Part 13

The hideous top, totally inappropriate in style, was put up by Salvin in 1863, when the ancient bell tower of picturesque and suitable appearance was demolished. The operations carried out at that date were, of course, dignified by the name of “restoration”; as a matter of fact the unwieldy addition to the tower had not a vestige of archæological authority. It is much to be hoped that some day the ancient appearance of the tower will be restored, for the huge, ugly, and inappropriate slated roof constitutes an eyesore from almost every point of vantage from which the Castle can be viewed. Within quite recent years there could be seen, looming through an embrasure, the muzzle of an old cannon, which, according to a local legend, had been placed there by Cromwell in order to guard against any hostile move from the direction of Eton. During a recent visit to Windsor the writer was quite unable to locate either cannon or embrasure; presumably both have gone. This old curfew tower--the oldest part of the Castle, and said to have been built in the days of the Conqueror himself--has been peculiarly unfortunate. When Salvin constructed his abominable top he had the decency to leave the rest of the external structure alone, and in the writer’s Eton days, thirty years ago, almost all the old stonework and quaint little windows, cunningly contrived for bowmen to shoot through, remained as they had been built. Since then there have been two or three reparations; no doubt the decay of the stone made some renovations necessary. In the last of these, however, during which the whole of the exterior was refaced with an entirely different kind of stone, the original design of the tower, which, like all the work of the Normans, was very simple, has been tampered with, the result being that its ancient charm has been completely impaired. So is it that in this country, in spite of much meaningless gush and prattle of education and appreciation of art, almost every fine monument is by degrees vulgarised and destroyed. The curfew tower, it should be added, was one of the few parts of the Castle left untouched by George IV. in the very comprehensive remodelling of the whole stately pile by Wyattville.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] See page 204.

[5] Mr. Tucker in _Eton of Old_.

[6] See pages 38-40.

[7] See page 5.

[8] See _The Architectural History of the University of Cambridge and of the Colleges of Cambridge and Eton_, by the late Robert Willis, M.A., F.R.S., edited and brought up to date by the late John Willis Clark, M.A., Cambridge, at the University Press, 1886.

VII COLLEGE

Till the carrying out of the reforms initiated by Provost Hodgson in 1844 the treatment of the King’s scholars constituted little short of a public scandal, rendered the more iniquitous because College was the original Eton, and the lack of consideration and comfort shown to boys on the Foundation was directly contrary to the wishes of the Founder. No wonder was it that the number of those in College often fell far short of the appointed seventy, sometimes sinking as low as thirty-eight. In one year there were but six candidates for forty vacancies. The prospective advantages which a Colleger might reasonably expect at King’s College, Cambridge, were not enough to counterbalance the discomfort and degradation of existence in the great dormitory known as “Long Chamber,” besides which the expenses of a King’s scholar were little less than those of the well-fed and comfortably housed Oppidan, the cost of education on the Eton Foundation often falling not very far short of a hundred a year--a most extravagant outlay considering that a Colleger was cared for no better than a charity boy.

[SN: “THESE POOR BOYS”]

Glancing over the records of the treatment meted out to those whom Provost Hodgson rightly termed “these poor boys,” one wonders that the masters, who were perfectly acquainted with the state of affairs in College, made practically no protest. It must be remembered, however, that at that time all of them without exception had been Collegers themselves, and having come through the ordeal with comparative immunity from harm, probably had some sort of idea that the hardships and discomforts of life in College produced hardy and successful men. What these hardships and discomforts were may be realised from the view taken by an Insurance Company as to chances of life of any one who had undergone them. In 1826 Dr. Okes, when applying for an insurance policy, in reply to one of the questions put to him stated that “he had slept in Long Chamber for eight years,” on hearing which the chairman of the Board said, “We needn’t ask Mr. Okes any more questions.” Existence in the ill-kept and insanitary dormitory in question was calculated to promote only the survival of the fittest, and those who grew up to be healthy men might well be accounted “good lives.”

Whilst, as has been said, little protest was ever raised at Eton itself against the deliberate misinterpretation of the statutes with respect to the scholars, public opinion gradually became aroused, and many old Etonians, notwithstanding the intense _esprit de corps_ which has always been a characteristic of the school, joined in the chorus of unanimous reprobation which demanded reform. About 1834 the Eton authorities were violating not only the spirit but the letter of the ancient statutes.

[SN: BROKEN STATUTES]

The statutes required that the fines and land-tax should be applied to the common use (“ad communem utilitatem”), instead of which they were appropriated by the Provost and Fellows to their own use.

The statutes entitled the Fellows to £10 a year stipend, and 2s. a week, or £5, 4s. a year, for commons, whereas they had increased their stipend to £50 a year, and received in lieu of commons on an average £550 a year each, or £10, 11s. 6d. per week instead of 2s.

