At half-past four on Good Friday morning, April 7th, 1939, Fr Abbot Matthews, having laboured without any break for twenty-one years as Headmaster and for fifteen years as Abbot of Ampleforth, died rather suddenly. He had not been in good health for the past two years, suffering at intervals from serious heart trouble. But he refused to become an invalid and insisted on fulfilling every duty of his office to the last. He had sung the Mass as usual on Maundy Thursday, had presided at Tenebrae and had taken his usual turn at watching from nine to nine-thirty p.m. at the Altar of Repose. He had intended to sing the Mass of the Presanctified, but at 3.30 a.m. the final attack of Angina occurred. He rang his bell for the infirmarian. Fr Prior was called to give the last rites and at 4.10 a.m. his life on earth was ended.
James Joseph Matthews was born January 22nd, 1871, at Earlstown, Lancashire, four miles from Sutton where his predecessor Abbot Oswald Smith was born. His father died September 29th, 1871, and his mother when he was about seven years old. Miss Regan of Aspull, one of his mother's friends, acted as his guardian. The Catholics of Aspull attended the chapel at Wrightington Hall. It was here that he came under the notice of Fr Margison and of the Jacksons. He became almost one of the family of the Jacksons. With George Jackson (afterwards Fr Cuthbert) he went to the Wigan Catholic Grammar School. In January 1884, Fr Margison brought the two boys to Ampleforth and introduced them to their new home. George Jackson was placed in the Lower Syntax and James Matthews in the Upper Grammar. In September 1886, Jackson and Turner were the only ones left from the 'Humanities.' Hind and Worth joined them from the 'Matriculation' and Matthews and Corbishley from the Syntax to form the revived 'Poetry' Class. In July 1888 Hind, Worthy and Matthews were the first to pass the Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate. At cricket, football and athletics Matthews very soon distinguished himself and showed powers of leadership. He was Captain of the School in the years 1887-88. In March of this present year he visited a specialist in Leeds and, during the examination, the specialist exclaimed 'What a chest,' and 'you have an athlete's heart.' On his return home that night he confessed to one of the brethren that perhaps his heart trouble was due to over exertion on the football field and to strenuous rowing on the river Wye. 'I used to make terrific rushes with the ball when I saw I could gain a point. Perhaps I am suffering for that now.'
On September 3rd, 1888, he received the monastic habit at Belmont, at that time the common novitiate-house for the English Benedictine Congregation. In religion he took the name of Edmund, choosing for his patron St Edmund of Canterbury. During his novitiate and juniorate at Belmont there was taking place in the English Benedictine Congregation a continuous controversy about the ideals of the monastic life. Br Edmund was not disturbed by the rumours of such discussions that occasionally reached the novices. He took his novitiate seriously, and willingly pronounced his vows with the intention of imposing upon himself a strict asceticism in which he persevered to the very hour of his death. At Ampleforth he had seen his ideal monk in Fr Anselm Wilson and his admiration for his ideals never diminished. After the year's novitiate he spent three years in the study of Ecclesiastical History, Scripture and Philosophy. The Professor of Philosophy, Canon Oswald Smith, was just back from Rome, full of enthusiasm for the subject after the mind of St Thomas. Br Edmund gave his whole attention to the problems explained by the scholastics. This was invaluable to him when he attended the lecture rooms at Oxford. Canon Oswald Smith had many hobbies and interests. One, at Belmont, was the running of a poultry farm. Br Edmund was chosen to be an assistant and, as far as I can remember, this was the only hobby Abbot Matthews ever indulged in. As Headmaster and Abbot he felt he had no time to take up any hobby.
In 1892 he returned to Ampleforth for Solemn Profession. Fr Anselm Wilson was Sub-Prior and Junior Master and his weekly conferences to the juniors and inspiring example in all monastic observance confirmed the first impressions Br Edmund had of him. No one else had such an influence in the training of his spirituality, in his love for the vow of poverty, in the strict interpretation of the obligations of the monastic rules. Along with Brs Austin Hind, Cuthbert Jackson, Bede Turner and Vincent Corbishley, he was ordained priest on March 22nd, 1896. From 1892 to 1897 he taught Latin and Greek in the Upper School. Prior Burge left him free for the teaching in the school and for his own study of theology. In Prior Burge's mind Br Edmund was a philosopher, and fortunately for his future career he was not taken away from his studies for any official post. At this period Prior Burge was working for a better education for the monastic teaching staff. At first he suggested a Correspondence Course with London University, but eventually decided on the bold venture of a House of Studies at Oxford.
