Summarizing George Mills: A Final Perspective

Much of our story here involving George Mills has revolved to a great degree around one thing lately: Religion. However, there certainly are many threads running through his story, and in this—oddly my 300th and hopefully not my final post— we'll begin to summarize, to some degree, what we have learned about George's life.


The Mills Family and Catholicism

It seems odd, at least to an American viewing it from the vantage point of the 20th century, that George's father, the Revd Barton R. V. Mills, converted to Roman Catholicism while attending Oxford around 1883 and then took a series of positions as an Anglican vicar afterwards, eventually ending up as assistant chaplain at the Chapel Royal of the Savoy in London, and doing a segment of Queen Victoria's funeral service. No one else seems surprised or very much cares save one man: The current chaplain of the Savoy, Peter Galloway, who simply chooses to disbelieve, preferring the strange point of view that the public record of the conversion of Mills must be in error.

I guess that's why they call it "faith."

In fact, I recently wrote to a Church of England vicar of today to ask about the relations among the Anglican Church, the High Church, the Low Church, Anglo-Catholicism, and Roman Catholicism. I let him know that some very learned people in the U.K. have expressed directly to me that there's really not much difference at all, especially today, and that it's unlikely anyone cared very much back then, either—hence the vicarages and the chaplaincy to the Savoy being awarded to Mills.

Like most people I've contacted who are involved with the Church, that vicar never bothered to reply to a collegial request for research assistance from an educator. (Just an aside: When clerics contact scholars, do they expect assistance in their own research? If so, that would be quite hypocritical!)

In lieu of that learned opinion, the difference between the Anglican Church and Roman Catholicism seems, however, to have been a big enough deal for some people actually to make the effort to convert from the Church of England to Roman Catholicism, and to form specific religious societies, and publishing houses, and the like, especially when converting was 'of the moment' in the early 20th century.

I think it might a bigger surprise that George Mills was friendly with Roman Catholic converts, frequenting their haunts, publishing with their publishers, and basically living a very Roman Catholic life, all the way through to his funeral service at the Catholic Church of St. Peter's in Budleigh Salterton (as opposed to the St. Peter's C of E there), than it is that he might've been gay, for example, as we recently heard discussed.

Given the overtly Catholic nature of many of George's friends, religion seems to have been the windmill at which Mills tilted most as the son of an Anglican vicar—even if his father also had been a closet Roman Catholic—in an extended family involved fully in Church of England. His sexuality would seem to have been secondary.

Having moved away from the Church of England also seems to be an explanation why distant relatives living today simply don't know the "Barton R. V. Mills" twig on their branch of the family tree exists, let alone anything about any of the Mills family. Honestly, except for a few recollections by a few ancient relatives of George's Uncle Dudley Acland Mills, now living in Canada who do know, but apparently are not interested in the Mills family at all!


A Childless and Forgotten Family

It didn't help that all four of the Rev. Barton Mills's children died childless (unless George's brother, Arthur, had late-in-life offspring I can't locate), but there's something more to the fact that virtually no one knows or cares who these people are or that they even existed.

Except, to some degree, for the women who married into the Mills family.

In the case of Vera Beauclerk (Mrs. George Mills), her family today bviously knows about her, and she's easy to trace—being descended from William the Conqueror.

Considering Edith Ramsay (Mrs. Barton Mills, George's mother), her surviving family today knows of her, but not very much, even to the point of having documented her Christian name incorrectly [as Elizabeth]. It's as if she dropped off the very face of the Earth when she left her nuclear family after marrying Barton Mills and moving to Kensington, just blocks from Buckingham Palace. Of Edith's parents, much is known today, including the possession of a great deal of ephemera, much of which has appeared among these pages. Of Edith herself: Nothing, save the image of her as a toddler in the montage at left.

The last in-law, Lady Dorothy Mills (née Walpole, Arthur's first wife), maintained a high profile of her own as an author/explorer until a horrific car accident drove her into retirement, despite the fact that her family quite literally disowned her for marrying a soldier. They divorced in 1933. Also childless, she has been allowed to fade into obscurity since her death in 1959.

Her onetime husband, George's half-brother Arthur, apparently barely acknowledged his family, and is the best-kept secret of all the Mills siblings.


Something is amiss in all of that.

George, Arthur, and their spinster sisters—Agnes and Violet; very athletic girls, into the Girl Guides and scouting, who never found mates at all and were devoted to George, and he them—were an entire little family all of whom, sadly, had failed to reproduce to continue the family name.

Still: Why does almost no one recall that these people ever were?


George Mills at School

George had been in a great deal of pain in his life and not all of it could have been addressed with an aspirin or two. Physically slight of build, with varicose veins as a boy, and saddled with a speech impediment [possibly a lisp like his sister Aggie's, causing an unclear voice], I can see why he would've preferred sensitivity in the people around him—but boys at school probably tormented him. He basically washed out as a young scholar, spending a brief two years at Harrow. He would not have excelled at something he always loved: Sport, especially cricket. Stronger, more confident, less sensitive boys would have made his life miserable in a variety of ways, even unknowingly.

George had stockpiled many regrets based on his own preparatory schooling.


George Mills during World War I

I don't see Mills's life having been much better as a "Grade III" army recruit (unfit for most military duties) in the service during the First World War. Except for his time in the Army Pay Corps, the corps where the friend and fellow B-III, Egerton Clarke, was also assigned, the slightly built and sensitive Mills must have faced similar torments to those he'd known at school.

The army was another place where Mills would have been a failure: He was a washout as a soldier, a washout as a APC clerk, and a fellow who had been determined fit only to be a "fatigue man"—the lowest form of military life, with virtually no hope of promotion. And things, as we've seen, got worse for him after his friend Egerton was hospitalized and demobilised, leaving George in Winchester alone.


George Mills at Oxford

After having been demobilised himself, George attended Oxford for three years or so and managed to leave without having taken a degree or a single examination to earn one. The academic and social discipline required by an institution like Oxon would have been a struggle for Mills, who had lived a sheltered life, especially in regard to having been allowed to 'quit' when the going got tough, as they say, during his preparatory schooling.

Without that degree, gaining a career in which he could have been a success—and make his father (twice an Oxford graduate) proud—would prove then to be difficult.


George Mills As a Non-Author

As a youth grown into a man, George Mills had been the only male member of his immediate family who had not published a book, from his paternal grandfather on down! While that may never had been said to him directly, when the men all were discussing their books and their publishers, George had to know he was the only one just listening.


George Mills, Schoolmaster, 1926 – 1933

Failed as a schoolboy and scholar and failed in the military, by 1933 we know George also failed to hold down a regular teaching job for very long. He had moved from school to school as a teacher between 1924 and 1933 (one assignment being as far afield as Switzerland) in search of a situation. This presumably meant time spent away from his family, and even his wife.

Something during this time, however, 'clicked' for Mills.

It seems to have been spurred by his relationship with Joshua Goodland at Warren Hill School in Meads, Eastbourne [below, left]. Although Goodland had managed to take two degrees during his seven years at Cambridge, he never fully settled into a career. Goodland was an occupational nomad, veering from a career in teaching to becoming an architect, and following that, a career in law. He then returned to teaching and became Head Master at Warren Hill before eventually turning to his final vocation, serving as a vicar in the Church of England.

