Visit https://ebookultra.

com to download the full version and

explore more ebooks or textbooks

Professional Android 2 Application Development 1st

Edition Reto Meier

_____ Click the link below to download _____

https://ebookultra.com/download/professional-
android-2-application-development-1st-edition-reto-meier/

Explore and download more ebooks or textbooks at ebookultra.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

Android Wireless Application Development 2nd Edition Shane

Conder

https://ebookultra.com/download/android-wireless-application-
development-2nd-edition-shane-conder/

Beginning Android Application Development 1st Edition Wei-

Meng Lee

https://ebookultra.com/download/beginning-android-application-
development-1st-edition-wei-meng-lee/

Sams Teach Yourself Android Application Development in 24

Hours 2nd Edition Lauren Darcey

https://ebookultra.com/download/sams-teach-yourself-android-
application-development-in-24-hours-2nd-edition-lauren-darcey/

Professional Flash Mobile Development Creating Android and

iPhone Applications 1st Edition Richard Wagner

https://ebookultra.com/download/professional-flash-mobile-development-
creating-android-and-iphone-applications-1st-edition-richard-wagner/
Java 2 micro edition application development Michael Kroll

https://ebookultra.com/download/java-2-micro-edition-application-
development-michael-kroll/

JavaFX 1 2 Application Development Cookbook 1st Edition

Vladimir Vivien

https://ebookultra.com/download/javafx-1-2-application-development-
cookbook-1st-edition-vladimir-vivien/

wxPython 2 8 Application Development Cookbook First

Edition Cody Precord

https://ebookultra.com/download/wxpython-2-8-application-development-
cookbook-first-edition-cody-precord/

Professional Windows 8 Programming Application Development

with C and XAML 1st Edition Nick Lecrenski

https://ebookultra.com/download/professional-windows-8-programming-
application-development-with-c-and-xaml-1st-edition-nick-lecrenski/

Android Development with Kotlin 1st ed Edition Moskala

https://ebookultra.com/download/android-development-with-kotlin-1st-
ed-edition-moskala/
Professional Android 2 Application Development 1st
Edition Reto Meier Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Reto Meier
ISBN(s): 9780470565520, 0470565527
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 20.10 MB
Year: 2010
Language: english
 Meier
Build unique mobile applications Join the discussion @ p2p.wrox.com Wrox Programmer to Programmer™

with the latest Android SDK

Professional Android 2 Application Development

Written by an Android authority, this up-to-date resource shows you
how to leverage the features of Android 2 to enhance existing
products or create innovative new ones. Serving as a hands-on guide
to building mobile apps using Android, the book walks you through
a series of sample projects that introduces you to Android’s new features
and techniques. Using the explanations and examples included in
these pages, you’ll acquire the foundation needed to write compelling
mobile applications that use Android, along with the flexibility to
quickly adapt to future enhancements.
wrox.com
Professional Android 2 Application Development: Programmer
• Reviews Android as a development platform and best practices Forums
for mobile development Join our Programmer to
Programmer forums to ask
• Provides an in-depth look at the Android application components and answer programming

™
• Details creating layouts and Views to produce compelling resolution questions about this book,
join discussions on the
independent user interfaces hottest topics in the industry,
• Examines Intents and Content Providers for sharing data and connect with fellow
programmers from around
• Introduces techniques for creating map-based applications and using the world.
location-based services such as GPS
• Looks at how to create and use background Services, Notifications, Code Downloads
Take advantage of free code
and Alarms samples from this book, as
• Demonstrates how to create interactive homescreen components
• Explores the Bluetooth, telephony, and networking APIs
• Examines using hardware, including the camera and sensors such
well as code samples from
hundreds of other books, all
ready to use.
Professional
™
as the compass and accelerometers
Reto Meier is a software developer who has been involved in Android since the
initial release in 2007. He is an Android Developer Advocate at Google.

Wrox Professional guides are planned and written by working programmers

Read More
Find articles, ebooks, sample
chapters and tables of contents
for hundreds of books, and
more reference resources on
Android 2
to meet the real-world needs of programmers, developers, and IT professionals.
Focused and relevant, they address the issues technology professionals face every
day. They provide examples, practical solutions, and expert education in new
technologies, all designed to help programmers do a better job.
programming topics that matter
to you.
Application Development
Programming / Mobile & Wireless / Android
$44.99 USA
$53.99 CAN Reto Meier
 Related Wrox Books
Beginning iPhone SDK Programming with Objective-C
ISBN: 9780470500972
Learning to develop iPhone applications doesn’t need to be an overwhelming undertaking. This book provides an easy-to-follow,
Programmer to Programmer™ example-driven introduction to the fundamentals of the Apple iPhone SDK and offers you a clear understanding of how things
are done when programming iPhone applications with Objective-C. When you reach the end of the book, you will be prepared to
confidently tackle your next iPhone programming challenge.

Get more out of

Ivor Horton’s Beginning Java 2: JDK 5 Edition
ISBN: 978-0-7645-6874-9
This comprehensive introduction to Java programming — written by the leading author of computer programming language
tutorials — shows readers how to build real-world Java applications using the Java SDK (software development kit).

Safari and WebKit Development for iPhone OS 3.0

wrox.com ISBN: 9780470549667

With the unparalleled success of iPhone and iPod touch, iPhone OS 3.0 has emerged as a compelling platform for which vast
numbers of web developers are designing and building web-based mobile applications. This book explores the Safari and WebKit
development platform that is built into iPhone OS 3.0 and takes you through the process of creating an iPhone web application
from the ground up. You’ll learn how to use existing open source frameworks to speed up your development time, imitate qualities
of built-in Apple apps, cache data locally and even run in offline mode, and more. Whether you’re eager to build new web applications
for iPhone OS 3.0 or optimize existing web sites for this platform, you have everything you need to do so within this book.

Interact Join the Community

Take an active role online by participating in our Sign up for our free monthly newsletter at
P2P forums @ p2p.wrox.com newsletter.wrox.com

Wrox Online Library Browse

Hundreds of our books are available online Ready for more Wrox? We have books and
through Books24x7.com e-books available on .NET, SQL Server, Java,
XML, Visual Basic, C#/ C++, and much more!
Wrox Blox
Download short informational pieces and code
to keep you up to date and out of trouble!

Contact Us.
We always like to get feedback from our readers. Have a book idea?
Need community support? Let us know by e-mailing wrox-partnerwithus@wrox.com
PROFESSIONAL
ANDROID™ 2 APPLICATION DEVELOPMENT

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxvii

CHAPTER 1 Hello, Android . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

CHAPTER 2 Getting Started . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
CHAPTER 3 Creating Applications and Activities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
CHAPTER 4 Creating User Interfaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
CHAPTER 5 Intents, Broadcast Receivers, Adapters,
and the Internet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
CHAPTER 6 Files, Saving State, and Preferences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
CHAPTER 7 Databases and Content Providers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
CHAPTER 8 Maps, Geocoding, and Location-Based Services . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
CHAPTER 9 Working in the Background . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 285
CHAPTER 10 Invading the Phone-Top . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327
CHAPTER 11 Audio, Video, and Using the Camera . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363
CHAPTER 12 Telephony and SMS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
CHAPTER 13 Bluetooth, Networks, and Wi-Fi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 425
CHAPTER 14 Sensors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 457
CHAPTER 15 Advanced Android Development . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 477

INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 529
 PROFESSIONAL

Android™ 2 Application Development

Reto Meier

Wiley Publishing, Inc.

Professional Android™ 2 Application Development
Published by
Wiley Publishing, Inc.
10475 Crosspoint Boulevard
Indianapolis, IN 46256
www.wiley.com
Copyright © 2010 by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana
ISBN: 978-0-470-56552-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108 of the
1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through
payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978)
750-8400, fax (978) 646-8600. Requests to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Permissions Department,
John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030, (201) 748-6011, fax (201) 748-6008, or online at
http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions.
Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: The publisher and the author make no representations or warranties with respect to
the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this work and specifically disclaim all warranties, including without limitation
warranties of fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales or promotional materials. The
advice and strategies contained herein may not be suitable for every situation. This work is sold with the understanding that the
publisher is not engaged in rendering legal, accounting, or other professional services. If professional assistance is required, the
services of a competent professional person should be sought. Neither the publisher nor the author shall be liable for damages
arising herefrom. The fact that an organization or Web site is referred to in this work as a citation and/or a potential source of
further information does not mean that the author or the publisher endorses the information the organization or Web site may
provide or recommendations it may make. Further, readers should be aware that Internet Web sites listed in this work may have
changed or disappeared between when this work was written and when it is read.
For general information on our other products and services please contact our Customer Care Department within the United
States at (877) 762-2974, outside the United States at (317) 572-3993 or fax (317) 572-4002.

Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not be available in
electronic books.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009943638

Trademarks: Wiley, the Wiley logo, Wrox, the Wrox logo, Wrox Programmer to Programmer, and related trade dress are
trademarks or registered trademarks of John Wiley & Sons, Inc. and/or its affiliates, in the United States and other countries,
and may not be used without written permission. Android is a trademark of Google, Inc. All other trademarks are the property
of their respective owners. Wiley Publishing, Inc. is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.
To Kristy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RETO MEIER is originally from Perth, Western Australia, but now lives in London.

He currently works as an Android Developer Advocate at Google, helping Android app develop-
ers create the best applications possible. Reto is an experienced software developer with more than
10 years of experience in GUI application development. Before Google, he worked in various indus-
tries, including offshore oil and gas and finance.
Always interested in emerging technologies, Reto has been involved in Android since the initial
release in 2007. In his spare time, he tinkers with a wide range of development platforms, including
Google’s plethora of developer tools.
You can check out Reto’s web site, The Radioactive Yak, athttp://blog.radioactiveyak.com or
follow him on twitter at http://www.twitter.com/retomeier.

ABOUT THE TECHNICAL EDITOR

MILAN NARENDRA SHAH graduated with a BSc Computer Science degree from the University of
Southampton. He has been working as a software engineer for more than seven years, with
experiences in C#, C/C++, and Java. He is married and lives in Buckinghamshire, United Kingdom.
CREDITS

ACQUISITIONS EDITOR VICE PRESIDENT AND EXECUTIVE GROUP

Scott Meyers PUBLISHER
Richard Swadley
PROJECT EDITOR
William Bridges VICE PRESIDENT AND EXECUTIVE PUBLISHER
Barry Pruett
TECHNICAL EDITOR
Milan Narendra Shah ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER
Jim Minatel
PRODUCTION EDITOR
Rebecca Anderson PROJECT COORDINATOR, COVER
Lynsey Stanford
COPY EDITOR
Sadie Kleinman PROOFREADER
Kyle Schlesinger, Word One
EDITORIAL DIRECTOR
Robyn B. Siesky INDEXER
Robert Swanson
EDITORIAL MANAGER
Mary Beth Wakefield COVER IMAGE
© Linda Bucklin/istockphoto
ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF MARKETING
David Mayhew COVER DESIGNER
Michael E. Trent
PRODUCTION MANAGER
Tim Tate
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Most importantly I’d like to thank Kristy. Your support makes everything I do possible, and your
generous help ensured that this book was the best it could be. Without you it would never have
happened.
A big thank-you goes to Google and the Android team, particularly the Android engineers and my
colleagues in developer relations. The pace at which Android has grown and developed in the past
year is nothing short of phenomenal.
I also thank Scott Meyers for giving me the chance to bring this book up to date; and Bill Bridges,
Milan Shah, Sadie Kleinman, and the Wrox team for helping get it done.
Special thanks go out to the Android developer community. Your hard work and exciting applica-
tions have helped make Android a great success.
CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION xxvii

CHAPTER 1: HELLO, ANDROID 1

A Little Background 2
The Not-So-Distant Past 2
The Future 3
What It Isn’t 3
Android: An Open Platform for Mobile Development 4
Native Android Applications 5
Android SDK Features 6
Access to Hardware, Including Camera, GPS, and Accelerometer 6
Native Google Maps, Geocoding, and Location-Based Services 7
Background Services 7
SQLite Database for Data Storage and Retrieval 7
Shared Data and Interapplication Communication 7
Using Widgets, Live Folders, and Live Wallpaper to Enhance the
Home Screen 8
Extensive Media Support and 2D/3D Graphics 8
Optimized Memory and Process Management 8
Introducing the Open Handset Alliance 9
What Does Android Run On? 9
Why Develop for Mobile? 9
Why Develop for Android? 10
What Has and Will Continue to Drive Android Adoption? 10
What Does It Have That Others Don’t? 11
Changing the Mobile Development Landscape 11
Introducing the Development Framework 12
What Comes in the Box 12
Understanding the Android Software Stack 13
The Dalvik Virtual Machine 14
Android Application Architecture 15
Android Libraries 16
Summary 16
CONTENTS

CHAPTER 2: GETTING STARTED 17

Developing for Android 18

What You Need to Begin 18
Downloading and Installing the SDK 18
Developing with Eclipse 19
Using the Eclipse Plug-In 20
Creating Your First Android Application 23
Starting a New Android Project 23
Creating a Launch Configuration 24
Running and Debugging Your Android Applications 26
Understanding Hello World 26
Types of Android Applications 29
Foreground Applications 29
Background Services and Intent Receivers 29
Intermittent Applications 30
Widgets 30
Developing for Mobile Devices 30
Hardware-Imposed Design Considerations 30
Be Efficient 31
Expect Limited Capacity 31
Design for Small Screens 32
Expect Low Speeds, High Latency 32
At What Cost? 33
Considering the Users’ Environment 34
Developing for Android 35
Being Fast and Efficient 35
Being Responsive 36
Developing Secure Applications 37
Ensuring a Seamless User Experience 37
To-Do List Example 38
Android Development Tools 43
The Android Virtual Device and SDK Manager 44
Android Virtual Devices 44
SDK Manager 45
The Android Emulator 46
Dalvik Debug Monitor Service (DDMS) 47
The Android Debug Bridge (ADB) 47
Summary 48

xiv
 CONTENTS

CHAPTER 3: CREATING APPLICATIONS AND ACTIVITIES 49

What Makes an Android Application? 50

Introducing the Application Manifest 51
Using the Manifest Editor 56
The Android Application Life Cycle 57
Understanding Application Priority and Process States 58
Externalizing Resources 59
Creating Resources 60
Creating Simple Values 60
Styles and Themes 62
Drawables 63
Layouts 63
Animations 64
Menus 66
Using Resources 67
Using Resources in Code 67
Referencing Resources within Resources 68
Using System Resources 69
Referring to Styles in the Current Theme 70
To-Do List Resources Example 70
Creating Resources for Different Languages and Hardware 71
Runtime Configuration Changes 72
Introducing the Android Application Class 74
Extending and Using the Application Class 74
Overriding the Application Life Cycle Events 75
A Closer Look at Android Activities 76
Creating an Activity 77
The Activity Life Cycle 78
Activity Stacks 78
Activity States 79
Monitoring State Changes 80
Understanding Activity Lifetimes 82
Android Activity Classes 84
Summary 84
CHAPTER 4: CREATING USER INTERFACES 85

Fundamental Android UI Design 86

Introducing Views 86

xv
CONTENTS

Creating Activity User Interfaces with Views 87

The Android Widget Toolbox 88
Introducing Layouts 89
Using Layouts 89
Optimizing Layouts 91
Creating New Views 91
Modifying Existing Views 92
Customizing Your To-Do List 93
Creating Compound Controls 96
Creating Custom Views 99
Creating a New Visual Interface 99
Handling User Interaction Events 104
Creating a Compass View Example 105
Using Custom Controls 110
Drawable Resources 111
Shapes, Colors, and Gradients 111
Color Drawable 111
Shape Drawable 111
Gradient Drawable 113
Composite Drawables 114
Transformative Drawables 114
Layer Drawable 116
State List Drawables 116
Level List Drawables 116
NinePatch Drawable 117
Resolution and Density Independence 117
The Resource Framework and Resolution Independence 118
Resource Qualifiers for Screen Size and Pixel Density 118
Specifying Supported Screen Sizes 119
Best Practices for Resolution Independence 119
Relative Layouts and Density-Independent Pixels 120
Using Scalable Graphics Assets 120
Provide Optimized Resources for Different Screens 121
Testing, Testing, Testing 121
Emulator Skins 122
Testing for Custom Resolutions and Screen Sizes 122
Creating and Using Menus 123
Introducing the Android Menu System 123
Defining an Activity Menu 124
Menu Item Options 126

xvi
 CONTENTS

Dynamically Updating Menu Items 127

Handling Menu Selections 127
Submenus and Context Menus 128
Creating Submenus 128
Using Context Menus 128
Defining Menus in XML 130
To-Do List Example Continued 131
Summary 136