Prior Burge innocently imagined that all that was necessary was to lease a house in Woodstock Road and send Fr Edmund and two young men (now Frs Ambrose Byrne and Anselm Parker) to live in this private house, attend the lectures and present themselves in due course for degrees. Fr Edmund proceeded to Oxford in October 1897 to take charge of the House and to work for a degree. It was soon made plain to him, in the course of some very humiliating experiences, that an Oxford course was not so simple as that. He found that an undergraduate of the University had of necessity to be a member of one of the recognised academical societies. He found also that he himself, as a would-be undergraduate, was not in a position to negotiate with the authorities of the University. The solution of the difficulty was ultimately found in the establishment of a Private Hall for our students. Dom Oswald Hunter-Blair, as a Master of Arts of the University, was qualified to open such a Hall, and he was allowed by his abbot to come to Fr Edmund's assistance. And so our House in the Woodstock Road was licensed by the University as 'Hunter-Blair's Hall,' and the status of our students put on a correct footing. Throughout all this difficult early period, Fr Edmund found himself struggling at one and the same time with the very exacting requirements of a University course and with these serious constitutional difficulties. He had also to manage the domestic affairs of the House, and that on a very restricted purse.
In after years he often referred to the severity of the criticisms he had to endure when presenting his work to his tutors. Only a few weeks before his death, in a conversation about the scholarship boys, he said: 'I knew my Homer from beginning to end, but my foundation in Greek Grammar was worthless. I always have had great sympathy for our young monks in their work at Oxford.' 'The strain I had to endure during those four years to obtain my degree and to be responsible for the good name of Ampleforth in the management of the Hall, coupled with the continuous responsibility of Headmaster and that of Abbot, without any break, has evidently told on my heart.' In 1901 at thirty years of age his courage was rewarded by a Second in 'Greats.' A Benedictine monk had not taken a degree at Oxford since May 1556 when the degree of Doctor of Divinity was conferred on John Feckenham, Abbot of Westminster. Fr Edmund remained in charge of the Oxford House until September 1903, when Abbot Smith appointed him as the first Headmaster of the school at Ampleforth.
In 1903 the numbers in the school had fallen as low as seventy-eight and the task before the new Headmaster needed all his determination and strong personality. He worked with the monastic staff to make every sacrifice to obtain efficiency in their teaching and to give the right training of mind and body to those under their charge. Gradually the confidence of the parents was again obtained and the numbers in the school increased. But if the school had to be recognised as efficient and find a place amongst the English Public Schools it was evident that many changes and much better equipment in every direction must be made. The construction of the bridge between old Ampleforth and new Ampleforth, between the older generation and the modern one was not completed without obstruction and opposition. It needed great tact and balanced judgement. The Headmaster had every sympathy and respect for old traditions and he grudged no labour in trying to carry with him the monks who had conservative views. At the same time he had to restrain some from trying to make further advance before the ground which had been gained was fully secured. The introduction of the Easter Holidays in 1904 brought about the first severe criticism and opposition. Then as the school increased in numbers and the great development was made possible, criticism from the conservative side tried to fix a limit to the expansion. The policy which Fr Edmund advocated was that one generation could not bind another either as to numbers or as to method of teaching. He felt that each generation would be loyal in preserving the traditional Benedictine spirit of Ampleforth whatever number it thought it best to provide for. By degrees he broke down all opposition and when, in December 1924 he was elected Abbot, the school had increased from seventy-eight to two hundred and fifty. The Preparatory School had been opened in 1916 and the first House, St Cuthbert's, was being built.
Fr Edmund was a great Headmaster. He had gifts which place him in the front rank of Public School Headmasters. He had a clear intellect, sound judgement, inspiring leadership, untiring devotion to every individual boy's interests, great powers of persuasion and by an attractive personality he made everyone feel that they were his special friends.
Abbot Oswald Smith died in November 1924, and on December 17th 1924 Fr Edmund was elected Abbot in his place. He never desired honours for himself, but he felt it his duty to submit to the wish of the community and take on the burden. The office of an abbot brought upon him a responsibility quite different from that of Headmaster. The Rule of St Benedict is full of legislation and advice how an abbot should use his power. Abbot Matthews had a very delicate conscience and throughout his abbacy he tried to carry out every duty and obligation a monastic superior should observe. His responsibility now covered a wider field. There was the monastic observance in the abbey itself - the reception of novices - the studies of the younger monks - the guidance of all.
