Kitabı oku: «Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters»
A Life in Letters
Edited by Jon Lellenberg Daniel Stashower & Charles Foley
Arthur Conan Doyle
To the memory of Dame Jean Conan Doyle, whose wish it was that her father’s letters be published
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
1 - The Schoolboy (1867-1876)
2 - The Medical Student (1876-1882)
3 - The Struggling Doctor (1882-1884)
4 - Cracking the Oyster (1884-1890)
5 - ‘Author of Sherlock Holmes’ (1891-1893)
6 - Putting Holmes Behind Him (1894-1896)
7 - Country Life (1896-1898)
8 - War in South Africa (1899-1900)
9 - Politics and Honours (1900-1902)
10 - The Final Hindhead Years (1903-1907)
11 - Windlesham to the Outbreak of War (1907-1914)
12 - The World War (1914-1918)
13 - His Last Crusade (1918-1920)
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Index
Copyright
About the Publisher
Introduction
‘Your ingenious habit of not dating your letters will make your biographer curse.’
—CONAN DOYLE’S LIFELONG FRIEND JAMES RYAN
More than seventy-five years after his death Conan Doyle remains one of the most popular and best-loved authors of modern times, and his legendary creation, Sherlock Holmes, remains a towering phenomenon. For all his success, he aspired to be more than a mere writer, and his life was not spent simply cranking out book after book. He was also a physician, a sportsman, a crusader for criminal and social justice, a war correspondent, a military historian, and ultimately a spokesman and missionary for a new religion. Conan Doyle lived a life as gripping as any of his own adventure tales, and his activities frequently placed him on the leading edge of public controversies.
Each chapter of his life was rife with drama. As a schoolboy he confounded his masters’ low expectations of him and became a prize-winning student. As a medical student he faced a tortuous academic grind at Edinburgh University, and found some relief in spending six months as a ship’s surgeon on an Arctic sealing and whaling expedition, risking his life upon the ice floes. As a penniless young doctor he overcame the treachery of a duplicitous colleague to establish a practice of his own, under constant threat of financial ruin. Upon finding fame as the author of the Sherlock Holmes stories, he travelled to America and became an apostle of what came to be known as ‘the special relationship’ between the two great English-speaking powers. He forged friendships with other writers such as Rudyard Kipling and James Barrie, and crossed swords with the likes of George Bernard Shaw. He helped introduce skiing to the Alps at a time when the sport was unknown there, and played cricket as an amateur against some of the best professionals.
There was tragedy and controversy in his life as well. In the early days of his fame Conan Doyle learned that his wife had contracted tuberculosis, and he took her to the restorative climates of Switzerland and Egypt seeking a cure. His character and resolve were sorely tested when he met and fell in love with another woman during the years of his wife’s decline. A staunch patriot, he went off to war in South Africa at the age of forty-one, wrote a history of it, and then defended the British cause against slanderous attacks by its enemies. When his service to the Crown brought a knighthood, he initially intended to refuse it; he finally accepted only at his mother’s insistence. At home and abroad he campaigned tirelessly for the victims of injustice, and for military reform as well, as he watched war with Germany approach. Too old to serve in the army in World War I, his determination to contribute took him to both Downing Street and the front lines. The war took half a dozen of his family, including his only brother and his oldest son. And when he confronted anew the spiritual uncertainties of his youth, and found comfort in a new religious belief, he was ridiculed for it.
Conan Doyle came from a distinguished family of artists who were Irish in origin, but by his time had lived in England for generations. His grandfather, John Doyle, was a celebrated political cartoonist known as ‘H.B.’, whose originals were sought by the British Museum. His uncle Richard designed the famous cover of Punch magazine, his uncle James compiled The Official Baronage of England, and his uncle Henry founded the National Gallery of Ireland. Three generations of Doyles, including Arthur himself, earned places in the Dictionary of National Biography.
His own father, Charles Doyle, was an artist as well. As a young man he went to Edinburgh to take a position with the city’s Office of Works, and there he met and married Mary Foley, a young Irish girl of seventeen, and they began to build a large family. ‘My father was in truth a great unrecognized genius,’ Conan Doyle said; ‘any sense I have for dramatic effect corresponds to the artistic nature of my father.’ But Charles Doyle fell prey to alcohol in Edinburgh, and more and more the burden of supporting and raising the children came to rest upon their mother.
Mary Foley was remarkable in her own right. She was better educated than women usually were in Victorian Britain, spoke French and got much of her information about the world from the Revue des Deux Mondes, did heraldry for a hobby, and was greatly interested in genealogy and history—the origin of the historical fiction that her son loved to write more than anything else. ‘My real love for letters, my instinct for storytelling, springs from my mother,’ said Conan Doyle, ‘who is of Anglo-Celtic stock, with the glamour and romance of the Celt very strongly marked. In my early childhood, as far back as I can remember, the vivid stories she would tell me stand out so clearly that they obscure the real facts of my life. It is not only that she was a wonderful storyteller, but she had an art of sinking her voice to a horror-stricken whisper when she came to a crisis in the narrative, which makes me goose-fleshy now when I think of it. It was in attempting to emulate these stories of my childhood that I began weaving dreams myself.’ Though small in stature, she was a commanding personality who raised seven children largely on her own, and saw in Arthur the greatest hope of the family.
Born in Scotland, with parents of Irish descent, Conan Doyle nonetheless thought of himself as an Englishman, though the cultural strains of all three peoples would remain with him throughout his life. ‘I am half Irish, you know,’ he once told one of London’s press lords, after losing his temper over a newspaper story, ‘and my British half has the devil of a job to hold the hotheaded rascal in.’ He was always conscious of his diverse makeup, living his adult life in England among its literary and social circles but standing for Parliament twice in Scotland, and taking a lifelong interest in the Irish Home Rule questions. Not all his colleagues managed to balance these disparate traits so successfully; two of his Irish-born collaborators in social and military reform movements would later be convicted of treason, and executed.
CONAN DOYLE’S LETTERS
Conan Doyle was a tireless correspondent, and few writers have left as full or vivid a record of their life and literary work. While he wrote hundreds of letters to the press and professional associates, the many he wrote to his mother were far more personal and introspective in nature, revealing a side of the man not previously known.
Conan Doyle admired his mother greatly, and she was his principal confidant his entire life. He went away to boarding school at the age of eight in 1867 (a year earlier than previously believed), starting the flow of letters that lasted until her death at the end of 1920, fifty-four years later. Roughly a thousand have survived, touching on nearly everything going on in his life, and letting us into his mind. They were among papers of his that were locked away for over fifty years because of family disagreements. They finally came to his youngest child, Dame Jean Conan Doyle, not long before her death in 1997, and were bequeathed by her to the British Library. Complementing them here are other letters to his father, his brother and sisters, and other figures in his life, which we have arranged and annotated to provide his life in letters. The correspondence constitutes a far more candid autobiography than the one that Conan Doyle actually published in the 1920s—called Memories and Adventures—which was long on adventures but deliberately short on the memories.
Virtually no aspect of Conan Doyle’s life and work goes unmentioned in these letters, and they depict his personality and life far more completely and candidly than any previous treatment. They also contain many discoveries that greatly extend and often contradict the existing knowledge of his life. Other members of his family come into sharper focus as well, including his father. Charles Doyle has been accused on little if any evidence of being a volatile, even violent figure in the home, but there is no sign of that in the many references here, only regret over the infirmities that blighted his life and strained the family’s resources. Other discoveries have led to previously unknown Conan Doyle work—including the only known example of his advertising copywriting, in verse, and a talk before four hundred physicians and the Prince of Wales that he called the most successful he’d ever given.
Gracefully written and consistently revealing, Arthur Conan Doyle’s letters illuminate every phase of his life, tracing his development from a schoolboy through his years as a fledgling story writer, then to the years of his immense success as a writer, becoming one of the most popular and influential voices of his time. He was a man of his era, and occasionally prone to its prejudices, though perhaps less than one might expect in the private correspondence of a man born in 1859. And occasionally he had a temper as well. We have left intact examples of these, and of what some today would call his politically incorrect views on various subjects. When Sidney Paget, the artist who illustrated Sherlock Holmes for the Strand magazine, came to paint Conan Doyle’s portrait in 1899, the author insisted upon being depicted ‘warts and all’. This is likewise a warts and all portrait, as he would not have approved of being presented as other than he was.
MARY FOLEY DOYLE
His mother’s influence is evident in every aspect of her son’s character. ‘The Mam’, as he called her,* raised seven children in Victorian Edinburgh (two more died in infancy or childhood) in what were certainly straitened if not absolutely Dickensian circumstances. In later years Conan Doyle said his childhood had been spent in ‘the hardy and bracing atmosphere of poverty’, but that was a rather sunny way of looking at it, even though it appears to have been a genteel sort of poverty, usually with at least one servant in the household.
But Charles Doyle’s alcoholism led to his being pensioned off when still in his forties, deepening the family’s plight; and when he entered the first of a long series of sanatoria and asylums, it was his wife, Mary, who struggled successfully to hold the large family together. Throughout his life Conan Doyle felt a powerful debt to her, and a keen awareness of the many sacrifices she made to secure his education and his start in life. In his 1895 autobiographical novel, entitled The Stark Munro Letters, Conan Doyle gave an admiring portrait of his mother:
You must remember her sweet face, her sensitive mouth, her peering, short-sighted eyes, her general suggestion of a plump little hen, who is still on the alert about her chickens.
But you cannot realise all that she is to me in our domestic life. Those helpful fingers! That sympathetic brain! Ever since I can remember her she has been the quaintest mixture of the housewife and the woman of letters, with the high-bred spirited lady as a basis for either character. Always a lady, whether bargaining with the butcher, or breaking in a skittish charwoman, or stirring the porridge, which I can see her doing with the porridge-stick in one hand, and the other holding her Revue des Deux Mondes within two inches of her dear nose. That was always her favourite reading, and I can never think of her without the association of its browny-yellow cover.
She is a very well-read woman is the mother; she keeps up to date in French literature as well as in English, and can talk by the hour about the Goncourts, and Flaubert, and Gautier. Yet she is always hard at work; and how she imbibes all her knowledge is a mystery. She reads when she knits, she reads when she scrubs, she even reads when she feeds her babies. We have a little joke against her, that at an interesting passage she deposited a spoonful of rusk and milk into my little sister’s ear-hole, the child having turned her head at the critical instant. Her hands are worn with work, and yet where is the idle woman who has read as much?
Even at the peak of his fame, Conan Doyle solicited his mother’s advice on nearly every aspect of his life and career—and even when he did not, she often provided it anyway—including, in one famous example, persuading him to refrain from killing off Sherlock Holmes. (She not only pleaded successfully for the detective’s life, but also gave her son the plot device for a new story. ‘He still lives,’ Conan Doyle told her at the end of the first set of the stories, ‘thanks to your entreaties.’) But not all her advice was literary; she also counselled him on his tortuous love for the young woman who would become his second wife, while his first wife was still struggling against tuberculosis. While he did not preserve many of her letters to him, he did save the ones in which she strove vehemently to dissuade him from volunteering for the Boer War in 1899. In those letters her will and intellect shine every bit as forcefully as those of her famous son.
In addition, there were several more women in Conan Doyle’s life whom he regarded as ‘second mothers’, addressing them, as he did his own, by the honorific ‘Mam’. They did not exert the same developmental influence upon him as his own mother did, but he clearly regarded them with an esteem that went beyond simple family friendship. There was Mrs Charlotte Drummond, a close family friend in Edinburgh with whose two children Conan Doyle had grown up. His letters to her are in the Sherlock Holmes Collections of the University of Minnesota Library. Another was Mrs Amy Hoare, the wife of a Birmingham doctor, Reginald Ratcliff Hoare, under whom Conan Doyle worked a number of times as both a medical student and a fledgling doctor. Both Hoares became second parents to him, and his letters to them are in the Henry W. and Albert A. Berg Collection of English and American Literature at the New York Public Library. Finally, there was Mrs Margaret Ryan, of Edinburgh, the mother of the one lifelong friend he made at school, James Ryan. Some of his letters to her are among his papers now at the British Library.
