AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
51
Clarence, just before he was murdered in the tower, should be enacted. To fit up a younger sister with a coat of mail
presented a problem. I tackled it in this way. Obtaining (I hope) honestly a vest and using silver paper backed with
calico, I cut out dozens of scales, and patiently stitched them in overlapping rows to the vest. Having got so far, I
felt a helmet was called for, so, using a basin as a mould, I used pasted brown paper and modelled a fairly
presentable helmet. Then, to go on unto perfection, I found mother's blacklead brush used for polishing the kitchen
come from the Tower! BUT, alas, when my range, and made the brown papier mâché helmet look as though it had
sister had struggled into this suit of mail, and it stretched to accommodate her shape, all the scales, being very light
`stood on end like the quills of the fretful porcupine', while this, together with an unfortunate blacklead smudge on
the cheek, sent the audience into fits of laughter, as the opening words were solemnly enunciated:
`O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of horrid dreams and ugly sights' etc.
This however by no means daunted our spirits, and we came up again and again for more.
I have before indicated that while we were as a family `without God in the world', we were a happy family,
kindly, generous, tolerant and rigidly honest. My father was quick tempered, so quick, that before he was half
through some explosive utterance, he would be all apology. I remember some hard words being uttered between my
two parents, but in the night he came where I was sleeping to assure me all was well, and that he was forgiven. I
find that I too, cannot suffer fools gladly, and have to `count ten' when met by stupidity or obdurate opposition.
Grace alone can cut through heredity.
It was quite a feature of home life to assemble in the parlour on a Sunday evening, while Dad read a chapter or
two from one of Dickens' novels. Out of this in the year 1899, came into existence a manuscript Magazine called
the The Home Circle. I have before me the bound volume, consisting of 642 handwritten pages commencing
September 1899 and concluding with June 1900. Apart from myself and an old school chum, no contributor, except
my two parents, were above the age of fifteen years, some were less. The volume was fully indexed, and such
topical entries as The death of Gladstone, The siege of Mafeking, A girl's protest against home work, Midsummer
Night's Dream at Her Majesty's Theatre, Short stories, and a serial, A Poet's Corner, and ten articles on optics, give
some of the range. Not one reference however can be found to Christ or the Scriptures. I cannot refrain from
quoting the contribution made by my mother in the closing number. Her schooling had been practically nil. At the
age of ten, she was already engaged in glove making, and in June 1900 our family consisted of father, myself and
six sisters, so that my mother was hard pressed from morning to night to keep us all fed and clothed and clean:
`Dear Editor,
As it is the last Magazine this season, and I cannot write an article, I write to congratulate you on your
undertaking, which I think has been a great success. I am exceedingly pleased with the work and it has brought
out knowledge which otherwise would never have been shown. I am sure the contributors have all done their
best
Mother'.
I must retrace a few steps because it is necessary to envisage something of the formative influence both the
Bermondsey Settlement and later Toynbee Hall had on me. No spiritual benefit was either sought or found in these
institutions, but He Who planned the goal, also superintended the fashioning of the earthen vessel. While my
introduction to the Bermondsey Settlement was to