RUDYARD KIPLING - FREEMASON

TRANSACTION OF THE PLYMOUTH AND DISTRICT MASTERS' LODGE
1944

Paper written by W. Bro. S.J. Bowers, P.P.S.G.W. (Surrey) 

EVERYBODY who has read a fair amount of Kipling knows that he was a
Mason.  Again, everybody knows that certain of his verses and stories have
a definite Masonic theme.  One example is "The Mother Lodge" - that
picture of his own Mother Lodge in Lahore; Lodge Hope and Perseverance,
782 E.C., of which he was Secretary before he was 21.  Another is that
fantastic story which is told in the offices of the Civil and Military Gazette,
also at Lahore - "The Man who would be King" - in which those two
European loafers, Peachey Carnehan and David Dravot adventure into the
wilds of Kafiristan, where they discover the F C degree in existence and run
the country, until the final tragedy, as Master Masons.  These, and several
entire stories in Debits and Credits, refer quite openly to Masonry in a way
that is perfectly obvious to the non-Mason.

But scattered throughout his works there are a large number of other
Masonic references which are not recognised as such by the outside world,
because they were clearly written for the eyes of Masons alone, and only
Masons can discover them.  We do the same sort of thing ourselves, in
phrases we use, sometimes half unconsciously.  For instance, in declining
a rather risky business deal, one man might say: "In my business I've learnt
to be careful"; whilst another might say, "In my business I've been taught
to be cautious." Both phrases mean the same thing, but - as they say on
the wireless - one of the speakers was probably a Mason: was it (a) or was
it (b).

And that, in effect, is what Kipling does. One suddenly comes across a
phrase or an incident which has a double meaning - a private link between
his Masonic reader and himself, which he knew, when he wrote it, no one
else would understand.  Those are the incidents and phrases I want
specially to bring out in this talk; but as I also realise that no reference to
Kipling as a Mason would be complete without dealing with the obvious
Masonic references as well, I propose to start at the beginning - which in
this case means starting at the end.

The last book Kipling wrote was his autobiography - "Something of Myself"
- and the last words in it are characteristic. They end the final chapter,
called, by the way, "Working Tools" in which he describes his study and its
fittings "Left and right of the table were two big globes, on one of which a
great airman had once outlined, in white paint, those air routes to the East
and Australia which were well in use before my death." But apart from that
striking ending, the charm of the book is that as you read through his life,
you begin to notice that almost every little incident in that life has been
transmuted into gold in one or other of his stories.  For instance, "Baa Baa
Black Sheep" and the early part of "The Light that Failed" are faithful and
detailed reproductions of his unhappy early childhood.  "Stalky and Co," as
everyone knows, pictures his own school, "Westward Ho-now the Imperial
Services College." Stalky - otherwise General Dunsterville - is still very much
alive, and readers of any of his books will appreciate that the character of
Stalky was not overdrawn.

Kipling's life in Villiers Street, after he came back from India, is the
foundation of the middle part of "The Light that Failed," and provides most
of the characters in Brugglesmith.  His early days in Lahore, on the Civil
and Military Gazette, form the back-cloth for the Man who would be King.
He also admits that when he was a constant visitor at Mian Mir, he found
the originals of his "Soldiers Three" in the 2/5th Fusiliers, the 30th East
Lancs, and a third Regiment which he describes as "a London recruited
regiment of skilful dog stealers." I quote the exact description of the last
regiment as a matter of local interest, because they were the 31st East
Surreys.

The point of all those instances, and many others I've not mentioned, is
that Kipling, a true journalist, wrote of things as they happened, as and
when he saw them, and then passed on to use fresh material as his
experiences enlarged and varied.  As a result, once you know his life, you
can place almost any isolated story in its correct period simply by the
internal evidence.

But there is one incident which, unlike all the other, he didn't simply use
once and then cast aside.  This is how he describes that incident in
"Something of Myself " :-

"In 1885 I was made a Freemason by dispensation (Lodge Hope and
Perseverance 782 E.C.) being under age, because the Lodge hoped for a
good Secretary. They did not get him, but I helped, and got the Father to
advise, on decorating the bare walls of the Masonic Hall with hangings,
after the prescription of Solomons Temple.  Here I met Muslims, Sikhs,
members of the Araya and Bramo Samaj, and a Jew Tyler, who was priest
and butcher to his little community in the City. So yet another world opened
to me which I needed."