CHAPTER 5: INTENTS, BROADCAST RECEIVERS, ADAPTERS,

AND THE INTERNET 137

Introducing Intents 138

Using Intents to Launch Activities 138
Explicitly Starting New Activities 139
Implicit Intents and Late Runtime Binding 139
Returning Results from Activities 140
Native Android Actions 143
Using Intent Filters to Service Implicit Intents 144
How Android Resolves Intent Filters 146
Finding and Using the Launch Intent Within an Activity 147
Passing on Responsibility 147
Select a Contact Example 148
Using Intent Filters for Plug-Ins and Extensibility 152
Supplying Anonymous Actions to Applications 153
Incorporating Anonymous Actions in Your Activity’s Menu 154
Introducing Linkify 155
The Native Linkify Link Types 155
Creating Custom Link Strings 156
Using the Match Filter 157
Using the Transform Filter 157
Using Intents to Broadcast Events 157
Broadcasting Events with Intents 158
Listening for Broadcasts with Broadcast Receivers 158
Broadcasting Sticky and Ordered Intents 161
Native Android Broadcast Actions 161
Introducing Pending Intents 162
Introducing Adapters 163
Introducing Some Native Adapters 163
Customizing the Array Adapter 163
Using Adapters for Data Binding 164

xvii
CONTENTS

Customizing the To-Do List Array Adapter 165

Using the Simple Cursor Adapter 169
Using Internet Resources 170
Connecting to an Internet Resource 170
Using Internet Resources 171
Introducing Dialogs 172
Introducing the Dialog Classes 172
The Alert Dialog Class 173
Specialist Input Dialogs 174
Using Activities as Dialogs 174
Managing and Displaying Dialogs 175
Creating an Earthquake Viewer 176
Summary 184

CHAPTER 6: FILES, SAVING STATE, AND PREFERENCES 187

Saving Simple Application Data 188

Creating and Saving Preferences 188
Retrieving Shared Preferences 189
Creating a Settings Activity for the Earthquake Viewer 189
Introducing the Preference Activity and Preferences Framework 197
Defining a Preference Screen Layout in XML 198
Native Preference Controls 199
Using Intents to Import System Preference Screens 200
Introducing the Preference Activity 200
Finding and Using Preference Screen Shared Preferences 201
Introducing Shared Preference Change Listeners 201
Creating a Standard Preference Activity for the Earthquake Viewer 202
Saving Activity State 203
Saving and Restoring Instance State 203
Saving the To-Do List Activity State 205
Saving and Loading Files 207
Including Static Files as Resources 207
File Management Tools 208
Summary 208

