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Updated: June 26, 2025
He brought the welcome news that Lady Chittenden's diamonds had not been lost at all. Lord Chittenden had taken them to be re-set and cleaned, and the maid who knew about it had gone for a holiday. So that was all right. "I wonder if we ever shall see the Psammead again," said Jane wistfully as they walked in the garden, while mother was putting the Lamb to bed.
It will horrify modern mothers to learn that all the boys, even little fellows of eight, were given two glasses of beer at dinner. And yet none of us were ever ill. I was nearly five years at Chittenden's, and I do not remember one single case of illness.
I was never "up" to John, for he taught a low Form, and I had come from Chittenden's, and all Chittenden's boys took high places; but he took "pupil-room" in my house, and helped my tutor generally, so I saw John daily, and, like every one else, I grew very much attached to this simple, saint-like old clergyman.
All Chittenden's boys were taught to observe; otherwise they got into trouble. He insisted, too, on his pupils expressing themselves in correct English, with the result that Chittenden's boys were more intellectually advanced at twelve than the average Public School boy is at sixteen or seventeen.
Chittenden's jingle, beginning: "Billy, Billy, Harry, Ste, Harry, Dick, Jack, Harry Three." By repeating it all together, over and over again, the very jangle of it made it stick in my pupils' memory. Dates proved a great difficulty, yet a few dates, such as that of the Norman Conquest and of the Battle of Waterloo, were essential. "Clarke, can you remember the date of the Norman Conquest?"
Hence it was that those who humbled themselves in the dust were treated with contumely, even more offensive than the invectives which the conspirators showered upon the heads of those who neither proffered nor accepted terms of compromise. Mr. Chittenden's report is accurate in respect to the views that I presented, but it is incomplete, as I spoke about an hour.
Chittenden's A wonderful teacher My personal experiences as a schoolmaster My "boys in blue" My unfortunate garments A "brave Belge" The model boy, and his name A Spartan regime "The Three Sundays" Novel religious observances Harrow "John Smith of Harrow" "Tommy" Steele "Tosher" An ingenious punishment John Farmer His methods The birth of a famous song Harrow school songs "Ducker" The "Curse of Versatility" Advancing old age The race between three brothers A family failing My father's race at sixty-four My own A most acrimonious dispute at Rome Harrow after fifty years.
I was sent to school as soon as I was nine, to Mr. Chittenden's, at Hoddesdon, in Hertfordshire. This remarkable man had a very rare gift: he was a born teacher, or, perhaps, more accurately, a born mind-trainer. Of the very small stock of knowledge which I have been able to accumulate during my life, I certainly owe at least one-half to Mr. Chittenden.
Elliot Chittenden's restive bronco, known as "my nag," had cut its last impatient caper; and off they started, a gay holiday throng, passing down the Avenue to the tune of jingling harness and chattering voices and ringing hoofs.
Chittenden's one fault was his tendency to "force" a receptive boy, and to develop his intellect too quickly. At the age of ten I got puzzled over Marlborough's campaigns. "'Brom, my boy, remember 'Brom," said Mr. Chittenden.
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