CONAN DOYLE’S FAMILY
Conan Doyle was part of a very large family, and it is no simple matter to keep all of its members straight as the reader moves through his letters.* His grandfather John Doyle, the London political cartoonist known as ‘H.B.’, was born in April 1797, and died on January 2, 1868, when Conan Doyle was eight years old. He had some memory of his grandfather, but not of his paternal grandmother, Marianne Conan, who had died at the end of 1839. Her brother, Michael Conan, a journalist who lived in Paris much of his life, was godfather to Arthur and his older sister Annette, with his surname being added to theirs at the baptismal font to form the compound name Conan Doyle. This name was not held by their parents’ subsequent children.
John Doyle himself had seven children of whom five survived past adolescence. James Doyle (1822-92), Richard Doyle (1824-83), and Henry Doyle (1827-92) have been mentioned previously, along with Arthur’s father, Charles Altamont Doyle, who was born on March 25, 1832, and died on October 10, 1893. In addition, there was a daughter, Ann Martha Doyle (1821-99), called Annette, who played an important part in her nephew’s life. With the exceptions of Arthur’s father, who went to Edinburgh when young, and his uncle Henry, who spent many years in Dublin, the family’s life centred in London.
On his mother’s side, Arthur Conan Doyle’s other grandfather was William Foley (1807-40) of Lismore, County Waterford, Ireland. He married Catherine Pack in 1835. She died in 1862, and seeing her lifeless body was Arthur’s earliest memory. William and Catherine Foley had two daughters: Conan Doyle’s aunt Kate, Catherine Foley, born in 1839 (but who emigrated when he was young, and the date of her death is unknown); and Conan Doyle’s mother, Mary Josephine Elizabeth Foley, who was born in Lismore on July 8, 1837, and died at her home ‘Bowshott Cottage’ in West Grinstead, Surrey, on December 30, 1920.
Charles Doyle and Mary Foley married on July 31, 1855, and lost little time in starting their large family. Two daughters died young: Catherine Amelia Angela, who lived only six months in 1858, and Mary Helena Monica Harriet, who was born in 1861 but died after two years. Five other daughters and two sons survived to adulthood, with names frequently drawn from relatives or friends, with the occasional saint’s name for good measure:
ANNE MARY FRANCES CONAN DOYLE, born on July 22, 1856, and known as Annette (‘Tottie’ when young) after her aunt and namesake. Called ‘the prop of the family’ by Arthur for her hard work helping to raise and educate her younger brothers and sisters, she never married, and she died from influenza at the age of thirty-three, on January 13, 1890.
ARTHUR IGNATIUS CONAN DOYLE, born on May 22, 1859, and died on July 7, 1930, at age seventy-one. His first marriage, in 1885, to Louisa Hawkins (nicknamed ‘Touie’), produced two children, Mary and Kingsley; his second marriage, in 1907 to Jean Elizabeth Leckie, produced three children, Denis, Adrian (often called Malcolm in his youth), and Jean.
CAROLINE MARY BURTON DOYLE, called ‘Lottie’, was Arthur’s favourite sister. Six years younger than Arthur, she was born February 22, 1866. Lottie married Leslie Oldham in 1900, and they had one daughter, Claire. Lottie survived Arthur, dying on May 3, 1941.
CONSTANCE AMELIA MONICA DOYLE, the beauty of the family, called ‘Connie’, was born March 4, 1868, making her eight years younger than Arthur. She married the writer E. W. Hornung in 1893, and they had one child, Arthur Oscar. She died on June 24, 1924.
JOHN FRANCIS INNES HAY DOYLE, called Innes (or Frank, Geoff, then ‘Duff’, when young), was born March 31, 1873. Arthur took an active role bringing up his fourteen years’ younger brother. Innes married Clara Schwensen in 1911, and they had two sons, John and Francis, before his death on February 19, 1919.
JANE ADELAIDE ROSE DOYLE, called ‘Ida’, was born March 16, 1875, and died on July 1, 1937. In 1895 she married a widowed cousin, Nelson Foley, and they had two sons of their own, Percy and Innes.
BRYAN MARY JULIA JOSEPHINE DOYLE, called ‘Dodo’, was born March 2, 1877, and died on February 8, 1927, predeceasing her considerably older brother Arthur. She married the Reverend Cyril Angell in 1899, and they had one son, Branford.
CONAN DOYLE’S TIMES
Whether playing cricket with James Barrie, the author of Peter Pan, and Anthony Hope, the author of The Prisoner of Zenda, or golfing in a Vermont field with Rudyard Kipling, or writing plays for the leading actors of his day, or dining with William Waldorf Astor, or Winston Churchill, or Theodore Roosevelt, or the Prince of Wales, it can seem as if Conan Doyle was always at the centre of the great literary and political circles of his era. But this exalted life only came after many years of poverty and hard work, struggling first to make a success of himself as a physician, and then as a writer. His letters provide a rich and compelling chronicle of those times, from such commonplace matters as food parcels from home (‘the duck was in perfect condition after eight days’ travel’) through glamorous poetic descriptions of exotic foreign lands:
I ascended the pyramid this evening and saw the sunset. On one side the green delta of the Nile, still shining with scattered pools from the subsiding rivers, the minarets of Cairo in the distance, many scattered mud-coloured villages, lines of camels slouching from one to the other—on the other side the huge grey plain & rolling hillochs of the Sahara which extends straight from here to the Atlantic, 3000 miles.
His letters deal with a range of subjects that defined the age, including the literary and theatre worlds of both Britain and America, the British struggle for empire in Egypt and the Sudan; his country’s bitterly controversial war in South Africa; bitterly contested politics at home (including his own two campaigns for a seat in the House of Commons); the sunnier world of sports (including the early days of the Olympic Games); the perennial and unsolvable question of Ireland; divorce law reform and women’s suffrage (he was in favour of the first, and against the second); warnings about Germany’s intentions in the days before World War I and reports from the front after the war broke out; the coming of automobiles, motorcycles, airplanes, submarines, radio, and motion pictures; and many insights into famous contemporaries.
The result is both an intimate memoir and a window opening onto a bygone age. In these letters, especially the ones to his mother, Conan Doyle held few things back, from the lofty ambitions of youth—‘We’ll aim high, old lady, and consider the success of a lifetime, rather than the difference of a fifty pound note in an annual screw’—through the critical disappointments of his struggle to free himself from the public’s demand for more and more Sherlock Holmes, and his restless search for ‘some big purpose’ that would define his life and career.
SHERLOCK HOLMES, AND OTHER WORK
As one might expect, these letters hold many revelations about the origins of Sherlock Holmes. Not only does the young author give a vivid account of the great detective’s fitful beginnings, but it is intriguing to note many details from Conan Doyle’s private life that transferred into the stories. The letters from the 1880s spent in Southsea, a suburb of Portsmouth on the Channel coast, where the first two Holmes novels were written, offer vivid details of Conan Doyle’s early struggles as an aspiring author. He writes frequently of his difficulties in making ends meet, his problems with tax collectors, and trying to get by selling anonymous stories to the popular magazines of the day. As he makes his first tentative steps into the literary arena, he offers blunt assessments of each new manuscript (‘I have completed a very ghastly Animal Magnetic vampirey sort of a tale’), and details the apparently endless round of rejections that his early work amassed: ‘My dear, I am continually sending things to the Cornhill and they send them back with a perseverance worthy of a better cause.’
The eventual success of Sherlock Holmes (‘Sherlock Holmes seems to have caught on,’ he told his mother in 1891, in one of the great under-statements in literary history), and Conan Doyle’s notorious ambivalence toward his most famous creation, formed a thread throughout his life. The first two Sherlock Holmes novels in 1887 and 1889 were failures, but as the short stories burst onto the pages of the Strand magazine in 1891, Conan Doyle welcomed the sudden rush of wealth and fame. But very soon he became wary of being too closely associated with what he called the ‘humbler plane’ of detective fiction. ‘He takes me from better things,’ he told his mother.
The ‘better things’ included the historical novels he loved so much, after having been raised on the works of Sir Walter Scott. His first breakthrough came with a historical novel called Micah Clarke in 1889, and in 1891 his tale of the Middle Ages, The White Company, helped to convince him that he could give up medicine for writing. In books like these he believed that he was writing enduring literature, and he expected to achieve critical success—particularly with his 1906 novel Sir Nigel, a prequel to The White Company, the two of which, taken together, he believed formed a new and lasting contribution to the national saga.
Yet most critics saw them as merely tales of adventure, and not as entertaining as Sherlock Holmes, or as the picaresque Brigadier Gerard stories about the Napoleonic wars, or as Professor Challenger in pioneering science-fiction tales like The Lost World. It chafed Conan Doyle greatly, but in fact he had been true to a sentiment that he had expressed in an 1894 interview: ‘We talk so much about art that we tend to forget what this art was ever invented for. It was to amuse mankind—to help the sick and the dull and the weary. If Scott and Dickens have done this for millions, they have done well by their art.’
EDITING CONAN DOYLE’S LETTERS
Conan Doyle, like Dr Watson, had a tendency to be careless with dates. Of the many hundreds of letters written to his mother over more than fifty years, only a handful were dated. It was a daunting, at times maddening, task to determine the chronology of the letters based on stationery, return addresses (when present), and internal evidence. ‘The novel goes well,’ he often wrote, but which novel? ‘I have written a fine story’, but which story? ‘Many thanks for the birthday wishes’, but which birthday? Sherlock Holmes himself might have found it a three-pipe problem, and we would not be surprised to find the occasional letter out of place.
Conan Doyle was also careless with spelling and punctuation, a boyhood habit that persisted to some degree his entire life. Except where important for purposes of clarity, we have let spelling and punctuation errors stand as they appear in his letters.
Whenever possible Conan Doyle has been allowed to speak for himself. Many important things in his life occurred outside the compass of these letters. For the most part, the interconnective narrative we have provided tries not to stray from the spirit and content of what Conan Doyle himself chose to convey in his letters, in order to reflect as far as possible the weight and emphasis he gave the matters that he chose to report. But readers should keep in mind that his actual interests and activities and associations were even broader and more numerous than the many referred to here.
Conan Doyle lived at home with his family while attending Edinburgh University in the late 1870s and early 1880s, and therefore had no occasion to write letters describing, among many other striking features of a medical student’s life, his remarkable instructor Dr Joseph Bell, who helped inspire the character of Sherlock Holmes. In this instance, and in others, the void has been filled with other accounts from Conan Doyle’s own pen, so as to extend the fabric of personal narrative wherever possible.
Some liberties have been taken in editing the letters for publication. Shirley Nicholson points out in her book A Victorian Household (Stroud, UK: Sutton, 1994) that Victorians were constantly concerned for, indeed vocal about, their health. Conan Doyle, though living an active, robust, in fact athletic life, was no exception. From boyhood he claimed to suffer from neuralgia, and his letters constantly report head colds and sore throats. We have left intact enough variations on ‘I have a cold’ and ‘I have one of my throats’ to give the idea, but have stricken many more for fear of exhausting the reader’s patience. Similarly, Conan Doyle often conveyed tedious financial information to his mother in his letters, with scrupulous attention to the status and outlook of their investments. We have let many such references stand, but only the most single-minded reader would wish for all of them.
Finally, these letters do not solve all the mysteries about Conan Doyle’s life. It seems evident that the eight-year-old boy was not sent away to school in order to protect him from a drunken father—but Charles Doyle still remains a misty figure about whom scholars would wish to know more. The letters provide more information about the turbulent influence of Dr Bryan Charles Waller, who became part of the household in Edinburgh for a time in the 1870s—but nowhere near as much as students of Conan Doyle’s life would wish. And while Conan Doyle’s investigation of psychic phenomena and spiritualism began when he was a struggling doctor in Southsea in the early 1880s, he told his apparently unsympathetic mother next to nothing about it until 1916, when he finally embraced Spiritualism to fill the religious vacuum in his life.
