Messages from George Mills: His Prefaces and Dedications

Let’s take a moment today to reflect a few messages George Mills sent out into the world without knowing who might read them. His books were primarily for children, but the same can't be said for the dedications and prefaces of his texts: They were meant for persons other than schoolboys.

Taking a look at these brief but meaningful messages within the books—but not part of the stories themselves—may tell us something.

Or they may simply let us know how much more we may want to know.


The 1930s:


• First let's look at the preface of 1933's first edition of Meredith & Co.:

PREFACE

ALTHOUGH all the incidents in this book, with the exception of the 'bait charts,' are imaginary, the book gives an accurate impression of life in a Boys' Preparatory School.

I wish to acknowledge, with much gratitude, the help and encouragement received from many friends; particularly from Mr. A. Bishop, the Head Master of Magdalen College School, Brackley, and from my old friend, Mr. H. E. Howell, who have read the book in manuscript form. I am also much indebted to Mr. E. M. Henshaw for his devastating, but most useful, criticisms, and especially to that splendid specimen of boyhood, the British Schoolboy, who has given me such wonderful material.

----------------------------------------------------------- G.M.


We've examined fairly recently the life and career of Mr. A. Bishop—Arthur Henry Burdick Bishop [right]—and have seen some references to Mr. H. E. Howell, although we have no real idea who he was.

The annoyingly critical Mr. E. M. Henshaw—whose mention was deleted from subsequent editions of Meredith—has so far been difficult to identify. Henshaw must have been an unliked and unwanted obligation, one that in later years no longer needed to appear.

Once again, if you have any notion of Henshaw's identity, or have some clever skills in a database like ancestry.com or The Times, please don't hesitate to let me know!


• Next, we'll examine the dedication to the 1933 edition of Meredith & Co.:

To MR. J. GOODLAND, sometime Head Master
of Warren Hill, Eastbourne; to the STAFF AND
BOYS OF THE SAME SCHOOL, and to those of
WINDLESHAM HOUSE, BRIGHTON, THE CRAIG,
WINDERMERE, and the ENGLISH PREPARATORY
SCHOOL, GLION, among whom I spent many
happy years, this book is affectionately
dedicated.


We've had far more luck tracing our way through this dedication. http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

Over time, we've been enlightened by Dr. Tom Houston at Windlesham and tracked down a smattering of information about The Craig and the English Preparatory School at Glion.

The amount of information we've unearthed about both Joshua Goodland, a mentor of George Mills, and Warren Hill School in Eastbourne [left], seems comparatively to be a wealth of knowledge!


• Mills's next published book was 1938's King Willow. Let's look at its preface:

PREFACE

READERS of Meredith & Co. will recognize here some old friends ; nevertheless King Willow can be read as an entirely independent story. The characters have no connexion with any people, alive of dead, but the book is typical of life in any big Preparatory School.

Once More I wish to record my thanks to my friend, Mr H. E. Howell, who has read the manuscript and offered helpful criticism ; and also to a host of schoolboy readers who have encouraged me to continue.

------------------------------------------------------------- G.M.

June, 1938


Again, by June, 1938, the mysterious Mr. H. E. Howell remains a dear friend of George Mills, schoolmaster and author.


• Let's look at the 1938 dedication to King Willow:

TO
THE HEADMASTERS, STAFF, AND BOYS
OF
EATON GATE PREPARATORY SCHOOL,
LONDON, S.W. 1.


That's a rather all-encompassing dedication. We have discussed the fact that no school by that name has been found (although I would be delighted to be corrected), and the current school at that location has no real interest in exploring its own past or in assisting in educational research.

It's interesting that Mills misnames the school, yet is precise enough to include the location "S.W.1." It's also noteworthy in that, while it must be the most recent school at which he'd worked, Mills singles out no Headmaster or Principal by name. Might that indicate he had already severed ties with the institution, and under less than joyful circumstances?

These inconsistencies make this is by far the strangest of Mills's prefaces or dedications.


• Now we'll examine the 1939 preface of Minor and Major:


PREFACE


THIS book deals with life in a big preparatory school, and tells about the boys and masters, their goings-out and their comings-in. All the characters are imaginary, and no allusion is meant to any living person.

The boys, who first appeared in Meredith & Co. and King Willow, once again present themselves for a short time during a cricket match.

I wish to record my thanks to my old friend, Mr H. E. Howell, for so kindly reading the manuscript and proofs. I also recognize the kindly aid of a schoolboy, Terence Hadow, whose criticisms have been invaluable, as also has the encouragement given to me by my friend, Mr Egerton Clarke, who has read the book in manuscript form. My thanks are also due to Mr A. L. Mackie, who has kindly helped to read the proofs.

------------------------------------------------------------- G.M.


Mills for a third time pays tribute to "old friend" Howell, but this time extends thanks to a few more individuals.

Schoolboy critic Terence Hadow died in 1942 serving as a chindit[some are pictured in Burma, right] under Major-General Orde Wingate. His remains were interred in Burma.

Egerton Clarke, as we recently learned, was a friend of George's in the Army Pay Corps, and at Oxford before leading George to the publishing house that would print Mills's final new book in 1939. Egerton passed away in 1944.

Finally, we simply do not know the identity of the kindly Mr. A. L. Mackie. Once again, if you have any idea, please let me know!