The statutes entitled the Provost and seven Fellows to allowances amounting in all to £200 per annum, but in practice they received nearly £7000.

The statutes required that the scholars should be supplied with dress and bedding; with all, in fact, “quae ad vestitum et lectisternia eorundem aliaque iis necessaria pertinent.” Nevertheless, with the exception of a coarse gown, the scholars received nothing appertaining to dress from the funds of the College.

The statutes provided ample allowances for breakfast, dinner, and supper, with the use of certain fisheries. In practice breakfast was omitted altogether, and for dinner the only kind of meat provided for the scholars throughout the year was mutton, which even if good in quality was not sufficient in quantity.

According to the statutes thirteen servitors were to wait upon the Provost, Fellows, and scholars in Hall, which arrangement had further developed into the Lower boys waiting upon the Upper, who in their turn performed the same menial offices for the Provost and his company on the occasions of their dining in the College Hall.

The statutes required that each scholar should be instructed free under the most strict oath to be taken by the Head and Lower Masters. In direct defiance of this each scholar was charged £6, 6s., the amount having been gradually increased to that sum.

The statutes allowed each Fellow a separate apartment, but such accommodation had long ceased to be sufficient for them, and instead they resided in spacious houses, free from taxes and the expense of repair, with stables and coach-houses attached.

The statutes enjoined that one room should be provided for every three boys, free from any expense. In 1834 upwards of forty boys slept in Long Chamber, whilst those who were lodged in the two adjoining rooms paid a sum of money annually to the second master.

The statute that any scholar during a short illness should be maintained at the College expense (if longer than a month, to receive a sum of money) was entirely ignored.

Finally, the statutes were required to be read to the scholars assembled in a body three times a year. This was never done; the scholars, moreover, were not allowed access to them.

It should also be added that the statute which forbade Fellows of the College to hold benefices had long been treated with utter contempt, they holding them to any amount.

If, however, the Eton authorities had contented themselves with merely breaking the statutes in the way of malversation of funds and the like, no particular outcry would in all probability have arisen. It was Long Chamber, and the state of affairs within its walls, which excited such indignation amongst those who, denouncing it as a sort of Bastille, clamoured for reform. Originally all the seventy scholars seem to have slept in the long dormitory above Lower School, but after 1716 the number became limited to about fifty-two. In that year the Lower Master, Thomas Carter, having given up his two rooms at the east end, eighteen Collegers were located in the rooms in question, being henceforth known as Carter’s Chamber and Lower Chamber.

[SN: LONG CHAMBER]

Long Chamber, about 172 feet long and 15 feet high, was in winter warmed, or rather not warmed, by two fire-places which were put in in 1784; before that there were no fires at all. Along each wall was a range of old oaken bedsteads which had been there for centuries, and between every bedstead a high desk, with a cupboard beneath, for each boy. The desk and cupboard, painted lead colour, contained all their belongings. There was no system of lighting except candles, to hold which no provision was made. The leaf of a book torn off, doubled, and a hole cut in the centre, formed the only candlestick which the Colleger had. If he wished to read in bed, the candle was removed from the pasteboard candlestick and stuck against the back of the old bedstead. Even if sleep overcame a boy reading in bed, and his candle burnt down to the wood, no harm came of it, the bedstead being well striped with charcoal, an evidence of the incombustible nature of the old oak. [After Long Chamber had been done away with, some little models of these ancient bedsteads were made out of wood black with age. The Rt. Hon. Lewis Harcourt’s Eton collection contains one.] All that happened was that it would not be long before he would be awakened by the unpleasant smell of the wood, or by a good tweak of the nose from his next-door neighbour, who would be angry at the annoyance. In winter the boys shivered with cold, most of the glass in the windows being usually broken.

There were but a very few chairs for the Sixth Form, and the barrack or prison (boys were locked into it at 6.30 in the evening), with the exception of a table with a basin for the highest boys, was totally devoid of washstands, Collegers having to perform such ablutions as they might deem necessary at the old pump in the cloisters. The walls and ceiling were full of the grime of ages, whilst the whole place as a general rule was in a state of intolerable filth. Once a year, however, some attempt was made to give Long Chamber a habitable appearance, and the time-honoured processes to which it was then subjected were generally sufficiently successful in making visitors who saw it believe that all was well enough. For a week before Election Saturday, which took place at the end of July, “rug-riding” was in full force. A number of Lower boys were tied up in big rugs and dragged with a rope by other fags up and down Long Chamber till the floor shone like a mirror; the spaces between the beds were also scrubbed to a corresponding glossiness. On the Thursday, waggon-loads of beech boughs, cut in the College woods at Hedgerley and Burnham, were brought in and the whole of Long Chamber decorated; the green rugs, edged with gold and embroidered with the College arms, given by the Duke of Cumberland in 1735, were then spread on the beds. A huge flag was hung from the Captain’s bed and the whole aspect of the room transformed. Nevertheless the dirt remained beneath.