Whatever gaps remain, these letters will allow Conan Doyle’s admirers to come to know him as never before—as a boy and a man, a physician and a writer, a public figure and a private person. For many readers past and present, Sherlock Holmes is a far more vivid presence on the literary landscape than the versatile and intriguing man who created him. Now, perhaps for the first time, Conan Doyle himself emerges whole from the shadows of Baker Street, as distinctive and memorable as any of his literary creations.
Conan Doyle at the age of 6, drawn by his uncle Richard Doyle
*His son Adrian, who exerted a considerable sway over his father’s early biographers, insisted that his grandmother was, very grandly, ‘The Ma’am’. In fact, Conan Doyle seldom addressed letters to his mother as ‘Dearest Ma’am’; the term he used most frequently by far was ‘Mam’—and after that, ‘Mammie’.
*We are indebted to Philip G. Bergem of St Paul, Minnesota, on whose invaluable reference work The Family and Residences of Arthur Conan Doyle (St Paul, MN: Picardy Place Press, 2003) we have relied heavily throughout this book.
1 The Schoolboy (1867-1876)
‘You have talents enough and we have every reason to hope that you mean to make the most of them.’
—FATHER REGINALD COLLEY, STONYHURST COLLEGE, 1876
Arthur Conan Doyle’s literary turn of mind showed itself early. In 1864, not yet five years old, he took up a pencil to craft a thirty-six-word story involving a Bengal tiger and a hunter armed with ‘knife, gun and pistle’. Recalling the story later, he said he had ‘remarked to my mother with precocious wisdom that it was easy to get people into scrapes, but not so easy to get them out again.’ But she was impressed enough with his effort to report it to Michael Conan, Arthur’s great-uncle and godfather. A distinguished journalist in Paris, his surname had been added to theirs at christening to form the compound name Conan Doyle, which Arthur and Annette alone among the seven children bore.
When Arthur met his godfather years later, at the end of his schooling, he found Michael Conan to be ‘an intellectual Irishman of the type which originally founded the Sinn Fein movement,’ he reported in Memories and Adventures: ‘He was as keen on heraldry and genealogy as my mother, and he traced his descent in some circuitous way from the Dukes of Brittany, who were all Conans.’ Upon meeting ‘this dear old volcanic Irishman’ whose sister had been Conan Doyle’s paternal grandmother, the strapping young man discovered that he was ‘built rather on [Michael Conan’s] lines of body and mind than on any of the Doyles.’
Michael Conan had been impressed with the four-year-old Arthur’s literary precocity, and provided advice for his education that Mary Doyle followed—and some later advice for his young godson as well.
Michael Conan to Mary Doyle PARIS, APRIL 11, 1864
With regard to that philosopher, Master Arthur, whose sympathy with the carnivorous tiger is so ultra comical. I shall look to his development with great interest. The question you ask about his schooling can have scarcely yet arisen. Keep him at your apronstrings for two or three years more, at least. You can teach him much of the initiating and more necessary matters. Win him into multiplication, division and the rule of three and make him practically familiar with geography. I would soon familiarize him with maps. His more serious schooling gives rise to a nice question. I perfectly accord with you, in all your expansive geniality of opinion—in all your unexclusive humanity—remembering your friend Burns’ prophetic record—
‘It’s coming yet, for a that that man to man, the world over shall brothers be, for a that.’
and I do not encourage my old acquaintances, the Jesuits, for their devotion to the per-centa creed—but in matters of education—I mean mere secular education, they are, from experience and their employment therein, of the highest order of mind, unmatched. Therefore the question will assume this form—viz, have you any school at Edinburgh where a boy of gentle birth can be thoroughly well instructed on terms as reasonable as those which you would have to disburse in consigning Master Arthur to the Jesuits—and that gives rise to the further query—have you in Edinburgh, as they have in Dublin, a good Jesuit day school? But this question, as I have said, cannot be ripe for decision for two or three years more. In the meantime, keep your attention awake on the subject and be ready for the final move, when made it must perforce be. As to Arthur’s future development, that, apart from Nature’s endowments, will much depend upon the mother who cherishes him and at once secures his love and respect.
Three years later Michael Conan presented his godson, now eight, with a book about French history, feeding a growing interest in pageantry and ancient codes of honour. Already the boy was fascinated with tales of knights and their deeds, and the sweep and glamour of history—‘which,’ he later wrote, ‘I drank in with my mother’s milk.’
Mary Foley at the of her marriage, by Richard Doyle
Michael Conan to Arthur Conan Doyle PARIS, JULY 7, 1867
My dearest Laddie
I am happy to have an opportunity to send you the accompanying book—from which, I hope you will derive not a little pleasure and that, I know, you will value more, instruction. It is a very sketchy little history of France, with coloured illustrations, giving portraits, in their various costumes, of the Kings and Queens of that country, from the earliest up, even to the present time. You will find gratification in studying these attentively—and, I feel sure that, with the instruction of your dearest Mama who is so well acquainted with the French language, you will, at no distant time, become acquainted with it and thus read the text, by which you will be more especially introduced to their Majesties.
Believe me to be
My Dearest Laddie
Your loving Godfather
That autumn Arthur left Edinburgh for England, and a Jesuit education. It was a big change, but in some ways a welcome one. ‘Of my boyhood I need say little,’ he wrote in Memories and Adventures, ‘save that it was Spartan at home and more Spartan at the Edinburgh school [Newington Academy] where a tawse-brandishing schoolmaster of the old type made our young lives miserable. From the age of seven to nine [sic] I suffered under this pock-marked, one-eyed rascal who might have stepped from the pages of Dickens. In the evenings, home and books were my sole consolation, save for week-end holidays. My comrades were rough boys, and I became a rough boy, too.’
He spent the next two academic years at Hodder House, a preparatory school for Stonyhurst College in Lancashire, and another five at Stonyhurst itself, established in 1593 as one of England’s two foremost Roman Catholic schools for boys.* He was only eight years old when he travelled by train to Preston, Lancashire, the nearest station. ‘It was a long journey for a little boy who had never been away from home before,’ he recalled, ‘and I felt very lonesome and wept bitterly upon the way.’ He put on a brave face nonetheless in frequent letters home to his mother, and occasional ones to his father.
to Mary Doyle HODDER HOUSE, OCTOBER 13, 1867
dear mama I am getting on nicely the only thing i find at all difficult is my Latin Exercise but I will soon be accustomed to it I and 2 other boys had a constaio [sic] and I won 1 of them and was equal to another. I am to get a nice little bible picture for winning—my love to everybody except Mrs Russel*—did lottie get the little picture?
I am ever your own boy.
A Conan Doyle
to Mary Doyle HODDER HOUSE, MARCH 28, 1868
I hope you are quite well I send some little french foot soldiers for cony and lottie please write soon, many thanks for the little whale, we are in the midst of the easter holiday. I hope tot is getting on nicely at school I am having the greatest fun cricket is such a jolly game.
When he entered his second year at Hodder he settled into the rigorous academic routine, but to his delight the ‘rough boy’ from Edinburgh also began to excel in sports. ‘I could hold my own both in brain and in strength with my comrades,’ he later recalled. Cricket became a consuming passion for the rest of his life, and he played many other sports also. Although he felt the separation from his family keenly, he was grateful for the encouragement he received from some of his masters. ‘I was fortunate,’ he recalled, ‘to get under the care of a kindly principal, one Father Cassidy, who was more human than Jesuits usually are.’
As Christmas approached at the end of 1868 he was among the boys who remained at school under the staff’s care. Why is not spelled out, though he was not the only boy to spend Christmas holidays at school, and it was most likely due to the expense of travel. He wrote home eagerly anticipating a package of food that would sustain him through the several holiday weeks. His first communion in May was a landmark.
to Mary Doyle HODDER HOUSE, DECEMBER 13, 1868
I did very well this term I was Distinguished and any boy that gets Distinguished 3 times during the year gets what is called the good-day they can do what they like they fish they hunt they bath they go walks they do what they like for a prize I have got these marks 55 for arithmetic I am not sure what I got for the examen but I think I got about 100 For compositions 359 for this term so that im in a pretty fair way for a prize I send you my compositions just to let you see how Im getting on at christmas we get into company’s of 3 or 5 and each boy gives a little of his christmas box to his neighbour and the neighbour gives him a bit of his I have got three in my company Remember mama to send my box to red Lions inn* on the twenty third I hope tots is getting on nicely and has Coney got her first tooth that tooth seems to be asleep because it never comes however I hope it will come by christmas day
to Mary Doyle HODDER HOUSE, MAY 30, 1869
I am glad to say that I have made my first communion Oh mama I cannot express the joy that I felt on the happy day to receive my creator into my breast I shall never though I live a 100 years I shall never forget that day.
‘Three cheers for the holidays,’ he scribbled at the end of a note dated August 1st about packing up at the end of the school year. Following his annual summer holiday at home, he returned in September 1869 to begin his studies in the ‘grand medieval dwelling-house’ of Stonyhurst College. ‘It was the usual public school routine of Euclid, algebra and the classics,’ he later said, ‘taught in the usual way, which is calculated to leave a lasting abhorrence of these subjects.’ In letters home, however, he concealed any distaste he felt for his studies, and appeared determined to succeed.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, SEPTEMBER 19, 1869
I have arrived all safe—I suppose my luggage is safe and sound at stonyhurst We got our books yesterday, we have got The history of Caesar for Latin translation and parsing, a greek grammer, poetry, Latin Grammer, a french author, Catechism, English history, and other books my love to Papa and the brats has Lottie cryed at all after me
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, NOVEMBER 14, 1869
I have bad news to tell you two poor boys have died at stonyhurst within the last 3 weeks from getting croup, to my great delight 50 new books have been bought for the library, we go to communion every second sunday I went this morning. I am in the 1st class arithmetic and am learning geometry & fractions my love to the chicks and to papa.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I have just received your letter. I got the tea & coffee all right. I am greatly in need of envelopes, all were spoilt by the jam except 2 or 3 middle ones.
I am in the lybrary. the book I am reading at present is Story of Arthur and the Knights of the round table.
Arthurian legend, with valiant knights and heroic deeds against grim opponents, made a profound impression on the young boy, who had already heard tales of chivalry, often in French, from his mother. For the future author of The White Company, Sir Nigel, and other historical romances, the story of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table proved to be a touchstone, not only for its sense of epic history, but also for the code of chivalry it expressed, as guidance for his own personal conduct.
As Christmas rolled around once again, however, Conan Doyle, still ten years old, found himself more concerned with winter sports like iceskating, and with the contents of his annual holiday box from home.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, NOVEMBER 21, 1869
I hope you are quite well I am as well as I ever was I send you a picture Mr Cassidy gave me for knowing my Greek Grammer. in that old box I would like 1 plum-pudding 1 chicken & german sausage 1 piece of tongue. 1 doz oranges 1 half doz apples 1 plum cake 1 shortbread cake, a packet of butterscotch and as a novelty a few sticks of Gundy and 1 quill pen some paper and some sweets & some liquorice, send it to red lion.
to Charles Doyle STONYHURST, JANUARY 7, 1870
Dearest Papa
I hope you and the cats have had a merry Xmas and a happy new year, I am sure I have had a jolly one. You would have your heart’s content of skating if you were here we have 6 hours skating before dinner and 4 after it here on holidays which come every week. I hope you will have a lot. we had skating by torchlight at midnight last week, and one of the Fathers nearly put out his eye by falling on another’s skates. I am getting on very well at Schools & will I think get a prize.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JANUARY 30, 1870
We were out skating yesterday, I got 48 tumbles, which would have broken anybodys head except a schoolboys; we are to go again this evening. If you have any more stamps, send them; dont tire yourself by writing too often.