Goodland was a diminutive but passionate man, older than George, who had traveled around the world and possessed a myriad of skills and talents, but who lacked a sort of stick-to-it-ness (as we say in the States) that would have inspired the erratic young Mills to find success in his own life in a similar way: Not necessarily along a single, direct career path, but divergently.


In 1932, Barton Mills, George's father, passed away. This simultaneous event, a tragedy, also seems to have been a catalyst and clearly a pivotal point in George's life.


Vindication of His Failures

Mills tackled his lifelong failure issues seemingly one at a time, and began to assemble a future. Whether or not this was consciously done, we cannot tell.

He seems to have gained a great deal from his time spent at Oxford, even if he didn't earn a degree. He met and had been exposed to a sensitive class of fellows who, rather than hurting George, seem to have understood him—perhaps that was something he'd never experienced within his own family—and those well-educated men even liked and cared about him. He learned about himself as a person, as well as receiving reinforcement regarding his faith in Catholicism.

His university experience planted many seeds that would later begin to flourish.


George Mills Returns to Prep School

Some success and popularity at Oxford led Mills to do something that many children-grown-into-teachers do: Return to the scene of previous educational 'crimes' against him and others like him, intent on 'righting' many wrongs that had been perpetrated upon him while at school.

During the late 1920s and early 1930s, under the auspices of progress and enlightenment in education, he then spent time teaching in schools and being the sort of schoolmaster he'd wanted to have, I suppose: His first book is fully titled Meredith and Co.: The Story of a Modern Preparatory School.

Key word: Modern. Things now were finally different in the world of British education, and George had returned to become a part of it all.

Much of what he wanted as a schoolmaster likely was acceptance within some educational institution more than any sort of abstract revenge: During his time in the classroom he was liked and appreciated by faculty, staff, and students, all within a milieu in which he was once considered a failure.


George Mills Finds Success as an Author

After he was unable to hold onto one job for long as the world moved into a severe global economic depression, George then wrote books about his fledgling teaching career—a vocation that he may not have returned to, as far as we know. (There's no evidence he taught more than a single term after WW2.)

This process of writing and being published, in a family of both distinguished scholars and popular authors, enabled him to raise his esteem, I'm sure, in the eyes of his family, as well as in his own. We find that yet another area in which he was dismal failure could be checked off his metaphorical list, and not just barely: His books became popular and were unique in having captured much of the behavior, slang, and idiom of British Schoolboys between the wars, becoming the forerunners of a literary genre that would later flourish.

Once Mills published his third and fourth book in 1939, the label "author" could clearly and permanently be attached to him. Clouds were gathering darkly over a Europe increasingly held in the steely embrace of fascism, however.


George Mills and the Royal Army Pay Corps

There were not many failures left to vindicate, but next came George's lack of any sort of success in the military in general, and within the Army Pay Corps in particular. George had been summarily and permanently sent packing from the APC during his dismal service there during the Great War, so I understand why, while enjoying success as a writer at 43 years of age, all of that was cast suddenly aside. He obviously had put his name into the Officer's Reserve pool as a War Substitute (probably claiming to have the Oxon degree he'd falsely told his prep schools that he had earned) at the onset of the Second World War.

We find that Mills soon ended up back in the Royal Army Pay Corps in 1940, and it must have been all the sweeter when he walked in this time wearing the uniform of a 2nd Lieutenant. George then would have been walking on metaphorical air when he eventually was promoted to full Lieutenant in 1942! Check 'success' in that area off of his 'vindication list'—although it would be short-lived.

Never what we'd call a "finisher," Mills relinquished his commission as an officer in 1943, after just two years, due to "ill-health." He was awarded the honorary rank of Lieutenant.

George's life had been bombarded by loss during this time period, and he would suffer more by the end of the war—the deaths of friends (Terence Hadow, Egerton Clarke), colleagues (Capt. Wm. Mocatta, Joshua Goodland), and loved ones (his wife, Vera, and his mother, Edith), all between 1939 and 1945—which is something he admittedly had in common with the rest of the British Empire during that time frame. It is distinctly possible Mills then suffered from terrible depression.

As we know, George's "ill health" didn't permanently debilitate him, which is fortunate because George had one more item to be dealt with on his 'checklist' of youthful failures, and it would be the one that took the longest time for him to get around to vindicating.


George Mills and Sport

Where Mills was and what he was doing between the end of the war and the late 1950s is unknown: They are George's Missing Years.

By the late 1950s, however, he was playing competitive croquet out of Budleigh Salterton and had quickly and respectably shaved down his beginner's handicap. George went on to win a number of tournaments along the south coast of England before he played his last match in 1970 at 76 years of age.

It's unlikely that athletic competition was something the slight Mills had ever felt good about before the age of 60, and though I imagine his trophies could not have been described as huge, I believe they must have been treasured by him as if they had been colossal!


George Mills and Catholicism

In a world that so recently had been fought over quite violently by Fascists and Communists, there is circumstantial evidence that Mills may have had Socialist leanings during the time. Toss in the lifelong struggles George had had along the way with religion, discussed above, and Mills always seemed to have had something on his philosophical plate!

Mills attended the local Catholic church in Budleigh, where he lived his last years with his spinster sisters, Agnes and Violet, at Grey Friars on Westfield Road, next to the croquet club. With his allegedly Anglican father no longer living, and with no close relatives nearby to embarrass (Arthur had died in New Forest in 1955), he finally could be comfortable and public worshipping in his chosen faith.

One does wonder about his relationship with croquet's Maurice Reckitt, the renowned Christian socialist author who, however, was "terribly anti-Roman Catholic," according to fellow player, Dr. William Ormerod. Did they ever speak of it?


The Social George Mills

From the time of George's first teaching appointment at Windlesham House School in 1926, to his obituary written in 1973 by Lt.-Col. G. E. Cave for the Croquet Gazette, George Mills was seen as a very social man. He has been described as "sociable," exuberant," "lovable," and that "He made people laugh, a lot."

He once was also so keen on children, and was so able to become part of their world in his prep schools that he could write unprecedented and insightful books about the world of his students, books that looked far beneath the veneer of the prep school classes, curricula, and discipline and saw the inner child.

One wonders, then, why so very few people remember George.

His physician in Budleigh does, but except for a few patent comments, Dr. Evans of Budleigh isn't saying much.

Barry McAleenan, a great friend of this site, knew of Mills as a child, but only really recalled that he likely was a user of snuff. (Barry, by the way, possesses the best photograph of George Mills known publicly, and it is seen at the top of this page.)

Joanna Healing and Judy Perry remember many of the characters during that era of croquet, and while Agnes and Violet Mills are more easily recollected (especially Agnes), George Mills really is not. Not at all.

A clue arrived recently via Martin Granger-Brown, who recalled George's sister "Aggie was very haughty and posh and used to look down on people," something that could have affected public perception of George as he chose to live the final years of his life in her company.

