Goodbye, Mr. Chips

Brookfield, Chips reflects, might have achieved the luster of an Eton or Harrow (two of the best-known British public schools) had things gone a little differently. Founded during Elizabeth I’s reign, Brookfield has had its difficulties, almost vanishing altogether before its resurgence in the 18th century when most of its main physical structures and quadrangle were built. After another decline, it saw its second renaissance in the 1840s under the stewardship of Wetherby; despite that, it remains a second-rank school that relies mostly on manufacturing, merchant, and professional families rather than the landed gentry. However, Chips knows that if Brookfield had been first rank, it would not have taken someone of his unspectacular talents with a mediocre degree and no family money.

Upon his arrival in 1870 as a young man, Chips had a higher estimation of himself, believing he was destined for a headship or senior mastership, preferably at a better school than Brookfield. However, his experiences soon humbled him, and he stayed on at Brookfield, feeling he had found his level as a classics teacher at a staid school of the second rank. Once he resigned himself to this, he flourished happily in his unchanging role, and by age 60, he “WAS Brookfield”—not only its doyen and most venerable member but an institution in himself. Five years later, in 1913, he retired and moved across the street into Mrs. Wickett’s house. However, there was more to come: Fate had reserved an “encore” for him, one “played to a tragic audience” (10).

Chips’s small, sunny room at Mrs. Wickett’s is well-suited to his humble needs and easily accommodates the few possessions (mostly books) that once furnished his room at Brookfield. It is also roomy enough for him to host small tea parties for Brookfield’s new generations of students and masters, whom he still makes a point of getting to know. At these teas, which are his main delight, he has settled into certain eccentric habits, such as fussily mixing tea from different caddies and dismissing his guests punctually at five with a few blunt words. These rituals, combined with his genuine warmth, endear him to his guests, some of whom are the sons and grandsons of former students, many of whom he still remembers distinctly. He sometimes reminisces with Wickett about these long-ago boys and what became of them afterward, including the reckless but decent Collingwood, who was killed in Egypt in World War I.

When Chips is alone, he sometimes leafs through a book of Latin or Greek but eventually curls up with a mystery novel, by far his favorite reading material. Classical learning has always been Chips’s career rather than his passion. In retirement, Chips keeps himself busy for his age, writing letters, hosting teas, and performing small functions for the school, such as editing its directory. Once, a Brookfield master leaves one of his teas commenting on his “typical bachelor” habits, but the truth is that Chips has been married—only so long ago that no one at the school remembers his wife.

Sitting by the fire, Chips turns his memories to his first meeting with his future wife, back in 1896 when he was 48. Climbing the Great Gable mountain in England’s Lake District, he spots a young woman on a slope who seems to be signaling for help, and he chivalrously hastens to her rescue. Doing so, he slips and twists his ankle, and the woman, who was actually in no danger but was merely waving to a friend, becomes his rescuer. At first, Chips finds this reversal of roles to be mortifying, especially as his savior turns out to be one of those “Modern Women” he has heard so much about: strong-willed, politically progressive, and devoted to “radical” writers such as George Bernard Shaw and Henrik Ibsen. Ensconced for decades in an all-boys setting with a conservative mindset, Chips has long regarded women, when he thinks about them at all, with uneasiness and as “fragile” creatures to be protected, preferably from afar.

Soon, this brazen young woman shocks him further by paying him frequent visits at his rented house to check up on his ankle, arriving by bicycle and often without a chaperone. Getting to know her, however, Chips radically changes his impressions. The woman, an unemployed governess named Katherine Bridges, is 23 years old and “very beautiful.” Intellectually, she is lively and forthright, and, though she does admire Ibsen and believes in progressive causes such as women’s suffrage, her warmth and thoughtfulness soon captivate him. Chips, in turn, surprises her with his gentle charm, decency, and attractiveness, which she has never before associated with men of his conservative bent, especially ones old enough to be her father. Within a week, they are deeply in love, and before the autumn term begins, they marry.