The durability of Conan Doyle’s skull would be tested many more times as his passion for skating and other sports grew. Meanwhile, though he remained upbeat in his letters home, he began to find school dreary and monotonous. ‘The life was Spartan,’ he later wrote. ‘Dry bread and hot well-watered milk was our frugal breakfast. There was a ‘joint’ and twice a week a pudding for dinner. Then there was an odd snack called ‘bread and beer’ in the afternoon, a bit of dry bread and the most extraordinary drink, which was brown but had no other characteristic of beer. Finally there was hot milk again, bread, butter, and often potatoes for supper. We were all very healthy on this régime, with fish on Fridays. Everything in every way was plain to the verge of austerity.’
Against this backdrop, Father Cassidy’s little acts of kindness toward the boys like the one mentioned below gave Conan Doyle a lasting sense of gratitude toward him that he expressed in letters late in the priest’s life.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MARCH 6, 1870
The extraordinary examen was on Friday, so now all the 2nd term examens are done Mr Cassidy scattered a whole lot of Chocolate among us a few nights ago. I am getting on pretty well. I find the greek the hardest lesson.
There is an hour & a half walk on monday
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MARCH 20, 1870
Cricket began yesterday; I am in the 1st match, and am in the middle of a match, the 4 best against the rest. I have not much news; a father named Father postleskite is dying. I am getting on nicely. I am horridly tired, so good by
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I have just received another letter from Tottie. I hope you enjoy yourself in the country, you will be further from the Pentlands than before, for if. I am not mistaken there was no road that way. Has Papa to walk in to office every day if so I pity him. I must now stop & ask you to write soon to your ever loving son
Tired as he was, Conan Doyle could not help but notice that letters from Edinburgh conveyed a sense that all was not well at home. Charles Doyle’s behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic as he succumbed to alcoholism, and the income from his surveyor’s post was no longer reliable. ‘His thoughts were always in the clouds and he had no appreciation of the realities of life,’ Conan Doyle remarked in Memories and Adventures without discussing his father’s problems directly in public. It was left to Mary Doyle to cope with what he called ‘the realities of life’, particularly the raising of the large family. She did so, including changing addresses in Edinburgh at least six times before young Conan Doyle reached the age of eleven, in a search for more affordable quarters.
In London, where the prosperous Doyles lived, he had a number of aunts, but the ‘Auntie’ referred to in the next letter was probably Annette, his father’s sister, who never married and so took a special interest in the boy, eleven years old now.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, AUTUMN 1870
I received a nice kind note from Auntie today, they are all well in London, she says you are the best correspondent she ever saw. she sent a little ornamented card with the names of some Marquise’s ancestors, she praises Tots up to the skies.
I am very happy now, but I miss Cony’s laugh sometimes I hope you are all more or less well.
I am taking care of my clothes. that big coat is grand. I always wear it now as the weather is chilly, and it never gets dirty, every dirt flies off it. I am so glad I brought the sardines and jam it is so pleasant after a hard day’s study to sit down to sardines & tea I like having tea & coffee awfully. I keep a diary I am continually using my chalks, they are jolly
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
we had a dreadfully long walk about a week ago, 25 miles, really I am quite in earnest, 25 miles and such a walk—across rivers, and ditches & hedges—we went nearly up to the top of Pendle. we were awfully tired, and had to change all our clothes on coming in. we had to wade in water above our knees often, and once we crossed a very rapid stream about a yard deep & 5 yards wide by getting from the branches at one side of the stream on to the top of a tree on the other side. Guibara who is small, gave up after walking 15 miles but I and a lot of fellows made a litter out of some branches and carried him about 2 miles till luckily a small dog cart passed us, and we put him into it & he drove off to Stonyhurst.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 31, 1870
I have just been telling some of the fellows the grey man of the forest which you told me several years ago.* The compositions are next Monday. I am composing poetry in a large theme book. I copy a part of 1 of the pieces
A STUDENTS DREAM
1
The Student he lay on his narrow bed he dreamt not of the morrow confused thoughts they filled his head and he dreamt of his home with sorrow
2
The Student he lay on his narrow bed all round dark was the night the stars they twinkled above his head and the moon it shone quite bright
3
He thought of the birch’s stinging stroke and he thought with fear on the morrow he wriggled and tumbled and nearly awoke and again he sighed with sorrow
His letters do not tell how much Stonyhurst employed corporal punishment to enforce order and discipline. He received more than his share, for he was long deemed an insubordinate, rebellious boy by his schoolmasters, but he seems never to have described punishments in letters home (which may have been read by school authorities before being posted). Only this poem, and a later comment about overcoming the sulkiness and ill temper his masters had charged him with, allude meaningfully to what he described in Memories and Adventures:
Corporal punishment was severe, and I can speak with feeling as I think few, if any, boys of my time endured more of it. It was of a peculiar nature, imported also, I fancy, from Holland. The instrument was a piece of india-rubber of the size and shape of a thick boot sole. This was called a ‘Tolley’—why, no one has explained, unless it is a Latin pun on what we had to bear. One blow of this instrument, delivered with intent, would cause the palm of the hand to swell up and change colour. When I say that the usual punishment of the larger boys was nine on each hand, and that nine on one hand was the absolute minimum, it will be understood that it was a severe ordeal, and that the sufferer could not, as a rule, turn the handle of the door to get out of the room in which he had suffered. To take twice nine upon a cold day was about the extremity of human endurance.
The budding poet soon found uses for his talents. He began to be aware of ‘some literary streak’ setting him apart from others. ‘There was my debut as a storyteller,’ he later told an interviewer: ‘On a wet half-holiday I have been elevated onto a desk, and with an audience of little boys all squatting on the floor, with their chins upon their hands, I have talked myself husky over the misfortunes of my heroes. Week in and week out those unhappy men have battled and striven and groaned for the amusement of that little circle.’ Even at his tender age he expected payment for his efforts. ‘I was bribed with pastry,’ he recalled. ‘Sometimes, too, I would stop dead in the very thrill of a crisis, and could only be set a-going again by apples. When I had got so far as ‘With his left hand in her glossy locks, he was waving the blood-stained knife above her head, when—’I knew that I had my audience in my power.’
As it happened, the young storyteller was introduced about now to Sir Walter Scott, a writer who would inspire even greater flights of fancy.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, NOVEMBER 25, 1870
Your letter has just come I beg of you not to take any trouble doing stockings for me, and I assure you I am quite well. I was in the infirmary yesterday but it was only because I threw up from the heat of the chapel. I have had a good rest and Ann brought me Ivanhoe to read, and now I feel jolly.* I will try and write longer letters now.
Many hurrahs for the stamps some of which I had not got and for 5 of which a fellow gave me a rare Austria, Brunswick Normandy Germany and Sweden. I am glad to hear that the canaries and their 2 little owners are very well. One of the boys in our school got a fit and nearly died this morning but he is recovering now & little Guibara would have died of the croup only that it was found out that he had it I am enjoying myself very much and often look forward to Xmas.
PS My number is 31 like last year.
‘Pray continue, Watson. I find your narrative most arresting. Did you personally examine this ticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?’
‘It so happens that I did,’ I answered with some pride. ‘It chanced to be my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head.’
—‘The Adventure of the Retired Colourman’
Many little details of his early years ‘stuck in his head’ and came out in his writings.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, NOVEMBER 29, 1870
My sickness is all gone except a slight headache, today is a half holiday but I think, and I suppose you will agree with me, that it would be best to remain quiet. I am amusing myself indoors very much however by drawing and reading and pasting in stamps, I like collecting awfully.
There is a great shindy going on, half Stonyhurst says that England has declared war with Prussia—the other section say England declared for peace, which is true?
News of the Franco-Prussian War breaking out in July 1870 was so momentous that it ‘made a ripple even in our secluded backwater’. He took France’s side, while he and his schoolmates waited eagerly to see if Britain would be drawn into the conflict. The school fostered great respect for the military: many students went on to serve in Britain’s armed forces, and to distinguish themselves in combat, with Conan Doyle later noting an unusually large number of Stonyhurst boys receiving the Victoria Cross and the Distinguished Service Order. ‘In spite of a large infusion of foreigners and some disaffected Irish, we were a patriotic crowd,’ he recalled, ‘and our little pulse beat time with the heart of the nation.’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, DECEMBER 6, 1870
Please excuse me for not writing till now, and now writing such a beastly scrawl. I am as happy as could be, and I hope you are also. I have been thinking of anything I wanted in particular and I think that a box of those coloured paper colours would be jolly for nobody here has any.
I am so sorry for poor old France which, though I dont hear very much war news, still is I hear getting beaten. the most frightful prophecies are going about, about her I hope they are all lies. today is a half holyday and I think we will have a football match, we have just finished dinner, we have rare weather we have not had snow or ice for about a month. I have just received your letter I think that it would be no use to send me the cloister and the hearth for it might get spoiled and it is rather expensive.* we had a 10 mile walk today and caught a dear little shrew mouse. I am very sorry to say that poor Mr Cassidy has taken a fit of spitting blood but he is getting better. I like Mr Splaine awfully, his father died a few weeks ago
I must now say goodbye for I am trespassing on my study time. I never was better in my life, so dont alarm yourself
Father Cyprian Splaine was the second of three Stonyhurst masters singled out in young Arthur’s letters home. Splaine catered to some of the schoolboy tastes influencing Conan Doyle’s literary directions in adulthood, but his personality—timorous and prone to outbreaks of tears—proved not very empathetic with the vigorous athletic youngster, and in a later letter, Conan Doyle sounds greatly relieved when his next form-master, Father Reginald Colley (then a young man still in his twenties), arrived on the scene.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
A Merry Xmas and happy new year to you both and many more of them. I only hope you got a goose like mine it was truly delicious. I suppose Papa has been to the pantomime and that you have had a nice rest, Mama! The babies made a large breach in the ‘Plum Pudding’. I got your letter on Friday, I think, how nicely Tottie writes. I am glad she is doing well in schools. I hope she is enjoying herself. she wrote me a very pretty note in French a few days ago. many thanks for the Box everything was jolly. only one of the jam pots broke, but it did not do any damage. I obeyed Papa’s injunctions to the letter and had considerable success in sucking the chocolates.
I have pinned my Xmas and did not starve.* We 4 fellows had as provisions for a week and 4 days 2 turkeys, one very large goose 2 chickens one large ham and 2 pieces [sic] of ham. 2 large sausages. 7 boxes of sardines. 1 of lobster. a plate full of tarts and 7 pots of jam. in the way of drink we had 5 of sherry 5 of port 1 of claret & 2 of raspberry vinegar we had also 2 bottles of Pickles.
The festivities were as follows 1st night we had a concert with several very good comic songs. 2nd night we had ‘the road to ruin’ a comedy in 5 acts and an extract from a French play, and also ‘Waiting for an omnibus’ a farce in one act.
3rd night we had ‘the Courier of Lyons’ or ‘The Attack on the Mail’ a melodrama and a jolly play (5 murders)
4th night we had the same repeated
5th night we had ‘McBeth’ It was jolly. There was none left out. The best scene was the banquet when the ghost of Banquo appears. when the Witches dance round the cauldron when McBeth comes to consult the witches.
Next night we had the same.
Next night we had another concert.
Next night we had two farces ‘The wags of Windsor’ and ‘A Day at Boulougne’. yesterday we had the same.
The vacation ended this morning, all my goods are finished except Bella’s cake—for which please thank her. I have given Ann the shawl—she was very profuse in her gratitude and said I would be the finest man in England when I was big & that I would have a spirit like yours.
I will try to be very tidy and will study hard.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, APRIL 11, 1871
As I have a little spare time, I take up my pen, which is a shockingly bad one, to write to you.
I have been requested to ask you, Ma, if I may get another suit of clothes. I can get them very cheap & good here as the Rector has a private tailor, & if I get a suit they can do for my Sunday suit for the rest of this year & then for my ordinary suit next year. But I am not allowed to get them without leave from you. A great many boys are getting new suits now for the procession at Corpus Christi.