Another clue may be found in the recollections of Dr. William Ormerod. Upon hearing George described as "exuberant," "loveable," and "enthusiastic," he replied, "Those are words I would use to describe Gerald Cave himself."

Given the speech impediment of Mills, Mills may have been extremely uncomfortable with strangers. He may also have been somewhat of a chameleon, reflecting the positive qualities of those he was with, so as to keep himself in harmony with situations that could have caused him a geat deal of social anxiety.

Perhaps Mills was "exuberant," "loveable," and "enthusiastic" with those who, themselves, acted exuberantly, lovingly, and enthusiastically with him. And it follows that those who were cold or unaware of him always would remain so, as he likely would have called no attention to himself.

This would also explain why so many were unaware, during the final years of Mills's life, of his past success as an author.


Summary

Why is a man—George Mills—who was known to be so sociable, so amusing, so full of life and laughter, and a man who not only enjoyed children but seemingly understood them as well, remembered by so very few?

The life of George Mills seems to have been divided in to two halves: Failure and Success—or at least noteworthy degrees of each.

It took fifty years, but George finally vindicated himself regarding the aspects of his life in which he felt like a failure.

It doesn't appear that he ever struggled to survive financially, and that he was a relatively popular, stylish gentleman through the end. He left us childless, as did his siblings, so there are no stories of Uncle or Grandfather George at Christmas, Baptisms, funerals, or on holidays. No stories told by him were repeated to a subsequent generations of children. No one remains, then, to recall the way he spoke, smoked, or laughed.

He ended a man about whom, following his death, very few would ever think again.


The following quote recently entered my e-mail box as part of the signature of a sender, and it immediately struck me:

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a little better; whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is the meaning of success.
———————————————————————————————————————————————Ralph Waldo Emerson


Those are hopeful words by which we any of us might assess the true value of our lives.

Emerson's words summarize the impact that George Mills—now seemingly forgotten—had on the world. Whether or not he is remembered widely doesn't lessen any of the impact he did, indeed, have—especially on me.

Still, it's nice for someone, anyone, to be remembered, and that's what Who Is George Mills? has always been about.

Unless new information comes to light (as, I'm grateful to say, so often has happened here over the past year or more), unless I'm contacted by a relative, friend, or acquaintance who remembers George and his family, unless we receive a copy (or scan, or photocopy) of his last children's book, or unless we discover his letters or other ephemera that would help us know more in answer to the question, "Who Is George Mills?" then my work here is essentially done.

And I've enjoyed it all. Thank you so much: Everyone.


Goodbye for now, George.

Eight Years Later: The Final Chapter of King Willow

The final chapter of King Willow by George Mills is entitled "Eight Years Later," and it puts the finishing touches on the first two novels of Mills, including his very first, Meredith and Co.

The chapter begins: "It was late on a Wednesday afternoon, and the last day of the Oxford and Cambridge match at Lord's. The ground looked beautiful, the blue sky and green grass combining with the gay colours of the dresses in the crowded stands to make a wonderful splash of colour."

Oxford and Cambridge became the universities where the main schoolboy characters of Mills ended up.

After the match, the three main characters of King Willow—Pongo, Finch, and Falconer, better known as Hawk—end up in the car of Pongo, whom you may recall started as a timid and tearful young boy with a speech impediment at the beginning of Meredith and Co. They begin to discuss their former headmaster, "Peter" Stone, at fictional Leadham House School.

It is here we'll pick up Mill's narrative.


Shortly after the match, the three friends entered a large car that was waiting outside the pavilion. Pongo jumped into the driver's seat, while Finch and Hawk made themselves comfortable at the back. Pongo was on his way down to Sussex, to a small village where he now lived during vacation. He was going to drop the Hawk and Finch at their London hotels before going home…

There was a long traffic hold-up, and Pongo turned around.

'What about coming down and seeing Peter on Saturday? You know he's retired, and living quite near us, in the same village. You'd better come down to lunch, and we'll drop in to tea with Peter. By the way, Hawk, you've got to come see Uggles.'

'Uggles!' cried Finch. 'Is he still alive?'

'Yes,' answered Pongo, 'but he's very shaky on his pins, poor old chap! He'll go nearly mad when he sees the Hawk! There's quite a good train at 10.45 from Victoria. I'll meet you at the other end.'

As Pongo drove off from the traffic block, his mind went back some ten years, and he saw himself once again as a trembling new boy on his mother's arm, as he had waited for the train on the platform of Victoria Station. He addressed his two friends once more.

'I've not seen much of Peter yet, but I'll tell him we're coming. He'll probably give us tea in the garden. He's got a nice little place, and the last time I saw him he was very well.'

By this time the Hawk and Finch had reached their destinations, and Pongo dropped them off with a wave of his hand and a cheery 'Well, don't forget. The 10.45 from Victoria. I'll meet you.'


Longtime readers of this site will recall a message once received from Dr. Tom Houston of Windlesham House School, where George Mills had his first teaching job in 1925-1926. Let's review some of what Dr. Houston revealed about George.


G.R.A. Mills, BA Oxon, taught 4 terms at Windlesham House School [left] from Lent 1925 until Easter 1926, and maybe part or all of the summer, but his name was taken off the staff list by end of summer term 1926…

In 1925 Windlesham was at “Southern Cross”, Portslade, near Brighton; principal Mr Charles Scott Malden; headmaster Mr H D L Paterson; and the dog, Tubby.

In April George Mills married Miss Vera Beauclerc [sic]; they bought a house on Benfield Way, Portslade…

We have no record relating to his sudden (?) departure. He could, like a handful of other prep school masters, have been excited by the General Strike (that term)…

During summer 1935 he visited Mrs Charles [Malden], then in Springwells, Steyning, W. Sussex, and told her he had written a book “largely about Windlesham”, published by O.U.P. “He had been at 2 or 3 schools since, but is very faithful to Windlesham”, she said…

Uggles may have been related to Tubby, the Malden’s popular and heroic dog. The portrait of the headmaster Peter Stone has something of Christopher Malden, who had been in effect joint head for some years; he became principal in 1927. Mills evidently had a gift for befriending boys and learning their secrets; Meredith & Co. captures the idiom of pupils during the interwar period more accurately than any other novel.


There is certainly a wealth of information in those few paragraphs.

The excerpt from King Willow above notes that Pongo had a vacation home in a small village in Sussex. Mills, during the late 1920s and early 1930s was a rather itinerant teacher who had taught not only in Sussex, but in Windermere, London, and Glion, Switzerland, during the time. This home of Pongo's, used during vacations from school, could clearly have been based on Mills's own home in Portslade.

Despite Mills having left Sussex to continue to teach, he seems always to have kept ties there, which explains the repetitive nature of locations in Sussex continually cropping up in the later life of George Mills.

1935, incidentally, was the year during which Windlesham "moved to 60 acres in the Sussex downs north of Worthing," according to a more recent correspondence from Dr. Houston. That event may have occasioned some nostalgia on the part of Mills.

By the way, Charles Scott Malden, mentioned above, had died in 1896, the year of Mills's birth, and could not have been at Windlesham during George's tenure there, although the elder Malden still may have been a legend around campus.


