Alasdair Gray - Old Men in Love

Miss Freeman sighed, opened her eyes, clipped to the bridge of her nose the pince nez she now needed to see things near her and said, “O Henry James, I’m glad your mother is letting you train for the church at last.”

He closed the Bible and placed it on the table by the crucifix saying gravely, “She would not have done so were you not paying the fees. She thought that having one son a clergyman was sufficient.”

“But everything about you speaks of God! Your voice, your manners, your. . hands.”

He smiled, clasping the hand she stretched out to him and saying, “You’ve forgotten my soul, Martha.”

“No I haven’t,” she said tenderly, “and your new clothes suit you wonderfully.”

Said the principal, “Welcome, gentlemen, to St David’s College, Lampeter. We don’t know each other yet, but when we separate four years from now I hope we shall be firm friends.”

He was middle aged, robust, bland, ruddy and stood, teacup in hand, his back to a sideboard supporting an arrangement of silver plate. On the wall behind hung framed engravings of the Holy Family by Raphael and Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam; before him was a room of new students. Some wore dark clothes and seemed uneasy with the teacups and saucers they held; a few wore more fashionably-cut clothes with notes of colour in the waistcoats, and these students held their tea things more nonchalantly. Henry James Prince, though most soberly dressed, handled cup and saucer with the ease of the more obviously fashionable.

“Ours is not a venerable institution, gentlemen,” said the Principal, “and maybe some of you regret that your parents or guardians could not afford the fees demanded by Oxford. Speakin’ as a former senior wrangler I can honestly say that you are better off here. Oxford is now infested by sophistical vipers who have turned against the mother who bore them — the Church of England — and degraded themselves to the worship of saints, angels, fumigations and all kinds of unmanly rot. You’re well out of it.

“A dangerous age, gentlemen! Mad messiahs are springin’ up like mushrooms. Meanwhile the leaders of the rabble are barkin’ ‘Reform! Reform!’ like a lot of rabid dogs, as if unemployment, high prices and occasional starvation among the masses are things a government can cure. But I mustn’t bore you with politics. You don’t want that, hey?”

He cocked his head, smiling at the audience who mostly smiled back and murmured agreement.

“You’ll find this excellent walkin’ and climbin’ country, gentlemen, and we have a very decent little trout-stream in the grounds. So study hard, and learn how to pray and preach and perhaps learn to practise what you preach, hey?” — (Another pause for smiles and amused murmurs) — “But gentlemen, don’t neglect the body God gave you. Mens sano incorpore sane . A healthy mind and healthy body will help you avoid the pitfalls of papish superstition on one side and the blue devils of Methodist fanaticism on the other. And a word of warning. Many of you are Welsh so know how quickly gossip travels in rural areas. I do not want to hear of anyone drinkin’ in a local pothouse before he has learned to carry his liquor like a gentleman.”

Nothing in the Principal’s speech had amused Henry James Prince and the widespread approving response left him feeling lonely. The first lectures and the communal evening meal left him lonelier still. He went despondently to his room. Though as small as a monk’s cell it was plainly but sufficiently carpeted, wallpapered and furnished. A small fireplace had a grate with coals laid above sticks and papers. He knelt on the hearthrug, lit the fire and was about to continue kneeling in prayer when someone tapped the door. He opened it and saw a young man with a creased, leathery, solemn face who said, “Good evening. My name is Arthur Rees. My room is next door.”

“Henry James Prince,” said Prince, bowing slightly. “Would you care to take tea with me?”

“Yes thanks,” said Rees entering, “but what I’d like most is a word with you. We seem the oldest of the new lot.”

“I am twenty-six,” said Prince closing the door. “I trained as a doctor before deciding to come here. Please sit down.”

He placed a kettle of water on a hob attached to the grate and poked the fire. Rees said, “I was a seaman.”

“Indeed?”

“A sailor in peril on the deep. Trivial danger of broken bones and drowning of course, but I encountered worse perils. Know what I mean?”

“I suppose you refer to sins. As a doctor I have encountered most forms of evil, Mr Rees, so know the sin most dangerous to seamen. Not drunkenness, eh?” asked Prince, smiling thinly. “Not drunkenness, no. O no.”

“Since you are obviously earnest about your soul’s salvation I am very pleased to meet you.”

Prince brought utensils from a corner cupboard and made tea. As they drank it Rees said, “If you will allow the question, Mr Prince, what brings you here?”

“Many things, Mr Rees. As a child I was taught to love God by an unusually sincere Christian. Then my medical work in London and Bath showed me how little can be done to help sick bodies, how much is not done to help sick souls. I also became very ill, nearly died last year and was advized to recuperate through rest and a change of air. I went north and lived for a while with my brother — he is a vicar at Shincliffe, near Durham. This experience shocked me more than my recent surgical operation! No doubt in London and Bath I had met many infidels, but the churches where I worshipped were always well attended. My brother’s church was never more than a quarter full. The colliers in his parish openly despized it. They drank deep, swore loudly and fought hard. Their Sunday mornings were chiefly spent in brutal fisticuffs that continued quarrels begun in previous Sundays. Men loved their puppies more than their wives, who were regularly beaten as often as the men got drunk. Their employers were no better, for such gentry spent the Sabbath shooting, fishing or riding to hounds. I wish I could say that my brother’s parishioners hated him for being a true Christian. Alas, I cannot say so. The Church, I saw, stood in dire need of sincere priests. Something I could not deny urged me to become one. That something — I hope and pray — was God’s Holy Spirit. What brought you here, Mr Rees?”

“My sins.”

“O?”

There was a silence then Rees added, “I fear I am more naturally vicious than most men — certainly most of my appetites are vicious. By frequent prayer I hardly ever indulge them, but have known for years that my one chance of salvation is in coming closer to God. None of the ministers I have so far met have brought me closer. By saving every spare penny I can now pay the fees of this college which may teach me to come closer.”

“May I shake your hand, Rees?” said Henry, and they shook hands warmly.

Then Rees asked diffidently, “What’s your impression of the other students, Prince?”

“I am vexed by their levity, Rees. God forgive me if I’m wrong but some seem educating for the stage rather than the pulpit.”

“Dry bones! Dry bones the lot of them!”

“God can give life to dry bones,” said Prince, reprovingly.

“Yes, we must pray for that.”

“Will we pray for it now?”, said Prince, staring at him. Rees, nodding, smiled radiantly back. Prince chuckled and nodded also. They knelt facing each other on the hearthrug, half a yard apart, heads bowed, hands clasped on stomachs. In a low voice Prince asked, “Shall I begin? After The Lord’s Prayer?” “Yes, after The Lord’s Prayer.”