I am improving in my lessons & am 13th instead of 19th in a school of 37 fellows.
PS write soon please
At the time above he was some six weeks short of his twelfth birthday. According to Stonyhurst records he was significantly younger than most of the other boys in his ‘school’ (grade, or form)—as much as three years younger. It is not clear why this was; by his account he was not considered advanced for his age at his earlier school in Edinburgh, nor by Stonyhurst for a long time. (The oldest boys in his form may have been held back.) But it limited his opportunities for friendship to be that much younger than most of his classmates, and only one of his lifelong friends came from his Stonyhurst days.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
you would have heard from me some time ago, only I lately got my finger hurt so that it rendered it very painful for me to write, it was the last football match this year, and everyone was playing very hard. I was rushing after the ball, when suddenly I tripped up, and fell with outstretched hands. before I could get up someone, not being able to stop himself, stood on my hand, with such violence that for every nail in his shoe, there was left a little hole in my hand, my forefinger also was hurt and the nail came off. I have however had a lot of remedies applied to my hand and it is much better now.*
I send you a playbill, you will see my name at the bottom. I used up several burnt corks to make my face dirty enough. I got cheered greatly, not because I did well, but because the main point in my part was to look foolish, and I feel that I did that to perfection. both plays were relished extremely by the rest of the college. we had the good supper a week afterwards, and it fully justified it’s epithet. songs were sung as usual, I sang mine, everyone declared it was capital and that they must have another. I declared I did not know one, a master however brought me ‘the best of wives’ which I sang with the same success.
The other day Mr Splaine read us a jolly story, translated from the German, perhaps you have read it, it was called ‘The Avenger’ about a lot of horrible murders.
My lessons are getting on in first straight stile. I am much higher in my class now than last term.
Excuse the blot at the beginning
With stories like ‘The Avenger’, and plays like Macbeth and The Attack on the Mail, Conan Doyle was developing a robust taste for ‘jolly’ murder tales. The world of theatre, too, proved to be an enduring interest, and the youngster’s insistence on getting his face ‘dirty enough’ through the use of burnt corks showed a passion for realism.*
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I am getting on with my latin verse & am now learning 5 latin or Greek authors, namely Ovid, Cicero, Caesar, (all latin) Xenophon (Greek) & Telemachus (french) besides this we have Ovid & Cicero & English by Heart, Latin Syntax, Greek Grammar, Rules for verse, Catechism & Geography & Greek History. altogether I have to work like anything to get a prize, my marks last term were 765 and as there are 4 terms in the year if I get 765 each time I will have at the end of the year 3060 while I only require to get 2666 to get a prize, so in that case I will get one, but it all depends if I can do as well during the remaining terms as I did last.
today is a half holiday. Football is finished now & there is no more this year but Hockey & Rounders have come in which are just as good. the Dominoes you sent me at Xmas are a great source of Amusement.
I am so glad I read most of the books we have at home, because the English theme of last term for which 100 marks is given was taken from 1 of them called Blackwood Tales, the name of the story was the Iron Shroud.
The Iron Shroud, William Mudford’s gothic tale published in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine in 1830, featured a terrified prisoner held in a dungeon, the walls of which slowly close in to crush him to death:
That is to be my fate! Yon roof will descend!—these walls will hem me round—and, slowly, slowly, crush me in their iron arms!
The story may have lingered in Conan Doyle’s mind in 1891 as he wrote a Sherlock Holmes story in which the villain traps his victim in a hydraulic press:
I saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp.
—‘The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb’
For the present, though, with ‘Engineer’s Thumb’ many years in the future, twelve-year-old Arthur’s more immediate concern was the ‘Foot-baller’s Finger’.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We had a long walk yesterday down the Ribble. it is a most beautiful stream with clear water, full of bright trout, while here and there, in the deep & dark places, some ripple on the water will show where a large salmon has come to the surface. after a long walk we came to a place where the Ribble meets the Hodder, another river of considerable size from which Hodder House derives it’s name. there is a beautiful scene here, and I wish Papa was with me to sketch it. we reached home late in the evening. My finger is getting better, but at present I have to write in this sloping way, otherwise I would rub the nail against the paper which would make it very feverish.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
My new clothes have made their appearance. they are knickerbockers of a dark grey, jolly thick & apparently very strong. they are pretty big & have tight elastics which keep up my stockings much better than the others, I will have to get new elastics put into my old pair during the vacation for they dont keep up my stockings at all.
I got your 3d letter today. The envelopes & stamps also came in the nick of time. I am now using the little elastic band which was round the letter as a garter.
I got the neckties & pair of gloves last night, I will use the dark blue necktie for week days & the other with my new clothes, gloves, shirts, collars, & stockings for sundays. I am quite a swell. I will tell you if the things fit me whenever I have tried them on.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I have not been able to write to you for some time, on account of the approach of the examens, which occupied all my attention. They are now over. I was very glad to hear that I have got such a good report, I will try to get better still next time.
There is a very nice practise here, during our Lady’s month of May, of each boy, immediately after washing, going to a small basket before our Lady’s statue, in which are arranged a multitude of little papers, with all sorts of little penances or virtues written upon them. each boy draws a paper out of this basket, and whatever virtue or penance is written on it, he is obliged to practise it for that day. Thus, this morning I got one telling me to dedicate my studies this day to the Mother of God, and study particularly hard. sometimes you get a paper telling you to give 1d of your weekly money to the poor, but there are no more severe penances than that.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I have good news for you, namely that Uncle Conan’s letter has gone a week ago. I thought I would never finish it. I sent him a playbill and I slily changed the A. DOYLE on the bill into A. C. DOYLE to gratify him. I hoped Aunt Susan was well several times, and I sent her an indefinite number of kisses. I send you the photograph. I am awfully sorry about that blotch behind, the truth of the matter is that having bought it during recreation I had no place to put it, so I tied it up in my handkerchief, but wishing to blow my nose soon after, I pulled out my handkerchief and the photograph tumbled out, and the back of it got dirtied. I am sure your ingenuity will soon take the dirt away.
The 3rd term has just begun. I have been extremely successful last term, but I was more successful in Arithmetic than in anything else, fancy I got the 2nd highest marks in the school in Arithmetic. The 6th highest in lessons and the 7th highest in History.
My finger is much better and I never felt more jolly. Football, which you reasonably observed to be a rough game, is abolished, and we are to begin ‘Stonyhurst Cricket’ tomorrow. I am Head of a match in cricket and am considered the best player of my size in the Lower Line.
My love to everybody yourself included. since you neglected the Pancakes at Shrovetide I hope you will not forget the hot X buns.
After the close of the school year Conan Doyle found the situation at home increasingly shaky, but his mother determined that he should continue at Stonyhurst. ‘Early in my career there, an offer had been made to my mother that my school fees would be remitted if I were dedicated to the Church,’ he recalled. ‘She refused this, so both the church and I had an escape. When I think, however, of her small income and great struggle to keep up appearances and make both ends meet, it was a fine example of her independence of character, for it meant some £50 a year which might have been avoided by a word of assent.’ Both she and he had also begun to fall away from the Roman Catholicism in which they were raised. In time she left the church to become an Anglican, while Conan Doyle privately renounced Catholicism before leaving school. It was the beginning of a pilgrimage that would end, forty-five years later, in his public commitment to Spiritualism.
Charles Doyle’s decline continued, meanwhile. At one point during the summer his father, who loved the outdoors, went off on an excursion with the head of the Office of Works, Robert Matheson, with Mary Doyle clearly welcoming the effect upon her husband’s increasingly fragile nerves.
to Charles Doyle SCIENNES HILL PLACE, EDINBURGH, AUGUST 30, 1871
Dearest Pa,
I hope you are enjoying yourself very much. bring the Snipe home and shoot some more. Cony was very sick this morning, but is better now. I spent Sunday and Monday at Mrs Smith’s. yesterday Ma and I were invited to a grand Picnic by Mrs Burton.* I started from Granton, she from here. She got in time but I was late so I had to walk home again and as I had no key I got in from the next people’s window. on last Saturday Ma sent me to Granton to get a package from the Ostrich Steamboat, the Mate of which did me the honour of calling me ‘a lazy lubber’. I have got a real palm tree seed from the Botanical gardens, for my museum. and now Goodbye FROM MARY DOYLE My dearest, I do beg that you will try and get all the enjoyment you can out of your little trip. The only thing I regret is that you did not take more changes of clothes with you. You must be uncomfortable on that score, I fear. Just a line and I will send you shirts, socks, collars, hanks by the train. I am very pleased that you are getting the change and do not come home an hour sooner than you can help. Seldom enough you get away, without us the least you may get is a little peace. I hope Mr Matheson will also benefit by his trip. I am making all my preparations for the great event, but I am wonderfully well & as you wd say ‘jolly’.
Ever yr loving M
Conan Doyle returned to Stonyhurst the autumn of 1871 determined to excel. Although parting from his family was always difficult, he looked forward to his school friends, including his travelling companions the Guibara brothers and Jimmy Ryan.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I will tell you now all my adventures. I went as far as Carstairs with a nice lady who was going to Chester. an awful shock announced the arrival of the Glasgow train. I looked everywhere for Guibara, but could not see him on account of a bend of the line when suddenly in ran a guard to know if I was going to Stonyhurst. I answered yes, so he bundled me out of that carriage into another where I found the 2 Guibaras and Ryan. they had lots of grub and we had a jolly tuckout, and so we travelled until we got within a short distance of Preston without ever changing at all when suddenly Guibara’s [hat] blew out of the window luckily he had another in his trunk which was in the carriage. At last we arrived at Preston and were just going to hire a cab when suddenly one of the Fathers came up and told us there was no use getting a cab for there were 40 boys at the Red Lion Inn who were going in two large busses that night he then took us off to the Red lion and gave us a good dinner. we were then informed that the luggage could not be sent yet, but would be sent by the next Coal carts so we went off in the busses without paying a penny and got here by 6.
I am quite a Stonyhurst boy again and am quite at home.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 10, 1871
As next Thursday is a holiday I will just show you the order of the day. 6 rise, from 6 to 1/2 past, ‘wash’, from 1/2 past 6 to 1/4 past 7 Mass & prayers from 1/4 past 7 to 1/4 past 8 Studies, from 1/4 past 8 till 1/4 to 9 breakfast, from 1/4 to 9 till 1/2 past 10 we play games from 1/2 past 10 till 12 we play a grand football match from 12 till 1/2 past 12 ‘wash’ from 1/2 past 12 till 1 dinner from 1 till 1/2 past 5 we go out for walks or do what we like from 1/2 past 5 till 1/2 past 7 we have something in the theatre. Pepper’s Ghosts or something of that sort.* From 1/2 past 7 till 8 we have supper from 8 till 9 we have playing cards or chess or any inside game and then we go to bed. so you see I am to be envied rather than pitied
to Charles Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 1871
Dearest Papa
You remember that little picture of St Michaels Mount with Sir Kennelworth on it which you drew in my little red book. Well! The Fathers say it is a most wonderful work of art and have taken it from me they are so delighted with it.
Stonyhurst, you must know is divided into 2 parts. The higher line for the big boys and the lower line for the little boys. In the lower line there are 5 classes and I don’t mean by little small in the way of age for there are many over 6 feet in the lower line but small in lessons. In the Higher line there are 8 schools. Now I am in the highest of the five lower line schools and I am about the smallest boy in the class (with regard to size). So next year I will be quite a man being in the higher line.
Our School has to provide some person to read during supper to the fathers and I am proud to say that I am nearly almost chosen.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 31, 1871
You have not written to me for a very long time. I am awfully uneasy. Tell me if anything is wrong and don’t conceal it. I have been to the Master for a letter every day for a fortnight. I hope you will write soon.
I am getting on famously, am in the extraordinary and I don’t know what all. Those boys who do the ordinary lessons very well are called ‘the extraordinary’.
