Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters. Daniel Stashower
such fun—whenever I am hard up for a quotation I invent a few lines of doggerel, and prefix it by ‘as the poet sings’, or something of that sort. The lines are bad of course but I am not responsible for that, that’s the poets publisher’s look out. Thus the last lines of my essay are
‘It is said that a mother ever loves best the most distorted and deformed in her children, but I trust the saying does not apply to the feelings of an author towards his literary child, otherwise it bodes ill for this poor foundling. I cannot however conclude better than in quoting those cheering lines of the poet (?)
‘Fail or succeed, the man is blessed, ‘who when his task is o’er
‘Can say that he has done his best, ‘angels can do no more’
Tell Lottie to write at once; she ought never to put off till tomorrow what she can possibly put off till the day after. Many examples have been known, Lottie, of little boys who have driven into London tired and weary, with not more than a check [sic] for a few thousands in their pockets, and by steady work, and sticking consistently to that proverb, they have been able in a few years to leave London as fine prosperous beggars. So there is a chance for you yet, my dear.
Finally the day approached for him and other Stonyhurst boys in their final year to travel to London for a week of comprehensive University of London matriculation exams, ones which would play an important role in their being admitted to universities. It was a tense time for Conan Doyle, now sixteen years old, for much depended upon the outcome if he was to finish his education, join a profession, and support the family as he wished.
‘My noble sister Annette, who died just as the sunshine of better days came into our lives,’ he wrote in Memories and Adventures, ‘went out at a very early age as a governess to Portugal and sent all her salary home. My younger sisters, Lottie and Connie, both did the same thing; and I helped as I could. But it was still my dear mother who bore the long, sordid strain. Often I said to her, ‘When you are old, Mammie, you shall have a velvet dress and gold glasses and sit in comfort by the fire.’ Thank God, it so came to pass.’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JUNE 1875
I was very successful in the trial examens, passing first class. I only hope I do as well in the real thing. You must offer up a communion for me on Sunday, I will go myself on that day and so get a blessing on my examens. Mr Colley, poor man, is very anxious lest anyone should be plucked, and so is the rector and all the community. The subject I got most marks for in the trial was French, I got 268 out of 300 for it. The other subjects I did well in were Greek, Latin, and Natural Philosophy. My weakest paper was chemistry, but I have studied it up since.
We have had almost continuous rain for three weeks. It is really very depressing and makes the mind so languid that it is hard to keep your attention on your work. I am looking forward to the Examen week. We are quite separated from the boys, having meals apart, and many privileges such as going to bed when we like, rising when we like and going out rowing on the ponds.
Goodbye Ma, the next letter I write will be after the examens and I will be able to tell you approximately how I have done, though I will not know for certain until a week after the examen. You know you must not expect long letters now, but I promise you a big fellow after the Examen.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JULY 1875
The Examens are over at last, thank goodness, and I think we have all got on very well, though some of the examens were unusually hard. On Monday we had the Latin author, and latin grammar paper. I got through the first very well, and the second very fairly. On Tuesday we had Greek author, and French. I think I did them well also. On Wednesday we had Mathematics & geometry. I did better in the mathematics than in any other subject I think. The geometry I did not do so well but I think I did well enough to pass easily. On Thursday we had English History & Language, both of which I did well. On Friday we had natural philosophy (a very hard paper) and chemistry. I scrambled through them both very satisfactorily I think. During the examens we sat in a large room, each at his own little table, and the London examiner sat at his desk in front of us in order to see that all played fair. During the week I studied always from 7 in the evening to half past eleven, and from 5 in the morning to half past eight. I did not feel a bit sleepy during the examens, but I feel it now when all the excitement is over.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JULY 1875
Hurray! I have passed all right. The post from London came late today, and the excitement among the boys to hear the news was fearful. At quarter to ten the post came, and the packet was taken to the rector as is the custom. For nearly quarter an hour [sic], which seemed to us poor fellows an age, the rector was perusing the news in his room. We could stand it no longer and pulling open the door of the playroom, regardless of the howls of the prefects, we dashed along the gallery up the stairs, and along the corridor to the door of the rector’s room. There were between forty and fifty of us, not all candidates, but many whose brothers or relations had gone up. There we crowded round the door all pushing and yelling. The door opened and the rector was seen inside waving the packet over his head. Immediately a tremendous cheer rung along the gallery, and dozens of handkerchiefs were tossed in the air, for we knew the news must be good. When the uproar had a little subsided, the old grey haired prefect of studies, more than sixty years old, got up on a chair and announced that of fourteen who had gone up thirteen had passed, the most that has ever passed since Stonyhurst was Stonyhurst. When Fr Kingdon tried to lead off another cheer his poor cracked voice failed him, but we soon drowned his hideous squeaks by tremendous cheers. I have shaken hands with every fellow in the house almost. I am now Arthur C. Doyle u.g. Somebody remarked I ought to add LY and then I would be UGLY.
The places are not given until next Sunday. Those who do unusually well are said to be in Honours. Those who do very well are in the first class, and those who do well are in the second class. My ambition is to get in the First Class.
Arthur Doyle undergraduate of the Royal London University
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JULY 1875
The classified list was read out this morning. Imagine my delight and surprise on finding myself in honours. The very highest class which can be attained, and in order to get which you must get 3/4 of the total of marks in each examen. I never in my life got such a surprise, and everybody else was equally as astonished. I nearly got a hole worn in the back of my coat by being clapped on it, and some enthusiasts carried me round the playground. There were 541 candidates went up; of these about sixty were in honours, and several Stonyhurst boys among them; Indeed it is the greatest triumph recorded in the whole annals of Stonyhurst.
Arthur Doyle u.g.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I fear that we will come in so late that you will not be able to meet me conveniently. The train starts at four and comes in about ten I think. I am sorry to leave the old place after such a long residence, but I will be glad to get home again and see you all and Ida. Seven years continued routine becomes very monotonous eventually.
Tell Lottie and Cony I have a present for them. It is a lot of numbers of Cassell’s illustrated history of the war. The pictures ought to amuse them.
I wish Tottie was at home to see me, however I suppose she will come back before very long.
I get a prize for passing in Honours, which I will bring home carefully.
It was over, and he had done better than expected; certainly better than some of his schoolmasters had expected. Now he was done at Stonyhurst, with the good education for which Jesuits were famous, as Michael Conan had recommended. But he was never very sentimental about his school. ‘I don’t, looking back, consider the Stonyhurst system a good one,’ he later told Margaret Ryan, mother of his friend Jimmy Ryan, ‘nor would I send a son of mine there if