One hundred years ago, in December
1915, Harry McKenzie resigned as Headmaster of Uppingham School. McKenzie was
approaching his sixty-fourth birthday when the Great War began and, under the
terms of his appointment, he had three more years to run. Now, however, the
stresses of leading a school in wartime had taken their toll. So too did the
strain from the constant news of the deaths of his Old Boys from three schools –
for he had been headmaster at Lancing College and Durham School before coming
to Uppingham. Matters came to a head when his own son, also called Harry, left
Uppingham in July 1915 to enlist with the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.
McKenzie’s health broke soon after the school’s return in September; he informed
the trustees that he wished to resign at the end of term. He did. It was not
meant to be like this.
On 27 April 1914 The Times published a piece from its correspondent in
Tokyo under the headline, 'Japanese Precepts for Boys'. McKenzie spotted it during the Easter holiday
and he used the contents in his Speech Day address on Saturday 11 July. The
article referred to the late General Nogi, a hero of the Russo-Japanese
War of 1904–05 and well-known in Britain. On retirement from the army he had
been appointed President of the Gakushūin, a school for sons of noble families,
and in 1912 he gave the boys his fourteen precepts. The report on McKenzie’s
speech suggests that he used some precepts for comic effect and that the
audience greeted each with laughter. Then McKenzie changed to a serious tone to
close with the message he wanted his boys to remember. It was the final
precept: 'Be a man useful to your country. Whoever cannot be so is better
dead.'
News of Nogi’s death had been
published in The Times on 14 September 1912. He had committed an
elaborate ceremonial suicide to coincide with the funeral of Mutsuhito, the
Japanese Emperor. McKenzie and many in his audience would have known that
Nogi’s actions were in accordance with the BushidÅ
code of the Samurai: a warrior
following his master in death. McKenzie’s commendation of Nogi’s final precept
was an endorsement of its European equivalent, the Homeric code of honour, and of its legacy, the public-school
ideal of manliness. No-one at that Speech Day could have known that this ideal
would soon be put to the test, even though the assassination of the Archduke
Franz Ferdinand of Austria in distant Sarajevo a fortnight earlier had already
set the course that would lead to the Great War. It was not meant to be like
this.
Brittain, Leighton & Richardson at Uppingham, 1914 |
Wednesday 29 July was the last day at
school for 69 of the 430 boys who had heard their headmaster’s valediction. All
were McKenzie’s boys, joining Uppingham during his headmastership. They were a
successful year-group: fourteen boys had secured places at Oxford and
Cambridge, thirteen served as prefects, and twelve won colours in sport. Most
of the 69 took part in Speech Day’s ceremonial parade and marched before the
inspecting eye of General Lord Luck.
Uppingham Cadet Corps, 1918 |
School was now over. Members of the
cadet corps set off for the annual camp near Aldershot on Tuesday 28 July,
expecting to be there until Thursday 6 August. Events across Europe, however,
had unfolded quickly in the wake of the assassination and war suddenly seemed
likely. The camp was disbanded on Monday 3 August to make way for reservists recalled
to the colours; the boys went home. War was declared the following day.
All but two of the 69 served in the
armed forces during the Great War. Nearly all joined the Army, most were
officers. Eighteen were commended for gallantry. The first of the cohort died on
22 May 1915. Three more were killed that year; another six in 1916; then nine
in 1917; and finally three in 1918. Nearly a third were killed in action or
died of their wounds – 22 of the 69. Edward Brittain, Roland Leighton and Victor Richardson were among the dead: their friendship formed the
subject of Vera Brittain’s Testament of Youth. It was not
meant to be like this.
Brittain on the Lower School Roll of Honour |
McKenzie’s life before Uppingham
spanned the evolution of the ideal of manliness from its adoption by the public
schools in the 1850s, through the muscular Christian years of the 1860s, onward
to the hardiness of the 1870s and the games mania of the 1880s, through the
imperial frenzy of the 1890s, and finally to the military manliness of the new
century. McKenzie had been at some of the key schools at key times: as a boy at
Guildford grammar school; two spells as a master at
Wellington College; a period at H. H. Almond’s Loretto; and then two headmasterships.
He imbibed the ideal as a boy and transmitted its practice as a man. He was a
brisk, breezy, efficient, popular, decent and athletic man but he was neither
scholarly nor intellectual. He was a thoroughly orthodox headmaster. It is
unlikely that he ever questioned the ideal of manliness: he contributed nothing
to its theory or development; he wrote nothing about it; he simply and
unthinkingly conformed to conventional public-school practice. But by 1915 he
must have had doubts. It was not meant to be like this.
McKenzie |
It was not meant to be like this – dis aliter visum. In an age when
cultured men and scholarly boys expressed their thoughts through classical
tags, this phrase would surely have come to mind – whether recalled from Virgil’s Aeneid or remembered as the title of a poem by Robert
Browning. They would also recognise the
poignancy of the original context. Dis
aliter visum – literally: 'It seems otherwise to the gods' – comes from
Aeneas’s account of the Homeric legend of the Sack of Troy (Aeneid 2, 428). Ripheus, the most just
and faithful of all the Trojans, was killed defending his city against the
Greeks after the gods decided to withdraw their protection: his righteousness
went unrewarded.
Father, who lived to ninety-one, and
son both survived the war. Extracted from the prologue of Malcolm Tozer’s The Ideal of Manliness: The legacy of
Thring’s Uppingham (Sunnyrest Books, 2015) - http://www.sunnyrest-books.co.uk/