Except at Election time Long Chamber was not accessible to visitors, and the King of Prussia himself was refused admission in 1842, on the plea that that portion of the College was never shown.

[SN: CARTER’S CHAMBER]

Things in the two other rooms appropriated to the use of the King’s scholars were not much better, and an extraordinary state of affairs prevailed in Carter’s Chamber. Whenever the chimney there became at all foul, the boys used to set fire to it, and, being very large, the roar it made when blazing was tremendous, generally much to the annoyance of the Provost, part of whose lodge was close by. The fires in question were made with large beechen logs, placed upon iron dogs, and the Collegers used to roast potatoes among the ashes. One of these logs every Lower boy was compelled to saw up before he went to bed, with a saw that had no edge. This was one of the most unpleasant features of a Lower Colleger’s existence, for the thinnest logs were always chosen by the biggest boys, leaving the heaviest for poor little fellows hardly strong enough to lift them. Not infrequently would the latter dock themselves of part of their rolls for breakfast in order to be able to bribe another stronger boy to saw up their portion for them.

As regards food, the old-time Colleger was disgracefully treated, no breakfast at all being provided for him in College. Dinner in Hall consisted entirely of mutton until about 1840, when Provost Hodgson added roast and boiled beef, each one day in the week. Though the mutton is said to have been of excellent quality, the manner in which it was served made it often impossible for a young boy who had not a robust appetite to get any dinner at all that he could eat. The joints were served in messes, a leg or a shoulder serving for eight boys, a loin or neck for six, the best joints going to the elder boys. They were put upon the table, and the boys carved for themselves. The captain of the joint cut his own portion liberally from the best part, and passed it on to the next in seniority, who slashed away at it after his own taste. A junior fared badly if the joint happened to be a loin or a shoulder and he had not appetite enough for the fat and bones. The knives and forks often ran short, and boys were occasionally obliged to be content with the reversion of such adjuncts. On Sundays plum-pudding of a peculiar construction, by some considered very palatable, made of unchopped suet and unstoned raisins, made its appearance. Indifferent beer was drunk by the Collegers out of painted tin mugs. On Founder’s Day and Election Saturday half a chicken and pressed greens was served to every boy. Beyond this the fare provided, as has been said, consisted entirely and solely of mutton. In connection with this, however, it is but fair to remember that not a few boys objected to the beef which, at a yet earlier period, figured on the College menu. One of these, according to Sir Dudley Carleton, was the “dainty-mouthed” young Phil Lytton, son of Sir Rowland Lytton of Knebworth. Collegers whose purses permitted were allowed to purchase more or less savoury messes from the cook, one of whose most famed dishes was, for some unknown reason, known as “blue-pill.”

[SN: COLLEGE SERVANTS]

Three of the Lower boys waited upon Sixth Form in Hall, handing them their plates and pouring out their beer, one being specially detailed to hold back the long sleeves of the gown on the Upper boy who carved the joint. This custom of “servitors,” as they were called, perhaps of a too menial kind, was not unwisely abolished some thirty years ago, the staff of College servants having been increased.

Many of the old College servants were characters like the original Webber, who seems to have inaugurated the sock shop, which is now Rowland’s, near Barnes Pool Bridge. Webber was College cook in the early portion of the last century, in addition to which he manufactured the birches then in much request. Owing probably to this, he incurred a sort of curious unpopularity, a legend being started that he had run away from the battle of Waterloo, therefore the usual taunt of the Collegers, for whom he carved in the Hall, was, “Pass up to old Webber that we want to see his Waterloo medal.” The story appears to have been purely mythical.

A great College functionary was the chief butler. The last man to hold this office was Mr. James Culliford, who died in 1901, aged eighty-nine. The illustration facing page 202 shows him in the traditional uniform of Eton blue which is now no longer worn, its use having been discontinued for no particular reason seemingly. The veteran in question also appears in the group of College servants, of whom the sole survivor is the little boy, Mr. Culliford’s son, who for so many years has been known to Etonians as the manager of the famous Eton tailor, Tom Brown. In this group (reproduced by the courtesy of Mr. Culliford from a scarce old photograph in his possession) can also be seen the last College constable, honest old Bott, who was such a well-known figure in the days when, with a colleague (one of the same group), he was responsible for the due maintenance of law and order. In his long coat of Eton blue, with the College arms embroidered upon his sleeve, and glazed top-hat, Bott was a sight which inspired tramps and petty evil-doers of every sort with genuine awe, and the vast majority of such folk took care to give him a wide berth. Bott had done good service as a soldier, having, it was said, fought at Albuera and Waterloo, though according to some his military service had been confined to serving during the American War. In any case, the fine old fellow was a typical Englishman of a robust age.