CHAPTER 7: DATABASES AND CONTENT PROVIDERS 209

Introducing Android Databases 209

Introducing SQLite Databases 210
Introducing Content Providers 210

xviii
Other documents randomly have
different content
"But why not give them chances to spoon?" I asked.
"Why not? If a teacher encouraged that sort of thing, why, it might
lead to anything!"
"Exactly," I said, "experience tells you that you have to do all you
can to preserve the morals of the bairns?"
"I could give you instances—"
"I don't want them particularly," I interrupted. "My main point is that
experience has made you a funk. Pass the baccy, Mac."
"Mean to tell me that's how you teach?" cried Simpson. "How in all
the world do you do for discipline?"
"I do without it."
"My goodness! that's the limit! May I ask why you do without it?"
"It is a purely personal matter," I answered. "I don't want anyone to
lay down definite rules for me, and I refuse to lay down definite
rules of conduct for my bairns."
"But how in all the earth do you get any work done?"
"Work," I said, "is an over-rated thing, just as knowledge is
overrated."
"Nonsense," said Simpson.
"All right," I remarked mildly, "if knowledge is so important, why is a
university professor usually a talker of platitudes? Why is the
average medallist at a university a man of tenth-rate ideas?"
"Then our Scotch education is all in vain?"
"Speaking generally, it is."
I think it was at this stage that Simpson began to doubt my sanity.
"Young man," he said severely, "one day you will realise that work
and knowledge and discipline are of supreme importance. Look at
the Germans!"
He waved his hand in the direction of the sideboard, and I looked
round hastily.
"Look what Germany has done with work and knowledge and
discipline!"
"Then why all this bother to crush a State that has all the virtues?" I
asked diffidently.
"It isn't the discipline we are trying to crush; it is the militarism."
"Good!" I cried, "I'm glad to hear it. That's what I want to do in
Scotland; I want to crush the militarism in our schools, and, as most
teachers call their militarism discipline, I curse discipline."
"That's all rubbish, you know," he said shortly.
"No it isn't. If I leather a boy for making a mistake in a sum, I am no
better than the Prussian officer who shoots a Belgian civilian for
crossing the street. I am equally stupid and a bully."
"Then you allow carelessness to go unpunished?" he sneered.
"I do. You see I am a very careless devil myself. I'll swear that I left
your garden gate open when I came in, Mac, and your hens will be
all over the road."
Mac looked out at the window.
"They are!" he chuckled, and I laughed.
"You seem to think that slovenliness is a virtue," said Simpson with a
faint smile.
"I don't, really, but I hold that it is a natural human quality."
"Are your pupils slovenly?" he asked.
"Lots of 'em are. You're born tidy or you aren't."
"When these boys go out to the workshop, what then? Will a joiner
keep an apprentice who makes a slovenly job?"
"Ah!" I said, "you're talking about trade now. You evidently want our
schools to turn out practical workmen. I don't. Mind you I'm quite
willing to admit that a shoemaker who theorises about leather is a
public nuisance. Neatness and skill are necessary in practical
manufacture, but I refuse to reduce education to the level of
cobbling or coffin-making. I don't care how slovenly a boy is if he
thinks."
"If he is slovenly he won't think," said Simpson.
I smiled.
"I think you are wrong. Personally, I am a very lazy man; I have my
library all over the floor as a rule. Yet, though I am lazy physically I
am not lazy mentally. I hold that the really lazy teacher is your "ring
the bell at nine sharp" man; he hustles so much that he hasn't time
to think. If you work hard all day you never have time to think."
Simpson laughed.
"Man, I'd like to see your school!"
"Why not? Come up tomorrow morning," I said.
"First rate!" he cried, "I'll be there at nine."
"Better not," I said with a smile, "or you'll have to wait for ten
minutes."
* * *
He arrived as I blew the "Fall in" on my bugle.
"You don't line them up and march them in?" he said.
"I used to, but I've given it up," I confessed. "To tell the truth I'm
not enamoured of straight lines."
We entered my classroom. Simpson stood looking sternly at my
chattering family while I marked the registers.
"I couldn't tolerate this row," he said.
"It isn't so noisy as your golf club on a Saturday night, is it?" He
smiled slightly.
Jim Burnett came out to my desk and lifted The Glasgow Herald,
then he went out to the playground humming On the Mississippi.
"What's the idea?" asked Simpson.
"He's the only boy who is keen on the war news," I explained.
Then Margaret Steel came out.
"Please, sir, I took The Four Feathers home and my mother began to
read them; she thinks she'll finish them by Sunday. Is anybody
reading The Invisible Man?"
I gave her the book and she went out.
Then Tom Macintosh came out and asked for the Manual Room key;
he wanted to finish a boat he was making.
"Do you let them do as they like?" asked Simpson.
"In the upper classes," I replied.
Soon all the Supplementary and Qualifying pupils had found a novel
and had gone out to the roadside. I turned to give the other classes
arithmetic.
Mary Wilson in the front seat held out a bag of sweets to me. I took
one.
"Please, sir, would the gentleman like one, too?"
Simpson took one with the air of a man on holiday who doesn't care
what sins he commits.
"I say," he whispered, "do you let them eat in school? There's a boy
in the back seat eating nuts."
I fixed Ralph Ritchie with my eye.
"Ralph! If you throw any nutshells on that floor Mrs. Findlay will eat
you."
"I'm putting them in my pooch," he said.
"Good! Write down this sum."
"What are the others doing?" asked Simpson after a time.
"Margaret Steel and Violet Brown are reading," I said promptly.
"Annie Dixon is playing fivies on the sand, Jack White and Bob Tosh
are most likely arguing about horses, but the other boys are reading,
we'll go and see." And together we walked down the road.
Annie was playing fivies all right, but Jack and Bob weren't
discussing horses; they were reading Chips.
"And the scamps haven't the decency to hide it when you appear!"
cried Simpson.
"Haven't the fear," I corrected.
On the way back to the school he said: "It's all very pleasant and
picnicy, but eating nuts and sweets in class!"
"Makes your right arm itch?" I suggested pleasantly.
"It does," he said with a short laugh, "Man, do you never get
irritated?"
"Sometimes."
"Ah!" He looked relieved. "So the system isn't perfect?"
"Good heavens!" I cried, "What do you think I am? A saint from
heaven? You surely don't imagine that a man with nerves and a
temperament is always able to enter into the moods of bairns! I get
ratty occasionally, but I generally blame myself." I sent a girl for my
bugle and sounded the "Dismiss."
"What do you do now?"
I pulled out my pipe and baccy.
"Have a fill," I said, "it's John Cotton."
* * *
To-night I have been thinking about Simpson. He is really a kindly
man; in the golf-house he is voted a good fellow. Yet MacMurray
tells me that he is a very strict disciplinarian; he saw him give a boy
six scuds with the tawse one day for drawing a man's face on the
inside cover of his drawing book. I suppose that Simpson considers
that he is an eminently just man.
I think that the foundation of true justice is self-analysis. It is mental
laziness that is at the root of the militarism in our schools. Simpson
is as lazy mentally as the proverbial mother who cried: "See what
Willie's doing and tell him he musn't." I wonder what he would have
replied if the boy had said: "Why is it wrong to draw a man's face in
a drawing book?" Very likely he would have given him another six for
impertinence.
It is strange that our boasted democracy uses its power to set up
bullies. The law bullies the poor and gives them the cat if they
trespass; the police bully everyone who hasn't a clean collar; the
dominie bullies the young; and the School Board bullies the dominie.
Yet, in theory, the judge, the constable, the dominie, and the School
Board are the servants of democracy. Heaven protect us from the
bureaucratic Socialism of people like the Webbs! It is significant that
Germany, the country of the super-official is the country of the
super-bully.
Paradoxically, I, as a Socialist, believe that the one thing that will
save the people is individualism. No democracy can control a stupid
teacher or a stupid judge. If our universities produce teachers who
leather a boy for drawing a face, and judges who give boys the cat
for stealing tuppence ha'penny, then our universities are all wrong.
Or human nature is all wrong. If I admit the latter I must fall back
on pessimism. But I don't admit it. Our cruel teachers and
magistrates are good fellows in their clubs and homes; they are bad
fellows in their schools and courts because they have never come to
think, to examine themselves. In my Utopia self-examination will be
the only examination that will matter.
H. G. Wells in The New Machiavelli talks of "Love and Fine Thinking"
as the salvation of the world. I like the phrase, but I prefer the word
Realisation. I want men like Simpson to realise that their arbitrary
rules are unjust and cowardly and inhuman.
* * *
I saw a good fight to-night. At four o'clock I noticed a general move
towards Murray's Corner, and I knew that blood was about to be
shed. Moreover I knew that Jim Steel was to tackle the new boy
Welsh, for I had seen Jim put his fist to his nose significantly in the
afternoon.
I followed the crowd.
"I want to see fair play," I said.
Welsh kept shouting that he could "fecht the hale schule wi' wan
hand tied ahent 'is back."
In this district school fights have an etiquette of their own. One boy
touches the other on the arm saying: "There's the dunt!" The other
returns the touch with the same remark. If he fails to return it he
receives a harder dunt on the arm with the words, "And there's the
coordly!" If he fails to return that also he is accounted the loser, and
the small boys throw divots at him.
Steel began in the usual way with his: "There's the dunt!" Welsh
promptly hit him in the teeth and knocked him down. The boys
appealed to me.
"No," I said, "Welsh didn't know the rules. After this you should
shake hands as you do in boxing."
Welsh never had a chance. He had no science; he came on with his
arms swinging in windmill fashion. Jim stepped aside and drove a
