Chapter VII

A SHOEMAKER'S APPRENTICE WHO BECAME A GREAT SCHOLAR.

On the last day of November, 1852, a lad was born near the village of Llangernyw, in Denbigshire, Wales. The proud father, who was the village shoemaker, took the baby to church that same day, and there he was baptized--Henry Jones.

Young Henry's parents were poor, and his grandparents were if anything, poorer. His grandfather worked on the estate of the local squire, and as he grew older his wages were repeatedly reduced, until he was receiving only four shillings a week. But even this was not the worst, for he was offered two shillings and sixpence a week. That seemed too much for the old man, and very soon after he died.

The house in which young Henry was born, was very small. It consisted of one small room downstairs, about ten feet square, and another room the same size upstairs. This tiny downstairs room, was almost always terribly overcrowded. It had to serve as kitchen, dining-room, and living-room all in one. Seven persons had their meals each day in that small room. How to find a seat for every one was a problem, but a way out of the difficulty was found by having the children take their meals in relays. Young Henry, being in a great hurry to get out to play, often took his meals standing, or sitting on the doorstep.

When Henry's little baby sister was born, they all wondered how room could be found for the cradle in that already over-crowded room. But there was a way out. The cradle was put upstairs, and a string let down from it through a hole in the ceiling. Whenever the baby cried, the mother bade one of the children pull the string, which rocked the cradle. Many a time Henry's play was interrupted so that he might spend a time pulling that old string.

There was a constant struggle against poverty in that home, for Elias Jones--Henry's father--never earned more than twenty shillings a week, and generally quite a bit less. The food was plain, but wholesome, consisting for the most part of bread and milk and "shot", that is, ground oat-cake and milk. There were no dull moments in that home. It was crowded and restless all day long. Either the mother was cooking or the father was heating his irons in the fire, or some of the children were clamouring for bread and butter, or perhaps a neighbour had dropped in to see if his shoes were ready and then lingered for a chat. In spite of poverty, which sometimes was severe, it was a happy home, for each one sought to help the others.

Henry did not enjoy attending the village school, in fact none of the children in that village did. The schoolmaster was very cruel and ignorant. The cane was very seldom out of his hands. Any fault or error was punished very severely. If a child whispered and the master was not sure which one it was, he thrashed the entire school. In fact, there was wailing and lamentation in that school the whole day long, and small wonder that when four o'clock came each day, the scholars breathed more freely.

When the school holidays came around, each year in June, the boys were sent out in gangs to thin the turnips for the neighbouring farmers. The whole of the five weeks of summer holidays were spent at this work. The boys were paid from eight-pence to one shilling a day, fourpence being deducted if the farmer provided meals. Young Henry Jones went with his brothers to do this hard work when he was only five and a half years old. When evening came he was often too exhausted to walk, and had to be carried home by the bigger boys. From that time until he was taken to work as a shoemaker, Henry helped to thin turnips each year.

While still a very young boy Henry began to help his father make and repair shoes. It was the greatest ambition of his life to become a good shoemaker. One day an incident happened which made him very proud. Toe-caps for boots were just coming into fashion, and they had to be carefully stitched. When it came to putting on the caps, Elias Jones was not sure of himself, so he went over to the school and asked permission for Henry to return home and do the sewing.

When twelve years of age Henry left school to become a shoemaker's apprentice with his father. It was a happy moment in his life when he put on the leather apron. His mother wanted him to be a blacksmith, or a gardener like his brothers, or a grocer, anything in fact, other than a shoemaker, but Henry stubbornly refused to listen. His mind was made up. He wanted to be a shoemaker like his father. The little workshop in which Henry and his father worked, was a little lean-to at the gable-end of the cottage. Out of the window Henry could see a barn and an old thatched cottage. The room was so small that those working had to get into opposite corners so as not to interfere with each other's movements. Sometimes there was a hired workman, and even a fourth place was often made for the local postman, who worked at making and repairing ladies' boots between his arrival with the letters and his departure. Henry used to think that there was so little room for privacy that it was impossible to keep even one's thoughts to oneself.

