Ferulas and Thuribles: Surviving Stonyhurst in the 1960s
John Mulholland
Self-published, £20 + p&p, 483 pages
I entered Stonyhurst College in 1953, remaining and thriving there (not just surviving) until 1959. I ought to add that I found the collegiate experience at Stonyhurst exceptionally enjoyable, with a balance between a first-class education, academic excellence, the development of character and self-discipline, including great competition in all sports, and a massive infusion of culture and appreciation of music, not to mention a dose of philosophy. In my experience, there was no bullying, unlike many other schools, no sexual scandals (of which we were aware in other schools), and a religious environment in which you learned the difference between right and wrong and a sense of duty to others in society.
Indeed, we were particularly proud of our seven VCs and countless Military Crosses. The school was founded in 1592 and we were also intensely proud of the Catholic martyrs, of whom three were canonised. My time at Stonyhurst gave me the foundation in my later careers at Oxford, in the law, and then in politics. Above all else, I acquired a sense of conviction, purpose and principle which was gradually fed through the religious atmosphere of the school, rather than by any imposition. We learned how to conduct ourselves with appreciation of order and discipline, but above all, self-discipline. I shall never forget the Retreats at Stonyhurst when 300 boys would go into complete silence through Holy Week. It was a matter of honour that apart from prayers and hymns, nobody felt the need to break the rules, because we all had the same commitment.
I was much intrigued with the descriptions in this book of many of the masters who taught me in the previous decade, such as Percy Haddock, Rowley St Lawrence, Fr Brigstocke and Fr Macklin – a brilliant fast bowler in his time, not to mention his apparent involvement in the invention of the ejector seat for World War II fighter planes. There was also the astonishing RSM Slack DCM of the Welsh Guards, who taught me all I needed to know about the military when I was Senior Under Officer at the end of my school years and Second Head.
For those who want to know about the history of Stonyhurst, the book includes a good account of its founding at St Omer in 1593 and its progression to its current site in Lancashire. There are some excellent photographs, and well-drawn pen sketches of some of the most famous teachers, such as Gerard Manley Hopkins, and of great international rugby players, including several O’Driscolls – one of whom, Barry, was one of my best friends.
The author’s experience at the school, rather like that of Macdonald Hastings, father of Max Hastings, was not always positive, although not condemnatory. I was saddened that he does not seem to have absorbed the religious advantages of Catholic belief, including his admission that he does not believe in transubstantiation.
Yet he does seem to appreciate the fundamental importance of the school’s ethos. It is as if Stonyhurst more or less rubbed off on him and gave him a sense of friendship, camaraderie and adventure, exemplified by his astonishing achievements in rock climbing, but not the ethos itself. I am left wondering how many others who have been there were in the same boat, even including some of the Jesuit priests whom I was close to, such as Anthony Levi and Peter Levi (the famous Professor of Poetry at Oxford) who taught me, but then left the Church and got married.
The book is an honest account and definitely well worth reading. It is not spoilt by cynicism, but by what seems to me to be a certain lack of sympathy towards what I understood myself to be the spiritual values of the school and its traditions, which I still hold. Some of these seem to have passed Mulholland by; it is as if he walked through the school without being touched by its spirituality. However, he remembers and wants to relate pretty well every single thing that went on in his life there, which shows the impact that the school had on him.
He was very close to his friends, of course, but not his experience of all the school offered – heart and soul. His epilogue draws attention to the evolution of the school and its present coeducational mix and excellent positive pastoral care. He points to the differences between my own time and his in the 1950s and 1960s compared to today, but with less nostalgia than in my own case because I was deeply imbued with the traditions which I found easy to accept. Nevertheless, he makes clear that he has no axe to grind.
I am bound to mention that the title Ferulas and Thuribles reminds me that while most emphatically not being a “goody-goody”, I only ever received three strokes of the ferula, administered in a somewhat half-hearted manner by the priest in question. I think, looking back, this had something to do with my finding it easy to obey the school rules.
I do remember when I was about 14, looking at the rules on the noticeboard, going through each one, and concluding that they all benefited the school as a whole, and therefore there was no reason to disobey them, quite the opposite – except for one, which was a prohibition on going to the post office.
This I studiously ignored, because I wanted to buy stamps to send letters home, and I could never understand the reason for the rule – other than perhaps to prevent boys buying cigarettes. That made no sense, as smoking was allowed for members of the Committee in the Committee Room. In the words of St John Henry Newman: “A thousand difficulties don’t make a doubt.” This book is a very good read, and I’d certainly recommend it as a memoir, not only to former Stonyhurst pupils.
Sir Bill Cash has been an MP since 1984. www.johnmulholland.co.uk
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