That's the pencil sketch.  Now see how faithfully he reproduced Lodge
Hope and Perseverance - not Hope and Perseverance Lodge, when he
wrote the Mother Lodge some years later - even to the "bare walls of the
Masonic Hall"; - let me repeat the rough sketch in prose again :-

"Here I met Muslims, Sikhs, members of the Araya and Bramo Samaj, and
a Jew Tyler, who was ripest and butcher to his little community in the City.

There was Rundle, Station Master, and Beazeley of the Rail
And 'Ackmann, Commissariat, and Donkin of the Tail
And Blake, Conductor Sergeant (our Master twice-was 'e)
With 'im that kep' the Europe shop - old Framjee Eduljee.
Outside: Sergeant? Sir! Salute! Salaam!
Inside: Brother! and it didn't do no 'arm.
We met upon the Level and we parted on the Square
And I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there.
We's Bola Natt, Accountant, and Saul, the Aden Jew.
And Din Mahommed, draughtsman of the Survey Office, too.
There was Babu Chuckerbutty, and Amir Singh, the Sikh
And Castro, from the fitting sheds - the Roman Catholick
We 'adn't good regalia, and our Lodge was old and bare
But we knew the Ancient Landmarks, and we kep' them to a hair
And looking on it backwards, it often strikes me thus,
There ain't such things as infidels - except perhaps it's us.
For monthly, after Labour, we'd all sit down and smoke
We dursen't give no banquits, lest a Brother's caste be broke
And man and man got talkin', religion and the rest
And every man comparin' the God he knew the best.
So man an' man got talkin' and not a Brother stirred
Till mornin' waked the parrots and that dam brain fever bird
We'd say 'twas mighty curious, and we'd all ride home to bed
With Mohammed, God, and Shiva changing pickets in our 'ed.
Full oft, on Gov'ment service, this roving foot hath pressed
And borne fraternal greetings to Lodges East and West
Accordin' as commanded, from Kohat to Singapore
But I wish that I might see them in my Mother Lodge once more."

Before I go on, I want you to let your minds dwell for a moment on those
verses, and realise how perfectly Kipling paints a picture of an Indian Lodge
in the nineties.  To begin with, there is that phrase in the refrain: "We met
upon the Level and we parted on the Square."

In those days the Lectures were as familiar to the Masons as the actual
Ceremonies, and if you refer to the opening questions and answers in the
First Section of the First Lecture, you will find the quotation :-

Q. As F & A M's, how did you and I first meet? A. On the Square.
Q. How do we hope to part ? A. On the Level.

The exact ritual quotation therefore should have been "We parted on the
Level and we met upon the Square," but I think you'll agree that Kipling's
version is more musical and smoother; so that although he admits to an
early habit of not verifying his, references, there's no doubt that in this case
the inversion was deliberate.

Then there's another familiar touch: "We dursn't give no Banquits lest a
Brothers caste be broke." I remember being advanced in Mark Masonry,
some 27 years ago in Meerut, the Lodge being mainly composed of native
lawyers - men, of course, of good caste.  We had a banquet, it's true, but
the Hindoos preserved their caste by dining at a separate table, well away
from the remaining small minority, and so placed that our shadows could
not fall across it.  Towards the end of the banquet, I, as Can, was honoured
by having some of their food brought to me (after they had finished,
because anything I touched would have to be thrown away, in any case). 
The food in question consisted mainly of native curry and Ghi, - ghi being
native butter, which, if not actually rancid, was definitely a border line case;
so you can imagine how I appreciated the "honour."

The last portion of all, in the Mother Lodge, is that verse about bearing
fraternal greeting" - "accordin' as commanded." It used to be a regular
practice in Lodges overseas, for each visitor to stand in his place in Lodge,
after the Third rising, and give "Hearty Greetings, W.M. from Lodge Light in
the Himalayas 1448 E.C. - Lodge Mayo 1413 E.C. - and so on.  After the
last war Grand Lodge vetoed this custom, but in the Debits and Credits
volume, in one of the several Masonic stories dealing with the war-time
Lodge of Instruction working under Faith and Works 5837, Kipling gives this
idea of their effect:-

"Listen to the greetings. They'll be interesting."