straight left to the jaw, and before Welsh knew what was happening
Jim landed him on the nose with his right. Welsh began to weep,
and I stopped the fight. I told him that Steel had the advantage
because I had taught my boys the value of a straight left, but that I
would give him a few lessons with the gloves later on. Then I asked
how the quarrel had arisen. As I had conjectured Steel and Welsh
had no real quarrel. Welsh had cuffed little Geordie Burnett's ears,
and Geordie had cried, "Ye wudna hit Jim Steel!" Welsh had no
alternative but to reply: "Wud Aw no!" Straightway Geordie had run
off to Steel saying: "Hi! Jim! Peter Welsh says he'll fecht ye!"
So far as I can remember all my own battles at school were
arranged by disobliging little boys in this manner. If Jock Tamson
said to me: "Bob Young cud aisy fecht ye and ca' yer nose up among
yer hair!" I, as a man of honour, had to reply: "Aw'll try Bob Young
ony day he likes!" And even if Bob were my bosom friend, I would
have to face him at the brig at four o'clock.
I noticed that the girls were all on Steel's side before the fight
began, and obviously on Welsh's side when he was beaten, the
bissoms!
 XIV.
I gave a lecture in the village hall on Friday night, and many parents
came out to hear what I had to say on the subject of Children and
their Parents. After the lecture I invited questions.
"What wud ye hae a man do if his laddie wudna do what he was
bidden?" asked Brown the joiner.
"I would have the man think very seriously whether he had any right
to give the order that was disobeyed. For instance, if you ordered
your Jim to stop singing while you were reading, you would be
taking an unfair advantage of your years and size. From what I know
of Jim he would certainly stop singing if you asked him to do so as a
favour."
"Aw dinna believe in askin' favours o' ma laddies," he said.
I smiled.
"Yet you ask them of other laddies. You don't collar Fred Thomson
and shout: 'Post that letter at once!' You say very nicely: 'You might
post that letter like a good laddie,' and Fred enjoys posting your
letter more than posting a ton of letters for his own father."
The audience laughed, and Fred's father cried: "Goad! Ye're quite
richt, dominie!"
"As a boy," I continued, "I hated being set to weed the garden,
though I spent hours helping to weed the garden next door. A boy
likes to grant favours."
"Aye," said Brown, "when there's a penny at the tail end o' them!"
"Yes," I said after the laughter had died, "but your Jim would rather
have Mr. Thomson's penny than your sixpence. The real reason is
that you boss your son, and nobody likes to be bossed."
"Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, I think that the father is the
curse of the home. (Laughter.) The father never talks to his son as
man to man. As a result a boy suppresses much of his nature, and if
he is left alone with his father for five minutes he feels awkward,
though not quite so awkward as the father does. You find among the
lower animals that the father is of no importance; indeed, he is
looked on as a danger. Have you ever seen a bitch flare up when the
father comes too near her puppies? Female spiders, I am told, solve
the problem of the father by eating him." (Great laughter.)
"What aboot the mothers?" said a voice, and the men cackled.
"Mothers are worse," I said. "Fathers usually imagine that they have
a sense of justice, but mothers have absolutely no sense of justice.
It is the mother who cries, 'Liz, ye lazy slut, run and clean your
brother's boots, the poor laddie! Lod, I dinna ken what would
happen to you, my poor laddie, if your mother wasna here to look
after you.' You mothers make your girls work at nights and on
Saturdays, and you allow your boys to play outside. That is most
unjust. Your boys should clean their own boots and mend their own
clothes. They should help in the washing of dishes and the sweeping
of floors."
"Wud ye say that the mother is the curse o' the hame, too?" asked
Brown.
"No," I said, "she is a necessity, and in spite of her lack of justice,
she is nearer to the children than the father is. She is less aloof and
less stern. You'll find that a boy will tell his mother much more than
he will tell his father. Speaking generally, a stupid mother is more
dangerous than a stupid father, but a mother of average intelligence
is better for a child than a father of average intelligence.
"This is a problem that cannot be solved. The mother must remain
with her children, and I cannot see how we are to chuck the father
out of the house. As a matter of fact he is usually so henpecked that
he is prevented from being too much of an evil to the bairns.
"The truth is that the parents of to-day are not fit to be parents, and
the parents of the next generation will be no better. The mothers of
the next generation are now in my school. They will leave at the age
of fourteen—some of them will be exempted and leave at thirteen—
and they will slave in the fields or the factory for five or six years.
Then society will accept them as legitimate guardians of the morals
and spiritual welfare of children. I say that this is a damnable
system. A mother who has never learned to think has absolute
control of a growing young mind, and an almost absolute control of
a growing young body. She can beat her child; she can starve it. She
can poison its mind with malice, just as she can poison its body with
gin and bitters.
"What can we do? The home is the Englishman's castle! Anyway, in
these days of high explosives, castles are out of date, and it is high
time that the castle called home had some airing."
* * *
I cannot flatter myself that I made a single parent think on Friday
night. Most of the villagers treated the affair as a huge joke.
I have just decided to hold an Evening School next winter. I see that
the Code offers The Life and Duties of a Citizen as a subject. I shall
have the lads and lasses of sixteen to nineteen in my classroom
twice a week, and I guess I'll tell them things about citizenship they
won't forget.
It occurs to me that married people are not easily persuaded to
think. The village girl considers marriage the end of all things. She
dons the bridal white, and at once she rises meteorically in the social
scale. Yesterday she was Mag Broon, an outworker at Millside; to-
day she is Mrs. Smith with a house of her own.
Her mental horizon is widened. She can talk about anything now;
the topic of childbirth can now be discussed openly with other
married wives. Aggressiveness and mental arrogance follow
naturally, and with these come a respect for church-going and an
abhorrence of Atheism.
I refuse to believe those who prate about marriage as an
emancipation for a woman. Marriage is a prison. It shuts a woman
up within her four walls, and she hugs all her prejudices and
hypocrisies to her bosom. The men who shout "Women's place is the
home!" at Suffragette meetings are fools. The home isn't good
enough for women.
A girl once said to me: "I always think that marriage makes a girl a
'has been.'"
What she meant was that marriage ended flirtation, poor innocent
that she was! Yet her remark is true in a wider sense. The average
married woman is a "has been" in thought, while not a few are
"never wasers." Hence I have more hope of my evening school
lasses than of their mothers. They have not become smug, nor have
they concluded that they are past enlightenment. They are not too
omniscient to resent the offering of new ideas.
A man's marriage makes no great change in his life. His wife
replaces his mother in such matters as cooking and washing and
"feeding the brute." He finds that he is allowed to spend less, and he
has to keep elders' hours. But in essentials his life is unchanged. He
still has his pint on a Saturday night, and his evening crack at the
Brig. He has gained no additional authority, and he is extremely
blessed of the gods if he has not lost part of the authority he had.
The revolution in his mental outfit comes later when he becomes a
father. He thinks that his education is complete when the midwife
whispers: "Hi, Jock, it's a lassie!" He immediately realises that he is a
man of importance, a guide and preacher rolled into one; and he
talks dictatorially to the dominie about education. Then he discovers
that precept must be accompanied by example, and he aspires to be
a deacon or an elder.
Now I want to get at Jock before the midwife gets at him. I don't
care tuppence whether he is married or not ... but he mustn't be a
father.
* * *
To-day I began to read Mary Johnston's By Order of the Company to
my bairns. I love the story, and I love the style. It reminds me of
Malory's style; she has his trick of running on in a breathless string
of "ands." When I think of style I am forced to recollect the stylists I
had to read at the university. There was Sir Thomas Browne and his
Urn Burial. What the devil is the use of people like Browne I don't
know. He gives us word music and imagery I admit, but I don't want
word music and imagery from prose, I want ideas or a story. I can't
think of one idea I got from Browne or Fisher or Ruskin, or any of
the stylists, yet I have found many ideas in translations of Nietzsche
and Ibsen. Style is the curse of English literature.
When I read Mary Johnston I forget all about words. I vaguely
realise that she is using the right words all the time, but the story is
the thing. When I read Browne I fail to scrape together the faintest
interest in burials; the organ music of his Dead March drowns
everything else.
When a man writes too musically and ornately I always suspect him
of having a paucity of ideas. If you have anything important to say
you use plain language. The man who writes to the local paper
complaining of "those itinerant denizens of the underworld yclept
hawkers, who make the day hideous with raucous cries," is a
pompous ass. Yet he is no worse than the average stylist in writing. I
think it was G. K. Chesterton who said that a certain popular
authoress said nothing because she believed in words. He might
have applied the phrase to 90 per cent of English writers.
Poetry cannot be changed. Substitute a word for "felicity" in the line:
"Absent thee from felicity awhile" and you destroy the poetry. But I
hold that prose should be able to stand translation. The prose that
cannot stand it is the empty stuff produced by our Ruskins and our
Brownes. Empty barrels always have made the most sound.
* * *
There must be something in style after all. I had this note from a
mother this morning.

