Part 20

In addition to his traditional duties, a master, it seems, now has to mark in the boys in his class-room. Formerly this was done by a praepostor, one being attached to every division. His office dated from the foundation of the school, when he appears to have possessed considerable authority, being indeed a sort of monitor. In modern times, however, praepostors merely had to mark in all the boys in the division to which they were attached under three heads, “Leave,” “Staying out,” and “ab horâ” or “Late.” After every school all the praepostors assembled in the colonnade and handed in their bills to the Headmaster. As a rule the office of praepostor, undertaken by every boy in turn, was popular, for such an official escaped most of the school hours, was never put on to construe, and passed a good deal of his time chatting to boys reported sick, whom he had to go and see. Some boys disliked it, however, and by arrangement passed the praepostor’s book on. The whole institution was a curious survival of a past age. Well does the present writer remember standing as praepostor by the side of Dr. Hornby calling Absence in the school-yard and thinking that the ancient office would not last very much longer. Within recent years his forebodings have been justified, for at present but one praepostor (of the Headmaster’s division) exists, the work of marking in being undertaken by masters in school and the boys at the end of the benches in Chapel.

[SN: ROOMS]

Thirty or forty years ago life in an Eton house remained much as it had been in the eighteenth century, the boys, provided they did their work, being left pretty much to themselves, though some housemasters interfered to prevent boisterous sports, such as football in the passages. The rooms, though often very small, were, it must be said, not uncomfortable, and quite a number of boys prided themselves upon their taste in decoration. Some even had pianos in their rooms, a privilege which was highly valued and seldom abused. The furniture of the rooms generally varied but little. For the most part it consisted of a shut-up bed, a “burry” (bureau) washstand, which also closed up, and sock cupboard. In this the owner kept his tea-things and such delicacies as he could afford. A favourite form of decoration was a mantel-board covered, according to Victorian taste, with stamped plush and brass-headed nails. In the summer term there was some competition in the matter of fire-ornaments and flower-boxes. The former were generally appalling in their vulgarity, their main feature being a profusion of extremely garish ornament, mostly tinsel and sham gold. Almost every boy had a few pictures, generally of a sporting kind, even though he himself had never taken part in sport. The Eton print shops must have done a fine trade in oleographs and poorly reproduced representations of famous runs and steeplechases. Some few brought comparatively good pictures with them from home. The writer remembers a set of Eton prints in a boy’s room which at the present day it would be extremely difficult to procure at all. The books were, of course, mostly connected with work, a crib or two being generally hidden away in case of a raid. On the whole an Eton boy was extremely comfortable, for he could have pretty well anything he or his parents could afford to pay for, while there was scarcely one who did not boast an arm-chair.

On the whole, the long-suffering boys’ maids, as they were called, did their work very well. As a rule, it should be added, they were middle-aged women, not remarkable for beauty. One housemaster, indeed--Mr. Walter Durnford, formerly a popular figure at Eton, and now Vice-Provost of King’s--according to current report, used, with perfect justice, to pride himself upon the extreme ugliness of his maids. Be this as it may, the boys of his house, which was next to the writer’s, were often to be seen peering through their windows in order to catch a glimpse of one of our maids, of whose good looks we were quite justly proud.

[SN: FAGGING]

Fagging, though probably more arduous than to-day, entailed little hardships on the smaller boys. Thirty years ago a fag’s duties consisted in laying his fagmaster’s breakfast, procuring chops, steaks, kidneys, or sausages from a sock shop, making toast, and poaching eggs. He had to attend at tea-time again, but then as a rule was not called upon to do anything in particular, his appearance at that hour being more or less a matter of form. Besides this, a fag had to carry notes and render other similar services when required to do so, while obliged to answer to the call of “Lower boy” shouted by any one in Upper Division. It should be added that the qualification as to place in the school entitling boys to fag has gradually been heightened. Formerly the whole of the Fifth Form could fag; but about three decades ago that privilege was withdrawn from the Lower Division, and I believe the number of fagmasters has been further lessened since then. This was not on account of the privilege of fagging having been abused, but merely because the number of Upper boys had grown too large in proportion with those of the Lower. With the institution of breakfasts provided by housemasters and eaten by the boys all together, fagging has shrunk to a mere nothing. The most irksome part formerly was being obliged to answer the call of “Lower boy,” when every one “fagable” was obliged to rush at headlong speed to the caller, the last to arrive being the one who had to perform the particular service required. In College, I believe, “Here” was called instead of “Lower boy.” Also, at one time, it would appear that any boy able to call out “Finge” before the rest could claim exemption from taking notice of the call. I must, however, add that I never heard anything about this when I was at Eton. Another College shout was “Cloister P!” on hearing which the lowest boy within call had to fetch a canful of excellent drinking water from the famous old pump in the Cloisters, at the spout of which, in a rougher age, many generations of Collegers had performed their ablutions. Owing to the dearth of Lower boys in College for a long time past, it has been the custom that every newcomer, irrespective of his place in the school, should fag for a year.

