Seventy-three Autograph Letters Signed from Arthur John Leahy to his mother Margaret Leahy, almost exclusively written as a schoolboy at Bradfield College, Berks, 1928-30, painting a vivid picture of the English public school education of the period.
The collection is in good condition, on lightly-aged paper, with all texts clear and complete. Totaling 223 pp in 4to (67 letters) and 30 pp in 12mo (6 letters). Twelve of the letters (4to, 30 pp; 12mo, 4 pp) date from 1928; thirty-two (4to, 93 pp; 12mo, 14 pp) from 1929; and twenty-nine (4to, 100 pp; 12mo, 12 pp) from 1930. All are addressed to 'My darling Mummy', with Leahy usually signing his name in full, and occasionally as 'A. J. Leahy', 'John Leahy' or 'John'. Occasional maps and drawings (dogs, birds, locomotives, airplanes, boat, musical instruments), including one, with key, of a kitchen scene, captioned 'My dream last night, (influenced probably by the Pip & Squeak Page of the Daily Mirror)!' Although Leahy came from an Irish military family (he himself would be mentioned in despatches for action as a captain in the special forces in Norway in 1941), his father Professor Arthur Hubert Leahy (1857-1928) was a fellow of Pembroke College, Cambridge, and Professor of Mathematics at the University of Sheffield. The only reference in the correspondence to the father (who had taught mathematics at Bradfield between 1883 and 1884) is in the year of his death: on 31 May 1928 ('Bath night') the boy sends his mother 'a paragraph out of the Littlehampton Post about dear Daddy'. The letters are vivid and well-written, but while Leahy reveals himself to be an affectionate and sensitive child (early valedictions include 'Your loving little son', 'Your very lovingest son' and 'Your loving little puppy dog'), there are indications in his responses of indifference on the part of Leahy's mother Margaret, nee Chichele Nourse (see the longer extracts at the end of this description). On an occasion when he writes from the 'sanatorium', having lost feeling in his 'hands, ears, nose, toes, and other parts', she does no more than send him 'lovely magazines' with her letters. An archive such as this - chronicling the development of an articulate and intelligent young child at a formative period in his education (the early teens), and casting light on a notable English school - is not commonly encountered. Leahy shares the usual schoolboy appetites ('we were coming back, guzzling biscuits (I ate 22)'), and his progress to young manhood is clearly reflected in the letters, with the child's mix of shrewdness ('What a funny place England is. It is one of the most modern countries in the world, yet feudalism still lingers on') and naivety ('Does curling up in bed stop you growing?'). Themes include ghosts (an admiral in the chapel and a spectre chasing 'Mr. Saunders [...] across the quadrangle and round the back of the chapel!')'; an 'Avro Avian' aeroplane landing on the sports field ('It was beautiful and we were thrilled. How can the propeller pull it so fast?'); corporal punishment or 'ruxing' ('Edmonds gave it pretty hard [...] I had 13, and I have still the blue bruises'); amateur dramatics, including a description of an end-of-term concert (with diagram of stage); a long account of a train journey featuring an encounter with boys from Christ's Hospital, and a young couple talking indiscreetely about crime; Leahy's efforts at games ('I have taken up boxing (there is no fee) because I shall have to box at Woolwich'); his musical preferences (on one occasion he writes out a phrase from a piece by Schubert for clarinet); presents received ('a beautiful Ingersoll watch with a luminous dial'), the weather and his love of nature ('We are having tremendous winds, trees and telephone posts falling down every where. I forget whether I told you that I found a most delightful family of young rabbits in a rambling old burrow in the roots of an old tree'), his academic achievements ('I am a bit worried about my work, but I came out 5th in a Scripture and two Latin tests and 4th in an English'); boys' brigade activities including parades and manoeuvres ('I was rather nervous, seeing the cartridge about 2 inches from my ear. "Fire." I pressed the trigger expecting a terrific detonation, but there was only a muffled "poomp."'); the building of 'a new block of classrooms (Bradfield is still growing) [...] on the site of the old fire engine shed' (with two diagrams); thirty boys tackling a haystack fire with a fire engine; pastimes ('Every body is making racing cars with Meccano Motors'); and the recounting of the usual schoolboy mishaps. Leahy is clearly an intelligent lad, albeit with little academic drive ('you had better write to Mr Briggs about my work as he has rather strange ideas about how much work a boy can do'), with a particular interest in the practical aspects of chemistry, and with his heart from the first set on a military career. (By the end of the correspondence he boasts that he is making 'some percussion caps out of fulminate of mercury, they are much more interesting than guncotton which just burns unless set off by a cap. I could also make some Nitroglycerine if I wanted but that is rather dangerous, or some TNT, but that would take too long.') Accompanying one letter is a 'sonnet' he has written on the New Year, marked at 15/20, with the comment 'quite good of its sort but hardly a sonnet'. The overall feel of the correspondence is of a boy pushing for more affection and support than his mother is able to give (as a result of depression at the loss of her husband?). In the first months at Bradfield Leahy's life is made a misery by 'Edmonds the head of the houseroom': 'I am now tidying up fag for three weeks. I don't do it very well and Edmonds the head of the house says that I shall be ruxed if I don't do it better tonight, and I don't think I can. I am rather terrified but God will help me I am sure.' On another occasion Edmonds makes him 'sweep up every grain of dust on the hearth and on the floor, although he made no one else do it, and gave me only a quarter of an hour to do that, change my shoes, get my prep books and move certain pieces of heavy furniture into their places.' In May of 1929 the forced cheerfulness of the correspondence is broken up by an outburst of desperation: 'I got into the Upper School on my Latin & English subjects, so I shall not go down in class, but I am terrified of losing my nomination. And I lost my new cricket-ball, or at least someone stole it. And someone upset my box and some Brasso all over my cake. And I do feel homesick, especially as I don't come home till July 30th and no one is coming to take me out. Are you sure you can't see me on Thursday which is a half holiday. The bus only takes half an hour from Caversham and I don't especially want to be taken out, I just want to see you.' Also included in the correspondence are five letters from Leahy to his grandmother, written between 1930 and 1935, with one from the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich, and two on letterheads of the Royal Signals Mess, Catterick. One of the latter contains the following comment: 'I am most awfully sorry that Mummy is not well just now. I should love to be able to see her, but I am afraid it is not possible just now. When I was at School and when I was at Woolwich I never used to be able to see her at ll from the beginning of September to just before Christmas day, and now I am up here conditions have hardly changed.' Also present are a card containing a photograph of 'The Gateway, Bradfield College', and two letters to Mrs Leahy on the subject of her son's education: one from W. J. Chichele Nourse, surgeon, and the other from Gordon Leahy, both dating from 1928.