"The crack of the great gavel brought us to our feet, after some surging and
plunging among the cripples.  Then the Battery Sergeant Major - in a
trained voice - delivered hearty and fraternal greetings to Faith and Works
from his tropical district and Lodge.  The others followed, without order, in
every tone between a grunt and a squeak. I heard 'Hauraki,'
'Inyanga-Umbezi,' 'Aloha,' 'Southern Lights' (from somewhere Punta Arenas
way), 'Lodge of Rough Ashlars ' - and that Newfoundland Naval Brother
looked it - two or three stars of something or other, half a dozen cardinal
virtues, variously arranged, hailing from Klondyke to Kalgoorlie, one Military
Lodge on one of the fronts, thrown in with a severe Scots burr by my friend
of the head bandages, and the rest as mixed as the Empire itself."

But I'm getting ahead of my chronology.  There's another illustration of
Masonry as it was in the nineties in "The Rout of the White Huzzars,"
published in his earliest volume of stories Plain Tales from the Hills."

The Masonic reference is quite incidental, but it's told in a way that makes
it intelligible to the Mason, but so in keeping with the rest of the story that
it arouses no suspicion - which is the point I want to bring out.  The tale
describes how a martinet Colonel nearly causes a mutiny in the White
Huzzars by ordering their favourite, the old drum horse, to be cast, and
how some bright young sparks, led by Lieut. Hogan-Yale, hid the old horse,
killed another in its stead, and then turned the old original drum horse
loose in the horse lines at twilight, decked with phosphorescent paint, and
ridden by something resembling a skeleton.  Result, panic on the part of
the White Huzzars, and the ultimate reinstatement of the old drum horse. 
The story ends like this:-

"A week later, Hogan Yale received an extraordinary letter from someone
who signed himself, 'Secretary, Charity and Zeal, 3709 E.C.,' and asked for
'the return of our skeleton, which we have reason to believe is in your
possession.'

"' Who the deuce is this lunatic who trades in bones,' said Hogan Yale.

"'Beg your pardon Sir,' said the Band Sergeant, 'but the skeleton is with
me, and I'll return it if you'll pay carriage to the Civil Lines. There's a coffin
with it, Sir.'

"Hogan Yale smiled and handed two rupees to the Band Sergeant, saying:
'Write the date on the skull, will you.'

"'If you doubt the story, and know where to go, you can see the date on
the skeleton.'"

Still keeping to the Indian period, and the early Lahore days, I suppose
"With the Main Guard" - in "Soldiers Three" - is the earliest instance of
Kipling's skill - and tremendous cheek - in introducing Masonry into his
stories in such a subtle way that the outsider would never notice it.  You will
remember that in this story Mulvaney is describing the hand to hand
fighting in one of the Afghan wars, in a narrow gut between two hills, with
the two British companies jammed right up against the Afghan reserve,
each side trying to cut its way through.

The o,/c Company, Capt. Crook, can't even get free space to use his sword 
- and then a set of familiar phrases leaps out of the page :--

"'Knee to knee,' sings out Crook wid a laugh, whin the rush of ourcomin'in
to the gut stopped, and he was huggin'a hairy great Pathan neither bein'
able to do anything to the other - though both was wishful. 'Breast to
Breast,' he says, as the Tyrone was pushing us forward closer and closer.

"'And hand over Back,' says a Sergeant who was behind. I saw a sword lick
past Crook's ear, and the Pathan was tuk in the apple of his throat, like a
pig in Dromeen fair.

"'Thank you, Brother Inner Guard,' says Crook, cool as a cucumber widout
salt. 'I wanted that room.'"

To you, as Masons, this sounds pretty barefaced; but I can assure you that
when I read this tale for the first time, long before I was initiated, the only
part that struck me as unusual was the reference to the "Inner Guard" - and
I thought that had some Army reference to Guard duties.  To show you
how the layman can miss the most obvious Masonic reference, there is the
well-known instance - in print - of the misguided critic who reviewed "The
Man who would be King." But before I give you that instance, perhaps I had
better make the story clearer by reading just one extract, in which Dravot
discovers the existence of the Fellow Crafts degree:-

"Peachey." says Dravot, "we don't want to fight no more. The Craft's the
trick, so help me," and he brings forward that same chief I left at Bashkai
- Billy Fish, we called him, because he was so like Billy Fish that drove the
big tank engine on the Bolan in the old days.

"Shake hands with him," says Dravot, and I shook hands and nearly
dropped, for Billy Fish gave me the Grip.  I said nothing, but tried him with
the Fellow Craft Grip.  He answers all right, and I tried the Masters Grip, but
that was a slip. "A Fellow Craft he is," I says to Dan. "Does he know the
Word? - "He does," says Dan and all the priests know.  They can work a
Fellow Crafts Lodge in a way that's very like ours, and they've cut the
marks on the rocks, but they don't know the Third Degree and they've
come to find out.  A God and a Grand Master of the Craft am I, and a
Lodge in the Third Degree I will open.  

