genuine West Worcestershire man, and the City of Worcester with its tall cathedral tower, its county cricket ground beside the steep-banked Severn, and its chocolate and cream Great Western trains arriving at Shrub Hill Station from Paddington, 3 was the centre of some substantial part of his life.
Baldwin was not educated in Worcestershire. He was the first member of his family to receive a conventional English upper-class education. His father had been to the Wesleyan Collegiate Institution at Taunton until the age of sixteen, when he had left and gone into the business. But Stanley Baldwin was sent to Hawtrey’s, near Slough, which was almost exclusively an Eton preparatory school, although there followed a not wholly explained change of plan and he went to Harrow in 1881. He started successfully there, as he had done at Hawtrey’s, winning academic prizes and achieving a fair success at games. Then at the end of his third year it all went wrong. He was caught writing pornography and—worse still-sending it to his cousin at Eton. Dr Montagu Butler, a notable headmaster, who was also his housemaster, treated the matterwith a ridiculous portentousness. Alfred Baldwin was sent for. There was a flogging and the incident died down. But so did Stanley Baldwin’s enthusiasm for Harrow. He became lazy and somewhat withdrawn. He left a year earlier than he need have done.
In later life there was some ambiguity about his attitude to the school. He was naturally nostalgic, even sentimental, and a respecter of established institutions with which he had been connected. He therefore never spoke ill of Harrow; and on one occasion he announced in a speech there that when he was first called upon to form a government he was determined to have the unprecedented number of six Harrovians in his Cabinet. But this was almost certainly an
ex post
joke, unless it was the only explanation he could offer for the remarkably undistinguished collection of ministers who governed with him in 1923, most of whom he had in any event inherited from Bonar Law. There is no evidence that memories of the school ever played much part in his life, or that he particularly enjoyed visiting it. He sent his own two sons to Eton, with unfortunate results in one case. 4
Nor was Baldwin in any way a notable Harrow figure. He was rather anonymous amongst his contemporaries, and the flavour of this anonymity is well captured by an anecdote, possibly apocryphal like most anecdotes, from much later in his life. During his second premiership he noticed during a train journey that another occupant of the compartment was looking at him with some puzzlement. After a time this gentleman leant forward and tapped Baldwin on the knee. ‘You are Baldwin, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You were at Harrow in ‘84.’ Baldwin nodded assent to both propositions. His former school-fellow appeared satisfied. But after a few more minuteshe again became puzzled and tapped once more. ‘Tell me’, he said, ‘what are you doing now?’ 5
Baldwin carried both the anonymity and idleness of his last Harrow years with him to Trinity College, Cambridge. Also, by singular misfortune, he was followed by Dr Montagu Butler, who was translated to the Mastership of Trinity at the beginning of his second term. Whether or not because of the oppressive presence of the new Master, Baldwin, as he later saw things, largely wasted his time at Cambridge. He read history and achieved a steady deterioration in each year’s performance. He got a First at the end of his first year, a Second at the end of his second, and a Third at the end of his third. But more surprising than his lack of academic prowess was his failure to make any other sort of impact. He made few friends; he joined few clubs or societies, and after being elected to the college debating society was asked to resign because he never spoke; he did not even spend much money. He was interested in the Trinity Mission in Camberwell, and at one
Baldwin was not educated in Worcestershire. He was the first member of his family to receive a conventional English upper-class education. His father had been to the Wesleyan Collegiate Institution at Taunton until the age of sixteen, when he had left and gone into the business. But Stanley Baldwin was sent to Hawtrey’s, near Slough, which was almost exclusively an Eton preparatory school, although there followed a not wholly explained change of plan and he went to Harrow in 1881. He started successfully there, as he had done at Hawtrey’s, winning academic prizes and achieving a fair success at games. Then at the end of his third year it all went wrong. He was caught writing pornography and—worse still-sending it to his cousin at Eton. Dr Montagu Butler, a notable headmaster, who was also his housemaster, treated the matterwith a ridiculous portentousness. Alfred Baldwin was sent for. There was a flogging and the incident died down. But so did Stanley Baldwin’s enthusiasm for Harrow. He became lazy and somewhat withdrawn. He left a year earlier than he need have done.
In later life there was some ambiguity about his attitude to the school. He was naturally nostalgic, even sentimental, and a respecter of established institutions with which he had been connected. He therefore never spoke ill of Harrow; and on one occasion he announced in a speech there that when he was first called upon to form a government he was determined to have the unprecedented number of six Harrovians in his Cabinet. But this was almost certainly an
ex post
joke, unless it was the only explanation he could offer for the remarkably undistinguished collection of ministers who governed with him in 1923, most of whom he had in any event inherited from Bonar Law. There is no evidence that memories of the school ever played much part in his life, or that he particularly enjoyed visiting it. He sent his own two sons to Eton, with unfortunate results in one case. 4
Nor was Baldwin in any way a notable Harrow figure. He was rather anonymous amongst his contemporaries, and the flavour of this anonymity is well captured by an anecdote, possibly apocryphal like most anecdotes, from much later in his life. During his second premiership he noticed during a train journey that another occupant of the compartment was looking at him with some puzzlement. After a time this gentleman leant forward and tapped Baldwin on the knee. ‘You are Baldwin, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You were at Harrow in ‘84.’ Baldwin nodded assent to both propositions. His former school-fellow appeared satisfied. But after a few more minuteshe again became puzzled and tapped once more. ‘Tell me’, he said, ‘what are you doing now?’ 5
Baldwin carried both the anonymity and idleness of his last Harrow years with him to Trinity College, Cambridge. Also, by singular misfortune, he was followed by Dr Montagu Butler, who was translated to the Mastership of Trinity at the beginning of his second term. Whether or not because of the oppressive presence of the new Master, Baldwin, as he later saw things, largely wasted his time at Cambridge. He read history and achieved a steady deterioration in each year’s performance. He got a First at the end of his first year, a Second at the end of his second, and a Third at the end of his third. But more surprising than his lack of academic prowess was his failure to make any other sort of impact. He made few friends; he joined few clubs or societies, and after being elected to the college debating society was asked to resign because he never spoke; he did not even spend much money. He was interested in the Trinity Mission in Camberwell, and at one