"Dear Sir,
Please change Jane's seat for she brings home more than
belongs to her."

I refuse to comment on this work of art.

* * *
I must get a cornet. Eurhythmics with an artillery bugle is too much
for my wind and my dignity. Just when the graceful bend is coming
forward my wind gives out, and I make a vain attempt to whistle the
rest. Perhaps a concertina would be better than a cornet. I tried
Willie Hunter with his mouth-organ, but the attempt was stale and
unprofitable, and incidentally flat. Then Tom Macintosh brought a
comb to the school and offered to perform on it. After that I gave
Eurhythmics a rest.
When the war is over I hope that the Government will retain Lloyd
George as Minister of Munitions ... for Schools. I haven't got a tenth
of the munitions I should have; I want a player-piano, a
gramophone, a cinematograph with comic films, a library with
magazines and pictures. I want swings and see-saws in the
playground, I want rabbits and white mice; I want instruments for a
school brass and wood band.
I like building castles in Spain. The truth is that if the School Board
would yield to my importunities and lay a few loads of gravel on the
muddy patch commonly known as the playground I should almost
die of surprise and joy. One learns to be content with small mercies
when one is serving those ratepayers who control the rates.
 XV.
Margaret Steel has left school, and to-morrow morning she goes off
at five o'clock to the factory.
To-day Margaret is a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked lassie; in three years
she will be hollow-eyed and pale-faced. Never again will she know
what it is to waken naturally after sleep; the factory syren will haunt
her dreams always. She will rise at half-past four summer and
winter; she will tramp the two mile road to the factory, and when six
comes at night she will wearily tramp home again. Possibly she will
marry a factory worker and continue working in the factory, for his
wage will not keep up a home. In the neighbouring town hundreds
of homes are locked all day ... and Bruce the manufacturer's
daughters are in county society. Heigh ho! It is a queer thing
civilisation!
I wonder when the people will begin to realise what wagery means.
When they do begin to realise they will commence the revolution by
driving women out of industry. To-day the women are used by the
profiteer as instruments to exploit the men. Surely a factory worker
has the right to earn enough to support a family on. The profiteer
says "No! You must marry one of my hands, and then your
combined wages will set up a home for you."
I spoke of this to the manager of Bruce's factory once.
"But," he said, "if we did away with female labour we'd have to close
down. We couldn't compete with other firms."
"Not if they abolished female labour too?"
"I was thinking of the Calcutta mills where labour is dirt cheap," he
said.
"I see," I said, "so the Scotch lassie is to compete with the native?"
"It comes to that," he admitted.
I think I see a very pretty problem awaiting Labour in the near
future. As the Trade Unions become more powerful and show their
determination to take the mines and factories into their own hands,
capitalists will turn to Asia and Africa. The exploitation of the native
is just beginning. At a time when Britain is a Socialistic State all the
evils of capitalism will be reproduced with ten-fold intensity in India
and China and Africa. I see an Asia ruled by lash and revolver; the
profiteer has a short way with the striker in Eastern climes. The
recent history of South Africa is sinister. A few years ago our
brothers died presumably that white men should have the rights of
citizenship in the Transvaal. What they seemed to have died for was
the right of profiteers to shoot white strikers from the windows of
the Rand Club. If white men are treated thus I tremble for the fate
of the black man who strikes.
Yes, the present profiteering system is a preparation for an exploited
East. Margaret Steel and her fellows are slaving so that a Persia may
be "opened up," a Mexico robbed of its oil wells.
* * *
To-day I gave a lesson on Capital.
"If," I said, "I have a factory I have to pay out wages and money for
machinery and raw material. When I sell my cloth I get more money
than I paid out. This money is called profit, and with this money I
can set up a new factory.
"Now what I want you to understand is this:—Unless work is done
by someone there is no wealth. If I make a fortune out of linen I
make it by using the labour of your fathers, and the machinery that
was invented by clever men. Of course, I have to work hard myself,
but I am repaid for my work fully. Margaret Steel at this moment
standing at a loom, is working hard too, but she is getting a wage
that is miserable.
"Note that the owner of the factory is getting an income of, say, ten
thousand pounds a year. Now, what does he do with the money?"
"Spends it on motor cars," said a boy.
"Buys cigarettes," said a girl.
"Please, sir, Mr. Bruce gives money to the infirmary," said another
girl.
"He keeps it in a box beneath the bed," said another, and I found
that the majority in the room favoured this theory. This suggestion
reminded me of the limitations of childhood, and I tried to talk more
simply. I told them of banks and stocks, I talked of luxuries, and
pointed out that a man who lived by selling expensive dresses to
women was doing unnecessary labour.
Tom Macintosh showed signs of thinking deeply.
"Please, sir, what would all the dressmakers and footmen do if there
was no money to pay them?"
"They would do useful work, Tom," I said. "Your father works from
six to six every day, but if all the footmen and chauffeurs and
grooms and gamekeepers were doing useful work, your father would
only need to work maybe seven hours a day. See? In Britain there
are forty millions of people, and the annual income of the country is
twenty-four hundred million pounds. One million of people take half
this sum, and the other thirty-nine millions have to take the other
half."
"Please, sir," said Tom, "what half are you in?"
"Tom," I said, "I am with the majority. For once the majority has
right on its side."
* * *
Bruce the manufacturer had an advertisement in to-day's local paper.
"No encumbrances," says the ad. Bruce has a family of at least a
dozen, and he possibly thinks that he has earned the right to talk of
"encumbrances." I sympathise with the old chap.
But I want to know why gardeners and chauffeurs must have no
encumbrances. If the manorial system spreads, a day will come
when the only children at this school will be the offspring of the
parish minister. Then, I suppose, dominies and ministers will be
compelled to be polygamists by Act of Parliament.
I like the Lord of the Manor's damned impudence. He breeds cattle
for showing, he breeds pheasants for slaughtering, he breeds
children to heir his estates. Then he sits down and pens an
advertisement for a slave without "encumbrances." Why he doesn't
import a few harem attendants from Turkey I don't know; possibly
he is waiting till the Dardanelles are opened up.
* * *
I have just been reading a few schoolboy howlers. I fancy that most
of these howlers are manufactured. I cannot be persuaded that any
boy ever defined a lie as "An abomination unto the Lord but a very
present help in time of trouble." Howlers bore me; so do most
school yarns. The only one worth remembering is the one about the
inspector who was ratty.
"Here, boy," he fired at a sleepy youth, "who wrote Hamlet?"
The boy started violently.
"P—please, sir, it wasna me," he stammered.
That evening the inspector was dining with the local squire.
"Very funny thing happened to-day," he said, as they lit their cigars.
"I was a little bit irritated, and I shouted at a boy, 'Who wrote
Hamlet?' The little chap was flustered. 'P—please, sir, it wasna me!'
he stuttered."
The squire guffawed loudly.
"And I suppose the little devil had done it after all!" he roared.
* * *
Lawson came down to see me to-night, and as usual we talked
shop.
"It's all very well," he said, "for you to talk about education being all
wrong. Any idiot can burn down a house that took many men to
build. Have you got a definite scheme to put in its place?"
The question was familiar to me. I had had it fired at me scores of
times in the days when I talked Socialism from a soap-box in Hyde
Park.
"I think I have a scheme," I said modestly.
Lawson lay back in his chair.
"Good! Cough it up, my son!"
I smoked hard for a minute.
"Well, Lawson, it's like this, my scheme could only be a success if
the economic basis of society were altered. So long as one million
people take half the national yearly income you can't have any
decent scheme of education."
"Right O!" said Lawson cheerfully, "for the sake of argument, or
rather peace, we'll give you a Utopia where there are no idle rich.
Fire away!"
"Good! I'll talk about the present day education first.
"Twenty years ago education had one aim—to abolish illiteracy. In
consequence the Three R.'s were of supreme importance. Nowadays
they are held to be quite as important, but a dozen other things
have been placed beside them on the pedestal. Gradually education
has come to aim at turning out a man or a woman capable of
earning a living. Cookery, Woodwork, Typing, Bookkeeping,
Shorthand ... all these were introduced so that we should have
better wives and joiners and clerks.
"Lawson, I would chuck the whole blamed lot out of the elementary
school. I don't want children to be trained to make pea-soup and
picture frames, I want them to be trained to think. I would cut out
History and Geography as subjects."
"Eh?" said Lawson.
"They'd come in incidentally. For instance, I could teach for a week
on the text of a newspaper report of a fire in New York."
"The fire would light up the whole world, so to speak," said Lawson
with a smile.
"Under the present system the teacher never gets under way. He is
just getting to the interesting part of his subject when Maggie Brown
ups and says, 'Please, sir, it's Cookery now.' The chap who makes a
religion of his teaching says 'Damn!' very forcibly, and the girls troop
out.
"I would keep Composition and Reading and Arithmetic in the
curriculum. Drill and Music would come into the play hours, and
Sketching would be an outside hobby for warm days."
"Where would you bring in the technical subjects?"
"Each school would have a workshop where boys could repair their
bikes or make kites and arrows, but there would not be any formal
instruction in woodwork or engineering. Technical education would
begin at the age of sixteen."
"Six what?"
"Sixteen. You see my pupils are to stay at school till they are twenty.
You are providing the cash you know. Well, at sixteen the child
would be allowed to select any subject he liked. Suppose he is keen
on mechanics. He spends a good part of the day in the engineering
shop and the drawing room—mechanical drawing I mean. But the
thinking side of his education is still going on. He is studying political
economy, eugenics, evolution, philosophy. By the time he is eighteen
