‘The Idylls
of the King,’ he loved them well,
And well I mind when we were boys at school
How we would sit on Sunday nights around
His study fire, he standing in the midst,
Leaning against the mantel, book in hand
Which half he knew by heart – his stirring voice
And kindling eye in perfect harmony
With the brave tales he told. Right cause had he
To love and understand the noble verse
For he in simple truth was pure in heart
Through years of self-restraint and earnest toil,
And fit as Galahad to find the Grail.
As Gareth was he cheery, brave and strong,
Eager to do the work and let the praise
Fall to another; and as it is told
In the same story how Sir Lancelot
Was first in tourney, yet in battle’s din,
When driving back the heathen, then the King,
Arthur himself, rode far beyond his knights,
Seeming afire with more than mortal strength,
So was it with our friend that now is gone.
For he was very childlike in his way,
Easy to please, ready to be borne down
In simple matters of the daily round,
But when the issue lay ‘twixt Right or Wrong’
Then no man could stand up and block his path.
And you who now are boys, and lately felt
The cheering, hearty tone his presence cast
Amongst all those he lived with, and who feel
Most bitterly the cruel blank to-day,
We, who are old ones now with less to hope
And much more to regret than you can have,
Do charge you now most solemnly to keep
Clear and defin’d his memory in your hearts,
Just as the Greeks of old did carve in stone,
That make men marvel in these latter days,
Statues to heroes whom they lov’d, so you
Carve in your hearts a memory of this man.
Much, as the years roll onward, you may learn,
Some riches gain, and others power or fame,
But we have felt the struggle, something seen
Of what men call the World, and found much false
That once we thought was true, have fallen down
Or risen up as was our lot or strength;
And we do tell you that you will not find
Where’er your path may lead, a better man,
Or one more worthy of remembrance,
If any be who feel they owe him aught
For kindly sympathy and sacrifice
Made for their sake, the best thanks they can give,
Is so to bend their lives, their names may stand
Fit to be written on the scroll of time.
And this I write, who have not skill to write,
Out of the love I bore him who is gone
O.F.
John
Shapland Yeo was born in 1860 at Stonehouse, Gloucestershire.
His parents were John Yeo and Emma Matilda Spearing and grandparents,
James Yeo & Elizabeth Shapland. His parents had moved to
Gloucester in the early 1850's and had a grocery and drapery
business. John Shapland Yeo was obviously a very intelligent
boy, who had a mathematical talent. He was educated at Blundels
School in Tiverton, Devon and then was awarded a scholarship
to St John's College, Cambridge. Whilst at Cambridge University
he was ranked as the second wrangler in the Cambridge Tripos.