• Moving along, we arrive at 1939's dedication to Minor and Major:


To the Headmasters, Staff, and Boys of
Parkfield, Haywards Heath, where I received
my early education, this book is affectionately
dedicated


For the first time, Mills takes a nostalgic bent in creating a dedication, hearkening back to the first decade of the 20th century in dedicating Minor and Major to his own masters, as well as the boys with whom he attended Parkfield.

Parkfield is a school we've located and learned about to some degree after hearing from alumni.


The 1950s:

The prep school books of George Mills all were reprinted, Meredith and Co. twice.


• The edition we'll look at here is from 1950, published by Oxford University Press.

In addition to the preface and dedication found in the first edition, Mills, as we know, added this verse by Rudyard Kipling [left]:

Give me a willow wand, and I
With hide and cork and twine,
From century to century,
Will gambol round thy shrine

------------- —Kipling


There is also a subtle change in the preface. The last sentence of the 1933 original reads:

I am also much indebted to Mr. E. M. Henshaw for his devastating, but most useful, criticisms, and especially to that splendid specimen of boyhood, the British Schoolboy, who has given me such wonderful material.

The 1950 version simply reads:

I am also much indebted to that splendid specimen of boyhood, the British Schoolboy, who has given me such wonderful material.


Oxford University Press kept no records from that era, so we have no way of knowing if Henshaw was associated with the company in 1933, but had passed away or moved his career to another locale by 1950. Hence, the expression of gratitude to person for whom it's likely Mills cared very little was no longer necessary


• Jumping ahead to the late 1950s and the undated edition of King Willow, we find this revised dedication:


To
BERYL and IAN

Two young people who have just set
out on a long voyage in the good ship
Matrimony. May they have smooth
seas and following winds: may they
from time to time take aboard some
young passengers who will become
the light of their lives until they sail
into the last harbor.


Here George looks back on his life in the context of looking ahead to the lives of this young couple. He reflects on growing old together—something George was himself unable to do with his own wife, Vera, who died 30 years before he did. George and Vera passed away childless, and there is more than a little melancholy in Mills's best wishes for for the couple to be blessed with children.

Despite help from Michael Downes in Budleigh Salterton via his blog, we still have been unable to determine the identity of the newlyweds, Beryl & Ian, who probably would have been born between 1930 and 1940, and would be 70 or 80 years of age by now.

If you know Beryl & Ian, or if you actually are Beryl & Ian, please let me know!


• The 1950s edition of King Willow of also contains an expanded preface:


READERS of Meredith & Co. will recognize here some old friends ; nevertheless King Willow can be read as an entirely independent story. The characters have no connexion with any people, alive of dead, but the book is typical of life in any big Preparatory School.

Once More I wish to record my thanks to my friend, Mr H. E. Howell, who has read the manuscript and offered helpful criticism ; and also to a host of schoolboy readers who have encouraged me to continue.

I also wish to record my thanks to Benedict Thomas, a schoolboy who has suggested many practical alterations for this new edition.

---------------------------------------------------- G.M.


Here we meet a youthful Benedict Thomas, a lad who was helping an approximately 60 year old George Mills with his latest reprint of King Willow.

The only person of that name born in the U. K. between 1940 and 1960 was a "Benedict J. G. Thomas," who was born in late 1953. If Willow was published in 1960, Benedict would have been about 8 years of age when he offered his practical advice to Mills.

The only record at ancestry.com involving a Benedict J. G. Thomas involves his birth—nothing else. There is a location—Northeastern Surrey—and one other interesting bit of information: Benedict's mother's maiden name was Bishop.

That could make young Benedict the grandson of Arthur H. B. Bishop, mentioned in the first preface of George's first book. It would indicate that Mill's friendship with Bishop was long-lasting, but it could also indicate that the aging Mills may have been teaching or living in or near Surrey.


• The 1950s-ish edition of Minor and Major has the same dedication as the original in 1939, but has omitted the original preface seen above.

But there is this, in italic font:


All the characters in this book
are imaginary, and no allusion
is meant to any living person.


Did the publisher, London's Spring Books, include that as matter of course in all fiction books printed in that year? If so, that would provide evidence that the reprinting of Minor and Major was, indeed, the last of the late 1950s – early 1960s reprints. If not, could it be that a schoolboy, schoolmaster, or even headmaster from back in George's past had an issue with a character, thinking it Mils had taken a slap at him?

We'll never know if the latter was the case, but it seems that as the world approached our seemingly increasingly litigious times, that disclaimer may have been inserted across the proverbial board.


The Missing Text:


There is only one bit of information I have been unable to uncover: What might we find in the dedication and/or preface to Mills's final book, Saint Thomas of Canterbury, published in 1939 by Burns, Oates and Washbourne, the Catholic publishing house in London.

A glimpse of what is there could be most informative. One wonders if—given it was Mills's 'swan song' as an author—there might have been some clue in a dedication or preface that would provide insight as to why he never penned another book. Although I frequently check booksellers around the world, a copy of this title simpy hasn't arisen, and the closest library copy to here is about 600 miles away! It may be some time before we get the very last of the messages of George Mills...


As we wind our way down to the last few topics regarding George Mills that I have left to write, many thanks once again to everyone who has contributed in an effort to help me answer the question: Who Is George Mills?

Gallery 7: Artwork by an Anonymous Illustrator

Looking very much like a Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew mystery from my childhood here in the United States, the late 1950s/early 1960s edition of the third book in the schoolboy trilogy of George Mills is likely the most colouristically most eye-catching and appealing of all his books, as far as children might be concerned. Perhaps even to grown-ups as well, being the ones who presumably allowed or disallowed the purchase.