Old Father Christmas is again come in sight and is rapidly approaching with his escort of Plum Pudding, Roast Goose, etc, etc.
My love to Papa, Lottie, Cony and Jeannie. I am writing a long piece of Poetry on the subject of the war.
Agreat deal of war-related poetry lay in Conan Doyle’s future, ranging from ‘The Song of the Bow’, an idealistic tribute to the English long-bowmen of the fourteenth century, to the ascerbic ‘H.M.S. Foudroyant: Being a humble address to Her Majesty’s Naval advisers, who sold Nelson’s old flagship to the Germans for a thousand pounds.’ First published in the London Daily Chronicle in September 1892, it began:
Who says the Nation’s purse is lean,
Who fears for claim or bond or debt,
When all the glories that have been
Are scheduled as a cash asset?
If times are bleak and trade is slack,
If coal and cotton fail at last,
We’ve something left to barter yet—
Our glorious past.
Conan Doyle also turned his imaginative gifts to his aunt Catherine’s recent travels, wistfully conjuring up a domestic scene at home in Edinburgh—and the contents of his next Christmas food package at school.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I was so glad to learn that Aunt Kate was safe and happy. I hope she will continue to be so and will send me lots of Stamps and Postmarks. she must have pinned her voyage immensely. I wish I had been on the ship when the jib boom blew away. you must have been awfully surprised when the letter came. I can fancy the scene. You rushing for a carving knife to cut the letter open.
Papa endeavouring to support the tottering cups of tea.
Lottie hanging on by your dress.
and Cony eating the sugar.
I hope Lottie is getting on well in her reading. I am glad that Papa’s picture is progressing.
I like to see Tottie’s letters very much, Ma, and would be very glad if you sent some.
With regard to my box. I do not intend you to send all the things I mention, but merely to pick and choose out of them. You must impress upon your memory that the box ought to be at Preston by the evening of the 23d, and that all the meat in it must be cooked.
Secondly, you had better not send any books. not because I am less a bookworm than I was before, but because there is a large lybrary under my nose.
and remember, Ma, that the meat you send has to last me Breakfast and Dinner for a fortnight and when it is finished I shall have to depend on Charity.
Don’t scruple to tuck into my 10 shillings.
well 1st I want A goose. A Piece of Ham. a German Sausage. And a box of sardines for Friday.
Secondly, a Bottle of Raspberry Vinegar and one of those you keep at the bottom of your press in the Bedroom.
Thirdly, a dozen oranges & a dozen apples & half a dozen pears. then any fruit which you may happen to have. then a Plum Cake and a Shortbread Cake and some tea rolls. then some Chocolate sticks a packet of Butter Scotch a packet of Jujubees or any other sweets.
then, some paper, pens, envelopes and pencils and any sort of a box of chalks, to replenish my old set which are still in existence, many of them unbroken. then send some rock and anything you know I like—not forgetting my pots of Jam.
And then there is my Xmas 5 shillings, by the bye. I hope Mrs Smith will remember her promise—and Ma don’t forget any sort of tough six-penny pen knife—I often have need of one for some thing or other which would break the blade of that little sheath knife.
I hope my box won’t ruin us though it has formidable dimensions.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We are having our first term examinations during the last few weeks, I have done very well in them I think. We had the compositions also in which I did a good English verse theme, the subject was ‘the plague of London’, I also wrote a piece for our academies, on the martyrdom of St Catherine, the patron saint of Rhetoric, which proved a success. Yesterday was our academy day and in the evening, we had, as is the custom, a good supper. We had a capital spread, turkey and sausages, apple tarts, fruit and cakes, together with port, sherry and claret. Songs were sung by everybody, I sung Mrs Brown.
I hope you effected your change without any serious inconvenience, and that you have affable neighbours.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We have had skating—glorious skating—I pinned it immensely. We had it the whole of the Immaculate conception, and on the next two days, but then one night it began to rain and now the ice is covered with it.
I can skate backwards—cut rolls—cut outsiders—and do other feats only to be appreciated by Papa.
The Actors are learning their parts in the Plays. every person is trying to find out what is the name of the tragedy—for this is always kept a great secret—some say it is ‘McBeth’ others say it is ‘King Lear’ which Papa read to me during the vacation, there are some 30 actors some of them having parts in all the plays there are 8 plays one each night and they last two hours and a half each but I don’t think we ever produced anything so good as ‘Rob Roy’.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
many thanks to you for sending me such a nice box. Everything in it came quite safe, no breakage. I am enjoying myself very much. there are 69 boys staying, 10 higher line ones. we have great fun during the long evenings, telling ghost stories round the fire. we have got a play up called ‘The Box of Mischeif’ [sic]. I have two short parts in it. First as a Town Crier, secondly as the captain of an east Indiaman. I hope it will come off well.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
last thursday was the rectors day the following was the order of the day We got up at 6 and had washing till 1/2 past 6 then mass till 7 then studies till 8 & breakfast of bread & milk till 1/2 past 8 then we took our skates and went to a recevoir [sic] near, and skated till 12 we then had some tarts & other refreshments & went out skating till 5 o’clock we then went home & had dinner of pork & apple sauce & potatoes & then tarts & oranges till 1/2 past 5 we then went to the playroom & played games till 7 we then said night prayers and had supper of bread & milk we then again took our skates & went to the pond and there we found it all illuminated with Chinese lanterns & torches & blue & red lights so that it was as light as day & there was a band on the side of the pond playing Rule britania and other popular songs we then began skating after being all provided with cigars & matches we had scarcely begun to skate when the masters on the sides began throwing jumping crackers & squibs among us & letting off rockets & Roman Candles & so we enjoyed ourselves till 11 o’clock & then we all got a tumbler of punch to drink the Rector’s health with & then we took off our skates & went to bed.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
many thanks to Papa for his funny note and to lottie and cony for the cake I wish I could get some little gift for them here.
my cricket costume is not quite finished, a coat is dispensable as we always take off our coats in the cricket field.
I hope you are all well. the vacations are coming rolling towards us again. I am trying to keep up my French reading in order to be able to read the ‘Du Monde’ to you during the holidays.
P.S. I am cocksure of a prize.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MAY 1872
I enjoyed your last letter very much, thank you for the leave. I have already been measured and I will appear in them in the course of a week. this is my cricketing costume, a small peaked white flannel cap (provided by the College for all), a bulging out light yellow flannel shirt, loose trousers of the same description, & white shoes with long sharp spikes sticking out of the soles, to prevent me from slipping when bowling. The sight of 250 boys all dressed like this, and all laughing and running about, is a very imposing one.
The Rector came into the studyplace yesterday and gave us a lecture which he finished by saying that last year several parents had been annoyed at his sending their boys back in their usual dress, and had said that they had expected him to get their boys vacation suits, so he told each boy to write home & ask whether they are to get clothes or not. of course I don’t care whether I get them or not.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
This is my last letter this year. I will be at Edinburgh on Wednesday at quarter past five. I will take care of everything. I will get my trunk and get a cab and drive to you. don’t let Lottie and Cony go to bed till I come, please!
I have arranged everything about my clothes I am to take two suits home with me the suit I got some time ago and my old grey clothes. my brown ones are completely worn out. I will, I think have to get some more clothes for next year. All the schoolbooks are taken up now I’m as happy as a lark. I hope I will find you all well and comfortable when I return I also hope that Papa will get some vacation and then we will go walks together. won’t I pitch into Walter Scott’s novels.
Conan Doyle’s liking for Sir Walter Scott had been growing for months, fanned by early exposure to Ivanhoe and Rob Roy. Over the summer, as he ‘pitched into’ the rest of Scott, Conan Doyle felt a powerful stirring of the imagination. ‘They were the first books I ever owned,’ he said, ‘long before I could appreciate or even understand them. But at last I realized what a treasure they were.’ Just as future generations of schoolboys would read Sherlock Holmes by the glow of flashlights, Conan Doyle found himself huddling up among the ‘glorious brotherhood’ of the Waverley novels: ‘I read them by surreptitious candle-ends in the dead of the night, when the sense of crime added a new zest to the story.’
When he returned to Stonyhurst in the autumn he had a new respect and passion for history. There was little sign of this new studiousness on the return journey, however, as he and Jimmy Ryan set off firecrackers in the train carriage.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, AUGUST 1872
I have not told you the events which happened on my journey yet. So I will tell you them now.
Ryan and I let off crackers and romped till we came to Carstairs. There we waited 45 minutes for the perth train.
we then went on a long, long way without anything happening, when suddenly a man said Oh Look at the Chinaman. there sure enough was one of the Burmese puffing and blowing like a steam engine, they had a splendidly filled out saloon at the end of the train, but they left us near Carlisle. we then bowled on quickly till we came to Preston so I and Ryan ran and looked in all the vans for our luggage, but no luggage appeared, I was quite frightened. I asked several guards but none of them knew anything about it. at last an old fellow suggested that it might be in the next train. so I sat & waited and in 1/4 of an hour up came the train, the very first thing taken out was my trunk. I then drove to the Red Lion, here I met one of the fathers the first thing he said to me was, I dispense you from eating fish today (an ember day) so I got some meat soup I found the stockport bus, and drive here. the driver killed a hedgehog running across the road.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
there is tremendous bustle going on here. all who are not going home at Xmas, being mostly foreigners are writing to the rector for Xmas boxes, and those who are going are eager to know all the arrangements there are about 50 of the Lower Line stopping here, but only 6 or 7 of the higher line, which is very jolly, as we can all be taken out fishing or anything.
I must tell you about my box now. as it is twice as long vacation, I will require a rather larger box to keep me in good. well in the way of meat you may send what you think will do me, the usual thing is a turkey or goose, a piece of ham a German sausage, a piece of tongue or a chicken, and then one or two boxes of sardines for fast days. please don’t send any of that potted lobster, it is very nice, but very little of it gives me Diarhoea. then there is a cake (a small one will do) & piece of shortbread, then a box of figs, and a few buns or small cakes.
1 doz apples. 2 doz oranges and 1/2 a dozen pears. then 1/2 lb of London mixture, a packet of Butter Scotch and a packet of Furgusson’s Edinburgh rock then a Bottle of Clarat (don’t put water in for it will be diluted here) and some raspberry Vinegar, and anything you find expedient…
After making it safely through the holiday without the ill effects of potted lobster, Conan Doyle looked forward to the Easter break, though preparations were complicated by the fact that he was rapidly outgrowing his clothes, at not quite fourteen years old.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MARCH 1873
I would be very glad if you sent me a necktie for Easter. Before the end of the year I daresay, I shall have to write for more clothes, both those trousers of Papa’s are rather worn out, and my last year’s suit has grown rather short, and will soon be well-nigh useless. that heather-suit you got me wears splendidly, there isn’t a single scratch in it, and it doesn’t show dirt a bit. it serves me now, but when summer comes, I’m afraid it will be rather too heavy & hot. Excuse my writing, I hurt my thumb at hockey, and cannot bend it properly.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, APRIL 1873
we have been having desperately hot weather lately. Even our french boy finds it hot, he keeps saying ‘it is tres chaud, very chaud, chauder than dans France.’
I had a talk with the rector yesterday. he said he was extremely pleased at the report he had to send home about me, and especially that I had overcome all sulkiness or ill temper I used to have. he also said there was scarcely a boy in the house who had done better!
The Anglican Alphabit seems to be a great favourite. I saw another thing in some paper about Papa, it said ‘Great men’s footsteps, a pleasing story, with 4 capital engravings by C. A. DOYLE.
I have read all Tottie’s letters, they are very nice. I am glad she is going to be ‘a child of Mary’. I hope she will be at home before I return, and will stay at home the whole vacation.
