Ffion Hague - The Pain and the Privilege - The Women in Lloyd George’s Life

The curriculum consisted of the three ‘R’s plus geography, history and, for the brightest, a little algebra. Naturally for a school in a coastal area, a number of school leavers went to sea each year, so navigation was taught as an extra subject for recently-departed pupils bound for the ports of Porthmadoc and Pwllheli. David Evans also indulged his own interest in jurisprudence, which opened the eyes of at least a few of his pupils to the possibilities of a career in law. Reading was encouraged, but literature was available only to the lucky few like the George children who had books at home.

Welsh literature or history played no part in children’s formal education. They were given, in effect, the same education as their contemporaries in England, with no attempt to teach them about their own country or to connect with their community. The prevailing attitude among the (English-speaking) school authorities was that the Welsh language should be beaten out of children and replaced with the English of the Empire. It did not occur to them that the English language might not be of much use to children who would grow up to be farmers, shopkeepers, craftsmen and labourers in a wholly Welsh-speaking area, or that bilingualism was in itself a good thing. Instead, the use of Welsh was fiercely discouraged, and the use of severe force to punish children caught speaking their natural language was widespread. Polly and her brothers did not have to leave their home to hear of one: Richard Lloyd had been caught speaking Welsh to a schoolmate one day at school. The teacher struck him on the side of the head with such force that he permanently lost the hearing in one ear.

In addition to the National Schools, Sunday Schools were run by both churches and chapels. The nature and quality of the instruction given was very different. Church Sunday Schools were attended mainly by children, and concentrated on scriptural study. Inspired teaching could make these sessions enjoyable and rewarding, but in most places they descended into mere rote-learning. The Welsh-language, nonconformist Sunday Schools were attended by the whole congregation, either after the main morning service or in a separate afternoon session. They began with Bible readings, hymns and prayers before the congregation divided into classes, each occupying a separate area among the pews in chapel. Classes were sometimes single-sex, and were divided according to age. Each had its own teacher, and although these were occasionally professional teachers, like William George senior, they came mostly from the ranks of the better-educated adult members. Teachers would read passages of the Bible and discuss doctrinal issues like ‘The Fall of Man’ and ‘The Universality of the Flood’, according to the age and understanding of class members. Children were taught more than the Bible in these sessions: they were taught to read, to debate, to sing solfa and to engage in question-and-answer sessions with the adults. Sessions would close with a simultaneous catechising of the whole congregation, prayers and hymn-singing. For those without any other access to education, Sunday Schools provided a level of basic skills that was, literally, a godsend.

The importance of Sunday Schools emerged even in the government’s disastrous review of education in Wales in 1847. The review was prompted by Welshmen like William Williams MP who were concerned about standards, and three commissioners were appointed to investigate and report. The commissioners—none of whom was Welsh or had ever lived in Wales—reported that the conditions in which Welsh children were taught were ‘dreadful’ even by contemporary standards: only just over half of Welsh bridegrooms could sign their names. In some areas Sunday Schools were the only form of education available. The report was coloured throughout by the commissioners’ lack of understanding. It neglected to point out that children who spoke only Welsh received their entire education through the medium of English, which even their teachers barely spoke. Such was the travesty of the report that it came to the conclusion that nonconformism encouraged immorality. As anyone with even a passing acquaintance with Calvinistic Methodism could attest, nothing could have been further from the truth.

The furore over the report increased the sectarian and linguistic differences between English—and Welsh-speakers. Thirty years later, the obvious disconnect between the Welsh nonconformist chapels and the English-language, Church-ritualised school in Llanystumdwy still jarred. Torn between the two, the pupils were close to open rebellion. In the young Davy Lloyd, they found their natural leader.

The occasion was the visit of the school inspectors, regarded as an opportunity for the schoolmaster to demonstrate the good behaviour and academic prowess of his charges. The inspectors, the Misses Evans of Trefan and Sir Hugh Ellis-Nanney, visited the school every year. The children were marched in single file in front of them, and made to recite the catechism in English, but in 1875 the twelve-year-old Davy Lloyd decided that the event would not go smoothly. He had been brought up at the knee of a Baptist preacher in a devout and proud family. Nonconformists had fought hard to be allowed to worship according to their faith: it was not long since persecution had been commonplace, with dissenters forced to attend church services or face dire consequences.

Young Davy Lloyd was already a leader among his schoolmates, one of whom remembered him as a child of three or four standing on the stairs at home, ‘preaching’ to his assembled friends below. For a determined, independent boy, it made no sense to have to memorise and recite the Church text. Furthermore, it was an insult to have to pretend to be an Anglican, and worst of all for a Baptist boy, to have to attest that he was given his name at christening, which was against the most specific teaching of his denomination. Having suffered the indignity every year, he now decided to organise a rebellion, and persuaded every child in the school to turn mute when invited to recite the catechism. When Mr Evans stepped forward and indicated to the children that it was time to begin, his prompt was met with stony expressions and silence. The utterly bewildered schoolmaster tried again. ‘I believe…’ he repeated hopefully, but to no avail. It was a tense moment, for the visitors behind him were not only inspectors but also his employers. Finally, after what seemed like an age, William George could not bear to see the well-liked Mr Evans get into trouble, and shouted ‘I believe!’ One by one his classmates joined in, and the catechism was given in full.

This incident is rightly famous, and much has been made of the evidence it provides of the young Lloyd George’s precociousness and refusal to conform. The protest was entirely successful: the children were never again asked to recite the catechism at school, and while legend has it that Davy gave his brother a good thrashing afterwards—which William George always denied—there is no record of the ringleader himself having been punished at all. It may be that Mr Evans never came to know who had led the rebellion, but it certainly proved that Davy Lloyd George was a boy who got away with things. He had guts and a great deal of charm, and he used both to the full. This combination, even during his school years, was particularly effective with women, and got him out of all kinds of trouble. One of many incidents occurred when an Irish labourer working on the Ellis-Nanney mansion took offence at the way in which a group of village boys were teasing his daughter. He was a big man, and known to have a violent temper. As he approached the boys, they wisely scattered and he grabbed at the nearest, who happened to be Davy. ‘Not that one!’ cried the little girl anxiously, ‘Not that one!’ Davy was spared a thrashing because of a susceptible female supporter. He also had two adoring female supporters at home in Rebecca and Betsy, both of whom indulged and spoiled him. He grew up to expect the admiration of women and to rely on their loyalty.