Henry soon became a good shoemaker. The work was hard, and the hours very long, but he liked it, and there was not a lazy bone in his body. Just at this time something happened which had a great influence over Henry's life. A lad named Tom Redfern, about his own age, came to Llangernyw to take charge of the school; a friendship sprung up between the two, and soon Tom Redfern told Henry of his ambition to attend the university. Soon that same ambition came to Henry, although it seemed madness for him even to think about such a thing, as his parents were so poor, and his own education had been sadly neglected.

For some time Henry was most unhappy. It seemed to him as if there were no way whereby his ambition could be realized. But his purpose became more resolute, and he made up his mind that if at all possible he would reach his goal. At last arrangements were made enabling Henry to attend a school at a place called Pandy, some distance away, three days each week. Henry got out his old schoolbooks and began to attend Pandy School every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. The remaining three days he worked away at his trade harder than ever. There was an examination known as the Queen's Scholarship held each year, and successful students earned the right to attend Bangor Training College for teachers. Henry determined to try for this, although it did seem an almost impossible task. He retired to rest about eight o'clock each evening, and at one o'clock in the morning the village policeman tapped at his window. Then he got up and dressed and worked away at his books until morning came. There was so much to be learned that at times he almost despaired, but he never gave up.

At last the time came for him to try the examination. He went to Bangor in fear and trembling. One of his brothers had loaned him a suit of clothes, and another brother loaned him a watch. He stayed at the college during the days of the examination. There were quite a number of competitors, and only a few could succeed. Henry was appalled by the look of cleverness and by the smart appearance of most of the students. He felt he had made a horrible mistake in even giving in his name. When he was alone he wept like a child and felt he had no chance whatever. Although he was terribly nervous and covered with confusion he did his best, and when the examination results were published, a few weeks later, his name appeared among those who had passed in the first class.

He entered the training college at Bangor and studied hard for two years. He had to be extremely careful, as he had very little money. Throughout those two years he maintained his place at the head of the college list, and then in 1873--when he was just nineteen, he was put in charge of a school at Brynamman, a mining village in Wales. He remained there for two years, greatly beloved by the pupils in the school, and by the people of the village. Then in 1875 he passed the examinations for entrance into Glasgow University.

The years Henry Jones spent at Glasgow University were packed full of interest for him. There was much hard work for him, and there was a constant struggle with poverty. His parents were not in a position to help him, and sometimes it almost seemed as though he must give up, but somehow a way always opened, and he was able to continue his studies. At the close of his term he sat for an examination, known as the "Clark Fellowship." This was the "blue ribbon," of the University, and, of course, was the most coveted honour among the students. He had no intention of trying for it, but one of the professors, who was interested in him, persuaded him to sit for the examination. He did, and to his amazement, he was awarded the prize, although all the cleverest students of the University, who were eligible, had also tried. In addition to the great distinction the fellowship carried with it a grant of £225 (about $1,100) a year for four years. And then, for the first time in his life, Henry Jones knew what it was to have money to pay his way and a little left over.

A great day came for him, when in 1884 he was elected to a professorship in Bangor College, Wales. He remained there for several years, and then was made a professor in the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland. After three years there--years of hard work, but of great power and wide influence, he was elected to a very important position; that of Professor of Moral Philosophy in Glasgow University. This was one of the great positions in the universities of Great Britain. It was one which only a great scholar could fill and Henry Jones did fill it with credit to himself and with very great profit to the students, for a period of twenty-eight years.

From being a shoemaker's apprentice, Henry Jones rose to a position of great power and influence. It was not by any means an easy road. There was a terrific struggle with poverty, and at times it seemed as though it would be too much for him. But his tremendous perseverence and grit carried him along, and he succeeded to an extent that he had never dared even to dream of. During the Great War he delivered scores of lectures throughout Great Britain and in the United States. His three sons were on the firing line, and the youngest of them was killed in France. Henry Jones died in 1922, and left behind him the memory of a brave and noble life.