Here we have a text, printed in Czechoslovakia by Spring Books, London, in which, as we know by now, there is no copyright date. There is also no illustrator named, and for the first time among the books of Mills, there is not even a signature or set of initials woven into any of the works of art.

Following a format similar to all of his post-WWII books, the book has a full colour dust jacket and frontispiece, as well as four black and white plates inside.

The execution of the painting is energetic and makes use of a rainbow of saturated hues to create the cover illustration. It's attractive, and quite appealing in a nostalgic way that I'm not sure it would have evoked at the time it was created.


The frontispiece is a knock-off (or should I more politely say, an "appropriation") of John Harris's frontispiece from the 1939 first edition. Harris's was actually too delicate, unwisely using colours that were too high-key and pastel-y, to give a real feel of that doggedly gritty race at a boys' school. It was not the particular artwork in that edition he should have focused on stealing.

This anonymous paean to that less than noteworthy painting certainly saturates the colours more, and our anonymous artist handles the paint more expressively. However, one can almost see within the image the small, desktop wooden mannequin used by artists to pose human figures at the drawing table in lieu of an actual model. Those clunky wooden figures can be arranged in some awkward poses that the human form won't comfortably do, and we see two of those in this awkward painting.

You can see a comparison of the 1939 watercolour with an indistinctg and ineffective vignette edge and the 1950s-ish gouache duplicate with crisply masked edges. [Click any image to enlarge it in a new window.]


The pen and ink drawings on the inside plates [below] are nothing to write home about to say the least. They are 'children's-book-illustration-mediocre,' which is a step or two down from 'grown-up-book-illustration-mediocre'—clearly the weakest works of art in any of Mills's texts, first editions or reprints.



"'All right, it's only me'" [Page 55]



"'What on earth are you doing, Fleming?'" [Page 99]



"His diary was not there!" [Page 165]



"Fleming Minor rushed in" [Page 215]


That last plate contains an image of a soaking wet boy, Fleming Minor, who is running—and a mirror image theft (uh... "appropriation") of the embellishment John Harris added to the Table of Contents page in the first edition of Minor and Major. The figure is completed by the 1930s-style uniform he is wearing, exactly like the one in the 1939 version. (To see Harris's original figure, click HERE.)

One can almost see, by the relentless downgrading of the quality of the illustrations, the esteem in which the writing of Mills was held. From beginning with the legendary cross-genre illustrator C. E. Brock [his cover for Mills's 1933 novel, Meredith and Co., is seen below, left], Mills ended up with illustrators that were just average—in the field of children's literature—and below average overall.

Of course, fine children's book illustration was changing at that time, and I can't see the work of Ronald Searle, for instance, working well in one of Mills's books, despite Searle's brilliance. It simply wouldn't be a good "fit."

And with that we close the final gallery of art relating to the literary works of George Mills—that is, unless a copy of 1939's Saint Thomas of Canterbury goes on sale somewhere in the world, or I can get access to some scans or photocopies of the 57 page text from one of the few libraries still carrying it on their shelves.

That would complete our artistic journey! But until then, this is the last of it.


Mills would have realized, after receiving advance copies of this reprinted edition of Minor and Major, that what he held in his hand then would, indeed have been "the last of it" for him.

One wonders what seeing that dust jacket above, and flipping through these final illustrations, meant to him. From this point in his life, until his death in 1972, Mills lived in Budleigh Salterton with his spinster sisters, Agnes and Violet Mills. He would never publish another book.

Beyond the fact that he was sociable, no one there seems to have known much about him. Not a single person seems to have known that he was a children's book author. No one really remembers George at all.

One wonders why.

"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do things worth writing" -- Benjamin Franklin

Sometimes while researching the life of George Mills (1894-1972), it rally hits home that, despite being the author of four books, not many people know who he is. Some may remember reading one of those books, but of those with whom I've communicated, not one actually recalled his name.

When I was child, I thought—and I'm sort of ashamed to say that I'm positive I thought it as an adult as well—that having your name on a book was a form of immortality, as if having your name printed on the cover of a text guaranteed fame, and that people would not only remember a person, but that the book would always guarantee a person being well known, long after death.

There's a certain degree of truth to that, I suppose. I see 50-year-old books in antique shops that the current sellers would have trouble giving away, while at the same time, people are often lining up to buy the 50-year-old bookshelf upon which those texts sit! The authors of those old and forgotten books are unknown to me, and as I scan their names, nothing registers. They almost become paper tombstones, ephemeral, and the immortality of their authors is left to chance, and the vagaries of flooded basements, estate sales, and the omnipresent dustbin.

Although the books of George Mills were few, they were well written as children's stories go (Kids, at least in the States, often are served up less-than-fine-quality prose), and were popular enough to have entertained children from the 1930s into the 1960s. That's a fairly nice run.

Still, who remembers George Mills?

I don't remember him. I found his books, and then found him along with them. Did his four titles guarantee him immortality? Hardly.

As I nose around the world of British children's authors I find people who have spent entire and quite lengthy careers writing hundreds of books, and whose names still may not be on the tips of the tongues of 21st century readers:


• May Wynne [Mabel Winifred Knowles] (1885 - 1949) published 211 books between 1899 and 1954. Wynne as one of the first female science fiction writers (using the psuedonym Lester Lurgan), including the novelisation of a silent sci-fi film, Message From Mars. She also co-authored the 1918 silent film, Big Money. Another pseudonym she used was Bryan Smith.