[SN: THREEPENNY DAY]

On certain days, owing to the observance of ancient custom, the Colleger’s lot sustained some amelioration. On February 27th, for instance, the Provost or his Deputy presented every Colleger, beginning with the lowest, with a threepenny piece. The origin of this custom was that Provost Bost (1477-1504) left a sum which gave each Colleger twopence, and Provost Lupton (1504-1535) left them the extra penny. A doubtful tradition declared that a Colleger was entitled to half a sheep, and that the College was merely giving him what was its equivalent in money during the Middle Ages. An impudent young Colleger who had heard of this tradition, being offered his threepence by the Bursar, Mr. Bethell, a man of very uncertain temper, once calmly said, “No, thank you, sir; I want my half sheep.” Bethell flew into a passion, and exclaimed, “I’ll mention this matter to Dr. Hawtrey, and have you flogged,” and in due course Branwell--so the “Tug” was named--expiated his temerity at the block. Threepenny Day, I believe, is one of the very few old Eton customs which is still maintained.

Occasionally protests would be made in order to secure some slight improvement in the dinner. The execrable quality of the beer in particular was several times brought to the notice of the Fellows, but beyond one of their number coming into Hall and looking at the cans nothing was done.

In comparatively remote times a discussion took place amongst the authorities on the question whether it was necessary for the Collegers to have their potatoes peeled or sent up in their skins. Two of the Fellows, as it happened, though not related, bore the same name. One was an advocate for the peeling system, declaring that the boys had been treated “like hogs”; the other opposed it as an unnecessary piece of refinement. In consequence they were afterwards distinguished by the Collegers as “Hog R----” and “Peeli-po R----,” and the descendants of both families, who were at Eton for many generations, always bore the hereditary nicknames of “Hogs” and “Peelipos.”

[SN: “PUT INTO PLAY”]

Besides the squalor and discomfort amidst which the Collegers lived there was much horse-play and bullying, and for the most part small boys led a wretched life. Besides having to undergo various unpleasant initiatory ceremonies, one of which consisted in swallowing an unsavoury mixture of salt and water, their life was rendered wretched by rough jokes. A bolster shaken down hard at one end could do a lot of damage, knocking over candles and ink-pots, or bringing the unsuspicious to the ground with a well-directed blow on the ankles from behind. A “Jew,” as a new boy was called, was also apt to wake up in the night to find a rope tied to his big toe, by which he was dragged from his bed. The only chance to escape such nocturnal visitations was to keep awake for some time, and, if he heard whispering, to creep out of bed and under that of a neighbour till he was safe from danger. Sometimes he would be “put into play” till he was sore all over. This most disagreeable ordeal was as follows. Around one of the large fire-places in Long Chamber two bedsteads were placed close together on each side, and two at the end, forming an enclosure. The boy “put into play” was placed in one corner, next to the captain, a certain number of the Upper boys being seated on the bedsteads. At a given signal the captain started him with a hearty kick, which generally was sufficiently hard to propel him to the opposite side; from thence he would be flung back quite as expeditiously. Bandied about like a human shuttlecock, bruises would soon begin to make him sore all over, but only when it was evident that he was in severe pain would the boy be released and some shivering little spectator seized and made to take his place.

Another cruel and brutal College practice which prevailed throughout the fortnight before Election was tossing boys in a blanket. Sometimes an unpopular boy would be put in the blanket with a quantity of books, when he was certain to be most severely bruised. The custom was, after forcing the boy on to one of the small blankets, which was held all round by the bigger boys, to repeat this line:

Ibis ab excus_so_ missus ad astra Sa-_go_.

At the end of the syllable _so_ a little shake was given, but at the last _go_ he was sent quivering to the ceiling. A boy named Rowland Williams was severely injured in one of these tossings. Hurled up to the ceiling, in his descent he fell sideways on to a bedpost and was completely scalped. Only by a most fortunate chance did he escape death, sustaining concussion of the brain. His scalp, which hung down his neck, was sewn on again, and by great good fortune he completely recovered.

A less dangerous though highly unpleasant ordeal to which new Collegers were subjected was the ceremony known as “Pricking for Sheriff.” The boy was laid across the lap of the chief executioner, face downwards, and into a very tightened and thin surface of small-clothes the assistant executioners ran pins, warning the victim that if he screamed louder than his predecessor he would be elected Sheriff and fined a bag of walnuts.