he has read Nietzsche, Ibsen, Bjornson, Shaw, Galsworthy, Wells,
Strindberg, Tolstoi, that is if ideas appeal to him."
"Ah!"
"Of course, I don't say that one man in a hundred will read Ibsen.
You will always have the majority who are averse to thinking if they
can get out of it. These will be good mechanics and typists and
joiners in many cases. My point is that every boy or girl has the
chance to absorb ideas during their teens."
"Would you make it compulsory? For instance, that boy Willie Smith
in your school; do you think that he would learn much more if he
had to stay at school till he was twenty?"
"No," I said, "I wouldn't force anyone to stay at school, but to-day
boys quite as stupid naturally as Smith stay at the university and
love it. A few years' rubbing shoulders with other men is bound to
make a man more alert. Take away, as you have done for
argument's sake, the necessity of a boy's leaving school at fourteen
to earn a living and you simply make every school a university."
"And it isn't three weeks since I heard you curse universities!" said
Lawson with a grin.
"I'm thinking of the social side of a university," I explained. "That is
good. The educational side of our universities is bad because it is
mostly cram. I crammed Botany and Zoo for my degree and I know
nothing about either; I was too busy trying to remember words like
Caryophylacia, or whatever it is, to ask why flowers droop their
heads at night. So in English I had to cram up what Hazlitt and
Coleridge said about Shakespeare when I should have been reading
Othello. The university fails because it refuses to connect education
with contemporary life. You go there and you learn a lot of rot about
syllogisms and pentameters, and nothing is done to explain to you
the meaning of the life in the streets outside. No wonder that Oxford
and Cambridge dons write to the papers saying that life has no
opening for a university man."
"But I thought that you didn't want education to produce a practical
man. You wanted a theoretical chimney-sweep, didn't you?" said
Lawson smiling.
"The present university turns out men who are neither practical nor
theoretical. I want a university that will turn out thinkers. The men
who have done most to stimulate thought these past few years are
men like Wells and Shaw and Chesterton; and I don't think that one
of them is a 'varsity man.'"
"You can't run a world on thought," said he.
"I don't know," I said, "we seem to run this old State of ours without
thought. The truth is that there will always be more workers than
thinkers. While one chap is planning a new heaven on earth, the
other ninety-nine are working hard at motors and benches.
"H. G. Wells is always asking for better technical schools, more
research, more invention. All these are absolutely necessary, but I
want more than that; along with science and art I want the thinking
part of education to go on."
"It goes on now."
"No," I said, "it doesn't. Your so-called educated man is often a
stupid fellow. Doctors have a good specialist education, yet I know a
score of doctors who think that Socialism means 'The Great Divide.'
When Osteopathy came over from America a few years ago
thousands of medical men pronounced it 'damned quackery' at once;
only a few were wide enough to study the thing to see what it was
worth. So with inoculation; the doctors follow the antitoxin authority
like sheep. At the university I once saw a raid on an Anti-Vivisection
shop, and I'm sure that not one medical student in the crowd had
ever thought about vivisection. Mention Women's Freedom to the
average lawyer, and he will think you a madman.
"Don't you see what I am driving at? I want first-class doctors and
engineers and chemists, but I want them to think also, to think
about things outside their immediate interests. This is the age of the
specialist. That's what's wrong with it. Somebody, Matthew Arnold, I
think, wanted a man who knew everything of something and
something of everything. It's a jolly good definition of education."
"That is the idea of the Scotch Code," said Lawson.
"Yes, perhaps it is. They want our bairns to learn tons of somethings
about everything that doesn't matter a damn in life."
* * *
My talk with Lawson last night makes me realise again how hopeless
it is to plan a system of education when the economic system is all
out of joint. I believe that this nation has the wealth to educate its
children properly. I wonder what the Conscriptionists would say if I
hinted to them that if a State can afford to take its youth away from
industry to do unprofitable labour in the army and navy it can afford
to educate its youth till the age of twenty is reached.
The stuff we teach in school leads nowhere; the Code subjects
simply lull a child to sleep. How the devil is a lad to build a Utopia on
Geography and Nature Study and Woodwork? Education should
prove that the world is out of joint, and it should point a Kitchener
finger at each child and say, "Your Country Needs You ... to set it
Right."
 XVI.
This has been a delightful day. About eleven o'clock a rap came at
the door, and a young lady entered my classroom.
"Jerusalem!" I gasped. "Dorothy! Where did you drop from?"
"I'm motoring to Edinburgh," she explained, "on tour, you know, old
thing!"
Dorothy is an actress in a musical comedy touring company, and she
is a very old friend of mine. She is a delightful child, full of fun and
mischief, yet she can be a most serious lady on occasion.
She looked at my bairns, then she clasped her hands.
"O, Sandy! Fancy you teaching all these kiddies! Won't you teach
me, too?" And she sat down beside Violet Brown. I thanked my stars
that I had never been dignified in that room.
"Dorothy," I said severely, "you're talking to Violet Brown and I must
give you the strap."
The bairns simply howled, and when Dorothy took out her wee
handkerchief and pretended to cry, laughter was dissolved in tears.
It was minutes time, and she insisted on blowing the "Dismiss" on
the bugle. Her efforts brought the house down. The girls refused to
dismiss, they crowded round Dorothy and touched her furs. She was
in high spirits.
"You know, girls, I'm an actress and this big bad teacher of yours is
a very old pal of mine. He isn't such a bad sort really, you know,"
and she put her arm round my shoulders.
"See her little game, girls?" I said. "Do you notice that this woman
from a disreputable profession is making advances to me? She really
wants me to kiss her, you know. She—" But Dorothy shoved a piece
of chalk into my mouth.
What a day we had! Dorothy stayed all day, and by four o'clock she
knew all the big girls by their Christian names. She insisted on their
calling her Dorothy. She even tried to talk their dialect, and they
screamed at her attempt to say "Guid nicht the noo."
In the afternoon I got her to sing and play; then she danced a
ragtime, and in a few minutes she had the whole crowd ragging up
and down the floor.
She stayed to tea, and we reminisced about London. Dear old
Dorothy! What a joy it was to see her again, but how dull will school
be tomorrow! Ah, well, it is a workaday world, and the butterflies do
not come out every day. If Dorothy could read that sentence she
would purse up her pretty lips and say, "Butterfly, indeed, you old
bluebottle!" The dear child!
* * *
The school to-day was like a ballroom the "morning after." The
bairns sat and talked about Dorothy, and they talked in hushed tones
as about one who is dead.
"Please, sir," asked Violet, "will she come back again?"
"I'm afraid not," I answered.
"Please, sir, you should marry her, and then she'll always be here."
"She loves another man, Vi," I said ruefully, and when Vi whispered
to Katie Farmer, "What a shame!" I felt very sad. For the moment I
loved Dorothy, but it was mere sentimentalism, Dorothy and I could
never love, we are too much of the pal to each other for emotion to
enter.
"She is very pretty," said Peggy Smith.
"Very," I assented.
"P—please, sir, you—you could marry her if you really tried?" said
Violet. She had been thinking hard for a bit.
"And break the other man's heart!" I laughed.
Violet wrinkled her brows.
"Please, sir, it wouldn't matter for him, we don't know him."
"Why!" I cried, "he is a very old friend of mine!"
"Oh!" Violet gasped.
"Please, sir," she said after a while, "do you know any more
actresses?"
I seized her by the shoulders and shook her.
"You wee bissom! You don't care a rap about me; all you want is
that I should marry an actress. You want my wife to come and teach
you ragtimes and tangoes!" And she blushed guiltily.
* * *
Lawson came down to see me again to-night; he wanted to tell me
of an inspector's visit to-day.
"Why don't you apply for an inspectorship?" he asked.
I lit my pipe.
"Various reasons, old fellow," I said. "For one thing I don't happen to
know a fellow who knows a chap who lives next door to a woman
whose husband works in the Scotch Education Department.
"Again, I'm not qualified; I never took the Education Class at
Oxford."
"Finally, I don't want the job."
"I suppose," said Lawson, "that lots of 'em get in by wire-pulling."
"Very probably, but some of them probably get in straight. Naturally,
you cannot get geniuses by wire-pulling; the chap who uses
influence to get a job is a third-rater always."
Lawson reddened.
"I pulled wires to get into my job," he said.
"That's all right," I said cheerfully, "I've pulled wires all my days."
"But," I added, "I wouldn't do it again."
"Caught religion?"
"Not quite. The truth is that I have at last realised that you never get
anything worth having if you've got to beg for it."
"It's about the softest job I know, whether you have to beg for it or
not. The only job that beats it for softness is the kirk," he said.
"I wouldn't exactly call it a soft job, Lawson; a rotten job, yes, but a
soft job, no. Inspecting schools is half spying and half policing. It
isn't supposed to be you know, but it is. You know as well as I do
that every teacher starts guiltily whenever the inspector shoves his
nose into the room. Nosing, that's what it is."
"You would make a fairly decent inspector," said Lawson.
"Thanks," I said, "the insinuation being that I could nose well, eh?"
"I didn't mean that. Suppose you had to examine my school how
would you do it?"
"I would come in and sit down on a bench and say: 'Just imagine I
am a new boy, and give me an idea of the ways of the school. I
warn you that my attention may wander. Fire away! But, I say, I
hope you don't mind my finishing this pie; I had a rotten breakfast
this morning.'"
"Go on," said Lawson laughing.
"I wouldn't examine the kids at all. When you let them out for
minutes I would have a crack with you. I would say something like
this: 'I've got a dirty job, but I must earn my screw in some way. I
want to have a wee lecture all to myself. In the first place I don't like
your discipline. It's inhuman to make kids attend the way you do.
The natural desire of each boy in this room was to watch me put
myself outside that pie, and not one looked at me.