"It's against all law," I says, "holding a Lodge without warrant from anyone;
and you know we never held office in any Lodge,"

Anyway, they open the Lodge, and this is what happens:-

"The minute Dravot puts on the Master's apron that the girls had made for
him, the priest fetches a howl, and tries to overturn the stone that Dravot
was sitting on. ' It's all up now,' I says. 'That comes of meddling with the
Craft without warrant.' Dravot never winked all eye, not when ten priests
took and tilted over the Grand Master's Chair - which was to say, the stone
of Imbra.  The priest begins; rubbing the bottom end of it and presently he
shows all the other priests the Master's Mark, same as was on Dravot's
apron, cut into the stone.  Not even the priests of the temple of Imbra knew
it was there.

"'Luck again,' says Dravot across the Lodge to me. 'They say it's the
missing mark that no one could understand the why of.' Then he bangs the
butt of his gun for a gavel and says: 'By virtue of the authority vested in me
by my own right hand and the help of Peachey, I declare myself Grand
Master of all Freemasonry in Kafiristan in this the Mother Lodge of the
country.' At that he puts on his crown and I puts on mine - I was doing
Senior Warden - and we opens the Lodge in most ample form."

This, of course, is Masonry obvious to any layman, but apparently the critic
I mentioned just now didn't appreciate it.  At the beginning of this story, the
narrator (Kipling) meets Peachey Carnehan at a desert junction in
Rajputana, and is instructed how to find Dravot and give him a message. 
Peachey backs his appeal in an odd way: "You'll give him my message,"
he says, "for the sake of my mother as well as your own."

Remember this was in Kipling's earlier days, when the literary pundits
regarded him as a precocious stripling who required chastening for the
good of his soul.  And so the critic seized on this phrase, and played with
it at some length. "In that phrase," he points out, "Kipling's literary judgment
forsakes him. He strikes an excruciatingly false note - false in sentiment and
judgment, in that appeal 'for the sake of their respective mothers.' How
unlikely, and how futile," he says.

You can imagine how Kipling himself, and every other Mason who read it,
must have chuckled at that criticism.  To appreciate the completeness of
the "sell," let me quote the whole passage:-

"The idea is that Carnehan wants most urgently to get this message to
Dravot, who can be found at Marwar junction, and so he takes a chance -
not a very long chance in the India of those days - that the casual
acquaintance he has met may be a Mason.  And he finds out like this

"'I ask you as a stranger going to the West,' he said with emphasis.
"'Where have you come from,' said I.
"'From the East,' says he, 'and I'm hoping you'll give him the message on
the Square - for the sake of my Mother as well as your own.' 
"Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the mothers, but for
certain reasons - which will be fully apparent - I saw fit to agree."

In those days, as no doubt many of you know, one of the opening gambits
with a suspected Mason was "How old is your Mother" - the answer being
the name and number of your Mother Lodge. If an obvious reference like
that revealed nothing to the layman - not even to the lay critic - how safe
were the subtleties of other stories! Take "The Captive" for instance - a story
of the South African war, from "Traffics and Discoveries," where you get the
first mention of that doughly American inventor, Laughton O. Zigler. He is
discovered as a prisoner of war, and, in conversation, tells the story of his
famous gun, which, in despair of the red tape of the British War Office, he
finally uses against them, on the side of the Boers, to prove its worth.  The
British capture his gun, and the scene opens with the narrator (Kipling)
approaching the prisoners bathing parade, with a bundle of newspapers as
a bribe.