There was also his care and interest for those of his subjects engaged in the work of the school. He gave full liberty to Fr Paul Nevill whom he appointed Headmaster. He never lost interest in the work of the school and was always at hand to give support and advice whenever difficulties occurred. He took upon himself the fullest responsibility for the further development of the school in the purchase of Gilling Castle, in the new Houses of St Wilfrid's and St Edward's, in the expenditure for the Upper and Lower Buildings. All recognise now his wisdom and foresight in advocating the purchase of Gilling Castle and transferring to it the Preparatory School, thus enabling the old Prep. to become the Junior House. His interest in Gilling never flagged. Nothing gave him more pleasure during the last decade of his life than to take Old Boys and visitors to see the home of the Fairfaxes who had built Ampleforth Lodge for their Chaplain, Fr Anselm Bolton.
Besides the monastery and the school Fr Abbot had the responsibility of many parishes throughout the country. In this work fifty of his monks were engaged, and at the beginning of his abbacy many, of these were his former superiors and venerable seniors. All his life he had loved the pastoral work, and during the long vacations before he was Headmaster had helped in this work at Liverpool. While he was Headmaster he went out of his way to welcome everyone of our priests that came to the abbey for Retreats. He tried to make them all feel that they had a share in the work of the abbey and school. He held tenaciously to the rights and interests of all the parishes. He visited them regularly and encouraged them in all their undertakings. He was always the servant of the servants of God when they needed his presence for special occasions. He was most punctilious in his correspondence with them. He did not take the line of least resistance. It was his practice during the morning to ponder over the answer which he thought should be given. Later in the afternoon he posted a carefully phrased letter terminating with the latest Ampleforth news and a few kind words. He gave special care to carry out St Benedict's Rule when any of the brethren were sick, and spared no expense in carrying out the doctor's wishes. Whether the sick monk was in the monastery or on one of our parishes he fulfilled his duty of visiting him to the very end. It was on one of these sick-call visits in November of last year that I witnessed for the first time one of those severe heart attacks which made me feel that the end could not be far off.
On September 3rd, 1938 he celebrated his Golden Jubilee as a monk. The eulogy given by his brethren on that day assured him that his abbacy had been a great one - the speeches made at the Ampleforth Society gathering - at the London and Liverpool Dinners - took the highest level and everyone felt that the words of praise were sincere and true.
There was one work on which he had set his heart that he would have liked to have carried out before he ceased to be abbot. This was the completion of the abbey church. The great expenditure on the school buildings, but especially the unsettled outlook of international affairs, prevented the undertaking.
After November the heart attacks occurred more frequently. On March 21st he was greatly distressed that he could not sing the Mass of St Benedict's Feast. He was persuaded not to attempt to pontificate on Palm Sunday. He did pontificate with apparent ease on Maundy Thursday and was looking forward to do so again on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. But as already mentioned he was recalled to God to spend an eternal Easter in Heaven. He has bequeathed to his brethren a great legacy of good works and saintly example.
'If you have ten thousand schoolmasters in Christ, yet not many fathers.' - 1 Cor. iv, 15.
We have come to bury, in the corner of earth which Abbot Matthews loved so well, that perishable part of him for which he cared so little. His health, to which for years he had been a hard master, had begun to shew, in these last months, visible traces of decline; the lines about his mouth had altered, and he spoke to you with the feverish utterance of a man who is fighting down some inward enemy. A week ago he consented, grudgingly enough, to take a month's rest after Easter; you wondered how or where he would find it, a man who seemed to have no home but Ampleforth, to find no recreation but in his work. The things that are impossible with men are possible with God. Father Abbot sang the Mass of Maundy Thursday, in commemoration of his Master's farewell to earth; watched that evening at the hour when his Master watched; and next morning, at the hour when his Master was judged, went from us to his judgment. He has redeemed his promise; and heaven, we dare to hope, has given him the rest which earth denied him, that sabbath of Eastertide which has no term to its fruition.