However, it is the actual visit to Springwells, Steyning [right], that is of greater interest here. While what follows is not in any way a non-fiction account of that visit, the occasion must have meant a great deal to George Mills.



It was Saturday afternoon at about four o'clock, and three young men might have been seen walking slowly through the street of a beautiful little village in Sussex. They were arm-in-arm and talking excitedly.

'You know,' one of them was saying, 'Peter doesn't look much older. A bit grayer, that's all.'

The three young men went on talking until they reached a short drive entered by a wide gate that had been fixed against a post. They turned in through the gate and walked up the drive. Sitting outside the house, on a balcony, was Peter, with Mrs Stone. The tea things were laid, and Peter was on the look-out. When he saw his visitors he rose and hastened down the drive to meet them. He shook each hand cordially, his eyes sparkling with joy.

'Well, Falconer and Finch, this is a pleasure. Ogilvie [Pongo] told me you were coming down, and we were expecting you.'

The Hawk kept on looking at Peter. The grand old man had changed but slightly. He was as erect as ever, but perhaps somewhat more portly. He led the way up to the house, where Mrs Stone gave them all a very warm welcome.

Peter certainly had found a beautiful home. The house, an old farmstead, stood in a small but perfect garden. A little lawn stretched away from it, and a kitchen garden was at the back. Rose trees dotted about and well-kept flower-beds made the scene from the little balcony one of great beauty. Peter indicated some comfortable wicker chairs and Mrs Stone began to pour out the tea.

When the young men had settled themselves down, Peter talked about the match.

'I wish I had been there. That must have been a hot catch of yours, Falconer. The papers were full of it.'

'Oh, yes, sir,' laughed the Hawk. 'I told Finch that it was a bit of a fluke. He hit it straight at me, sir.'

During the serious business of tea there was little conversation. Peter kept glancing at the three boys, now grown to men, and he was very proud of them. Soon after tea Mrs Stone excused herself and left the men together. They produced their pipes and settled down to talking. They had eight years to bridge—eight years of ups and downs, of successes and failures at their public schools. Peter listened intently, allowing them to talk on.

After a while the conversation turned to the future and the careers they intended to adopt. The boys asked Peter's advice on all manner of subjects, and he did his best to answer them. Gradually, however, the as was only natural, the talk reverted to Leadham House, but this time Peter did not listen. As he sat back in his chair, blowing clouds of tobacco from his pipe, he was gazing into the future. He saw the three boys, now on the threshold of manhood, all making names for themselves and doing credit to their professions.

He knew their characters and feared nothing. He saw Finch destined for the Bar, a just and fearless judge, honoured by all men. Ogilvie, who was going into the army after his university career, Peter saw as a great soldier and administrator. But when he thought of Hawk, Peter smiled to himself. Falconer had been his favorite pupil, but Peter would not have admitted it to anybody. He knew that the hawk was to reach great heights, and he saw him as a priest in one of the poorest London parishes, cheerful and smiling, with a horde of ragged children clinging joyfully to the skirts of his cassock. He saw him in the midst of squalor and poverty going on his splendid way of radiating love and happiness. As he sat on the balcony that afternoon, entirely unconscious of the conversation going on around him, Peter's mind sped back through the years, and saw the Hawk, once more the grubby, laughing schoolboy devoted to sport and animals…


In this paragraph, filled with Peter's fictional reveries, we find some hidden real-life tributes.

First, Finch had earlier in the chapter been the batsman for Cambridge referred to by Falconer.

Finch is destined for the Bar out of Cambridge—much like the well-rounded mentor of George Mills at Warren Hill School in Eastbourne, Joshua Goodland [left]. While Goodland would never become a judge—Joshua would, in fact, pass away the next year while serving as vicar of the parish of Compton Dundon—it's probable that Goodland had shared with George the thought that if he'd stayed in his law career he might have at some point. After all, becoming a judge would have been the next logical step in his legal career. That step, however, was never taken: Goodland instead bought into Warren Hill School and eventually became owner and Headmaster. Perhaps it had been with regret that Goodland spoke of it with George.


And if this fictional visit to a village in Sussex reflects Mills's own visit there in 1935, it's interesting to note that 1935 was also the year in which Fr Basil Jellicoe, the noteworthy and charismatic reformer from the parish of St Pancras, had passed way from pneumonia at just 37 years of age—but most attributed his death to overwork on behalf of the London's poor children.

We've surmised there must have been a relationship between Jellicoe and Mills before, one that would have stemmed from George attending Oxford, where Jellicoe had run the Magdalen College Mission, which was manned by volunteer students from the university.

Once again, this indicates at the very least some admiration for Jellicoe [right] on the part of Mills, and even suggests that—given the intimacy that fictional Peter Stone exhibits in his knowledge Falconer above, as the latter graduates from Oxford—that the Mills and Jellicoe had been close friends.


Lastly, Peter envisions Pongo as an army officer who would make a "great soldier and administrator." Pongo as a timid young boy with a speech impediment (a lisp), as we know, was based on Mills himself.

So here we have a great clue: Pongo's character soon would be off to the army as an officer after of Oxford.
Mills, along with most others, must have seen war brewing in Europe. Soon after the publication of King Willow in 1938, George would be named an officer in the Royal Army Pay Corps out of the officer's reserve in 1940—interestingly, something Jellicoe had done following university, when he entered the navy as an officer during the First World War.


Spending WWII as a war substitute officer [left] certainly must have appealed to Mills. With the advent of hostilities in China and Europe signaling renewed global violence, a return to the military, this time as a officer, must have been on his mind.

So, here we have some evidence that Mills was already beginning to think that he might not spend the rest of his life writing books, especially as we can see that he was sending his most popular literary characters out into the world as adults.

George had been a failure in the Army Pay Corps during WWI, and in choosing Pongo for duty as an administrator in the army, he was—perhaps unknowingly—charting the same course for himself.


As we close things out at Who Is George Mills?, it seems natural that the examination of this chapter would fall close to the end of our work here. With that in mind, I'd like to finish it out to its end, as Peter sits among his billowing smoke, contemplating the future of the boys:


Then for no apparent reason he raised his eyes, and looked down the drive. What he saw made him sit up and smile.

'Ogilvie,' he asked suddenly, 'why didn't you bring Uggles to-day? I have not seen him for some time, and I was expecting him.'

Pongo laughed.

'Well, sir, he's rather weak on his legs these days, and he was so pleased at seeing the Hawk again that I thought it might be too much for him.'

Peter smiled expansively.

'He seems to have settled that point for himself. Here he comes!'

The three young men looked down the drive and rose to their feet. Uggles was labouriously coming towards them, puffing with his exertions, and Ogilvie laughingly called over to him.

'Come along, old chap, stir those stumps of yours!'

But the old bulldog found the pace altogether too hot for him. He was in extreme old age, but radiantly happy. Every few yards he lifted his head and looked up at his lord and master with devotion streaming from his eyes now growing dimmer. He ambled along slowly towards the spot where his friends were awaiting him, and snuffled as he went.



