Why is our school called Selwyn House?

School HISTORY

SELWYN HOUSE? Why is our school called

Many men of distinction have graduated from Selwyn House School since the institution was founded in 1908. Of that number, however, probably only a few have ever known where their school gets its name.

Selwyn House students have often been told that their school’s name comes from Selwyn College at Cambridge University in England. The founder of our school, Algernon Lucas, and its second headmaster, C. C. Macaulay, both went to Selwyn College before immigrating to Canada. Hence the name “Selwyn.”

But who was the original Mr. Selwyn, for whom both institutions are named? And why is our school called “Selwyn House” rather than “Selwyn College” or simply “Selwyn School”?

A Man of Perfect Balance

On April 5, 1809, George Augustus Selwyn was born in Hampstead, London, son of a noted constitutional lawyer who was Senior Counsel to Queen Victoria.

George Selwyn came from a distinguished family. His younger brother Thomas was appointed chaplain at Windsor Castle, giving Prince Albert the rare privilege of having members of the Selwyn family counsel him in both spiritual and constitutional matters. George’s youngest brother, Charles, (later the Right Honourable Sir Charles) entered parliament as the MP for Cambridge University and eventually became England’s Solicitor General, a Privy Councillor and Lord Justice of Appeal.

George’s education began at a preparatory school at Ealing and continued at Eton and St. John’s College, Cambridge. He rowed in a losing cause for Cambridge in the very first OxfordCambridge boat race in 1829.

“There was never a man of more perfect balance,” it has been said of him. “He was, in the best sense of the term, a great all-round man.”

As a child, George Selwyn was described as “…the life of the home. In every romp his figure was in the forefront, and his laughter rang the loudest.”

“He was truly the family friend and counsellor,” his sister wrote, “ever ready to help in all difficulties. There was nothing that was pious, noble, self-denying, and generous, that my brother did not exhibit in his daily life.”

In school, it is said, “He mastered every subject that offered itself to his eager and hungry mind. In the classrooms at Eton it was usually taken for granted that Selwyn would be found in the place of honour.” At the same time, he inherited from his father a love of the outdoors, and was well known for his prowess in running, jumping, rowing, swimming, diving and horsemanship. His boating skills were well known to the boatmen on the river. These abilities served him well in the days of hardship and adventure of his adult life. He came of age at time when England was torn by bitter political dissension. He developed a skill as a mediator between friends who found themselves driven apart by political differences. He had always possessed a religious inclination, and attributed his familiarity with his Bible to the early teaching of his mother. In 1834 he entered the Anglican priesthood and became curate to the Vicar of Windsor.

Among his fellow clergymen, Selwyn was often ridiculed as an idealist. When the parish found itself in debt, he offered to contribute one-tenth of the entire sum himself, by refusing to accept any stipend for the next two years.

In his thirtieth year he married Miss Sarah Richardson, the daughter of Sir John Richardson, a Judge in Her Majesty’s Court of Common Pleas.

To New Zealand

When the Archbishop of Canterbury sought to make an appointment to the newly created bishopric of New Zealand, the post was offered to Canon William Selwyn, George’s older brother, who declined. Within the week, George was offered the appointment and promptly accepted.

At this time, the average Englishman, if he had heard of New Zealand at all, would have dismissed it as an insignificant cannibal island somewhere in the wide Pacific. Nevertheless, George Selwyn eagerly left Plymouth Sound in December, 1841, arriving in Auckland harbour on June 24, 1842.

One of the best-known stories of Selwyn was that, by the time he arrived at his new home he had not only learned the science of navigation at sea, but had become fluent in Maori, the native language of New Zealand.

On his first Sunday in the new land the Bishop threw the Maoris into ecstasies of delight by gathering them together and briefly addressing them in their own language. They were filled with unbounded astonishment. There can be no doubt that, by this single achievement, the Bishop completely disarmed their prejudices and favourably inclined their minds to

Bishop G.A.Selwyn

School HISTORY

G.A. SELWYN

welcome his message. It was a masterstroke.

As soon as his wife joined him in New Zealand, he set out upon his first great expedition to familiarize himself with the entire North Island. In five months he travelled 2,685 miles: 1,400 by ship, 397 by boat, 126 on horseback, and 762 on foot. He later completed an exploration of the South Island.

When the British Crown solicitors had first drawn up the letters patent for the new diocese of New Zealand, they had made a clerical error, proscribing its limits as stretching from 50 degrees south latitude to 30 degrees north of the equator. Bishop Selwyn was aware of the error but said nothing, knowing that it would give him much more territory in which to carry on his work among the far-flung islands of the South Pacific.

So on March 4, 1848, he set sail at the helm of his schooner to explore the seas of Melanesia. He spent the next 10 years spreading his evangelical message throughout the entire region. “I have been enabled during the last nine months,” he once wrote, “to visit, with ease and comfort, inhabited countries stretching over thirty-three degrees of latitude, or, one-eleventh part of the circumference of the globe.”