• Dorita Fairlie Bruce (1885-1970) authored more than 50 children's novels, including the Dimsie stories and Springdale series. Throw in countless essays, short stories, poetry and drama, and her professional output ranges to hundreds of published works.



• Elinor Brent-Dyer (1894-1969) wrote almost 60 Chalet School books, 7 La Rochelle Titles, and 30-some-odd miscellaneous fiction texts.



• Charles Hamilton (1876 – 1961) penned over 3,000 stories of Greyfriars School as Frank Richards (~1500), St. Jim's School as Martin Clifford (~1000), and Rookwood School as Owen Conquest (over 500), as well as some 2000 other published tales under a variety of pseudonyms.



• Noel Streatfield (1895 - 1986) wrote over 50 fiction and non-fiction titles for children along with 28 novels for adult readers, 3 plays, and a television serial, as well as authoring numerous published articles.



• And in mentioning Enid Blyton (1897 – 1968), I won't even begin to count the literally hundreds of titles published in Blyton's name between 1922 and 1975!



As an American, I'd never heard of any of these authors off the top of my head except for Streatfeild, who was mentioned and adored in the film You've Got Mail. You can see, however, that these writers—all born before 1900, and all living in the same era as George Mills—were prolific, some beyond belief. George Mills lived at a time when writers wrote... a lot!

Mills, whose literary output topped out at a mere 4 titles, finds himself consigned the used book bin among other non-prolific largely unremembered British children's book authors like D. Katherine Brereton, Pauline M. James, Doreen Ireland/Doris Canham (Doreen Mildred Douglas Lord, who also wrote a life of St. Bernadette), John Elsworth, Stanley Weston Mason (4 Kestrels novels), and J. Radford-Evans (some of their dusty titles, published along with George's prep school tales by Spring Books, London, are illustrating this post).

What appears to be the difference between this last roster of authors and the 'heavyweights' that were described above? Output. Ask yourself if Noel Streatfeild gets mentioned in a Hollywood film if Ballet Shoes had been one of only four books she'd ever written, those in a different country, and some 50 years before. Not a chance!

One of the big questions that I have asked so often here has been: Why did George Mills, author of popular books for and about children, having published three titles just in the years of 1938 – 1939, never author another book?

I know that the decision may not have been made that instantaneously. Perhaps in 1940 Mills was tinkering with a fourth book in his prep school series, or perhaps was crafting a manuscript to follow up on the publication of his children's biography, St. Thomas of Canterbury, perhaps with St. Bernard of Clairvaux.

The Second World War surely got in his way. In fact,I hear it altered or ruined many of the tentative plans that folks had made at the time. Still, after the war ended, Mills then lived another 27 years, during which time he published nothing save a brief and somewhat wistful letter to The Times about his grandfather's dogs.

Did George simply have something better to do? Had his feelings about teaching and children changed? Had he proved everything he had needed to prove, or said everything he had needed to say, in publishing those four books? Or could it be as simple as he didn't feel like writing anymore?

Perhaps Mills died in 1972 still meaning to get back to those manuscripts he'd been meaning to polish up and send to an agent. I'm at the point in my own life where I realize one almost can blink and 27 years can disappear!

Perhaps once he rotated the last Agate or Pica page of his last novel off of the carriage drum of his typewriter and had already heard the last bell ring, that was it: No more books.

And maybe it is something strange about me, but I don't need to know how Enid Blyton, et al, could have written so many books. I've read enough of the fires and passions that burn within the creative individual.

George Mills, however, was obviously a creative individual as well, but he didn't write—at least not much. What I would love to know is what caused his metaphorical fires to become extinguished so quickly and his talent to hibernate forever. To me, that's the real mystery of George Mills.

But we may never know.

Thinking aloud once again about George Mills

Thinking aloud: I've made quite a bit of George Mills securing a teaching position [likely a junior appointment] at Windlesham House School, then in Portslade, just after having left Oxford, quickly marrying, and buying a house on Benfield Way in Portslade, all within the course of just over a calendar year. I've wondered in print quite often about why he didn't end up staying right there for some time thereafter.

Let's review some things: Mills did not possess the Oxon Bachelor of Arts degree that, through this very year, Windlesham believed he had earned.

Despite being heavily involved in extra-curricular activities around campus, by the end of the summer of 1926, Mills apparently was simply no longer there—and there is no record as to why. In fact, it is apparently only speculation that Mills had been hired to teach "English or 'English subjects'" at the school. The only thing that seemed to be eminently clear is that he "made people laugh, a lot."

By the time he published Meredith and Co. in 1933, Mills listed his subsequent teaching assignments as Warren Hill in Eastbourne, The Craig in Windermere, and the English Preparatory School in Glion, Switzerland. This is somewhat corroborated by a "Mrs. Charles" [possibly Mrs. Charles Scott Malden, principal at Windlesham] in 1935 when George drops by her house in Springwells, Steyning, West Sussex, for a visit, telling her he'd written a book "largely about Windlesham" and had been at "2 or 3 schools since, but is very faithful to Windlesham."

In 1938, however, Mills published his second novel, King Willow, then revealing he was at the time, or had been recently, associated with the Eaton Gate Preparatory School in London, S.W.1.