The world will remember him as a great schoolmaster, and it is fitting that he should be so remembered. If I were speaking to strangers, if a visible monument were needed to convince the mind of his achievement it would be enough to indicate the plan of the buildings which surround us; to isolate the little cluster of roofs that was Ampleforth when he came back from Oxford at the beginning of the century, and to shew the stages by which, since then, his inspiration has altered the face of this valley. We have watched it grow, year by year, that panorama of masonry which stretches from the Junior School to the new houses, clinging to the terraced slope as if it were the symbol of one man's tenacity of purpose. All this interference with the build of nature had to pass his scrutiny before the sabbath day came, and he was at rest.
That material increase is only a crude expression of the change which has passed over the abbey during those years. A generation ago, the stranger passing through Gilling would look up and say, 'What's that?' To-day, the reflection occurs to him without difficulty, 'That must be Ampleforth.' it is no part of my purpose to record how the school has grown in fame and in importance; we are here to praise the dead, not to flatter the living, and a school becomes great, not by one man's initiative, but by a conspiracy of service. For all that, the world is justified in calling him a great schoolmaster, the world which knows nothing of him except that he was the Headmaster of a great school. Somehow, under God's Providence, his patient work, his unobtrusive personality, started Ampleforth on its cycle of achievement; and when you chose him to succeed the holy abbot under whom he had served, he must have contemplated almost with stupefaction the thing which had grown up between his hands. Thenceforth it was for his wisdom to regulate the development which his energy had originated; a task perhaps not less hard, certainly not less responsible. That responsibility, with perfect command over his failing strength, he shouldered to the end.
Well, a great schoolmaster - is that all it means, to be a great schoolmaster? To have built and planned, to have organized a multitude of details successfully? Rather, it means to be skilled in the most difficult of the arts, which has human lives for its incalculable material. To be a living paradox, taking a personal interest in every boy without ever shewing a preference, forming the character of the young without stunting its natural growth, unbending without losing their esteem, punishing them without forfeiting their affection. Abbot Matthews had the gift of being severe; he was capable, if I may use the expression, of flattening out the delinquent by merely telling him what he thought of him, in those quiet, measured tones that somehow probed into you like a knife. There was no blustering or shouting, no unfair use of irony; a searching beam of disappointed benevolence penetrated you and shewed you to yourself. Yet he was such a man as everywhere to be loved; boys who worked under him may have been more conscious, at the time, of respect; but they found afterwards it was their love he had claimed, and had elicited. A great schoolmaster, with that sure touch which belongs only to greatness. To many of you, who went to school under him, his influence has become a part of your lives; he inspired you, he loved you, and he is gone.
Have we yet pierced to the inner greatness of the man who lies here? Forgive me the foolishness of the question; we who were privileged to know him know that he was something more than a great schoolmaster; he was a great abbot. I do not mean merely - though we should do ill to forget it, and he more than any man would rebuke us if we forgot it - that Ampleforth is a monastery first and a school afterwards. I mean that the rule of a religious community is a more delicate thing, depends upon a subtler bond of association than the government of a school. And perhaps especially the rule of a Benedictine community. The Society of Jesus is military in its inspiration; the mendicant orders breathe an air of political democracy; the Benedictine spirit dares to imitate an institution which is older and more intimate, the institution of the family. The abbot is a father among his children. And St Paul tells us that though we may have many schoolmasters, we must not expect to have many fathers. He who lies here was a father; a great father in God.
At first sight, it would be tempting to suppose that a father's rule differs from that of a schoolmaster in being milder and more indulgent; no severity, no stern looks, only gentleness here. But we must be on our guard against representing fatherhood as it is conceived by a modern and, on the whole, an ill-regulated age. The modern father despairs of exercising authority because he is unable to inspire respect. Such an example would quickly breed relaxation in a religious community; to rebuke faults, to refuse unreasonable requests, is part of a superior's duty. And Abbot Matthews did not need to alter his nature when he became an abbot instead of a schoolmaster; he retained something of his awe-inspiring quality. A shy man, he did not shrink from the duty of correction; a kindly man, he did not yield readily to the suggestion of the first-comer. He saw the danger that increasing preoccupation with the school, and the dissipation of forces which school organization demanded, might have a weakening effect on community life and community discipline; perhaps we shall never know how much we owe to him that Ampleforth remains, in the true sense, a home of monks. Did any of his brethren feel that, here and here, the yoke of discipline bore too hard on him? The voice of selfpity was silenced, when he reflected that there was one member of the community to whom no indulgence was ever granted, for whom no allowance was ever made, for whom no labours were too exacting - and that was the abbot himself.