"At the edge of the beach, cross-legged, undressed to his sky blue Army
shirt, I saw a lean ginger haired man, on guard over a dozen heaps of
clothing.
"'Excuse me, Mister,' he said without turning (and the speech betrayed his
nationality), 'would you mind keeping away from those garments? I've been
elected janitor - on the Dutch vote.' 
"'Have you any use for papers,' says the visitor.
"'Have I any use! Why, that's the Noo York postmark! The American Tyler
of all things created.  Do you subscribe to that.'
"'I'm on the freerlist,' said the visitor nodding.  He extended his blue tanned
hand with that Oriental Spaciousness which distinguishes the native born
American, and met the visitor's grip expertly. 'I can only say that you've
treated me like a Brother.'
"And then he tells the story of his gun in action.  'The way we worked
Lodge was this,' and then he describes how he loosed off at them at 8.42
a.m., and how, in about half an hour, the British moved out against him. 
'Lying down and firing till 11.45 a.m. or maybe High Noon.  Then we'd go
from labour to refreshment, resoomin' at 2 p.m. and battling till tea time.'" 
You see how ingeniously all those phrases we know so well are dovetailed
in to the dialogue, so neatly that they have a perfectly natural meaning as
well as a Masonic one.  There's another very good example of this in a later
story, "The Dog Heryey," published in 1914.  It deals with the daughter of
a rascally doctor, who patched up dipsomaniacs, insured their lives heartily
in his favour, and then turned them loose on the world "with an appetite."
One of them, a yachtsman, has fallen in love with the daughter, who, by the
way, owns an ugly dog with an odd characteristic - it squints.  The narrator
of the story, who knows both the girl - and the dog - is the yachtsman's
guest on board, and is trying to humour his host during what he first
believes to be an attack of the "jim james." The host thinks he sees a dog,
and the narrator, of course, pretends that he sees it too:-

"'What's the dog like?' I asked.
"'Ah! That is comforting of you! Most men walk through them to show me
they aren't real.  As if I didn't know! But you're different.  Anybody could
see that with half an eye.' He stiffened and pointed, 
'Damn it all, the dog sees it too - with half an ... Why! He knows you! Do
you know him?'
"'How can I tell if he isn't real,' I insisted.
"'But you can! ... I beg your pardon, old man, but you see, you do know 
the dog. I'll prove it. What's the dog doing? You know.' A tremor shook
him, and he placed his hand on my knees and whispered: 
"'I'll letter or halve it with you.  You begin.'
"'S,' said I; to humour; for a dog would most likely be standing or sitting,
or maybe scratching or sniffing or staring.
"'Q,' be went on, and I could feel the heat of his shaking hand.
"'U,' I said.  There was no other letter possible, but I was shaking too.
"'I' - 'N' -- T - I - N - G he ran out. There! That proves it!"

You see how the spelling of the word, by keeping up the suspense, only
appears to be a dramatic intensification of the story; and it fits in so
naturally that the non-Mason would see nothing.  Besides giving direct
quotations from the ritual, there are several instances in which Kipling
paraphrases it - but once again this is done in such a way that while the
elect recognise it at once, the outside world only see it as a relevant part
of the story.  A good instance of this - not in story, but in verse - is that
early ballad "The Sons of the Widow." It was written at the time Queen
Victoria had entirely withdrawn herself from public affairs, after the death of
Prince Consort, and was known throughout the Empire as the Widow of
Windsor. The verses are frankly Jingo and Imperialistic in tone, and start off
like this:-

'Ave you 'eard of the Widow at Windsor,
With an Hairy gold crown on 'er'ed.
She 'as ships on the foam, she 'as millions at 'ome
And she pays us pore beggars in red.

and the first refrain runs :-

Then 'eres to the Widow at Windsor
And 'eres to the stores and the guns.
The men and the 'orses, that make up the forces
Of Missis Victorier's sons.

The second refrain, however, reminds us of the close connection between
the Army in India and Masonry in India:-

Then 'eres to the Lodge of the Widow
From the Poles to the Tropics it runs.
The Lodge that we tile with the rank and the file
And open in form with the guns.

and having introduced the Masonic motif, you can almost see Kipling's
mind working.  Missis Victorier's sons. . . . Sons of the widow of Windsor....
Sons of the Widow - All Master Masons are Brothers to HAB who was a
Widow's Son. . . . And so, in the last refrain, you get the phrase with a
double meaning this time.  To the general reader, it fits perfectly with what
has gone before; but to the Mason it recalls those poor and distressed
Sons of the Widow, who are not necessarily in the Army.  Here it is:-

Then 'eres to the Sons of the Widow
Wherever, 'owever they roam,
'Eres all they desire, and if they require
A speedy return to their 'ome."

Who but a Mason would realise that this was the Tyler's Toast.

"There's another, parody rather than a paraphrase of the ritual in one of his
many Machinert stories, '.007,' a tale of the marshalling yards - of
Pennsylvania - in which the plot unfolds mainly in conversation between
various railway engines. .007, the newcomer, is being badgered by the
older engines, like a new boy at school.  The rudest of the lot is a big
express freight engine, the Great Mogul, who's so rude that even Poney,
the little shunting engine, thinks he's gone too far. 'Split my tubes,' says
Poney, but that ain't acting polite to a new member of the Brotherhood.'