In 1939, Mills published two more books, Minor and Major and Saint Thomas of Canterbury. My original hunch was that his career as an author was really taking off, and I couldn't help but wonder what seemed to have nipped it in the proverbial bud.

I now have to admit, the dedication to Minor and Major that we peeked at last time suddenly has me rethinking some things.

George Mills married Vera Louise Beauclerk in 1925 and they settle into a nice house near his work. Over the next 13 years or so, Mills teaches in at least four more schools, even one in Europe. We have no way of knowing how many of those 13 years he actually spent working at the schools he'd mentioned. I've been assuming all along that he was employed at one place or another during the entire span.

His 1939 "shout out" to Parkfield makes me wonder about that now, though. There are no acknowledgements in it, no thanks to any individual or two or a current employer, just a hearkening back to the early years of his boyhood, circa 1905-1910, in Haywards Heath. Were times that hard? And was Mills yearning for a simpler, happier time?

Were things truly going badly for Mr. and Mrs. Mills? Had Meredith and Co. been written, not as an amusing diversion in 1933, but as a way to bring some money into the household. George's brother, Arthur, and Arthur's wife, Lady Dorothy, had written articles, stories, and novels as a means of support from 1916 well into the 1920s when, at last, their careers seemed to take off. With the world paralyzed by a dire economic depression by 1933, did an unemployed George decide to do the same?

Despite a respite—likely some sort of employment at 'Eaton Gate'—was George soon out of work again, and for an extended time in 1939? Was his relatively prodigious output of books that year not a creative outpouring, but simply a way to put bread on the table for Vera and himself? Was he grateful for the chance to publish, but even more eager to secure a steady job that would make him less susceptible to the vagaries of the publishing houses, the economy, and the fickle reading tastes of the general public?

We know that by the onset of the war in late 1939, Mills had returned to the military, becoming a 44-year-old lieutenant in the Royal Army Pay Corps. After settling back into a uniform for the first time since the close of World War I when he left for the university, he would never write and publish a brand-new book again.

Vera died in London in 1942. Mills subsequently relinquished that commission in 1943 due to ill health. Almost thirty years later, he died in Devonshire, childless and apparently having never remarried.

During the intervening time, we know Mills worked for a summer in Seaford at Ladycross School in 1956, just before new impressions of his three prep school novels were printed in Czechoslovakia and re-released in the U. K.

Thirty years before those reprints, Mills had written a prologue and songs for a staff concert at Windlesham during the Michaelmas term in 1925. He had written articles for the school magazine. He was involved in productions by Windlesham's Amateur Acting Association. He later became a novelist of at least some renown, dedicating much of his success to Windlesham—as well as the mysterious and unkown trio of J. Goodland, A. Bishop, and H. E. Howell.

This seemingly-creative, humorous, talented, outgoing, and decidedly people-oriented fellow disappears in to the military in 1939, and then into the woodwork for the rest of his life.

Why?

I have to think back to an e-mail I received from Heather at Peakirk Books, Wednesday, 10 March 2010, at 8:26 AM. Here's what she had written, but that I'd never recorded here:

Hello

Keep hunting - and I would be interested to know anything you discover [about George Mills]. Likewise I will let you know any information I discover. I will try contacting the author of the boys school stories book I consulted to see if he knows any more.

[In answer to a question about why Mills might not have continued to publish,] It is possible he just got fed up with writing!

Kind regards
Heather

Heather & Jeff Lawrence
Peakirk Books
Cherry Tree Lodge
Guist Bottom Road
Stibbard
Nr. Fakenham
Norfolk
NR21 0AQ

"It's possible he just got fed up with writing." Heather is probably correct. I just couldn't see that then. Since March, however, I'm beginning to see how the chips may have fallen in such a way that George Mills may have, indeed, simply become "fed up with writing."

I'd love to have a look at Vera's obituary, if one exists. Perhaps there might be a clue or two in there…

The Life of B. R. V. Mills, Part 3

I've had some exciting news involving George Mills today, but I feel like I'm on a roller-coaster right now—I just found out my boss is being promoted. Good for him, bad for us here in the classrooms. Now, for most of my career, that wouldn't have been a very large hurdle to clear. Most of the school principals I've worked for are like chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe: Just when you get rid of one bit, along comes another wad. This fellow is definitely different, truly wonderful, and I'll admit I'm more than a bit dismayed and frustrated about the situation. His last day at the school is tomorrow…

Anyway, let's get back to the rest of the life of Revd Barton R. V. Mills. We left him early in the decade of the 1920s, in his early sixties, with one son married, another at university, and two daughters presumably at home.

While recent events in this narrative associated with Barton Mills seemed to have highlighted his continued love of history, he was obviously still working in theology in a scholarly way as well despite being a dozen years removed from the Savoy. In the 25 February 1922 edition of Notes and Queries: A Medium of Intercommunication for Literary Men, General Readers, etc., he asked their readership:

LATIN PROVERB : ORIGIN SOUGHT. Can any reader tell me the origin of the Latin proverb "Nescit sanus quid sentiat aeger aut plenus quid patiatur jejunus " ? It is quoted as vulgare proverbium by St. Bernard ('De Gradibus Humilitatis,' &c., cap. iii.), but I have not been able to find it in any dictionary of quotations.

BARTON R. V. MILLS.

