. Still, I had pupils for both, all the time I was there â few certainly, but very earnest. They would trudge on the wettest of wet nights for nearly two miles for a lesson on a Latin declension; they were all married men with families, printers, gardeners and the like, and they never missed a lesson all the time I was there. I think they wanted to learn because it was such a relief to get into a beautiful house, quite away from the Army atmosphere â we were not official â and to hear nothing but English around them. They also liked having Englishwomen to talk to and they had more chance of that at the School than at the crowded canteen. Finally I do think they liked Latin â at any rate they liked its logic and they loved the beauty of the Greek script. One of them used to make me the most exquisite Greek exercises, simply by copying out sentences he hardly understood.
There were a few freak turns too. There was the gentleman who came to learn the violin every afternoon and squeaked unbearably in the process above our heads, and the smart young motor-despatch rider â South-American born â who wanted to keep up his Spanish. He was a problem. Our Spanish master had left and nobody then on the Staff knew any Spanish. The Chief hated to say, âNoâ and the boy was waiting. Such a nice-looking, pleasant-mannered boy! It was a shame to turn him away. I explained things to the Chief and he assented. So, with the boyâs consent, I, not knowing the language myself, took on the Spanish. Latin and French and likewise Italian were part of my âstar turnâ, so it did not take much ingenuity to learn a little more Spanish than he did. He could pronounce the thing and I knew the grammar and we got on famously. Latterly we used to read The Scarlet Pimpernel in Spanish together. It was the only book we could get, and he got it by scouring the whole countryside in his off hours on his motorcycle. Then there was the Australian doctor who wanted to learn Italian, as she was going to spend her leave in Italy, and who informed me with disgust on her return that she wanted no more lessons. Italy was a third-rate country and the Bay of Naples wasnât in the same street as Sidney Harbour. And there was the natty WAAC Commandant â also Girton trained â who came to read Italian, and the EFC [Emergency Fleet Corporation?] Captain who had been a year in Italy and whose Italian was better than mine.
But our prize lecturer was the philosopher who came out prepared to instruct the troops in the Psychology of Dreams. No one at all responded to his invitation on the bills, so we rushed him out to the canteens, on the well-known principle that if the mountains wonât go to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. Of him more anon.
Talking
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