"There being a capital 'B' to Brotherhood,' one naturally looks for more, and
gets it.  Poney explains to .007, when the millionaires luxury express
thunders by, that it's drawn by the Purple Emperor, doing 75 miles per
hour. 'Yes, sir,' says Poney. 'Seventy-five an hour.  But he'll talk to you in
the round house just as democratic as I would. He's Master of our Lodge. 
I'll introduce you some day.' The introduction comes in due course, but in
the meantime the pride of the big freight engine, the Great Mogul, has had
a great fall.  He runs off the track, scatters his expensive freight in a field,
and has to be pulled back on the rails by .007. When the round house have
done commenting on this feat, to the glory of .007 and the detriment of the
Great Mogul, the Purple Emperor arrives. 'Let me make you two gentlemen
acquainted,' says Poney.  'This is our Purple Emperor, kid, whom you were
admiring last night.  This is our new Brother Worshipful Sir,, with most of
his mileage ahead of him; but so far as a serving Brother can, I'll answer
for him.' 'Happy to meet you,' said the Purple Emperor, with a glance
round the crowded house, 'I guess there are enough of us to form a full
meeting.  H'm! By virtue of the authority in me vested as Head of The
Road, I hereby declare and pronounce No. .007 a full and accepted Brother
of the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Locomotives, and as such entitled to
all shop, switch, tank, track, and round house privileges throughout my
jurisdiction, in the Degree of Superior Flyer.  At a convenient time, I myself
will communicate to you the Song and Signal of the Degree, whereby you
may be recognised on the darkest night.  Take your stall, newly entered
Brother amongst Locomotives!'"

This of course is not actual Ritual, but a very close imitation, and although
"declare and pronounce" came out of the Book of Common Prayer -
another of Kipling's sources of inspiration - the rest may fairly be credited
to the Obligation in the 1st degree.

When Kipling settled in Sussex and produced those two wonderful fairy
tales for children and grown-ups called "Puck of Pooks Hill," and "Rewards
and Fairies," he still found opportunities for sly Masonic references, and as
the stories are period pieces, his Masonry conforms to the period.  In the
Roman stories in "Puck," for instance, the cult of Masonry which he found
in the British legions in India is matched by the cult of Mithras in the Roman
Legions on the Great Wall.  There are several references, but here is a
typical one, from "Winged Hats," where Parnesius, the Roman centurian,
who is narrating the story to the children, tells how he rescued one of the
invading Danes who had been washed ashore.

"'As I stooped, I saw he wore such a chain as I wear' - Pamesius raised his
hand to his neck.  Therefore, when he could speak, I addressed to him a
certain question which can only be answered in a certain manner.  He
answered with the necessary Word - the Word that belongs to the degree
of Gryphons in the science of Mithras, my God."

In "Rewards and Fairies" there's a story called "The Wrong Thing" which is
told by an operative Mason in the time of Henry VII. Dan and Una, the two
children who act as compare and commere, as it were, both in "Puck" and
"Rewards," are in Mr. Springett's workshop, where the old gentleman has
been telling them how he built the village hall, not for profit, but for the joy
of the work as a Craftsman.  Then Hal of the Draft appears, known to the
children as a Tudor workman but of course unknown to Mr. Springett.

"'Be you the builder of the village Hall? 'Hal asks Mr. Springett
"'I be,' was the answer, 'but if yon want a job. . . .'
"Hal laughed. 'No, faith,' he said; 'only the Hall is as good and honest a
piece of work as I've ever run my rule over, and being born hereabouts,
and being reckoned a Master amongst Masons, and Accepted as a Master
Mason, I made bold to pay my respects for the builder.'
"'Ah - Um!' - Mr. Springett looked important. 'I be a bit rusty, but I'll try ye."'

He asked Hal several curious questions, and the answers seemed to please
him, for he motioned him to sit down.  Whilst I'm on this volume of
"Rewards and Fairies," there's another extract I want to give yon, which
might not be intelligible to everyone but which has always puzzled me very
much, because Kipling never went through the Chair of any Lodge.  The
story, "Brother Square Toes," is told as usual to Dan and Una; this time, by
Pharaoh, a gypsy Frenchman who went to America at the time of George
Washington, was adopted by two Indian chiefs, and as a boy, was taken
by them to listen in to a conference at which they hoped to learn
Washington's intentions as regards war with England.  They learn it; and
when the rest of his Council have left and they face Washington alone, they
salute him. (We all know, of course, that Washington was a Mason.)