In the distant past cricket fagging existed, and must have pressed very heavily upon small boys, who were liable to be waylaid by Fifth Form boys coming out of school. Cricket fagging then included bowling, and was an irksome infliction which was just as well done away with. Another disagreeable form of fagging which has now long been extinct was crib fagging, which consisted in a small boy being obliged to read out a crib to an assemblage of big ones. As a rule, on these occasions another fag would be posted in the passage outside in order to give time for the crib to be secreted should there be any chance of the tutor making his unwelcome appearance. Towing boats up to Surly was the most severe form of fagging. This was abolished by Keate some eighty years ago.

[SN: NO BULLYING]

It is much to the credit of the Eton system that amongst the Oppidans (the state of affairs in old Long Chamber was different) there seems never to have existed any bullying. During the investigations of the Commission in 1861 all the evidence tended to show that small boys underwent no ill-treatment or persecution whatever. In the writer’s opinion this in a great measure accounts for the independent and buoyant spirit which has ever been a characteristic of Etonians in after life. Many sensitive boys educated at schools where bullying has prevailed have felt the results of it in a tamed and often broken spirit.

[SN: “ORDERS”]

One of the peculiarities of Eton in old days was that unless a boy supplemented his dietary by the purchase of provisions from the shops in the town he would often have to go hungry, and even thirty years ago in most of the houses the old Eton traditions as regards feeding were in full force. All the boys received was a loaf, pat of butter, and pot of tea for breakfast. Luncheon they all had together with their dame in the large dining-room; this was a fairly substantial meal. Tea taken in their own rooms exactly resembled breakfast, besides which there was a very light supper in the dining-room, at which attendance was optional. Almost without exception, of course, this somewhat meagre fare was supplemented by the boys themselves, who purchased appetising dishes from the sock shops at a reasonable price. An Eton custom at that day, which probably still exists, was for the boys to have what were called “orders” at one of these shops. This “order” consisted in an agreement with a shopkeeper to supply a boy with provisions to a certain amount every day, the boy’s father or mother having previously paid a sum in advance. The arrangement was, of course, intended to prevent the boy from finding himself bereft of all luxuries after the pocket-money given him when he left home had been exhausted; but, as a matter of fact, in the case of the more extravagant boys it almost invariably missed its mark, for, getting round the shopkeeper, they would persuade him to allow the anticipation of their “order,” with the result that whilst during the first fortnight of the half they revelled in every sort of delicacy, their breakfasts and teas during the remainder of the school time were unenlivened by any toothsome dishes. The most popular sock shops were then Harry Webber’s (now Rowland’s) and “little Brown’s,” the door of which the writer, on a recent visit to Eton, found shut.

The system of “orders” extended to other things besides sock shops, a dame or housemaster having the power of giving them for clothes or any other necessary. A boy applying for one of these signed permits was supposed to be able to prove that he was really in want of the article he wished to procure, and, the order being handed to him, was recognised by a tradesman as a valid voucher that the sum for which it stood would be included in the boy’s bill at the end of the half. On the whole this arrangement worked well, but occasionally unscrupulous boys, by arrangement with some not over particular tradesman, would obtain some other article which was really anything but a necessary.