Bishop Selwyn’s sailing skills were so impressive that one merchant seaman was quoted as saying that it almost made him a Christian and a churchman to see the Bishop bring his schooner into harbour.

He travelled without weapons among native tribes that were known to practice cannibalism. When he approached an unfamiliar island, he would first try to find out the name of the tribal chief there, and then swim ashore alone, carrying only a tomahawk. When he came ashore he would call out the chief’s name and then present the man with the tomahawk as a gesture of peace. He conducted services whenever and wherever he could, sometimes in a barn or loft, sometimes in a concert-hall or dancing-saloon, sometimes in a native whare, and often in the open air. The azure sky was frequently his cathedral dome, the bush-birds his choristers. In relation to the sufferings of others he was acutely sympathetic, but where he himself was concerned, he was a perfect Spartan. He laughed his way through obstacles that to most men would have been insuperable. (Pioneer Bishop of

New Zealand)

In the years preceding his arrival, tribal warfare had taken a grave toll on the native population. The Bishop often stared death in the face in his encounters with the Maori. On one occasion he entered a [village], where a chief had murdered his [own] cousin. War was instantly declared between the friends of the two parties. In a very short time the two little armies were drawn up in battle array. Bishop Selwyn interviewed the leaders, attempting to bring about a peaceful understanding.

At last the Bishop approached the murderer, who shamelessly recited the details of his crime, and concluded the ghastly narrative by demanding: “What do you think of that?” Nearby, the friends of the man were fingering the triggers of their rifles, and quite prepared to fire if the slightest danger threatened him. The Bishop, however, looked the man full in the face and replied: “I have no hesitation in saying that, on your own showing, you have committed the crime of which Cain was guilty when he slew his brother, Abel!” Quivering with anger, the man sprang forward and screamed: “Say that again if you dare!” The Bishop stood without a tremor and deliberately repeated the words. The chief’s hand tightened on his tomahawk hidden under his tartan plaid. At that critical moment, however, a great cry arose among the warriors: “The Bishop is right!

The Bishop is right!” Thereupon the guilty chief, confronted with his crime, convicted by his conscience, and deserted by his friends, slunk off, ashamed. (IBID)

When war broke out between the Maori and the British, Bishop Selwyn found himself caught between the two sides. The Maori suspected him of being an instrument of a British plot to take possession of their country, while the English saw him as a native sympathizer. Meanwhile, the European travelling dealers fanned the flames of native suspicion and spread rumours about the intentions of the missionaries.

On Sundays, the Bishop would ride from camp to camp conducting seven or eight services in the course of the day. He was often the target of Maori snipers; British soldiers would watch from a distance, amazed at the Bishop’s courage under fire.

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School HISTORY

G.A. SELWYN

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Despite being caught in the middle of the conflict, Bishop Selwyn also earned acclaim from both sides. “It is impossible for the rapture of praise to exceed that with which every tongue loads him,” wrote The Auckland Times. “Fearless in the very midst of the contest, Dr. Selwyn sought to allay the heat of blood and to arrest the fury of the fight. He was also seen bearing the wounded from the field; afterwards, unwearied, he was at the bedside of the dying. Much more than this, he was the nurse, and the surgeon, and the servant of the sick as well as their spiritual attendant.”

As much as Bishop Selwyn ministered to the suffering on both sides with Christ-like equanimity, the conflict was painful to behold, as he saw all his missionary work crumbling in savagery.

Return to England

The year 1867 found Bishop Selwyn back in England, attending the Lambeth Conference of the Anglican Church, where it was said that “No voice was heard with more respect, and no opinions carried greater weight than his. His commanding figure, his finelychiselled face, his charming personality and his silver tongue stamped their indelible impress upon the Church life of the world as a result of his presence at these memorable meetings.”

Perhaps he spoke too well, for he was immediately offered the important diocese of Lichfield, in England. He immediately refused. “My heart is in New Zealand and Melanesia,” he replied.

But Queen Victoria and the Archbishop of Canterbury were not inclined to accept his refusal. On December 1, 1867, Bishop Selwyn met with the Queen in her private room at Windsor Castle, where she applied her royal powers of persuasion. “I accepted with as good a grace as I could,” he wrote, “though I felt very sorrowful, and still feel so.” He was enthroned as Bishop of Lichfield in January 1868.

He returned to New Zealand to put his affairs in order. On October 20, 1869, when he finally bid farewell to his adopted land, all the shops in the city were closed and the streets were filled with a throng of people wishing to see Bishop Selwyn one last time. According to The Encyclopedia of New Zealand, The church of St. Paul, Auckland, was packed to the point of suffocation, and multitudes, disappointed, were turned from the doors. A carriage bearing the Bishop and his wife was drawn toward the wharf, where a huge crowd packed the shoreline waving goodbye. The press of people in the streets was so great that the horses were taken out of the shafts and the carriage drawn to the wharf by young men. The streets were decked with bunting; steamers sounded their whistles; naval vessels fired their guns.

On December 31, Selwyn arrived in England, where he immediately fell into his work as Bishop of Lichfield with his usual enthusiasm and dedication. His ministrations to the victims of the Pelsall mining disaster were remembered fondly for years after the accident.