Early in my attempts at creating a time-line for the Mills family, I had made the assumption that his work translating and interpreting St. Bernard must have been done under the auspices of some institution. It appears I was wrong, unless he pursued it on behalf of armed forces chaplains. Mills must simply have been driven to understand and explain the teachings of St. Bernard, and I still have much more to learn about why. In the above request, Mills is making certain his citations are correct, indicating that his work is almost finished.

The year 1922 brought news from Barton's daughter-in-law Lady Dorothy Mills, and it must have been quite unusual as it apparently came on the heels of a press conference! First, the Straits Times reported on 4 July, 1922, in an article entitled, "TRACING A TRIBE: An Expedition to the Sahara," that: "Lady Dorothy Mills, daughter of the Earl of Orford, has announced that she will lead an expedition into the mysterious interior of the Sahara Desert."

And before the end of 1922, the journal Current History [April-September, 1922] was reporting: "Lady Dorothy Mills, daughter of the Earl of Orford and granddaughter of D. C. Corbin of New York, is on an expedition to the remote regions of the southeastern Sahara to discover the habits of mysterious white cave men [troglodytes], first reported by Captain de St. Maurice last year."

The rest of the Mills family is quiet as reports continue to surface during 1923 that Lady Dorothy Mills, traveling alone except for guides and porters, drove deep into the heart of North Africa and became the "first white woman" to reach Timbuktu, although some accounts do label her as simply the "first Englishwoman." I'm now reading her book, and she isn't quite in Timbuktu yet, but I'll mention here that she certainly met plenty of pale, perspiring French women along the way. Still, I'll reserve judgment until I finish her account.

1924 found Barton's son, Arthur, and his daughter-in-law, Lady Dorothy, both publishing books in the same year once again: Arthur's The Broadway Madonna, which received favorable reviews, and Lady Dorothy's The Road to Timbuktu [Duckworth & Co.: London, 1924], a stunning success, after which she embarked on a new path in her writing career.

George Mills soon returned to the story when he began teaching as a junior appointment at Windlesham House School, then in Portslade, beginning at Lent, 1925. Mills claimed to have earned a B.A. from Oxford, presumably in the "English or 'English subjects'" he taught at Windlesham.

George married Vera Louise Beauclerk on 23 April 1925 at the Holy Trinity Church, Brompton, with his father, Barton, as one of the presiding clergy. They also purchased a home on Benfield Way, Portslade, that year. It appeared the young couple was settling down together. George wouldn't be staying long however.

In 1925, Arthur and Lady Dorothy Mills—neither of whom attended George's wedding—each published yet another new novel, The Gold Cat [Hutchinson & Co., London, 1925; pictured left, in its German edition] and The Dark Gods [Duckworth: London, 1925], respectively. It isn't as if publishing houses were taking on extra hands to keep up with the writing of the Mills, but that was an output that even Danielle Steele or Nora Roberts might be envious of.

Lady Dorothy was also making news simply for being herself, anywhere. Among other celebrity appearances, she attended a debutante's dance, an event that turned out to be so newsworthy that coverage of it ends up in the Straits Times in Singapore on 7 July, 1925: "In a paragraph from the Morning Post of June 9… over 100 guests were present at the Langham Hotel [London] at a dance given by Hon. Mrs. Adderley and Mrs. C. Alma Baker for Miss Julitha Baker… Among those present at the dance, many of whom took parties were:- The Duke of Manchester, Lady Southampton, Lady Dorothy Mills, Lord Fermoy, M.P., Lady Muir Mackenzie, the Hon. Lady McCalmont, Lord Edward Montagu, the Hon. Charles Fitzroy, the Hon. Edward Portman, Sir Henry and Lady Fairfax-Lucy… [etc]."

After the Summer Term in 1926, George Mills was no longer on the teaching staff list at Windlesham—a position and a place he seemed to dearly love—and no one really seems to know why. In the same year, though, Barton Mills, published perhaps his finest and most renowned work, De Gradibus Humilitatis et Superbiae by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux [University Press: Cambridge, 1926], which he edited along with his friend and colleague, Rev. Watkin W. Williams. Barton was approximately 69 years of age at the time.

Lady Dorothy, however, dominated the family's literary efforts that year by publishing yet another novel in 1926, the sci-fi tale Phœnix, [Hutchinson & Co.: London, 1926], and a pair of travel books Beyond the Bosphorus [Duckworth & Co.: London, 1926], and Through Liberia [Duckworth & Co.: London, 1926; illustration, right].

What's really unclear is how close Barton Mills was with his elder son and daughter-in-law. Were they reveling in each other's successes, or had Arthur and Dorothy by then begun moving in completely different circles? And how much did the success of the rest of the family in 1926 provide a stark contrast to new husband George's departure from teaching? It must have been gratifying for George to see such success amoing loved ones, but how frustrated might he have felt about his own fledgling career?

Over the next several years, George also taught at Warren Hill School in Eastbourne, The Craig School in Windermere, and at the English Preparatory School in Glion. Although more still comes to light about Warren Hill every day, little is now known about The Craig, and virtually nothing at all about the school in Glion, Switzerland, or George's time there.

One thing we do know is that, while George was in Windermere and Glion, he was not often spending time with his aging father, Barton, who had turned 70 in 1927. George's lack of occupational stability would be just the beginning of a period of familial difficulty that couldn't have been comforting for Barton in his declining years.