Dames were sometimes easy about granting “orders,” and not a few boys prided themselves upon their adroitness in obtaining anything they liked, and some of them managed to run up comparatively large accounts with their housemaster’s or dame’s permission. An even more extravagant and reckless kind of boy would contrive to persuade some tradesman (generally a London one who knew something about the circumstances of his parents) to allow him to run up bills without any “order” at all, the understanding being that these should be paid when the boy had left school or came of age. One such case the writer well remembers, the perpetrator being a very dissipated youth celebrated throughout the school for always being in trouble with the authorities. This boy was a great dandy as regards dress, and it was currently reported that he never wore the same pair of trousers twice. This, of course, was an exaggeration, but he certainly had a wonderful stock of clothes. On leaving Eton he had accumulated debts to a considerable figure, and his after career was anything but a success, for after attempting various forms of occupation, including amateur newspaper reporting, he was last heard of keeping a little store in South Africa. An account of the curious professions adopted by Eton boys would fill a volume. On the whole, however, the majority do well, as, after all, is only to be expected, considering that in the first instance their parents must have been possessed of considerable funds in order to send them to Eton at all.

[SN: IMPISH MISCHIEF]

Some tutors, unable to keep order in their houses, were the victims of all sorts of unpleasant jokes. One of the most mischievous and dangerous of these was to stretch a string across a passage and then set to work to create such a noise as would be sure to attract the tutor’s attention, with the result that when he arrived upon the scene he would be tripped up. Another diversion of a somewhat similar sort was to pile a number of iron coal-scuttles just at the top of a flight of stairs, and, after creating a great din, kick them down upon the ascending tutor, who would seldom be able to discover the organiser of the outrage. A more amusing trick was the following. A small Lower boy, having, with his own consent, been tied up in one of the huge dirty linen bags, was placed in the middle of a passage and told to keep perfectly motionless till he felt a slight kick, when he was to rise at his assailant and hold on to his legs, calling out the name of some big boy well known to all. This being done, all the occupants of the passage would set to work to make sufficient noise to produce their tutor’s appearance, upon which complete silence would prevail. Nine times out of ten the tutor, walking down the passage to ascertain the reason of the disturbance, seeing the dirty linen bag, would try and kick it on one side, with the result that, rising at him, it would clutch him by the leg and cause him to execute a multitude of undignified gyrations, to the delight of boys peeping through doors just ajar. When, finally, the small boy had been extricated from the bag, it was very difficult to punish him, for he would invariably plead that he had been tied up against his will, and in pinching his assailant’s legs had been merely acting in self-defence against some one whom he had good reason to suspect was a persecuting schoolfellow.

Throwing bits of coal out of the window at passers-by or shooting with a catapult used to be favourite pastimes with boys of a past age. Fierce battles were sometimes waged in the winter evenings between the boys in adjacent houses, when they would bombard each other with pea-shooters or squirts charged with ink or water. Occasionally this warfare involved onlookers in the street below. The writer remembers a great disturbance caused by an angry policeman whose helmet and uniform had been liberally bespattered with ink.

Some of the houses contained broad and lengthy passages, on each side of which were ranged boys’ rooms, a favourite amusement for the occupants of which was standing by the open doors and awaiting the cry of “Slough; change here for Staines, Windsor, Datchet,” when every boy would slam his door in turn down the passage with a view to produce the effect of a train about to start. Immediately after the completion of this manœuvre the boys would at once fly to their “burries” (bureaus), at which they would be found hard at work when the infuriated tutor or housemaster arrived to discover the cause of the disturbance. In some cases the unfortunate man would ignore the first performance of this ingenious form of torture, but a second and louder slamming seldom failed to bring him in hot haste from his private quarters. To punish for this kind of thing was exceedingly difficult, for the boys were, of course, at liberty to shut their doors, and collusion was not easy to prove.

A number of boys spent their time experimenting with electricity and chemicals, and the writer well remembers a friend having his face severely injured by the explosion of some dangerous compound mixed together in a flower-box. On another occasion the same boy (now a well-known sporting peer) occasioned a serious panic. Having inserted some detonating composition amongst the bricks of the railway arches over which trains run into Windsor, he contrived to make it explode just before the Royal train bearing Queen Victoria passed. It was a time when Ireland was in a very disturbed state, and there was much dread of some outrage. Consequently the Windsor and Eton police were convinced that the explosion had a political origin, and every effort was made by means of detectives to find the perpetrator. It was, however, never discovered that he was an Eton boy.

