A Christmas story

A Christmas story

One hundred years ago, during the evening of the 22nd of December 1900, the students of the “Illumination” class at the Central School of Arts and Crafts, and their tutor and mentor, Edward Johnston gathered together in their second floor classroom for the festive season and to celebrate their first full year of lettering tuition, and to review the first year of the new century.

Edward Johnston few days before Christmas 1902. Reproduced from the ITC specimen of the Johnston recreated by Dave Farey (ATypI Boston, October 1999).

It was a typical and magical Christmas night, and they were all grateful for the warmth of roaring fire as they arrived, shrugging off their coats and dipped into the punchbowl that Johnston had prepared for them. They were soon disappointed, as Johnston, generally a teetotaller, had prepared the punchbowl with Coca-Cola, the latest concoction from America, introduced to the London scene by Asa Candler earlier that year.

“Good God, this stuff can rot your teeth,” exclaimed the young Noel Rooke to Cobden-Sanderson. “We must put some bite in it to get the party going.” Without another word, Cobden-Sanderson extracted his hip flask and poured four star brandy into the bowl, and swirled the sliced oranges and lemons and apple peel around with the large wooden spoon. “Get them all to do the same, young Noel, I’ll keep Eddy busy,” murmured C-S, as he wandered over to Johnston who was staring contemplatively out of the window at the moonlight on the small enclosed courtyard where the snow lay deep, and crisp, and even.

From then on the party went with a swing, with all the students surreptitiously adding the contents of their flasks and bottles into the punchbowl under Rookes’ instruction. Johnston in particular was extremely animated, claiming the invigorating qualities of Coca-Cola would improve their hand-to-eye co-ordination, while the others stood around exchanging knowing winks and smiles.

Percy Delf Smith produced two seasonal glove puppets and provided a pantomime that had the others joining in with puppets hastily modelled from scarves, handkerchiefs and even a sock from Graily Hewitt. “Perhaps Percy, your letterforms would improve next term if you kept the glove puppets on,” roared Eric Gill, which reduced Johnston to stamping his feet and clinging onto the window ledge for support. The evening continued with them all proclaiming each other their very best friends for life, and concluded with the meandering and crabbing ways to their respective homes.

The next morning, Johnston, with a sore head, arrived at the Central to find a note in his pigeonhole requesting he should go straight to the principal’s of fice. William Letherby sat behind his desk and contemplated Johnston for a moment, and then said: “Edward, I know you had a gay old time last night, but there are some things that are beyond the pale. I have a pretty shrewd idea who pissed out of the window onto the snow in the courtyard and wrote the opening line of James Connell’s revolutionary song – Though Cowards Flinch and Traitors Sneer – before his bladder ran out. I just want you to have a strong word with him, this is not the sort of thing the school will tolerate.”

Winchester Formal Writing Sheet published by Douglas Pepler, 1916. Written and anoted by Edward Johnston. Extract from Edward Johnston’ “Lessons in Formal Writing” a book edited by Heather Child and Justin Howes in 1987, Lund Humphries, London.

Johnston went deathly pale, and clutched the corner of Letherby’s desk before his knees buckled and he folded into a chair.”Oh Lord, I am so sorry, Letherby, it’s coming back to me now, it wasn’t one of my students—I’m ashamed to say it was I. That damned Coca-Cola!”

Letherby startled, responded: ‘Come now Edward, I doubt you would know the first line of the Red Flag. You need not defend your friend, although it is very noble of you’.

Johnston grabbed the copy of The Times laying on Letherby’s desk and proclaimed: “I swear by the crest of this newspaper that it was myself who peed out of the window, although the events of yesterday evening are hazy, I do now apologise profusely to you and the school.”

Letherby rose, walked around the desk and placed his hand on Johnston’s shoulder. “My dear chap, if you swear on The Times, then I must accept your word. But I thought I was familiar with your foundational hand. My only question is, if you peed out of the window, why is it in Eric Gill’s handwriting?”