In Memoriam: Charles Edward Mathews
Although it is not customary to insert in the Journal the “Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club Annual Report” which is issued each Autumn, I am sure that the readers will approve of the reproduction from that ‘Report’ of a short but beautiful notice of the death of Mr. Mathews which was written by Mr. Lewis Moore.
“In Mr. C. E. Mathews, who died on Friday, October 20th, the day upon which he was to have given us one of his inimitable lectures, the Club loses one of its oldest members and a real and staunch friend. Elected an honorary member in 1892, his name appears in the list of honorary members published in the Club’s first report for the year 1892-1893. Upon February 4th, 1896, Mr. Mathews gave us his first Lecture entitled ‘The Story of Mont Blanc,’ the mountain with which his name will for all mountaineers be inseparably connected. From that evening the Yorkshire Ramblers have ever regarded him with increasing reverence and affection. On April 11th, 1902, he again lectured for us, giving his ‘Personal Reminiscences of Great Climbs.’ Fortunately, that Lecture is recorded in the pages of our Journal.[1] This year [1905] he honoured the Club by attending its Annual Dinner and proposing the toast of the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club in a speech of fascinating interest and eloquence,[2] which he concluded in the following words:-
‘I propose with all my heart the Health and Prosperity of the Yorkshire Ramblers’ Club. I am glad to have been associated with so gallant an institution. The future is fortunately hidden from us, but whether the time be long or short during which I may be permitted to answer to my name when the muster roll is called, believe at least, that l do not forget, and do not wish to be forgotten.’
Mr. Mathews was a member of whom the Club was justly proud. A Founder and Past President of The Alpine Club, the creating spirit and First President of the Climbers’ Club, with the unique record of fifty years of climbing, during which he ascended nearly all the great peaks in the Alps, he was a mountaineer without fear and without reproach, a speaker of forceful and delightful eloquence, and a man of great charm and character. We Yorkshire Ramblers consider it a great honour and privilege, for which we shall ever be thankful, that his name should have been enrolled upon our list of members, and we mourn his loss with very keen regret.”
As one who has had the privilege of Mr. Mathews’ friendship for over a quarter of a century, I have been asked to add a few paragraphs to this notice.
We who turn so naturally to the everlasting hills to glean health, strength, and infinite pleasure, owe more to Mr. Mathews than we are aware of. By his lectures, numerous writings, and friendly intercourse, he raised the tone of the sport of mountaineering. No one recognised more than he the good which could be done, and has been done, by Clubs such as ours, and his words of advice and encouragement in the early days of the Yorkshire Ramblers’ existence did much for us, more probably than we shall ever realise. When urging us onward he never neglected the opportunity of pointing out the fact that mountains claim our respect as well as our love. In the valedictory address “The growth of Mountaineering,” which he read to the Alpine Club in December, 1880, when his term as President came to an end, are solemn words of warning. At the same time there is a delightful vein of optimism pervading it, in which he foreshadows the conquest of the Himalayas; at a time too when it was the fashion amongst many mountaineers to breathe the words “rarefaction of the air.” All who love the mountains should read this paper, nor should they neglect “The Alpine Obituary.”
No Yorkshireman ever loved “The Shores of Wharfe” more deeply and sincerely than did Mr. Mathews. Many a time have my wife and I accompanied him to those scenes so well known to the Yorkshire Ramblers. The drive over Barden Moor delighted him so much, that a few years ago he brought the Birmingham Shakespearian Society, of which he was the President, for two days to Wharfedale, driving from Skipton. Fortunately the weather was perfect, and those who were present will never forget the lovely evening spent in the garden of the Rectory at Bolton Abbey, the tea provided by Mrs. Howes, nor the dinner at the Devonshire Arms. Mr. Mathews, who presided at the latter, was in his very best form. Only one short year ago he went to Upper Wharfedale in high spirits too. How, on another visit, he appreciated a walk to ‘Norton Tower and Rylstone Cross and recited stanzas from “The White Doe of Rylstone” and enjoyed tea in a humble Craven inn! Then, too, how his romantic spirit was fired by a visit to Gordale Scar! We have indeed none but happy memories connected with our old friend. Nor can we forget his sojourn with us at Grasmere when we introduced him – a trustee of the Wordsworth memorial – to Dove Cottage, nor his enthusiasm on that occasion.
If Mr. Mathews were a delightful visitor, he was too an ideal host, as all can testify who have been privileged c to enjoy his hospitality at Caersaer at the foot of Plinlimmon, or at his home at Four Oaks.
It is good to have known such a man, to have possessed his close friendship, to have shared in his pleasures, and to have such a rich store of happy memories connected with him. Though I have been on many a British hill with him, I never met him at Chamonix. There his name is a household word, and he is mourned there as well as here. His great work, “The Annals of Mont Blanc,” was the result of years of research, but a labour of love. In years to come it will be even more recognised than it is to-day as a great mountain classic. I cannot do better than to conclude by quoting the two final paragraphs of the last chapter.
“Mountaineering has its lights and shades, but it is a pursuit which has added greatly and permanently to the sum of human happiness. Who shall measure the amount? Who is there who can sleep on a glacier in the moonlight, or by the camp fire amongst the lonely hills; who can listen to the music of the wind against the crags, or of the water falling far below; who can traverse the vast white solitudes in the night time under the silent stars; who can watch the rose of dawn in the east, or the great peaks flushed with carmine at sunset, without thoughts which it seems almost sacrilege to put into words, without memories which can never be effaced, for they sink into the soul!
Mont Blanc has now been known to five successive generations. Men may come and go, but its mighty summit ‘abides untroubled by the coming and going of the world.’ And to those who know it well and love it dearly, come often, in quiet hours, teeming thoughts which swarm like bees; sunny memories of successful endeavour, of transcendent beauty, and of priceless friendships, which have added health, and sweetness, and happiness to life.”
WM. CECIL SLINGSBY.