The following text is drawn from the as yet unpublished memoires started by James Holland during his life. It is part of a much longer chapter discussing the life changing experience of being a student at the Royal College of Art, but is edited down to show how my father and Henry Moore the sculptor came to know each other. Their friendship and collaboration continued for many years, and included work on the Festival of Britain, but this sets out the first steps in their acquaintance.
There could hardly have been a more exciting time to be going to the Royal College of Art than in the Twenties. This unique establishment was among the several results of the mid-19th century development of the international exhibition - indeed much of South Kensington, including the V&A Museum originated in this way. In the Twenties its status was one of those compromises by which Whitehall solves so many of its problems - not quite a University itself, not exactly part of the University of London, it was administered directly by the Board of Education. Among the palaces of South Kensington, its only outward evidence was an unassuming door in a mews at the back of the Imperial College of Science, which led to a range of large utilitarian studios, and a group of wood and iron huts, relics of an earlier exhibition behind the Natural History Museum. In spite, or possibly because of these unpromising circumstances, the College had achieved a respectable record and gained a reputation particularly of its own. During the period of its 19th century development and the following two decades a succession of worthy but now mostly forgotten principals had directed its courses, but in the early post-1918 years a much more adventurous appointment was made.
Will Rothenstein was known to have been a bright young man of the Nineties and after, a friend of Wilde and Frank Harris. Whistler had been witty at his expense, Max Beerbohm had portrayed him more than once. Shaw, Wells and Bennett had been his near-contemporaries and still remained his frequent companions. There was scarcely a figure of note in the arts, in France and England, that he had not encountered.
He had been a dandy in his youthful days, as some contemporary drawings showed, but by the time of his appointment to the RCA he appeared as a tiny and slightly sinister figure of fascinating ugliness, attired in the soberest of clerical gray. Beerbohm had illustrated this in a well-known series of caricatures, the confrontation of well-known characters by their youthful selves. His utterances were delivered in a manner that invited, but did not always repay serious consideration. This I should have discovered on my initial encounter with him, on the first morning of term, when he blinked up at my timorous and very unconfident figure drawing for some seconds, and then observed “You may deceive the critics but you will not deceive posterity” - a judgment which, being a rather immature student, bewildered and distressed me for many following months.
As might be expected, Rothenstein persuaded a number of the better known younger artists to teach at the College. In many cases they did not stay for long, probably finding Rothenstein’s requirements, if not his personality, not always acceptable. Among these seems to have been Paul Nash, who during his short stay had considerable effect on two outstanding Design students, Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden, probably doing something to counter-balance the notably gothic influence of Professor Tristram, so well-known for his recording and restoration of mediaeval wall painting.
An American sculptor, Cole, though now little remembered, had a whirlwind effect not only on the drawing of sculpture students, but on that of many young painters, and certainly was a considerable influence on the development of the young Henry Moore. Never had the third dimension been so aggressively or colourfully attacked with every medium that would make a mark on paper.
A very different but distinguished teacher was Randolph Schwabe, who later became Principal of the Slade School. Like Alfred Stevens before him, his forte was life drawing, which he infused with all the ripeness and rotundity of the seventeenth century artists, Flemish and Italian. A rather shy man, he would sit before a student’s board, and however angular and gawky the model, produce an elegant drawing of shoulder or haunch that might have been a study by Rubens, usually remarking as he moved on “you have got it rather better than I have”.
A memorable feature of the College week was the series of lectures on the history of European Art given on Friday afternoons in the V&A lecture theatre by Hubert Wellington, the College Registrar. As a member of the Camden Town group - which had included Gilman, Ginner and Brennan - he had come under the influence of Sickert. He succeeded in infusing his lectures with so much of his own charm, enthusiasm and sensitivity that no student would willingly have missed one of them. History of Art is now a required and assessable part of many courses, and the profession of art historian has itself become a recognised career, and has expanded accordingly.
The highly individual reign of Rothenstein was only one of the factors that made the Royal College in the mid-Twenties such an exciting institution and experience. During the first years of the decade numbers of ex-servicemen, survivors of the 1914-1918 war, had returned to their local art schools on demobilisation, and as some acknowledgment of their services received comparatively substantial grants. In due time, many of them came to the College. Such students were older and in every sense more mature than those who came only from an academic background. They were not to be pushed around by anybody, and set the standards for much of the student life of those years, not least in their ability to hold their liquor. Particular features were A K Lawrence, to become a well-known R.A., Henry Moore, Vivien Pitchforth, Raymond Coxon, Gerry Cooper.
The centre of student life was the Students Common Room, which consisted of two large wood and iron huts in Queens Gate, one being a kitchen and canteen, the other perhaps best described as a smoking room. Far from elegant, in truth both dark and shabby, it was run at that time entirely by the students, the staff, from Principal down, it was understood, requiring specific invitation to be admitted.
The various well-established student groups had their own tables, and the fresher who inadvertently took his plate of spaghetti or sausages and mash to one of these was soon aware of his intrusion. Three of these groups were particularly well defined. At the largest table sat the most senior fine art students, including those who would sit for the Rome Travelling Scholarships. Classical, or perhaps academic in outlook, they never the less included Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth. They favoured black, wide-brimmed hats, bought in Paris or Florence, and a restrained traditional bohemianism in dress, with the exception of Lionel Ellis, a painter who would have appeared over-dressed for the most outrageous Latin Quarter extravaganza. The Common Room Chairman and other student officers would be found at this table, and the deafening banging of spoons and cups was the prelude to announcements being made from this rostrum.
Across the room, a smaller table was appropriated to perhaps the most dedicated group, the Fauves of the period. This was headed by one of the most remarkable students that the College has produced. Barnett Freedman was known as “Soc.” since his dialectic domination of his disciples as well as any student activities in which he decided to interest himself was felt to be somewhat Socratic.
While the senior group, certainly those with their eyes on the Rome scholarships, were devoted to the Italian painters of the early Renaissance, with Piero della Francesca as perhaps the ideal, for the ascetics Rembrandt was the master, Cezanne not far behind.
The third definable group was in effect a threesome, consisting of Douglas Percy Bliss, already distinguished by his MA, Eric Ravilious, and Edward Bawden. Awesomely scholarly and literate, it was from this group that several attempts were made to establish a worthy college magazine, or rather periodical. I recall Mandrake and Gallimaufry as two of these, perhaps over-precious to survive and now difficult to find.
In the lifetime of most human institutions there can be a period when circumstances and personalities combine to produce, if not a Golden Age, at least a time of great euphoria, a time when all seem to accept the same standards and objectives, and differences are confined to minor issues. The College, the Students Common Room formed indeed at this period a most happy and well-balanced community, the maturity and experiences of the senior students, who knew just how far to go and when to stop, compensating for the inevitable, but occasional, follies of the younger elements. As the ex-service numbers decreased, the average student age fell, and with it went much of the feeling of community that had enhanced the earlier days, remarkable enough in a non-residential college with its students scattered through the bedsits of Kensington, Chelsea, Camden Town and Hampstead.