“It may be doubted whether any one Bishop has contributed more effectively to the ecclesiastical organisation of our own time than has Bishop Selwyn,” said an Anglican Church publication. “Whether addressing the House of Lords, speaking in Convocation, delivering charges to his own clergy, or preaching in the stately Cathedral at Lichfield, he never failed to carry conviction to the minds of his auditors. They were invariably impressed by his transparent sincerity, his intense passion, and his evident desire to promote the well-being of others.”

In 1871, and again in 1874, he visited Canada and the United States, attending conventions, preaching special sermons, delivering addresses and playing an important part in the drawing together of the worldwide Anglican community.

“[His tours] resembled the triumphal progress of a conqueror. Everywhere he was accorded magnificent receptions. All sections of the community, dignitaries of churches, leaders in politics, princes of commerce, and captains of industry thronged to hear him.” (Pioneer Bishop of New Zealand)

Eventually, his robust health began to fade, and he died on April 11, 1878. With his family and colleagues gathered around his bed, he faded in and out of consciousness, recalling happier times in his beloved south-sea-island home.

It is well known that Bishop Selwyn’s last words were not English, but a familiar Maori phrase in which a dying native Christian says to his mourning family, “It is Light! It is Light! It is Light!”

Thus, “the valiant soul of one of England’s very greatest sons passed triumphantly away.” (IBID)

In all parts of the world the most glowing tributes were paid to his memory. Pulpit, press, and platform vied with each other in commemorating the commanding virtues and distinguished excellences of one whom no difficulty had ever daunted, and the imprint of whose splendid and gracious influence must abide upon the world for ever.

Selwyn was buried in Lichfield Cathedral, with the Rt. Hon. W. E.

G.A. SELWYN

Gladstone, four-time Prime Minister of Great Britain, and Sir William Martin, first Chief Justice of New Zealand, among the pallbearers. Gladstone said of Selwyn that he “reintroduced among the Anglican clergy the pure heroic type.”

Selwyn College

In 1882, Selwyn College was founded at Cambridge as a theological college and named after George Augustus Selwyn.

It is hard for us, at the beginning of the 21st century and from the perspective of a largely secularized culture, to understand the high esteem in which figures such as George Augustus Selwyn were held at the end of the 19th.

Seven years after his death, the Bishop of Winchester said of Selwyn, “I think he was the most remarkable man I ever saw.”

Sir Richard Jebb said “No one has more signally represented the educated chivalry of Christian manhood.”

When the cornerstone of the first building of Selwyn College was built, The Times of London wrote: “though he had an extraordinary combination of good qualities and powers…his goodness was the chief talent and the best thing about him.”

At the Selwyn College Jubilee in 1930, Cambridge University Chancellor and Prime Minster Stanley Baldwin said, “Selwyn was perhaps typical of much that was best in the last century. He combined four things. He was a Christian; he was a gentleman; he was a scholar and an athlete—the complete and perfect man.”

That is the man for whom Selwyn House is named. His spirit is invoked every time we speak or write the name of this school. Not just his achievements, but the man himself. His high moral character and his bottomless capacity for self-sacrifice, combined with a spirit of good humour and charity, prepared him to become one of the great men of his age, indeed, of any age. He was a truly inspirational character. He was veritas personified.

And that is the story behind “Selwyn House,” a name that has become venerated while its origins remained a mystery. ■

Sources • Selwyn District Council history • GA Selwyn, Pioneer Bishop of New Zealand • Encyclopedia of New Zealand • Selwyn Celebrated, a Selwyn College publication

School HISTORY

But why Selwyn 'House'?

In the Winter 1991 issue of Veritas, SHS Old Boy Dr. David Lewis ’35 shared some insights he had picked up that same year while attending a symposium at Cambridge.

Although it was founded in 1882, Selwyn College, Cambridge did not receive full accreditation as a college until 1926, Dr. Lewis discovered. In the interim, the school was known by the more modest title of “House.”

“The official terminology,” Dr. Lewis wrote, “was even more diminishing, that is, ‘Public Hostel,’ or housing for students to live in while they pursued their studies wherever they could negotiate the teaching.”

Lack of funds may have contributed to Selwyn College’s struggle for accreditation, Dr. Lewis wrote, but religion may have also been a factor. “Selwyn House must have been regarded as a sweatshop for the preparation of Anglican clergymen for the parishes of the British Isles and the Empire that Selwyn had done so much to erect.” Where the rest of Cambridge was ecumenical, Selwyn remained a staunchly Anglican institution.

In spite of these impediments, Lewis wrote, the college continued to grow. Today, its campus boasts an elegant quadrangle, with some central buildings dating from 1893.

In 1926, the University Board of Inquiry acknowledged the existence of Selwyn as a College of Cambridge.

By this time our school here in Montreal, founded by Lucas and passed on to Macaulay, had already been in existence for eighteen years. It had been named “Selwyn House” before there was a “Selwyn College,” and the name stuck.