With that ending, King Willow closes with a paean both to the past and George's love of dogs, but with eyes focused clearly on the future.

George Mills was 42 years old when the book was published and surrounded by notes for his next two texts (which would both be published in 1939), but he was, himself, looking forward as well. Mills, who had known many more failures in his life than successes to that point, would begin to turn things around and make right many of the perceived wrongs he'd endured in his past.

This last scene, with a contemplative Peter wreathed in smoke and the worthy and loyal Uggles snuffling back to his friends, is the sort of sentimental tableau that Mills must have envisioned for himself at the end of his own life.

But before that could be, Mills had some unfinished business. First, his failed relationship with the military would need to be mended, leaving him with a point of pride there instead of a closeted shame.

We'll take a look at the ways in which Mills began to work steadily to vindicate what he perceived to be his failures next time.

Considering the Relationship Between Joshua Goodland and George Mills

George Mills taught at Warren Hill School sometime in the late 1920s. Historians at Windlesham House School [left, now in Brighton, but then in Portslade] believe that Mills was in his first job as a schoolmaster when he spent over a year there, from Lent, 1925, through the end of the summer term in 1926.

Mills published his first novel, Meredith and Co.: The Story of a Modern Preparatory School, in 1933, and since we know from a promotional leaflet he was not on the staff at Warren Hill around 1930-1931, it's likely he would have been employed in Eastbourne sometime between 1926 and 1929. Mills also found himself teaching at The Craig School in Windermere and the English Preparatory School in Glion, Switzerland during those years, but it makes sense to surmise that he made a smaller move from Portslade to nearby Eastbourne before exploring career opportunities farther afield

George's Uncle Dudley Mills had been an officer in the Royal Engineers during George's childhood, and he had been quite a raconteur and world traveler. It's easy to imagine George and his siblings gathered around Uncle Dudley during one of his returns to England, listening intently to stories of faraway lands. For example, Dudley once apparently traveled around China dressed as in Chinese garb, speaking the language, and eating local delicacies.

It's also easy to imagine George sitting in the lounge at Warren Hill or having a pint in Meads at The Ship Inn, listening to Joshua Goodland's tales of travelling around the entire world, and his experiences as he had studied education, architecture, and law to that point in his life. Goodland was the holder of an M.B.E., had designed buildings, taught elementary school, tried important cases, hunted big game in Canada, hiked near the Arctic Circle in Sweden, golfed in Sussex, coached law at Cambridge, sailed around the world, saw San Francisco recovering from the 1906 earthquake, visited modernizing Japan and Czarist Russia before the revolution—well, it probably seemed to George that Goodland had done just about everything!

George's own schooling had taken him south to Haywards Heath and his military experience had led him to exotic Dover and Shropshire [below, left].

In Goodland, George may have seen some possibilities for himself and his future that were not apparent within his family of origin. George's father, Rev. Barton R. V. Mills, had been ticketed for university, and eventually a life as a cleric and scholar, while his brother, Dudley, went to military school. My supposition would be that many parents with a pair of sons at the time may have made similar decisions: An education for one, the military for the other.

During the early 20th century, George's father did indeed make a similar decision regarding his own two sons. Barton's elder boy, Arthur Frederick Hobart Mills, went from Wellington, to Sandhurst, to the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry as an officer. Young George was ticketed for Harrow, where his learned and degreed father and grandfather both had been schooled. It's even possible George ended up in an apprenticeship after he left Harrow in 1912.

We know from his records that the military simply didn't work out for George during World War I. After an initial and quite unofficial stint as a lance corporal, he was kept at the level of "fatigue man" for the duration of the war without any hope of promotion. George enjoyed none of the military success that his brother—who was decorated for heroism under fire—had found in the Great War. The younger Mills had washed out as a clerk. Perhaps he simply was not cut out for the military.

It's difficult to say how well George Mills did when he attended Oxford following his hitch in the military. We know he was there from 1919 through some time in 1922 at the very latest, but there are no records of what he might have studied and no record of him having taken any examinations.

Perhaps George simply was not cut out for academia, either. In a family that seems to have valued the dual career choices mentioned above, things must have looked grim for George Mills in regard to gaining and retaining the genuine respect of his family.

Both the military and institutes of higher learning would seem to organizations which have a great many rules to be followed, expectations to be met, and a fundamental duty to reshape their clients into something different—something better—than they had been upon entering. Routines, procedures, systematic progression, and an institutional socialization would have been de rigueur, and perhaps that aspect of military and academic life was what Mills had the most difficulty with in both.

George Mills was probably not considered an extremely able student when he left Harrow [right] after two years. He was tall, slightly built, and beset with both varicose veins on his lips and a speech impediment. His interaction with strangers—and upon entering Harrow, everyone there must have been a stranger—may have been difficult and painfully protracted by his impediment.

Under the pressure of other boys teasing him or stern schoolmasters demanding answers, he may have continually wilted, unable to effectively communicate, eventually becoming reticent even to try.

Humor would have been a marvelous coping mechanism for George as he grew to know some of the other boys and his masters, but one wonders if he could have made enough people laugh to have deflected what must have been a great deal of cruel teasing, and to achieve academically all he might have at Harrow. He may simply have been in survival mode most of the time (and actually may have spent time after his time at Harrow involved in the harrowing speech therapy and familial support of the day, as depicted at the beginning of The King's Speech [left]).

Things must not have gone much better for him in khaki, with orders being barked, snappy replies requested, and impatient superiors continually crying, "Spit it out, soldier!" Increased anxiety under pressure, and an inability to communicate clearly and efficiently in the midst of the most brutal conflict that had engulfed the entire planet, could not have been looked upon very favorably by anyone.

Ironically, however, Mills had a keen ear for language and an exceptional facility with its use in manuscript, despite his speech. The characters in his books are realistically articulate in both the King's English and the unique adolescent slang of the era.

Far from being perfect, the student characters in George's stories possess foibles and traits that often lead to trouble—sometimes a less-than-pleasant bout with the Head Master's tennis shoe or being ostracized by one's peers. Mills has insight into the mistakes boys make, but more so, he has insight into how adults could—and in his mind—should handle them.

It is no accident that his first novel bore the subtitle "The Story of a Modern Preparatory School [my emphasis]. "

George, in becoming an educator in the late 1920s, had for all intents and purposes returned to the scene of the metaphorical crime, or at least the very real schoolboy "crimes" that he felt had been perpetrated upon him. George, clearly a part of a new, humanistic, "modern" world of education, would right many of the wrongs that he'd experienced at his own schools decades before. And there is a good reason to believe that Joshua Goodland acted as the lynchpin in developing that goal and career choice.

Goodland was living at 144 Ashley Gardens in 1925, although it's difficult to tell exactly when he and his family vacated that address. Ashley Gardens is less than a mile from George's family's residence in Kensington at the time [24 Hans Road], and even closer to where his George's step-brother, author (and veteran of campiagns in France, China, and Palestine) Arthur F. H. Mills, was living with his wife, Lady Dorothy Mills, on nearby Ebury Street.