Though Charles Doyle tended to drink the payment he received for extra-curricular work as an artist, he was still busy in these days with commissions from magazines and publishers, and his work as an illustrator was still well regarded. The Anglican Alphabet was new—and he a surprising choice as its illustrator, for he like the other Doyles was an ardent Roman Catholic. Brave Men’s Footsteps (its title recalled incorrectly in Arthur’s letter), subtitled A Book of Anecdote and Example in Practical Life, had been published the year before. Its editor was James Hogg, who presumably remembered Charles Doyle’s work when his son started submitting stories to him.
Conan Doyle’s sister Annette was apparently considering joining the religious order to which her London aunt belonged, the Society of the Daughters of the Heart of Mary. It was devoted to good works, did not require adherents to wear habits, and allowed them to live in homes of their own.* His aunt Annette Doyle shared one with her bachelor brother, illustrator Richard Doyle, famous for ending his association with Punch in 1850 over its anti-Catholic views.
Conan Doyle learned that another sibling had arrived, his only brother in a family that included three sisters, with more to come. Perhaps to please his mother, he wrote in French this time to inquire about the baby.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, APRIL 1873
I’ve been quite busy recently with my lessons, and haven’t had the time to write to you as I would have liked to do. I am very happy to know that I have a little brother, that is charming, write me quickly and tell me what his name is and what he looks like. love to everyone, I am very tired from writing this little letter.
The boy’s name, he soon learned, was John Francis Innes Hay Doyle, although it would be some time before the family decided what to call him on a daily basis. After ‘Frank’ at first, they eventually settled on Innes, but Arthur first called him Geoff, and then Duff.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
After dinner it was growing rain, however we determined in spite of the weather to set out at once for Clitheroe the usual place visited on the Academy walk, so we all donned water-proofs and sou’westers. we set off, smoking to keep off the cold. I bought a nice little pipe with an amber mouthpiece, which I enjoyed very much. At last we reached Clitheroe and we all ordered what we wished in the way of drink. I got a bottle of lemonade but some, I am ashamed to say, tossed off whole tumblers of raw brandy. We passed through some curious pits where excavations were being made for fossils. I found there a most curious stone, all covered with petrified worms, whose coils I could see distinctly.
After a nice walk we reached home, where we found a jolly feast ready for us, in what is called, in the book I sent you, the do-room. Mr Splaine made a new speech, and we made great havoc among the eatables. we had a very jolly day on the whole. next morning I noticed the brandy-drinkers, however, who did not seem at all the better for their do.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JUNE 1873
I am glad to hear that my report was a good one. I have got my prize now for certain, and it will be a much more honourable one than any other that I have got yet, as Syntax is one of the hardest schools in the house, and certainly not more than eight in the class will get a prize. I am trying to improve in my French and I have read a great many books in that language lately. I will tell you a few of them to see if you have ever seen them. ‘Vingt milles lieus ses les mers’ by Jules Verne, ‘Don Quixote’ ‘cingt semaines dans un balon’ by Jules Verne, ‘Napoleon et le grande armeé’ ‘Voyage dans soudain’ ‘La Roche des Mouettes’ ‘Voyage d’un Enfant a Paris’ ‘Le Fratricide’ ‘Les Russes et les anglais’ ‘Enfants du Capitaine Grant’ ‘a la lune et de retour’ and a lot more, and I am getting to relish them quite as well as English books.
Our master, Mr Splaine, has been up at the Tichbourne Trial, he was appointed as librarian to bring up some old charts of the college. he has now returned and told us all his adventures with great gusto.
I hope you are all well at home, has little Frank got any teeth yet? I suppose he won’t be able to walk by the time I come home.
Like Scott’s novels, Jules Verne’s visionary work would take root in Conan Doyle’s mind, and Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea can be readily felt in Conan Doyle’s 1929 science-fiction novel, The Maracot Deep, in which undersea explorers travel to a kingdom on the ocean floor.
The Tichborne Claimant, one of England’s most famous legal cases, fascinated Stonyhurst, for it dealt with a mysterious figure who claimed to be the long-missing Sir Roger Tichborne, a Stonyhurst graduate and heir to a fortune, who had been presumed lost at sea in 1854. For twelve years Lady Tichborne refused to believe that her son was dead, and she kept a light in the entrance of Tichborne Hall to enable him to find his way home in the dark. In 1866 she received a letter from a butcher in Wagga Wagga, Australia, a man known locally there as Arthur Orton, who declared—amid apologies for his lax correspondence—that he was her long lost son.
When he arrived in England Lady Tichborne welcomed him, but other members of the family denounced him as an impostor, and his claim turned into the longest and most convoluted proceeding in British legal history. It was finally dismissed in 1871, and now, in 1873, Orton was on trial for perjury. Conan Doyle followed avidly ‘a case of identity’ (to cite the title of an early Sherlock Holmes story) that seemed lifted from the pages of Alexandre Dumas—ending in Orton’s eventual conviction and ten years in prison. The trial was still underway when the 1872-73 school year came to an end.*
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JULY 1873
I have been to the taylor and I showed him your letter, explaining to him that you wanted something that would wear well, and at the same time look well. he told me that the blue cloth he had was meant especially for coats, but that none of it would suit well as trousers, he showed me a dark sort of cloth, which he said would suit a blue coat better than any other cloth he has, and would wear well as trousers. On his recommendation I took this cloth, I think you will like it, it does not show dirt, and looks very well, it is a sort of black and white very dark cloth. You must write and tell me beforehand if you are going to meet me at the station. I know nothing about the train yet, but I will let you know when I learn. My examen is finished so I have finished all my work for the year, but of course it is kept profoundly secret who has got a prize. I trust I am among the chosen few.
I have never known a year pass so quickly as the last one, it seems not a month ago since I left you, and I can remember all the minutest articles of furniture in the house, even to the stains on the wall. I suppose I will have to perform for Frank the office I have so often performed for Lottie and Cony, namely, that of rocking her to sleep. I suppose he is out of his long clothes now.
We are going to have bathing during schools this evening, which is a nice prospect. This is the Golden Time of one’s life at Stonyhurst, the end of the year.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, SEPTEMBER 1873
My things have been taken out of my box, a little of the jam was spilt but no harm done. Ryan has come, and brought the brush with him. the masters all call him ‘gunpowder’ on account of his accident.*
We have a jolly little school of only 12 fellows, so, with so few, I expect to make great progress. I have taken ‘honours’, that is to say, the ordinary work is considered too short for me, and I have to do an extra hundred lines a day. at the end of the year there is an examination and the best in that gets £5, while any others who do well get prizes. there are seven in our school in honours, while in the next school, 33 in number, there are only four, which shows that we are a clever school. I have quite fallen into the routine of the college, even of being awoken by a policeman’s rattle at 6 o’clock.
My hair is in capital order, that lime cream is very good indeed.
‘He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat.’
—‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 1873
I was a little frightened at not receiving any letter from you for so long. but your note today calmed my fears.
I got a jolly letter from Uncle James the other day, he gave me 3 pages of sermon and one of fun.
do you know how I signalized my entrance into the higher line? why: I have got up a monthly journal, The Stonyhurst Figaro, to come out monthly I and a fellow called Roscell are the joint editors and correspondents, we make up little poems and essays to put in it. we have finished writing the November one, and nearly all the higher line have seen it. here are the contents of vol 1—which filled a large 2 penny themebook.
The Figaro’s Prospects (poem) by Arthur Roskell
Some wicked Jokes by A. Doyle
The students dream (poem) by A. Roskell.
The Abbot By A. Doyle. (poem)
Music of the day & music of the past (essay) by Roskell
Bluestocking court (essay) By Roskell
After the Battle (poem) By A. C. Doyle
‘It was incumbent to write poetry (so called) on any theme given,’ he recalled in Memories and Adventures. ‘This was done as a dreary unnatural task by most boys. Very comical their wooings of the muses used to be. For one saturated as I was with affection for verse, it was a labour of love, and I produced verses which were poor enough in themselves but seemed miracles to those who had no urge in that direction.’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, OCTOBER 1873
We have had a great commotion here lately, from the fact that our third prefect has gone stark staring mad. I expected it all along, he always seemed to have the most singular antipathy to me, and I am called among the boys ‘Mr Chrea’s friend’. Ironically, of course. The first signs of madness were at Vespers the other day. I was near him & I saw him, just as the Laudate Dominum began, pull out his handkerchief and begin waving it over his head. Two of the community took him and at once led him out. They say that in his delirium he mentioned my name several times. A story is going about that before entering the society he fell in love with a maiden, but the maiden absconded with an individual named Doyle, and Mr Chrea in his despair entered the society, and the name of Doyle has ever since had an irritating effect on him. I can’t however answer for the truth of this. We are having the most detestable weather possible over here. Rain, rain, rain and nothing but rain. I shall soon at this rate die of ennui, my great comfort however is the thought of seeing you all again at Xmas.
One longs to know Mr Chrea’s fate. The deranged Prefect being led away with Conan Doyle’s name on his lips presents a vivid picture; though seemingly not disconcerting enough to lift the young student out of his ennui. (Perhaps feigned, as he hurried to send his version of the incident home before the school could dispatch its own report.)
Any ennui he felt was soon dispelled when one of England’s famous travelling menageries came to a nearby town:
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
Wombwells menagerie has done us the honour to come to Hurstgreen, we all went to see it. I was in hopes of seeing that hybrid, half hyena half bear which we saw mentioned in the paper once but it was not there. I saw King Theodore’s favourite charger ‘Hammel’. There was a baby camel only three days old there, it was already as big as a goat, but it is expected to die. There were 2 elephants 2 camels, several lions, panthers, jackals, leopards, hyenas, and tigers, a huge rhinoceros, a cage of monkeys, a sloth, and a whole host of other beasts. I also saw in a penny show outside the fattest boy ever seen, a frightful creature weighing 460 pounds, also the largest rat ever caught, it was found in the Liverpool docks, it was about the size of a small bulldog.
‘Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,’ said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. ‘It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.’
—‘The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire’
Travelling menageries, also known as Beast Shows, were itinerant exhibitions in which fairground showmen displayed exotic and apparently dangerous creatures. Wombwell’s shows, said to have begun with two snakes bought from a sailor, had toured widely for many years since the first one in 1805. When Conan Doyle saw it, it featured a ‘Royal Modern Musical Elephant’ playing popular songs and polkas on a variety of outsize instruments. Entertainments like these continued well into the twentieth century.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I think I would certainly be the better for a necktie. I require nothing else. I am sorry to say I will not be able to get a bag. There is always a great rush to get bags, and the first school gets the preference. I asked for one about a fortnight ago, but I could not get one. My trunk will be very light however, and it would go against even a cabman’s conscience to charge much for it.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
Now at last I hope to be able to write you something like a letter, and not a mere note. I only learnt by chance that no one was allowed to send cloth here, so I wrote at once to you. The parcel you sent has arrived, but I have not yet seen my clothes. I suppose the rector has written back to you, he talked to me the other day about German, he said that all the classes were very advanced now and that I had better continue studying it privately with a grammar, so that I may make a good start next year.
I have been very successful this term. I am second on the distinction list for which I get a good breakfast, and I have done the best at extraordinary work, for which I get a good supper, so I am provisioned for some time to come.
I have a themebook here with a lot of original poems in it, which Tottie might care to have, I will send it to her if I can.
Whit monday will be a great day for me. The College, as you know, is divided into divisions or lines. Of course there is a certain amount of emulation between the two lines, and great interest is taken in the few annual matches which come off between them. Well on Whitmonday there is going to be a great match at cricket between the best eleven of the lower line and the second best eleven of the higher line. I am captain of the higher line eleven, so I will be a great lion for the day. The lower line think they will win, but I am glad to say that they won’t.
I wonder that Tottie never gives you an exhibition in chemistry. I think when I come home I will give you one. For sixpence I could buy chemicals enough to amuse the brats by my experiments for a week, besides giving them knowledge of chemistry. I am sure they would like to see water put on fire by potassium.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JUNE 1874
I am glad to hear that you are rusticating down at Joppa. I hope you all enjoy yourselves and have as fine weather as I have. On Shrove monday we played the match, and we won a glorious victory. They got 111 runs and we got 276, of which I contributed 51. When I reside at Edinburgh, I would like to enter some cricket club there. It is a jolly game, and does more to make a fellow strong and healthy than all the doctor’s prescription in the world. I think I could take a place in the eleven of any club in Edinburgh, for next year I will be in the Stonyhurst eleven, and it is stronger than any of Edinburgh.