This is how Pharaoh describes the salute:-

"'I saw my Chief's war bonnets sinking down and down.  Then they made
that sign which no Indian makes outside of the Medicine Lodges; a sweep
of the right hand just clear of the dust, and an inbend of the right knee at
the same time - and those proud eagle feathers almost touched his boot
top.'

"'What did it mean? said Dran.
"'Mean! 'Pharaoh cried. 'Why, it's what you ... what we ... it's the Sachems
way of sprinkling the sacred corn in front of ... Oh, it's a piece of Indian
compliment really, and it signifies that you're a very big Chief.'"

Rulers in the Craft will agree with me that it does! Finally, I want to give you
some idea of Kipling's views on the teachings of Freemasonry, which he
details in one of his later works, that collection of tales known as "Debits
and Credits." In this volume, he writes quite openly about Masonry, making
it the introduction and background of two of his stories, and the main
theme of one of them.  That one is the first of the series, and is called, "In
the Interests of the Brethren." In the hope that some of you may not have
read it, I'll try and give you a precis.

The story starts with a description of Kipling's meeting with Mr. Burges, in
his tobacconists' shop:-

"We shook hands, and 'What's your name,' we both asked together.
"His name was Lewis Holrod Burges, of Burges & Son, as I might have
seen above the door - but Son had been killed in Egypt.
"(It was then that he told me of Son Lewis's death, and why the boy had
been christened Lewis.)
" . . . One morning, a wounded Canadian came into the shop and disturbed
our little committee.
"'Say! 'he began loudly, 'are you the right place?'
"'Who sent you,' Mr. Burges demanded.
"'A man from Messines; but that ain't the point.  I've got no Certificates nor
papers nor nothing, you understand.  I left my Lodge owing 'em seventeen
dollars back dues.  But this man at Messines told me it wouldn't make any
odds with you.'
"'It doesn't,' said Mr. Burges. 'We meet to-night at 7 p.m.' 
"'The man's face fell a yard. 'Hell!' said he,' but I'm in hospital -I can't get
leaf.'
"'And Tuesdays and Fridays at 3 p.m.,' Mr. Burges added promptly. 'You'll
have to be proved, of course.'
"'Guess I can get by that all right,' was the cheery reply. 'Toodsday,  then.'
"He limped off, beaming.
"(As a result of this conversation, the narrator gets an invitation to tea, and
Lodge afterwards.) . . .
"At tea time Mr. Burges was dressed as for church, and wore gold
prince-nez in lieu of the silver spectacles. I blessed my stars that I had
thought to change into decent clothes.

"'Yes, we owe that much to the Craft,' he assented. 'All Ritual is fortifying.
Ritual's a natural necessity for mankind. I abhor slovenly Ritual anywhere.
By the way, would you mind assisting at the examinations is there are
many Visiting Brothers to-night? You'll find some of them very rusty, but it's
the Spirit, not the Letter, that giveth life.' 
"We stumbled up a porch and entered a carefully decorated anteroom hung
around with Masonic prints.  I noticed Peter Gilkes and Barton Wilson,
fathers of 'Emulation' working, in the place of honour; Kneller's Christopher
Wren; Dunkerley, with his own FitzGeorge book plate below and the bend
sinister on the Royal Arms; and a beautifully framed set of Grand Masters
from Anthony Sayers down. I have never seen a Lodge room better fitted.
From mosaicked floor to appropriate ceiling, from curtain to pillar,
implements to seats, seats to lights, and little carved music loft at one end,
every detail was perfect in particular kind and general design.  I said what
I thought of them all, many times over.

"'I told you I was a Ritualist,' said Mr. Burges. 'look at those carved corn
sheaves and grapes on the back of these Wardens' chairs.  That's the old
tradition - before Masonic furnishers spoilt it I picked up that pair in Stepney
ten years ago - the same time I got the gavel This was of ancient yellowed
ivory, cut all in one piece out of some tremendous tusk '
"'That came from the Gold Coast,' he said. 'It belonged to a Military Lodge
there in 1794.'
" . . . (In the examination room, the narrator finds that the Brethren 'come
all shapes,' with one exception.)
"I mistrusted an enormous Sergeant Major of Heavy Artillery, who struck me
as much too glib, so I sent him on to Bro. Lemming, who discovered he
was a Past District Grand Officer.'
" . . . When they get into the Lodge room, Kipling decides, at long last, to
give the uninstructed and popular world - i.e. the great bulk of his readers
- some sort of an idea is to what it's all about.  This is how he does it:-