He was a great abbot because he was a good monk. Into that inmost fastness of all we may not penetrate; 'you are dead' the Easter-day epistle reminds us, 'and your life hidden with Christ in God.' I do not think Abbot Matthews ever forgot, in the most worldly surroundings, that he had renounced the world. You heard him making an after-dinner speech; it would begin on the note set for him by others, but in a minute or two, without any airs of pietism, without any effect of embarrassment, he would be talking in dead earnest of the things that were near his heart. You were in conversation with him; his face was lit up with that smile of his that was like a sunny day in winter; then for a moment you were detained in conversation with somebody else, and you looked back to find the same face drawn and tense, the eyes looking into the distance, its common expression when in repose. And you saw, in that play of light and shadow, that this was a man whose thoughts were never far away from God. We shall not see it again; he has passed beyond our world of light and shadow; may the face of Jesus Christ shew gay and gentle to him. You must turn, with heavy hearts, to elect another in his place. Reverend fathers, God send you a father like him.
So we leave him in his Creator's hands, of whom all paternity in heaven and earth is named, our father in God, our father now with God. His body will be with his brethren, in the place he loved so well and left so seldom; that is but fitting; so far as earthly gifts were concerned, he received from Ampleforth all he had, gave to Ampleforth all he had; we would not separate his name from hers. Those heavenly graces which he received from God, as surely he gave back to God; the soul knows larger horizons. Yet, where he rests, with God, if any thoughts of his still turn towards earth, surely they will turn towards this place and dwell like a benediction over this place; haec requies mea in saeculum saeculi; hic habitabo, quoniam elegi eam. May the prayers of our Blessed Lady and St Edmund and the saints of his order win him, now and hereafter, refreshment, light and peace.
An Old Boy's Memories.
It was at the Easter School Retreat Of 1903 that I first saw Fr Edmund or even realised his existence. We were assembled in the Big Study, which in those days was turned into an Oratory for the Retreat: a large red curtain was drawn across the centre of the study and an altar was set up beneath the big South window.
All heads were turned as the Retreat giver came round the curtain, and the first impressions of the small boy were of a rather severe looking priest and the blue effect produced by a strong growth of beard. Then he knelt at the altar, and many of us heard for the first time that unique, but far from inimitable, voice and intonation, which will live in the memories of all who knew him.
I think we found the Retreat rather dull and above the heads of many of us, certainly of the small boys. My chief memory is of a Conference on the Book of Genesis, with the oft reiterated phrase: 'And God saw that it was good'; this became a catchword in the school and an easy bit of copy for the school mimics.
For a few months Fr Edmund passed out of our lives, as Retreat givers do: but in the following September, on our return to school, we were surprised one day by the entrance of Fr Austin Hind, the then Head Master, into the School Refectory to introduce to us our new Head Master, Fr Edmund.
We enjoyed the excitement of the novelty, but we were not at all sure that the change was all for the good. Fr Austin Hind had endeared himself to the hearts of all the boys: he was the personification of kindness, and the smallest boy could approach him with confidence, and be sure of a sympathetic hearing.
There was an air of aloofness and severity in our new Head Master, that held us somewhat in awe: he inspired respect, but it was only as the months and years went by that we became dimly conscious that he might also be an object of affection.
But we had no doubt that he meant business where our studies were concerned.
A different note came into the school work: we felt that the study of Latin and Greek, which we had hitherto accepted as a matter of course, were regarded by Fr Edmund as something vital. Our attention was directed to style as well as to grammar, and his insistent 'Now, boys, observe the metaphor' won for him his nickname of 'Met' which long outlasted its origin and which only faded out when he became Abbot. The name of 'Metaphor' was so universal, that a small boy from Newfoundland thought it his official title, and by some subtle law of phonetic analogy, wrote to his father to complain of the 'Midaver's' severity.
Fr Edmund's influence on the academic side was threefold. His first aim, as we have said, was to lay down a solid groundwork of classical knowledge and to hold up an ideal of classical scholarship: his emphasis was always on accuracy and thoroughness, and when we reached the Sixth Form, we used to wonder how any man could feel such genuine enthusiasm for the intricacies of Bradley and Sidgwick.
More comprehensible to us was the delight he took in the Odes of Horace as the De Corona, and he succeeded in instilling even into our Philistine brains something of his own appreciation.