Given Goodland's proclivity to travel, and being a member of the Royal Geographical Society (also conveniently situated in Kensington), it's quite possible that Joshua was acquainted with George's globetrotting Uncle Dudley or Lady Dorothy. Lady D. already had begun traveling the world in the early 1920s, an activity that led her to become the era's foremost female travel writer/explorer. She published multiple monographs as a Fellow in the society (as well as a books and articles for mainstream periodicals) and was renowned throughout the United Kingdom and much of the world.

Lady Dorothy was the sister-in-law of George Mills, and a great deal of interesting activity—Lady Dorothy's travels, Goodland's own interest in travel, George's return home from Oxford and engagement to be married in 1925, and Goodland's waning interest in practicing law—were centered in less than a square mile of acreage in Kensington. George's fiancée and soon to be wife, Vera Beauclerk, was a granddaughter of legendary Sir Robert Hart and had herself been born on China! It's easy to surmise that the paths of George Mills and traveler Joshua Goodland must have crossed at some point.

George may have decided to try his hand at teaching just after Goodland had become a partner of F. R. Ebden [left] at Warren Hill, and Joshua actually may have been soliciting additional staff for the preparatory school in Eastbourne. At that time George, who was successfully engaged as in a junior appointment at nearby Windlesham, may immediately have sprung to mind. It's easy to imagine that George—then thirty years of age and gaining confidence as he taught—may have become more comfortable in his skin, and with his speech.

The Summer Term at Windlesham House this year (2011) runs from 1 May through 9 July. Assuming it was similar at the time, Mills would have been teaching at Windlesham through the Summer Term, July 1926. If Goodland had connected with Mills earlier in Kensington, it's possible that they became reacquainted during early 1926, possibly during cricket or football matches involving the boys at Windlesham and Warren Hill.

We have always assumed Mills left Windlesham against his will: Perhaps because of the General Strike, perhaps because he was found inadequate, or perhaps because it was discovered he had lied about his Oxon credentials.

Is it possible Mills left of his own accord, eschewing a newly purchased house in Portslade near Windlesham for the chance to work with Goodland in Meads? Mills might even have been lured by a bit more salary or the offer of a free residence, allowing Vera and him to sell their new home in Portslade.

George always had struggled in determining 'what he wanted to be when he grew up.' In Joshua Goodland, he'd have found a somewhat kindred spirit, a man who was had always been wanderer along a circuitous career path that included elementary school assistant, architect, law coach, barrister, schoolmaster, entrepreneur, and eventually, as we know, "sometime Head Master of Warren Hill School," all within a four decade span from 1891 to 1931.

Mills thought enough of Goodland [right] to make the "sometime Head Master" the only person singled out by name in the dedication of his first novel. It's likely the feeling was mutual. It is possible that Goodland saw something in Mills that might never have been noticed before. It is also possible that, even if George's potential had been recognized in the past, Goodland was the first to help him begin to realize it.

George never made it through Oxford, earning a degree, although that fact didn't stop him from telling potential employers that he had. It may be that he even told Goodland he was degreed. No matter, George suddenly saw possibilities—even the possibility of future success—despite having a made few career changes, and even if he had already turned thirty.

Joshua Goodland was short, gregarious, intelligent, and probably an energetic man with a wealth of talent, but it does seem he his ambition was accompanied by a lack of clear focus.

George Mills had his own set of talents, and a certain charm, wit, intelligence, and affability that eventually drew people to him. Both men were essentially social beings who obviously enjoyed teaching, and they were keen observers of people.

Mills, it seems, also shared Joshua's lack of focus.

The eminently successful Goodland must have been a larger-than-life image and role model to Mills, and it is no wonder George found himself gravitating to the man.

Why Mills soon departed Meads and ended up teaching in isolated and far flung locales like Windermere and Glion is unknown. For whatever reason, however, Goodland was still the only person mentioned by name in the dedication of George's first novel in 1933. It is difficult to believe the two men parted acrimoniously.

We don't know if Mills and Goodland remained close, but we do know that after Joshua's passing in 1939, Mills [left] never published another book despite living until 1972.

If Goodland had truly been an inspiration, and if subsequent texts continued to win Joshua's approval for George, Goodland's death may have been a real hurdle that Mills found it difficult to clear.

Mills had lost his own father in 1932, and it is possible that George—failed apprentice, failed soldier, failed academician, and a schoolmaster unable to hold the same teaching position for longer than a year or two—knew he had been a disappointment to his father. Goodland was 23 years older than Mills, and may have become an understanding and sympathetic father figure to George at a time when Mills realized he'd never lived up to his late father's expectations.

It may be a coincidence that George's most noteworthy success—1933's Meredith and Co.—was published on the heels of his father's passing in late 1932, the same year Joshua had lost his brother, Theodore. It may also be a mere coincidence that the book's dedication singled out the older Goodland for his influence on George at that critical point in his life. And it may be that the eventual demise of Joshua Goodland only coincidentally occurred in the very same year that saw the demise of George's career as an author.

But that would be too many coincidences for me to dismiss out of hand.

Mills closed the book (no pun intended at first) on his life as an author in 1939. War was imminent for Great Britain, with a resurgent emphasis on the realm's military. Having recently come to grips with finding a literary success that would have pleased his father—a scholar who had authored and edited texts of his own—Mills still had some unfinished business owing to his failings in the military..

After spending more than a decade as an schoolmaster and author, it was time for George to return to the scene of yet another crime against him: The Royal Army Pay Corps.

But that's a story we already know much of, at least pending access to his Second World War military files.

I'll have just a bit more on Joshua Goodland—a man I believe had as powerful an influence on George Mills as anyone—next time. Then, on to other topics!

Visiting Warren Hill School, Eastbourne, circa 1928 – 1931

While plumbing the depths of the military file of George Mills during the Great War, another message from an old friend was put on the proverbial back burner. A couple of weeks ago, Michael Ockenden of the Eastbourne Local History Society e-mailed with some news and some images. These images recalled our indistincy knowledge of the whereabouts of Mills during the period from 1922 when he ostensibly departed Oxford University without a degree, on through to Oxford University Press's publication of his first children's novel in 1933, which was presumably done while George and his wife, Vera, were living in London.

Let's take a look at Michael's message:

"Hello Sam:

Eastbourne Local History Society has been given some photographs of Warren Hill School. They were taken between 1928 and 1931. Alas no shots of George Mills but we've found one of the headmaster, Mr J Goodland, to whom Meredith and Co was dedicated. There is another of a previous headmaster, Mr F R Ebden. A local street directory gives Ebden as joint principal with Mr J Goodland in 1929.

According to street directories, the principals in 1925 were M A North and F R Ebden; in 1929 they were F R Ebden and J Goodland; in 1932 Joshua Goodland is the sole principal; in 1933 the sole principal is H E Glanville. (I have not seen a directory for 1930 or 1931.)

By the way, an undated leaflet (not part of the album of photos) published by the school shows the sole principal as Joshua Goodland MA (Trinity Hall, Cambridge). This leaflet must have been published after the departure of Ebden in 1931, so probably in 1931 or 1932. There is a list of teaching staff and Mills is not mentioned.