"Now a Lodge of Instruction is mainly a parade ground for Ritual.  It cannot
initiate or confer degrees, but is limited to rehearsals and lectures. 
Worshipful Brother Burges, resplendent in Solomon's Chair, briefly told the
visiting Brethren how welcome they were and always would be, and asked
them to vote what ceremony should be rendered for their instruction.  When
the decision was announced, be wanted to know whether any Visiting
Brethren would take the duties of Lodge officers.  They protested bashfully
that they were too rusty.  When the visitors had been coaxed to supply the
necessary officers, a ceremony was rehearsed.  Brother Burges forbade the
regular members to prompt.  The Visitors had to work entirely by
themselves, but on the Battery Sergeant-Major taking a hand, he was ruled
out as of too exalted rank.  They floundered badly after that support was
withdrawn. . . ."
"When the amateurs, rather red and hot, had finished, they demanded an
exhibition working of their bungled ceremony by Regular Brethren of the
Lodge.  Then I realised for the first time what word-and-gesture-perfect
Ritual can be brought to mean. . . ."
"Presently Bro. Burges touched on a point which had given rise to some
diversity of Ritual.  He asked for information. 'Well, in Jamaica Worshipful
Sir,' a Visiting Brother began, and explained how they worked the detail in
his parts.  Another and another joined in from different quarters of the
Lodge (and the world)." . . .

"(After the greetings, which I read to you earlier, the Brethren are played
and sung out to, the quaint tune of the 'Entered Apprentices' Song.'

"The Brother (a big boned clergyman) that I found myself next to at table,
told me the custom was a 'fond thing, vainly invented' on the strength of
some old legend.  He laid down that Masonry should be regarded as 'an
intellectual abstraction.' An officer of Engineers disagreed with him and told
us how in Flanders, a year before, some ten or twelve Brethren held Lodge
in what was left of a church. Save for the emblems of mortality and plenty
of rough ashlars, there was no furniture.

"'I warrant you weren't a bit the worse for that,' said the clergyman. 'The
idea should be enough, without the trappings.' 
"'But it wasn't,' said the other. 'We took a lot of trouble to make our regalia 
out of camouflage stuff we'd pinched, and we manufactured our jewels
from old metal. It kept us happy for weeks."'

So the conversation goes round the table, in the way that only Kipling can
describe it.  I should like to read more of it, because, to my mind, it is the
most arresting part of this and all the other Masonic stories in this volume. 
In Kipling's hands, it shows us that the essential fraternal communion takes
place after Lodge, at what we, somewhat wistfully nowadays, term the
Banquet.  That is where, if we do our job properly, we seniors can see that
our Brethren make a daily advancement in Masonic knowledge; and that
is why the verses at the beginning of this story are called "Banquet Night."
Like all the "Songs from Books," they are a summary or commentary, from
a different angle, on the story which follows.

Let me prove it by repeating them:-

Once in so often, King Solomon said,
Watching his quarrymen drill the stone,
We will club our garlic and wine and bread
And banquet together beneath my Throne.
And all the Brethren shall come to that mess
As Fellow Craftsmen-no more and no less.

Send a swift shallop to Hiram of Tyre
Floating and felling our beautiful trees
Say that the Brethren and I desire
Talk with our Brethren who use the seas.
And we shall be happy to meet them at mess
As Fellow Craftsmen - no more and no less.

Carry this message to Hiram Abif
Excellent Master of forge and mine
I and the Brethren would like it, if
He and the Brethren will come to dine.
Garments of Bozrah or morning dress
As Fellow Craftsmen - no more and no less.

God gave the Hyssop and Cedar their place
Also the Bramble, the Fig, and the Thorn.
But that is no reason to black a man's face,
Because he is not what he hasn't been born.
And, as touching the Temple, I hold and profess
We are Fellow Craftsmen, no more and no less.

The Quarries are hotter than Hiram's forge
No one is safe from the dog whip's reach
Its mostly snowing up Lebanon gorge
And its always blowing on Joppa beach.
But, once in so often, the messenger brings
Solomon's mandate: "Forget these things.
Brother to Beggars and Fellow to Kings
Companion of Princes - forget these things,
Fellow Craftsman, forget these things."

And to-day, brethren, after five years of war and destruction, those words
are still true.  Once in so often, we too, in Masonry, are permitted to - forget
these things.

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