This classical culture he owed mainly of course to Oxford: but one has only learnt since that his keen interest in literature and poetry was a native growth, fostered by Fr Anselm Wilson and by Fr Abbot Smith, when a Canon at Belmont. One of his first innovations as Head Master was to institute the Senior Literary and Debating Society, of which he was himself the Chairman: and I have heard the present Chairman lament the fact that to-day it is more a Debating Society and less a Literary Society than it was. His truly headmagisterial tendency to leaven all topics with classical or poetical allusions became a well known characteristic for which we were always on the look out; and I can remember him on such an unpromising occasion as a Natural History Society meeting seizing the occasion to direct our botanical instincts to an interest in classical legend and folklore.
But by far the greatest influence exerted by Fr Edmund, and the one most universally felt, was what we can only describe as the general 'gingering up' of the studies. I don't suppose there was a boy in the school who did not come directly under this influence, whether taught by Fr Edmund or not. All my contemporaries will recollect the stillness as of death that came over the Big Study in preparation time when Fr Edmund appeared at the door: I don't think we did much work during the time he was there: we were too paralysed; and how many of us have deplored our fate at the beginning of term on finding, we had an 'outside' desk, and how many of us have sat there staring at our wretched efforts at a Latin prose, as he stood just behind us, and waiting for the inevitable finger to come down on one of our many 'howlers'. And with what beating hearts some of us have stood on the mat outside his door, plucking up courage to knock, and present him with our note for 'four penance classes!'
Perhaps our first surprise, and our first sigh of relief, in weighing up our new Head Master, came with the realisation that he was very nearly as keen on our games as on our studies, and with the rumour that went round that in his own school days he had been a first-rate centre forward. He was human after all; he had been a boy himself: and his horizon was not completely bounded by Demosthenes and Cicero. As the years went by, this truth became more and more evident: and it was a real pleasure to hear him in recent years, when he addressed the school on the presentation of Cups and Sports Prizes, speaking with equal authority and conviction on Rugger, Cricket or Athletics, as he would on the winning of scholarships or on the European situation.
We learnt from him that this 'thoroughness' that he was always preaching, had to show itself in our games just as much as in our work: that if we were put in a certain position on the cricket field, we were there to field the ball, and to catch it, and we had no business to miss it. The present writer was almost as afraid of his appearance on the cricket field as in the Big Study: a catch always came, while he was watching, and was always missed; and one heard, or fancied one heard, his muttered 'You great muff.'
A great Head Master: but also a great priest and a great monk. And we felt it and realised it as boys, with growing consciousness as we went up the school, and with a fuller realisation still when we had left and looked back upon him.
His holiness was the basis and the secret of his success; and it was also the explanation of the deep personal affection that we had for him. Here was a man who lived not for himself, but for God - and for us. We were his interest, his work, his hobby even; and he worked for us, and worked at us because he believed in us.
We had constantly before us the model of a holy and upright man: a man of principle, a man of extraordinary delicacy and sensitiveness where God and his duty were concerned. There was no compromise in his make-up in matters of right and wrong: and it was an experience that no boy present will ever forget to listen to the strength of his inspired rhetoric (when really moved he was the finest orator I have ever heard) on the few occasions that he addressed us as the result of a 'school row.'
God grant him eternal rest for his life of unselfish labour.
JAMES EDMUND MATTHEWS 7 April 1939
Abbot of Ampleforth from 1924 to his death
1871 22 Jan Born Eccleston Lancs
1884-88 Educ Ampleforth
1888 3 Sep Habit at Belmont
1889 9 Sep Professed
1891 17 May Minor Orders
1893 1 Feb Solemn Orders Ampleforth
30 Apr Subdiaconate
1895 31 Mar Diaconate
1896 22 Mar Priesthood
1897 Oct Opened under Prior Burge the Ampleforth house of studies at Oxford
1901 $$ Took his degree (LitHum) being the first Benedictine monk to do since the Reformation
Tutored our students at Oxford
1903 Sep 1st Headmaster of Ampleforth until Dec 1924
1903-09 Subprior
1909-16 Aug Prior
1916 Sep Elected as delegate to the General Chapter
1924 Dec Abbot
1925 12 Mar Received the Abbotal Blessing from Bishop Shine
1932 Dec First 8 years of abbot expired but was re-elected for a further term of 8 years
1939 7 Apr Died somewhat suddenly though not unexpected in the early hours of Good Friday
Buried at Ampleforth amid a gathering of Bishops, Abbots, $$ monks - a being preached by Mgr Ronald Knox.
He was buried on the hill at Ampleforth among his monks