Another photograph shows a woman and is captioned, "Jim" Goodland. She seems quite a bit younger but could have been the headmaster's wife, sister or perhaps a daughter. She is not mentioned in the leaflet and so was not a member of the teaching staff.

Is there a school dog in Meredith and Co? There are several photographs in the batch showing a dog called "Tiny".

With best regards

Michael Ockenden
Eastbourne Local History Society"


We've had a chance to look at the history of Warren Hill School in the past. To review, George Mills wrote in the dedication to his 1933 book, Meredith and 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."

Now, we've read that dedication several times before. My assumption—and it may be incorrect—is that Mills listed Warren Hill School first because it was most proximate in time to the publication of the book. I know if I wrote a text and thanked my employers, I would thank my current employer first, and by name. I would probably do the same if I was currently unemployed and was planning on using that most recent employer as a primary reference.

However, Mills simply may have listed the schools in chronological order, Warren Hill (whose headmaster possibly gave him his first job as a schoolmaster) and the English Preparatory School at Glion last. Or, just the reverse: His most recent experience at Warren Hill, dating back to getting his feet wet, so to spoeak, as a novice in the snows of Glion.

We do know the opinion of respected Windlesham House Association historian, Dr. Tom Houston, who wrote: "[Mills] taught at three other schools probably after Windlesham; viz; at Warren Hall, Eastbourne (a 19th century school closed in 1930s or 1940s); at The Craig, Windermere (founded 1899); and at the English Preparatory, GLION."

His speculation is likely based, at least in part on this bit of information from the school's archives: "During summer 1935 he visited Mrs Charles, then in Springwells, Steyning, W. Sussex, and told her he had written a book 'largely about Windlesham', published by O.U.P. 'He had been at 2 or 3 schools since, but is very faithful to Windlesham', she said."

He concludes: "My guess is that Mills came to the school soon after leaving university to teach English or 'English subjects'; that was a junior appointment, seldom held for long."

Assuming that Mrs. Charles was reasonably correct in her guess of "2 or 3 schools" after Windlesham, that very probably kicks Windermere and Glion into the post-1926 period of George's career. Warren Hill, however, still may have come before Windlesham in the chronology. If so, though, why would Windlesham have had a record of George's alleged degree (BA Oxon), but not of his prior teaching experience in nearby Eastbourne.

While it is possible that Mills worked at Warren Hill before Windlesham, one has to defer to Dr. Houston's opinion based on his assessment of the primary sources. Mills must have joined the staff at Warren Hill after departing Portslade.

Laboring now under the opinion that one works close to home, and in failing at that, then has to travel farther and farther afield, I estimate that Mills taught at Windlesham, Warren Hill in Eastbourne, The Craig at Windermere, and the English Preparatory School in Switzerland, in that order.

Even allowing for just one year in Cumbria and one year at Glion, and those being 1931 and 1932 respectively, that puts Mills at Warren Hill in the neighborhood of 1927 – 1930.—and this meshes perfectly with the date of the "list of teaching staff" that Michael mentions above.

By 1933, according the information above, Joshua "Jim" Goodland is no longer listed as a principal of the school, perhaps explaining George's description of him as being "sometime Head Master."

You can see the photographs Michael sent throughout this post. Perhaps I am being overly nostalgic about the past (indeed, a depicted past from before my birth), but it is easy for me to see (and the feeling is almost palpable when one reads his books) why relatively idyllic images such as these, etched in his memory, must have seemed to Mills to have been his halcyon days.

Oh--and Uggles, a bulldog, was an extremely important and lovable character in Meredith and Co. and its sequel, King Willow. Even though there had been a gog, Tubby, at Windlesham, I actually would be surprised if I was told that Tiny [pictured, right], Warren Hill's dog, had done nothing to inspire some of Uggles's shenanigans.

Once again, I am indebted to Mr. Ockenden and the entire Eastbourne Local History Society for their thoughtfulness, generosity, and kindness.

Word and a Clarification from Oxford

Hooking into the recent excavating that we did in the First World War army file of George Mills, there is a tie-in that's been incubating in my mailbox that I'd like to share. As we know, George was demobilised in 1919, and by October of that year, he had gone up to Christ Church, Oxford, taking advantage of a post-war decree on behalf of young veterans.

A few weeks ago I was doing my "due diligence" as they like to say these days, at least in the States, and running a few of my usual, fairly cursory searches, seeing if anything new has cropped up regarding Mills & Co. Up came a link to the 1922 Oxford University Calendar letting me know it contained the name "Mills, George Ramsay Acland." However, as is the case with many search results at books.google.com, I couldn't see why or where in the calendar it was listed.

Curious, I dashed off an enquiry to Oxford asking about the appearance of George Mills in that text. My reply came from Nicola Hilton, a very thorough and attentive Archives Assistant:

"Dear Mr Williams

Thank you for your email. I have searched the card index of all those who matriculated (ie were admitted to the University) between 1891 and 1932. I have found an entry for George Ramsay Acland Mills. George matriculated from Christ Church on 16 October 1919. He is listed as a member of Christ Church from Michaelmas term 1919, under the subtitle 'Commoners' (ie members who have not been awarded a BA or higher degree), in the 1920, 1921 and 1922 University Calendar. I have been unable to find any record of a degree being conferred (ie at a ceremony) on George Mills.

The colleges in Oxford maintain their own Archives and it is possible Christ Church may hold some additional information on George Ramsay Acland Mills. If you wish to contact them, enquiries should be directed to, Judith Curthoys at judith.curthoys@chch.ox.ac.uk.

Yours sincerely

Nicola Hilton
Archives Assistant"



Thank you, Nicola!

We've actually heard from Ms. Curthoys previously regarding George's time at Christ Church, but this e-mail does offer some new insight: Mills was at Oxford at least through the end of 1921, but there is no record of him attending as a "Commoner" in the year 1922.

I e-mailed Ms. Hilton once again for a bit more clarification—sometimes I can be as ignorant as a bag of hair when it comes to British higher education—and she kindly followed up:

"During the early twentieth century the Calendar was complied each calendar year (not academic year as it is now). George matriculated in October 1919 and first appears in the 1920 Calendar. He appears to have been a member of Christ Church at the end of 1921 as he is listed in the 1922 Calendar. However residence is a college matter and for an accurate record of when George vacated Christ Church you will need to contact the College Archivist directly (please see my previous email for contact details).

Also, a colleague here at the University Archives has corrected me on a description I used in my previous email. Although those students listed under the subtitle 'Commoners' in the Calendar would not have had degrees conferred (ie at a ceremony) the term does not specifically denote this status. The status of 'commoner' in the Calendar separated the students from other member of the College who were 'Scholars' or 'Exhibitioners' (ie had been awarded some type of scholarship)."


So, while there is no record of George Mills having a degree conferred, the status "Commoner" that he carried throughout his time at Christ Church (Oxford?) isn't necessarily an indication of that.

I do find it hard to believe, though, that a case could be made for Mills having earned a degree in just over two years and was simply unfortunate enough to have Oxon's clerks lose the entirety of his paperwork, and, as a result, they neglected to record him as having had a degree conferred. That seems a bit of a stretch.

