Herbert Henry Brown (1891-1963).
The death of Herbert Henry Brown in a car accident will have brought to colleagues and old boys varied memories of him during the years 1920-1954. Seven of these years he spent as Housemaster of the Green: not altogether happy years because despite his friendliness with boys his sense of responsibility was burdened by anticipation of every kind of mishap and he had no love for competitive games. Possibly he was more at ease when helping in Abbey House.
By most boys he will be pictured in his pontifical chair in the Lower Library. He had a genius for teaching History, and making it live not only by his mastery of the general significance of events and persons but also by his knowledge of intimate details not found in hum-drum text books: and by his insistent encouragement of discussion.
He had a number of likes (and dislikes) and hobbies: cars, golf, fishing, cats (not dogs) even hamsters; photography at which he was expert; good food, good wine; and snuff, the alternative to an acknowledged shocking excess of cigarettes: and after his retirement to Northumberland much travel in the Mediterranean area.
The years conferred on him the title of a ‘character’; remembered by masters and O.S’s, as Herbert Henry and as ‘Bruin,’ with affection and gratitude.
Old Shirburnian Society Annual Report, September 1964.
R.W. Powell’s tribute to H.H. Brown on his retirement, The Shirburnian, Midsummer 1955:
Early in March Mr Brown came regretfully to the decision that he could no longer continue his work here. For several years he had gone on past the retiring age, and done so, at his own request, unsalaried. Characteristically, the consideration which most influenced his decision was that health worries were making him less effective in the form-room. Assurances that what he considered partial efficiency was a high enough standard for any school, and that his continued presence as an influence in the School was valuable, failed to convince him. He left us unobtrusively, preferring to avoid the strains of formal leave-taking. Thus, unexpectedly and quietly, Sherborne lost a man who for many years had made so rich a contribution to the life of the School that he seemed himself to be a living part of its tradition and hopes.
The true account of a good schoolmasters, certainly that of Herbert Henry Brown, will demand two authors, one a pupil, the other a colleague. There has not been, nor is there likely to be, any lack of pupils anxious to speak of those stimulating “stiff hours”, in which the relish (Gentlemen’s Relish?), of idiosyncrasy created appetite for a meal which combined wholesomeness with savour. (Dare we call him a high class chef of instruction? The figure might appeal to him, for he enjoyed equally good cuisine and the deflation of pomp. Certainly there was something in his approach which inevitably suggested a high white hat). One knows little of a colleague’s doings in the form room: it is, on the whole, proper that there should be a decent reticence about this peculiarly private life. But enough stories have filtered through to make us all look forward with zest to the full account of H.H. Br. in the Lower Library. This, I suspect will not be without reference to “Short Memory Joggers”, to the glass of water, to the “little air”, so directed as not to impinge personally, to a certain sensitiveness to the proximity of colds, coughs, or even sniffs, to rewarding examples of “crassness”. But it will be out of perspective if there does not finally emerge the portrait of a masterly teacher, stimulating, provocative, satisfying, known by his fruits.
So it is when one comes to write of him as a colleague. One tends to think first of those urbane foibles, the existence of which he admitted with a glee which welcomed a little mockery, provided, of course, that it was light and civil. It is said that he once kept hamsters, and, could we canvas the views of his particular specimens, there is no doubt they, like many boys, would testify to a kindly absorbed interest which made life somehow more worth living. Photography finally claimed a heart unspotted by a series of delightful and harmless flirtations. Here the panoply of electronic aid was not without its peculiar fascination: but the results were skilful and beautiful. My own most pleasant memories of him are the occasions when he came to dine, and was the only guest. His conversation ranged with authority: parties and men were “debunked”, history, judiciously tempered with agreeable anecdote, came alive and unpedantic into the talk; the Manchester Guardian was quoted with respect (though he never spoke of the “London Times”, it seemed that he inevitably would). But the arrival of a new dish often brought a switch of interest, discussion of its ingredients and preparation, sometimes even a visit to the kitchen to examine the new gadget which had been used. He was, he was bound to be, a privileged guest.
It is easy and pleasant to dwell on these endearing quirks of personality, because they give lineament and colour to a picture we do not wish to forget. But they are not in themselves the reason why we do not wish to forget, and to stress them beyond the needs of affectionate recollection would again be to lose perspective. For more than these attractive whims, more vent than the crisp sanity of his teaching and conversation, it was the rich store of sympathy and interest which won the hearts of both colleagues and boys. It was available to and enjoyed by all, but particularly those who found themselves, for some reason, ill-sorted. The successful could and did enjoy its warmth; but there were others who found in it a much needed prop and comfort. Many a boy finding it difficult to fit in, many a young master feeling strange, has received from Herbert Henry a sympathy and attention which made him feel happier, more confident. To a new Headmaster, he was the wisest of counsellors and the kindest of friends. For the School he was a repository of scholarship, tolerance, and civility.
Though Herbert Henry and Hamlet’s father are vastly dissimilar characters, they share the quality of inimitability. But if we are not to look upon his like, is it not incumbent upon him to provide us with frequent glimpses of the original?
Herbert Henry Brown (1891-1963).
Born 11 April 1891.
Oxford University.
Wakefield Grammar School, 1914-1920.
Assistant Master, Sherborne School, 1920-1955.
Housemaster of The Green, 1929-1936.
Died 1 November 1963.