What a wonderful swimmer Tottie is, I expect to find her some sort of a mermaid, when I come home. I wonder why it is that my progress is so much slower than hers, it is not for the want of a will, I am sure, for one of my greatest ambitions is to be a good swimmer.
I am getting very rich now, what with Papa’s and uncle’s liberality. You must thank them both from me. Perhaps since I have such abundance you will send me 2/, before June the 18th. For on that day we go to Preston to see a great cricket match played there, and we will have to find our own dinners I fear.
I don’t know whether I told you last letter about my success in schools, but I got second in schools this term, and did better in every respect than last term.
Conan Doyle may not have been the poorest boy at Stonyhurst, but he was surely in the bottom drawers, even if welcome little gifts of cash from his father and one of his uncles raised him temporarily from the ranks of the truly poverty-stricken. Lack of funds would haunt him for many more years, until success as a writer finally changed not only his own circumstances, but the rest of the family’s.
Returning to Stonyhurst for his final year, Conan Doyle, now fifteen years old, knew it was time to begin thinking of the future. Although his academic performance had been impressive the previous year, some of his teachers still regarded him as a willful and not especially promising prospect. ‘One master,’ he recalled, ‘when I told him that I thought of being a civil engineer, remarked, ‘Well, Doyle, you may be an engineer, but I don’t think you will ever be a civil one.’ Another assured me that I would never do any good in the world, and perhaps from his point of view his prophecy has been justified.’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We had a very pleasant journey and very pleasant companions. We saw Melrose Abbey very well indeed. It is a high massive building, and stands out prominantly among the little houses with which it is surrounded.
We arrived at Preston about five o’clock. We went to the Red Lion, and there we got a big waggonette. The old coach proprietor is dead, and the new one made us pay 3/6 a head. There were 34 of us so he must have made a lot of money.
We have a new master, a jolly fellow much better than Mr Splaine. His name is Reginald Colley, and I think he will teach us very well.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, SEPTEMBER 1874
My luggage was delayed some time at the Red Lion, but it came at last. My valise, of course, I brought with me; the jam arrived in a capital state of preservation likewise the pickles, which are very enjoyable.
I am studying very hard—harder than ever I studied before, and I like it very much. The English Language I find rather hard, it is not the same as English Literature, but is more like a very intricate and minute English grammar. We have to be most awfully exact in the English History too. The subjects for Matric are English Language, English History, French Latin and Greek grammar, a book of Homer, Sallust’s Cataline, Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, any French author, Algebra, arithmetic and Euclid. If you are plucked in anything, you are plucked in everything, so, you see, the work is not very easy.
Mr Colley told me to write and get a book called ‘The Civil Service Examination History of England’. He says it will be a great help for me. A second hand one will do, but let it be as clean as possible.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I am progressing in my work very well. I have a bad memory, which is a great drawback, and I am sure you would laugh to see the expedients I adopt in order to remember things. I find that dodge of Pa’s, of putting things into verse, very profitable. Thus in the English Language we have lists of words to learn, which are of Scandinavian form. I remember some of them by these lines
Boil the pudding, flatten the sky
Lubbers Lurk, and kids are sly
In learning the liquids, mutes, etc, I cannot remember the letters, they get so confused in my head. So I have made these lines.
Liquids = rats like many nuts
Labial mutes = pigs furnish beautiful veal
Dental mutes = toads think during death
Gutterals = Kaffirs cheat green ghosts.
The mere oddity of these lines helps me to remember them. Without them I could not say two letters right, and with them I can classify all the Letters in a moment.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
The expected letter from Aunt Annette has come at last, and I answered it as quickly as I could. I am sorry not to be able to see you all, but I have no doubt I will enjoy myself very much in London; I told Uncle Dick that I expected him to take me to see the sights, and among others to see his Hippopotamus, if it is still alive.
I have to get my travelling expenses for Xmas; am I to get them from home or from London? If from London do you mind informing Aunt Annette? I do not know what the fare to London is, I think it is a little less than to Edinburgh, the cab is only 6s as they put four fellows in each cab.
The ‘expected letter’ from his aunt invited him to spend his Christmas holidays with her and his uncles. It was an exciting opportunity to see the sights of London—not least the hippopotamus once sketched by Uncle Dick for Punch. Fearing his relatives would not recognize him at the train station, Conan Doyle sent a careful description: ‘I am 5 feet 9 inches high, pretty stout, clad in dark garments, and, above all, with a flaring red muffler round my neck.’ Aunt Annette carried him off to the home she shared with Richard Doyle, though he stayed some of the time with his Uncle James and Aunt Jane in Clifton Gardens, Maida Vale. And in the course of three weeks he saw sights and absorbed experiences that resonated in his writings the rest of his life.
Richard Doyle
to Mary Doyle 7 FINBOROUGH ROAD, LONDON
A Merry Xmas and a happy new year to you, and many of them. I have as you have learned from Aunt Annette’s note, arrived safely at the end of my journey, in spite of three accidents which happened on Lancashire railways. I managed to keep myself warm on the journey, thanks to the red muffler, and the rugs of some of my companions. Aunt Annette found me easily, when I arrived at London, and we got a porter to carry the box to the nearest underground station and there we took a train, and then a cab, which brought us safely to our destination. Uncle Dick was not in when we arrived, so we had to begin tea without him, he came in however soon, and we had a jolly tea together. I went to bed at half past nine, and got up at nine this morning, and after breakfast proceeded at once to write to you.
I like Aunt and Uncle very much, they are very kind to me, and I think we will get on very well together.
Uncle Dick is going to take me out on a walk in a little, so I must bring my letter to conclusion, so now adieu, and many kisses from your loving son.
to Mary Doyle 7 FINBOROUGH ROAD, LONDON
I have been so much taken up by amusements that I have but little time for writing. I have been to the Theatre twice with Uncle James, being presented with private boxes by Mr Tom Taylor a play-writer and friend of Uncle Dick. The first time was to the Lyceum where we saw Hamlet. Hamlet was acted by Henry Irving who is supposed to be the best tragic actor in England. The play has continued three months, yet every night the house is crammed to suffocation by people wishing to see Irving act. I enjoyed it very much indeed. Irving is very young and slim, with black piercing eyes, and acted magnificently. The rest of the Lyceum company seemed to me very poor.
Last Thursday we went to Haymarket and saw Sothern again. Though I had seen him before I enjoyed it just as much. Buckstone acted as Ana Trenchard but I do not think him half as good an actor as our Edinborough Pillars [sic].
I have been visiting a Stonyhurst boy, and great friend of mine. We went to the zoo together yesterday, which I enjoyed very much. We saw the animals being fed and the seals kissing their keeper. We was [sic] at Luncheon also at Clifton Gardens on Saturday, and next Thursday we are going to the theatre together.
I have been living just as much at Clifton Gardens as at Finborough Road lately. I spent nearly all last week there. I like Aunt Jane very much indeed. She has had a very bad cold but is recovering.
I have been also to Madam Tussaud’s, and was delighted with the room of Horrors, and the images of the murderers.
Uncle Henry is coming over to see me ere I depart, and we are going to the Crystal palace together. Uncle Dick has just returned from the country and tomorrow he goes off again. Today he is going to take me to Henglers circus.
Henry Irving, in 1894 the first actor to be knighted, was still rising as the first man of the British theatre—and the one for whom, in the early 1890s, Conan Doyle would write his first theatrical hit, a one-act play about an aged Guards veteran who had fought for the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo. Conan Doyle, as he watched Our American Cousin from the box of its author, Tom Taylor, was presumably aware that Abraham Lincoln had been watching the same play the night of his assassination.
In the 1920s, hearing an American physician, Gray Chandler Briggs of St Louis, explain how he had succeeded in identifying Sherlock Holmes’s 221B address in Baker Street from clues in the story The Empty House, Conan Doyle stopped the conversation cold by remarking that he didn’t think he had ever been in Baker Street in his life. But Madame Tussaud’s wax museum was in Baker Street when he visited it in 1874; and it is no surprise that the Chamber of Horrors made the greatest impression upon him. Back at school in January, he was still bubbling over with enthusiasm for his trip to London.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
You must excuse me for my negligence in writing to you, but I have had to write two letters to London, one to Aunt Annette and the other to Aunt Jane to wish her goodbye. I have also begun my letter to Uncle Conan. I am hard at work again, and am, I think getting up the subjects I am backward in very successfully.
I enjoyed my 3 weeks in London immensely. I saw everything and went everywhere. In one walk I thoroughly saw St Pauls, Westminster Abbey and bridge, houses of parliament—The Tower—Temple Bar, the Guild Hall and other places of interest.*
I was especially interested in the Tower—where we saw in the armoury 67,000 Henry-Martini rifles, and an enormous number of swords and bayonets. Also thumbscrews and racks and other instruments of torture
I like Aunt Jane very much indeed, she is very kind and considerate. I slept as often at their house as at Finborough Road, and I enjoyed myself very much there. I spent a day with Mrs Robertson and saw Louis. I also saw Mr Williams, and I think he is the jolliest old fellow I ever met.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
It was very kind indeed of Tottie to send me the scraps, and McFairsham. I am going to have a good supper in a few days, for doing well at the lessons, and I will sing McFairsham in honour of Scotland. They always want me to sing a Scotch song. And I always have to tell them I don’t know any, so I will satisfy them for once.
You must excuse my brevity, as I wish the letter to go this mail, and I have to write to Uncle Conan, to acknowledge the receipt of a little book he sent me. ‘McCauley’s lays of Rome’.
Macaulay’s work greatly influenced Conan Doyle. ‘It seems entwined into my whole life as I look backwards,’ he wrote decades later. ‘The short, vivid sentences, the broad sweep of allusion, the exact detail, they all throw a glamour round the subject and should make the least studious of readers desire to go further. If Macaulay’s hand cannot lead a man upon those pleasant paths, then, indeed, he may give up all hope of ever finding them.’
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MAY 14, 1875
The Examen begins on the 28th of June, and continues for nearly a fortnight. The Trial Examens begin on the 5th, and they are very important for no one who is plucked in them is allowed to go up for the real examination. We will all be very much excited for a fortnight or so before the Examens, for this year they are trying a new system in the Examens, so that we do not know what is in store for us. The most exciting time of all however is on the next Sunday morning when the results are read out. I hope it [will] be a morning of pleasure to us all.
I was astonished to hear of Annette’s departure; when is she going to come back? I was very pleased to hear of her success.
I have suffered much lately from neuralgia, and I have it still, though it is getting much better. I got it from sitting near an open window in the schoolroom, the draught acting upon the nerves of the face.
Can Geoffy speak well? What does dear little Ida look like? I am very curious to hear all about the little ones.
The birth of another sister in March 1875—Jane Adelaide Rose, called Ida—coincided with Annette Conan Doyle’s departure for Portugal to be a governess. The two events combined in his mind to place even greater emphasis on his need to help support the family as his graduation from Stonyhurst approached.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I wrote a letter to Aunt Annette acknowledging the receipt of the History, and thanking Uncle Dick for it. It will, I imagine be very useful to me in the Matriculation. I am unusually pressed with work now, because Father rector’s feast is coming on, and I have been selected to write a poem for him, to be read on the Feast. We have trial examinations on every Friday in the different subjects for Matriculation. Today we have one in English History down to the Norman Conquest, and in Roman and Greek history.
I am in the first class in German, and getting on very well. We have 2 hours in the week for German, which is all that could be spared. The Father, whose name is Father Baumgarten, talks to us in German always, while teaching us. I like it very much.
to an unidentified recipient (fragment) STONYHURST
Its 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.’
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