While George was away, teaching at various locales in the U.K. and in Europe as well, Lady Dorothy continued her own travels. In 1929, however, a relatively short jaunt would have an enormous impact on her life. She was involved in a car accident returning from a trip to Ascot that her scarred for life. Then, as opposed to traveling, she spent her time writing a memoir, A Different Drummer: Chapters in an Autobiography [Duckworth: London], that was published in 1930.

Seemingly recovered by 1931, Lady Dorothy heard of a expedition planning to discover the source of the Venezuela's Orinoco River. She hurriedly arranged an expedition of her own to get there first and publicly announced her plans to the press. Was this ego driven, a desire to stay on top of her literary game, or was Lady Dorothy fighting the ravages of time and injury, trying to prove something to herself as much as she was to her public?

The book about her journey, The Country of the Orinoco [Hutchinson & Co.: London] was written and published in an amazingly short amount of time, before the year of 1931 had even drawn to a close. And in that same year something of great import to her had occurred halfway around the world. Lady Dorothy's father, Robert Horace Walpole, the last Earl of Orford, had died in New Zealand on 27 September and his remains were transported home to Norfolk for burial on 8 November. Lady Dorothy, then 42 years of age, attended the services with her stepmother, Emily Gladys Oakes, then the Countess of Orford, and Dorothy's twelve-year-old half-sister, Lady Anne Walpole.

The death of the Earl at last allowed Lady Dorothy access to the trust fund she'd been unable to touch since 1918. By the time the international paperwork all had been completed, and the barristers fees deducted, one can likely assume it was well into 1932 before the funds she had inherited became available to her.

Would this brighten the future of Arthur and Lady Dorothy of Ebury Street, London? To assume so would leave you right by half, but that's another tale for another day.

More immediately, Arthur's father, Barton Mills, passed away not very long after the Earl's cold November funeral. Barton died on 21 January 1932 in London. Soon after, a stained glass window bearing the image of St. Bernard was designed, applied for, funded, and installed in Chancel North of the St Michael & All Angels parish church at Bude Haven, Cornwall, in his lasting memory. The colourful window still glows there in his memory.

Barton Mills did not live to see his son, George, publish his first book, Meredith and Co., in 1933, finally tasting some of the success that others in the family had. One hopes, though, that George had talked to his father about writing it, and that, as the manuscript lengthened, Barton had many chances to share in his son's process, as well as his excitement. Barton wouldn't ever know that eventually George would follow in his father's footsteps and author a book about a religious icon, his son's choice being St. Thomas of Canterbury [right].

Barton Mills wouldn't know that Lady Dorothy would file for divorce from his elder son, Arthur, that very same year, 1932, or that his spinster daughters, Agnes and Violet, aged 36 and 29 at the time of the elder Mills' death—women who had presumably lived with Barton for virtually their entire lives—would remain unmarried.

Barton Mills wouldn't know of Vera Mills' passing in 1942. And he wouldn't know that all four of his children apparently lived the rest of their lives "without issue."

It seemed the story may have drawn to a close after a series of deaths: Arthur passed in 1955, George in 1972, and both Agnes and Violet in 1975—the final three all in Devonshire, and seemingly all distant from anyone who would or could have recorded their daily hopes, fears, sorrows, joys, or regrets during the last thirty or forty years of their lives.

But, strangely, their story didn't end. If you're reading this, it turns out that we're all here today considering the lives of this family of almost forgotten people, even though there were no daughters, sons, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, seemingly no kin at all, left to continue to try to weave together the threads of their story—or even at the very least to upload to the internet the contents of a diary, a love letter, or a wedding photograph, or even to post a series of dates recorded in the family Bible on a blog. If there was anyone left to eventually do any of that, well... where is it all?

One piece of the story had been left here, another clue there, and a memory over in the mind of someone else. Just this morning, for example, I was delighted at having been contacted by a gentleman with a memory of George Mills. The story of George Mills is still around. It's simply scattered about us, a bit here and a bit there, like an overturned jigsaw puzzle...

So if you have any of those pieces, no matter how small, to add to this tale, if you know a friend of the Mills family, a former student, or anyone else who might remember George Mills or his family, please don't hesitate to let me know.

[Read Part 1 and/or Part 2]

Until the peacock led him in...

Just a couple of hours after I'd sent off an e-mail to the Oxford University Archives requesting information on George R. A. Mills, I was impressed that I'd already received an reply. Despite the fact that in the United States we like to think of ourselves as an "instant gratification" society, I have to admit that if I'd sent an e-mail at 10:33 AM requesting information into my own school district here in Florida, I'd be quite pleased if I finally had a response by the end of the day. And I sent an information request to Keele University on February 21 and I wonder when I might receive a reply—if I ever do at all.

In this case, however, I had a detailed reply from an archivist at arguably the most prestigious institution of higher learning in the world waiting for me in my in-box by 1:07 PM. Quite impressive!

As you may recall from yesterday's post, George Mills had found his missing middle initials, his wife, his university, his brief but inspirational tenure at Windlesham House, and the colleagues [and pets] who had inspired many characters from the books he'd go on to write several years later.

This is what the Archives at Oxford added to the mix [my emphasis]:


Dear Mr Williams

Thank you for your email enquiry. I have searched our card index of those who matriculated (ie were admitted to the University) between 1891 and 1932 and have found an entry for George Ramsay Acland Mills. This records that he matriculated from Christ Church on 16 October 1919. According to the form that he completed at his matriculation Mills was born on 1 October 1896 in Bude, Cornwall. He was the second son of Barton Reginald Vaughan Mills, a cleric in holy orders and a scholar [see illustration, right], of 7 Mawson Place, Queens Gate. Before attending Oxford Mills had been educated at Harrow School.