"'Then you are far too strenuous. You went from Arithmetic to
Reading without a break. You should give them a five minutes chat
between each lesson. And I think you have too much dignity. You
would never think of dancing a ragtime on this floor, would you? I
thought not. Try it, old chap. Apart from its merits as an antidote to
dignity it is a first-rate liver stimulator.' Hello! Where are you going?
Time to take 'em in again?
"'O, I say, I'm your guest, uninvited guest, I admit, but that's no
reason why you should take advantage of me. Man, my pipe isn't
half smoked, and I have a cigarette to smoke yet. Come out and
watch me play footer with the boys.'"
"You think you would do all that," said Lawson slowly, "but you
wouldn't you know. I remember a young inspector who came into
my school with a blush on his face. 'I'm a new inspector,' he said
very gingerly, 'and I don't know what I am supposed to do.' A year
later that chap came in like whirlwind, and called me 'young man.'
Man, you can't escape becoming smug and dignified if you are an
inspector."
"I'd have a darned good try, anyway," I said. "Getting any eggs just
now?"
* * *
To-night I have been glancing at The Educational News. There is a
letter in it about inspectors, it is signed "Disgusted." That
pseudonym damns the teaching profession utterly and irretrievably.
Again and again letters appear, and very seldom does a teacher sign
his own name. Naturally, a letter signed with a pseudonym isn't
worth reading, for a moral coward is no authority on inspectors or
anything else. It sickens me to see the abject cringing cowardice of
my fellow teachers. "Disgusted" would no doubt defend himself by
saying, "I have a wife and family depending on me and I simply
can't afford to offend the inspector."
I grant that there is no point in making an inspector ratty, or for that
matter making anyone ratty. I don't advise a man to seize every
opportunity for a scrap. There is little use in arguing with an
inspector who has methods of arithmetic different to your methods;
it is easier to think over his advice and reject it if you are a better
arithmetician than he. But if a man feels strongly enough on a
subject to write to the papers about it, he ought to write as a man
not as a slave. Incidentally, the habit of using a pseudonym damns
the inspectorate at the same time. For this habit is universal, and
teachers must have heard tales of the victimising of bold writers.
Most educational papers suggest by their contributed articles that
the teachers of Britain are like a crowd of Public School boys who
fear to send their erotic verses to the school magazine lest the Head
flays them. No wonder the social status of teachers is low; a
profession that consists of "Disgusted" and "Rural School" and
"Vindex" and their kind is a profession of nonentities.
* * *
Once in my palmy days I told a patient audience of Londoners that
the Post Office was a Socialist concern.
"Any profits go to the State," I said.
A postman in the crowd stepped forward and told me what his
weekly wage was, and I hastily withdrew my statement. To-day I
should define it as a State Concern run on the principles of Private
Profiteering, i.e., it considers labour a commodity to be bought.
The School Board here is theoretically a Socialistic body. Its
members are chosen by the people to spend the public money on
education. No member can make a profit out of a Board deal. Yet
this board perpetrates all the evils of the private profiteer.
Mrs. Findlay gets ten pounds a year for cleaning the school. To the
best of my knowledge she works four or five hours a day, and she
spends the whole of each Saturday morning cleaning out the
lavatories. This sum works out at about sixpence a day or three
ha'pence an hour. Most of her work consists of carrying out the very
considerable part of the playground that the bairns carry in on their
boots. Yet all my requests for a few loads of gravel are ignored.
The members do not think that they are using sweated labour; they
say that if Mrs. Findlay doesn't do it for the money half a dozen
widows in the village will apply for the job. They believe in
competition and the market value of labour.
A few Saturdays ago I rehearsed a cantata in the school, and I
offered Mrs. Findlay half a crown for her extra trouble in sweeping
the room twice. She refused it with dignity, she didn't mind obliging
me, she said. And this kindly soul is merely a "hand" to be bought at
the lowest price necessary for subsistence.
Sometimes I curse the Board as a crowd of exploiters, but in my
more rational moments I see that they could not do much better if
they tried. If Mrs. Findlay had a pound a week the employees of the
farmers on the Board would naturally object to a woman's getting a
pound a week out of the public funds for working four hours a day
while they slaved from sunrise to sunset for less than a pound. A
public conscience can never be better than the conscience of the
public's representatives. Hence I have no faith in Socialism by Act of
Parliament; I have no faith in municipalisation of trams and gas and
water. Private profit disappears when the town council takes over the
trams, but the greater evil—exploitation of labour remains.
Ah! I suddenly recollect that Mrs. Findlay has her old age pension
each Friday. She thus has eight and six a week. I wonder did Lloyd
George realise that his pension scheme would one day prevent fat
farmers from having conscience qualms when they gave a widow
sixpence a day?
* * *
As I came along the road this morning I saw half a dozen carts
disgorging bricks on one of Lappiedub's fields. Lappiedub himself
was standing by, and I asked him what was happening.
"Man," he cried lustily, "they've fund coal here and they're to sink
pits a' ower the countryside."
When I reached the school the bairns were waiting to tell me the
news.
"Please, sir," said Willie Ramsay, "they're going to build a town here
bigger than London."
"Bigger than Glasgow even," said Peter Smith.
A few navvies went past the school.
"They're going to build huts for thousands of navvies," said a lassie.
"Please, sir, they'll maybe knock down the school and have a mine
here," suggested Violet Brown.
"They won't," I said firmly, "this ugly school will stand until the
countryside becomes as ugly as itself. Poor bairns! You don't know
what you're coming to. In three years this bonny village will be a
smoky blot on God's earth like Newcastle. Dirty women will gossip at
dirty doors. You, Willie, will become a miner, and you will walk up
that road with a black face. You, Lizzie, will be a trollop of a wife
living in a brick hovel. You can hardly escape."
"Mr. Macnab of Lappiedub will lose all his land," said a boy.
"He didn't seem sad when I saw him this morning," I remarked.
"Maybe he's tired of farming," suggested a girl.
"Perhaps," I said, "if he is he doesn't need to worry about farming.
He will be a millionaire in a few years. He will get a royalty on every
ton of coals that comes up from the pit, and he will sit at home and
wait for his money. Simply because he is lucky he will be kept by the
people who buy the coals. If he gets sixpence a ton your fathers will
pay sixpence more on every ton. I want you to realise that this is
sheer waste. The men who own the mines will take big profits and
keep up big houses with servants and idle daughters. Then Mr.
Macnab will have his share. Then a man called a middleman will buy
the coals and sell them to coal merchants in the towns, and he will
have his share. And these men will sell them to the householders.
When your father buys his ton of coals he is paying for these things:
—the coalowner's income, Mr. Macnab's royalty, the middleman's
profit, the town coal merchant's profit, and the miners' wages. If the
miners want more wages and strike, they will get them, but these
men won't lose their profits; they will increase the price of coals and
the householders will pay for the increase.
"Don't run away with the idea that I am calling Mr. Macnab a
scoundrel. He is a decent, honest, good-natured man who wouldn't
steal a penny from anyone. It isn't his fault or merit that he is to be
rich, it is the system that is bad."
Thomas Hardy somewhere talks about "the ache of modernism." I
adapt the phrase and talk about the ache of industrialism. I look out
at my wee window and I see the town that will be. There will be gin
palaces and picture houses and music-halls—none of them bad
things in themselves, but in a filthy atmosphere they will be hideous
tawdry things with horrid glaring lights. I see rows of brick houses
and acres of clay land littered with bricks and stones thrown down
any way. Stores will sell cheap boots and frozen meat and patent
pills, packmen will lug round their parcels of shoddy and sheen. And
education! They will erect a new school with a Higher Grade
department, and the Board will talk of turning out the type of
scholar the needs of the community require. They will have for
Rector a B.Sc., and technical instruction will be of first importance.
When that happens I shall trek inland and shall seek some rural spot
where I can be of some service to the community. I might be able to
stand the smoke and filth, but before long there would be a labour
candidate for the burgh, and I couldn't stand hearing him spout.
 XVII.
I have been considering the subject of school magazines, and I
wonder whether it would be possible to run a school magazine here.
I have had no experience with a school magazine, but I edited a
university weekly for a year. It wasn't a success. I wrote yellow
editorials and placarded the quadrangles with flaring bills which
screamed "Liars!" "Are School Teachers Socially Impossible?" "The
Peril and the Pity of the Princes Street Parade," at the
undergraduates passing by. It was of no use. No one bothered to
reply to my philippics, and I had to sit down and write scathing
replies to my own articles. I could never bring my circulation up to
the watermark of a previous editor who had written editorials on
such bright topics as "The Medical Congress" and "The Work of the
International Academic Committee."
In Edinburgh the students are indifferent to their 'varsity magazine,
but in St. Andrews the publication of College Echoes is the event of
the week. The reason is that the St. Andrew's students form a small
happy family; if a reference is made to Bejant Smith everyone
understands it. If you mentioned Bejant Smith in the Edinburgh
Student no one would know whom you were referring to.
The success of College Echoes gives me the idea of a school
magazine that would succeed. A magazine for my hundred and fifty
bairns would be useless; what I want is a magazine for parents and
children. It would be issued weekly, and would mingle school gossip
with advice. If Willie Wilson knew that Friday's edition might contain
a paragraph to the effect that he had been discovered murdering
two young robins, I fancy that he would think twice before he cut
their heads off.
I imagine entries like the following:—
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookultra.com