What is the "upshot" of all of this?

I am not entirely sure, save that on my "Timeline" of the life of George Mills, another of the gaps has been narrowed a wee bit more. Thanks to the record-keepers of the British Army and Oxford, we've tightened our focus on the endpoints of what Mills was doing from 15 January 1916 through the end of the calendar year of 1921.

Now, what occupied young George from the outset of the year 1922 through to his appointment as a schoolmaster at Windlesham House, then at the "Southern Cross" in Portslade, for the Lent term of 1925, still is open to conjecture.

We also have no indisputable evidence of what exactly Mills did to occupy his time between leaving Harrow School in the summer of 1912 and his recruitment under the Colours on the 15th of January 1916. He did enlist while declaring he was still a "student," according to his Army Form B 2512.

Summer 1912 to Lent 1925 is quite a stretch of time, even though we have ample data encompassing the period from New Year's 1916 through Christmas 1921.

At one end, George was a schoolboy at Harrow, aged 15, and at the other, seemingly a novice schoolmaster at Windlesham at the grizzled age of 28, having taken a turn in the ranks and studying at Oxford in between.

Any ideas?

From The Grove to Budleigh, via Picadilly Place

Today, it is time to hit the rewind button—I almost said "on the tape," even though that now sounds, in a DVD/DVR world, like saying that I donned "spats" and my "fob"—and travel back in time for a while. We'll leave behind the coastal croquet lawns of Budleigh, Parkstone, and The Saffrons and turn the compass northward as well. Our destination? London, much earlier in the 20th century, where we'll try to find young George Mills, the teenager!

This note arrived yesterday from Michael P. of the Eastbourne Local History Association:

"Having noticed that GM was educated at Harrow, I told Rita Boswell, the archivist there, of your website and asked whether she had more info on him. Below is her response:

I have checked our school paper and photograph collection for George Mills but both have drawn a blank so far. We are having the paper digitised at the moment which will enable a better search in due course. It is also possible that a photo will turn up in due course, so I will keep looking. Meanwhile, all I can tell you is what appears in the School Register. That is:

George Ramsay Acland Mills, son of the Rev. B. R. V. Mills (Old Harrovian) of 38 Onslow Gardens S W London. George entered Harrow in September 1910 and left in the summer of 1912; while here he resided in a small boarding house and another house called The Grove [pictured, right]. He served in the Great War from 1916-1919 as a Corporal in the Rifle Brigade but transferred to A.P.C. and then the R.A.S.C. He went up to Christ Church Oxford and became a Preparatory Schoolmaster. His address in 1951 is given as the Naval and Military Club at 94 Piccadilly, London W.1.

I hope this is of interest to you."

Yes, it is, Michael, and thank you so much!

First of all, it's quite exciting to think that there may be a story or two, and perhaps even a photograph, of a young George lurking in a school paper somewhere at Harrow. Mills arrived at Windlesham House School in 1925 after having attended Oxford as a schoolmaster and immediately became involved in that institution's stage productions. It isn't difficult to imagine that, as a boy, Mills had been involved in extracurricular endeavors at Harrow that included drama, and that Harrovian student productions were well covered by the school paper.

"The above makes even more sense when one reads the current description of The Grove on Harrow's website:

The Grove is situated on what is nearly the highest point of the Hill, next to St Mary's Church, and is home to about seventy boys.

The Grove occupies a central and prominent position near the highest point of the Hill, yet its quiet location is an attraction. Boys come from all over the United Kingdom and links with more distant prep schools are actively maintained. The Grove is strong in Art and Drama, and increasingly in Music, with a longer reputation for sporting prowess.

Variety in the intake of boys gives the House its strength, and its success depends on their talent."

Given the proclivity of George Mills to have been involved as a schoolmaster in the arts, particularly drama and music, as well as sports, The Grove must have been a perfect locale for his education!

I suppose it is even possible that we might gain a clue as to where George Mills went when he departed The Grove in the summer of his 15th year. Mills reappears in the historical record in the summer of 1916 when he is recruited to the Rifle Depot in July and sent off to war.

Still, one wonders what a sixteen-year-old in early 20th century England, from a well-to-do family and with an education at Harrow does with himself for four years.

I've speculated that the teenaged George may have tried to follow to some degree in the footsteps of his uncle, Major Dudley Mills of the Royal Engineers, eschewing the military for the time being and becoming an apprentice at the engineering firm Wallis & Steevens, Ltd.

However, that supposition rests on the tenuous evidence of a ship manifest from 1915 containing the name George Mills, who at the time was a 19-year-old British apprentice sailing from Buenos Aires to Liverpool with then-54-year-old Alfred Wallis of the famed engineering firm [right].

The point of Stanley Elkin's novel, George Mills, is that the world has always been populated by a plethora of run-of-the-mill, indistinguishable men by the name of George Mills. Hence, basing any supposition on a U.K. document containing the name 'George Mills' is, I realize, a longshot.

However, while freely admitting it may not actually be the case, I have no other peg upon which to hang my metaphorical hat regarding the missing years of George Mills, 1912-1916, especially since Mills signed his army recruitment papers with his occupation listed as "student"—a term which could loosely, I suppose, be applied to an apprentice, particularly one from a scholarly family such as George's.

One other interesting aspect of the above information is George's 1951 address: The Naval and Military Club, then at 94 Piccadilly, London W.1. [left].

We've seen George use this address before. In 1944, he wrote The Times about the Royal Army Pay Corps, having been an officer in it recently, and used that exact address. And, now, here we have Mills still using the same one some seven years later.

His father, Rev. Barton R. V. Mills, used The Athenæum, Pall, Mall, S.W.1 [below, right], as his professional address even when he lived nearby in Kensington. The Military and Naval Club is, coincidentally just blocks away from his George's father's haunts at The Athenæum in 1951, and less than a mile away from the family's past residences, west of Green Park and Buckingham Palace.

George's mother, Edith Mills, had passed away in 1945 while living with George's sisters in Kensington. By 1947, the spinsters Agnes and Violet Mills, had moved to Grey Friars in Budleigh Salterton, where George was certainly known to have resided, where he passed away in 1972, and where he may have been buried.

It's possible, I suppose, that Mills resided at the Military and Naval Club after the war, well into the 1950s. I understand that it's affordable for one to stay there now, compared to other lodging in central London. It may have been even more affordable at the time, especially given that it would have been undergoing construction to repair bombing damage in 1941 [pictured in Life magazine in 1941, right].

The question becomes: After relinquishing his commission in the RAPC due to ill-health in 1943, where did Mills go? Did he then live in Cadogan Gardens with his mother and sisters? And, after the Misses Mills departed for Budleigh in 1947, did he tag along, or stay? Or even relocate elsewhere—something quite possible given his lifelong inclination to Sussex?

Thank you, Michael, for the information above! It inches us closer to a more thorough knowledge of the author, George Mills. But, as always seems the case, with answers come new questions. And if you have any information that can help, please don't hesitate to contact me!