I have also found Mills' entry in the undergraduate register. This records that he was exempted from taking Responsions (preliminary examinations for entry) and the examinations of the First Public Examination,under a decree of 9 March 1920. This decree stipulated that until the end of Trinity Term 1923 any member of the University who had been engaged in military service for twelve months or more before his matriculation, was permitted to offer himself for examination in any Final Honours School, despite not having met the statutory conditions for admission to that School. This was on condition that he had obtained permission from the Vice Chancellor and the proctors; that he had entered upon the third term and had not exceeded the twelfth term following his matriculation; and that he had paid the fee for admission to the examinations the decree excused him from. Mills' entry in the undergraduate register records that he paid the fee of £5 2s on 21 May 1921. However, I have been unable to find any record that Mills went onto pass any examinations in the Final Honours School or that he obtained a degree.

I have also checked the 'Oxford University Roll of Service', a printed register of members of the University who served in the First World War. This records that Mills commenced military service on 16 June 1916. He was a Private in the Royal Army Service Corps. His highest acting rank was that of Lance Corporal.

I have been able to find evidence that Mills' father, Barton Reginald Vaughan, was also an Oxford graduate. He appears in Joseph Foster's 'Alumni Oxonienses', a printed register of those who matriculated between 1715 and 1886. This records that he matriculated from Christ Church on 13 October 1876, aged 18. He was the first son of Arthur, armiger (ie esquire), of London. He was awarded second class honours in History in 1880. The degree of BA was conferred in 1880, and that of MA (which at this time required no further study or residence) in 1883. He was rector of Poughill in 1887. I regret that without names and dates I am unable to search our records for any other relatives of Mills who may have attended the University.

I hope you find this information helpful.

Yours sincerely
Annabel Peacock
Archives Assistant

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oxford University Archives
Bodleian Library
Oxford OX1 3BG
web: www.oua.ox.ac.uk
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ms. Peacock, you are amazing! I simply can't thank you enough, not only for your prompt assistance, but for leaving me simply awash in total "Millsness"!

So, let me see if I have this time line correct thus far [and, British readers, please check my educational suppositions for accuracy]:

George Ramsay Acland Mills was born in Bude, Cornwall in 1896, the second son of a holy cleric and Oxford grad, Barton R. V. Mills who had been a rector in Cornwall. It's believed that George attended Parkfield, a school in Haywards Heath as a boy. After then attending Harrow School [pictured, left] in London and apparently living with the family in Queen's Gate, he joined the army in 1916 and fought in the First World War, reaching the rank of Lance Corporal.

After the war, Mills apparently attended Christ Church and from there matriculated to Oxford in 1919, where as a veteran he was exempted from Responsions, and finally paid his required fee for them 1921 without receiving a degree.

In 1925, he and his "B.A. Oxon" are engaged as a junior appointment at Windlesham House, the same year he married Vera Beauclerc and purchased a home near the school in Portslade. His name seems to disappear suddenly from the staff list by the end of the summer term in 1926 after having spent the year teaching the boys English or "English subjects" and having been involved in extracurricular music and drama.

Meredith and Co. is published by Oxford University Press in 1933, and is dedicated to boys and staff at Windlesham House, Warren Hill School in Eastbourne, The Craig in Windersmere, and the English Preparatory School in Glion, presumably in Switzerland, among whom he "spent many happy years."

In 1935, Mills visited the wife of his old headmaster at Windlesham, telling here he'd written a book "largely about Windlesham" and that he'd "been at 2 or 3 schools since."

He then published a sequel to Meredith and Co. in 1938 [King Willow], and two more in 1939, Minor and Major [also about prep schools] and St. Thomas of Canterbury, the latter being a text in which Mills is listed in the British Library as author along with St. Thomas himself [pictured, right].

That's where the trail goes absolutely cold: 1939. After the most prolofic 1-2 year span of his life as an author.

It's actually been far easier to work backward into his family's past than it's been to turn up any clues about them after the onset of the Second World War.

Next time, though, let's take a peek at the fact that Mills supposedly earned a "B.A. Oxon"—something the facts don't seem to corroborate.

George Mills in the British Library

These are titles attributed to George Mills held in the collection of the British Library. Mills is listed as a "Writer of Tales for Boys". Each title is listed exactly as it apears in their database, along with its year of publication and its shelfmark:

• King Willow, etc. , 1938 , 12821.bb.9

• King Willow. (New edition) , 1951, 12834.aa.28

• Meredith and Co. , 1957, X.990/4427

• Meredith and Co. The story of a modern preparatory school, etc. [With plates.] , 1933, 20053.ee.1

• Minor and Major ... Illustrated by John Harris. , 1939, 012807.ff.83

The next and final entry is actually listed under this author: MILLS, George, Thomas, à Becket, Saint, 1118?-1170 1939 to ----

• St. Thomas of Canterbury. , 1939, 20030.e.136

I find it odd that "Saint Thomas, à Becket" is listed as a co-author of that 1939 book, especially since his year of death is given as 1170. I'm not sure how the British Library figures that, except that the book may also contain excerpts of writing by St. Thomas himself, along with that of Mills.

What's even more peculiar is what a hard time I'm having locating a copy of St. Thomas of Canterbury on the internet. Anyone with any ideas, or a copy to sell, please contact me--and thanks!