so.
John Gordon, Agent.1
For girls, the very elementary academic instruction provided by one or two impecunious ladies was augmented by classes in sewing, knitting and embroidery, and for both girls and boys of any social standing at all the dancing master was essential.
Into this situation came young David Manson. Born at Cairn Castle, County Antrim, he settled in Belfast in 1752, determined not merely to teach but to teach in a very particular manner. When as a child in the depth of the country David was recovering from a serious illness, his mother had taught him, by means of play, the first simple lessons, sowing in his mind at the same time the seeds of his future success. Before coming to Belfast he had prepared himself by study, and by practical experience of teaching in places so far apart as Ballycastle and Liverpool, to set up a school where children “will be taught to read and understand the English tongue without the discipline of the rod by intermingling pleasurable and healthful exercise with their instruction.”
Meanwhile, in order to support himself and his wife, and to gain the acquaintance of citizens, Manson started a small home brewery.2 His beer was good – about brewing also he had his own particular theories – and much talk and discussion must have taken place over the counter of the little shop, for such notions on education sounded novel to minds accustomed to normal 18th century schooling. Gradually a group of enthusiastic supporters emerged, foremost among them being Henry Joy, and in spite of all Mr. Gordon’s warnings an advertisement appeared in the Belfast News-Letter of October 1755 to the effect that
David Manson, at the request of his customers, having opened an evening school at his house in Clugston’s Entry, teaches by way of amusement English grammar, reading and spelling, at a moderate expense.
This new venture was to be run on co-educational lines and Henry Joy’s eldest child, Elinor, then about six years old, was one of the first pupils. Others followed from both the Joy families and from the McCrackens. There were also the Templeton children, Catherine and possibly Elizabeth Hamilton, Lord Templetown’s son, a clever lad from Cushendall called James McDonnell, and many more. In due course Mary Ann McCracken herself appeared, and as the influence of her school days remained with her always it is necessary to give a brief sketch of this very unusual establishment.
At the time of Mary’s arrival Manson was at the height of his fame and had moved to a large, specially built house in Donegall Street, an area recently developed and much sought after for its proximity to the country and fresher air. Here he took some boarders. Long before this, however, he had evolved a definite educational system. Each class-room was divided into two “companies”, based on the accepted grades of society, and every child was given a ticket of membership, bearing the letters F.R.S., to be retained or forfeited according to behaviour. Each company included a King, a Queen, Princes and Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, etc., rank being acquired by the satisfactory preparation of home-work. The actual amount of preparation was left to the discretion of each child, but if the royal crown was coveted upwards of 24 lines had to be memorised, the qualifications for other ranks being graded accordingly. Not everyone could attain nobility, and those who managed only eight lines or less were tenants and undertenants. The school day began at 7 a.m., when repetition was heard and the children took the places they had earned. After the break for breakfast at 9 o’clock there was reading, spelling and grammar, and here a Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor officiated, the former being called upon to explain difficult words, and the latter to correct punctuation. Worked into this elaborate performance was a scheme whereby the children could help one another. After the lessons had been heard a successful landlord took in hand a less successful tenant, and every line learned by the latter constituted £1 of rent due to the landlord, who kept a note in his ledger of all rents due and paid. Whoever held the position of King and Queen for a week had the privilege of calling a Parliament on Saturday, when arrears were settled, and those tenants “who had nothing to give acceptable to the land-lord must plead poverty with their feet uncovered, their arrears being discharged out of the fund of toys which were taken from those who had used them at improper seasons.”
It was indeed a novel school.
As for punishment – it was the hey-day of clubs, and at the back of the room an empty space was known as “The Trifler’s Club” to which idlers were relegated. Worse still: there was a large wooden figure called the Conqueror, and those who defied the stigma of the Club were obliged to have so many rounds of boxing with this unresponsive opponent. It was a first principle with Manson never to use the rod, hence this rather ingenious plan for self-inflicted corporal punishment.
Another feature of the school was the carefully prepared books and apparatus. Manson compiled spelling books, a grammar and a dictionary; he had various unusual devices for teaching the younger children to spell phonetically and, seeing how constantly they played with the battered packs of cards rejected by their elders, he had “spelling, reading and memorial cards” specially printed, and used for the many games then in vogue. “Manson’s cards” and his school books were in wide circulation for years after his death. The Bible and the newspaper were used by the older pupils for reading, as was also The Lilliputian Magazine, one of the recent publications for children emanating from Mr. Newbury’s shop in St. Paul’s Churchyard. In the Lilliput playground, situated at the edge of the town near the lough, was a well kept bowling green for the boys and also the Flying Chariot – a wonderful mechanical velocipede of Manson’s invention – made for the enjoyment of the pupils, and, at stated times, of the public. For shorter spells of exercise the children were permitted to use the courtyard of the nearby Brown Linenhall.
Mechanisation was already in the air and outside his teaching hours Manson spent much time with his inventions, one of which was a spinning machine set in motion by one man and operating twenty spindles, thereby making it necessary for the spinner to use her hands only. He presented this model to the Poorhouse for the use of the girl inmates, and we can imagine how entranced he must later have been when Robert Joy’s new spinning and weaving machinery was being set up. He was much concerned about the effect of these new methods on the traditional economy of the countryside, and published a pamphlet in which he maintained that the new industry should be built round agriculture and not centralized in towns. All these points of interest he would present to his pupils in simplified form, and one young mind at any rate was obviously stirred and set on its ultimate course. But before everything else Manson was a teacher:
Every tutor, [he wrote] should endeavour to gain the affection and confidence of the children under his care; and make them sensible of kindness and friendly concerns for their welfare; and when punishment becomes necessary, should guard against passion and convince them ’tis not their persons but their faults which he dislikes … These things are easily comprehended; but the great nicety lies in the execution: for knowledge, diligence and sobriety are not sufficient qualifications for this employment without patience, benevolence and a peculiar turn of mind, by which the Preceptor can make the course of education an entertainment to himself as well as to the children.3
His interest in the education of girls was remarkable. “Young ladies”, it was recorded after his death, “received the same extensive education as young gentlemen. He, and the schoolmasters taught by him were the great cause of infusing into their delicate and tender minds the rudiments of the good sense and erudition for which our ladies during this age have been remarkable.”4 Elinor Joy progressed so quickly that while still a child she was able to help her father in comparing manuscripts and “correcting the press”, and Mary Ann McCracken attained at an early age an unusual accuracy at figures.
This benevolent and much loved schoolmaster was made a freeman of the town in 1779, and when he died in 1792 he was given the honour of a funeral by torch light, his remains being laid in the parish graveyard at midnight.5 Shortly afterwards, Elizabeth Hamilton, already arrived at literary fame, wrote of him thus:
David Manson’s extraordinary talents were exerted in too limited a sphere