[SN: HOAXING THE PRESS]

About thirty years ago, Eton boys were seized with a craze for hoaxing the London Press, and some extraordinary letters appeared in various papers. The most extraordinary of all was one bearing the signature of an Eton master which described the writer’s remarkable experiences in the country, where he had witnessed a conflict between a cow and a partridge, in which the cow, after a prolonged chase, had eventually captured and devoured the bird. The master eventually wrote an indignant denial, but he was never able to discover who had taken his name in vain.

The greatest practical joke ever played at Eton was the colossal hoax perpetrated in the early eighties of the last century upon the somewhat ingenuous editor of a newly-started London magazine, who had been struck with the idea of increasing its attractions by publishing authentic news of public-school life. Not unnaturally he began with Eton, and, setting to work to secure contributors at that school, obtained some really astounding information, which afterwards went to the making of an extremely scarce little book called _Eton as She is not_. More recently an amusing account of the whole affair appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_ at the end of an excellent article on “College at Eton.” At first the editor’s correspondents merely furnished him with accounts of local events, all of them pure invention; but, emboldened by success, they soon went on to describe some interesting old customs. The first was chronicled thus:--

A curious custom takes place here on certain days in College Dining Hall, called “Passing the Green Stuff.” The second fellow at the big fellows’ table suddenly says, “Pass me that Green Stuff,” referring to a dish of mint placed on the table; then the fellow opposite him stands up, and says “Surgite” (arise), on which all the other fellows get up from their places and run the fellow who “broached” (_i.e._ asked for) the green stuff round the School Paddocks, shouting out such military commands as “Quick march! Right turn!” etc. They then return to dinner, when a “grace-cup” is partaken by all except him who “broached” the green stuff.

[SN: “SLUNCHING” THE PADDOCKS]

In the next number readers were informed that at Eton Prisoner’s Base is a great success, and the Paddock is almost always deserted for the Cloisters. The following then appeared:--

Another curious custom at Eton is “Slunching the Paddocks.” On a certain day all the Collegians and Oppidans are provided with a coarse sort of pudding, which is put to the following use. After dinner is over they all go to Weston’s and School Paddocks and throw their pudding all over them. This is “Slunching the Paddocks,” the pudding being called “Slunch.” It is supposed to be derived from the fact that when Queen Elizabeth visited Eton College “she lunched” (s’lunched) in College Hall, and the students sprinkled the paddocks with dry rice in her honour.

In the number published on March 5, 1884, a purely imaginary list of the officials of the various school departments was given. There were the Captains of the “Broach” and the “Slunch,” the two College boats; the Captain of Cricket Tassels, R. J. Lucas;[12] Captain of Fives Tassels, Havager Boroughdale; Captain of the Musical Department, R. A. S. Berry-Young; Captain of the Curling Club, T. T. Vator; Captain of the Spelican Team, Tute Goodhart; Captain of Ushers, J. Goodwin; Steward of the Paddocks, H. Beecham Wolley; Choragus, C. Wofflington. This was followed in the next number by the news that the Spelican team had played their first match of the season on March 11 against the Dorney Dubes. The Collegian Brigade, an admirable corps, which marched out as far as Brocas Hedges, was later on described as having met with a catastrophe, for “a bull loose in Weston’s Paddock, which they passed through on the way, attacked the line, and a boy named Swage was knocked over and slightly bruised.”

This went on for six months, when the Editor wrote and expressed a desire to come down to Eton and see the place for himself. He was duly shown a hockey match between B. Wolley’s “Field Mice” and Flenderbatch’s “Jolly Boys,” the match being played with tassels on the caps and all, which so impressed him that he returned to London and wrote an account of what he had seen, giving at the same time a new and original version of the School Song, addressed to “Pulcra Etona” and praying among other things that:

Slunna fluat, Semper ruat Capti fundamentum.

“Slunna” is slunch, “capti fundamentum” is sound Latin for prisoner’s base. In high good temper he added that “our Eton correspondence is supplied by a gentleman who is a universal favourite in College, and the Editor is pleased to state that he has received letters from Etonians all over the world, signifying their approval of his reports.” He was disillusioned soon after, and no more space was devoted to Eton and the strange doings of its students.

Though at that time something of the old-world spirit still lingered, there survived few of the quaint “characters” who had once been fairly numerous at Eton. The ever-gentle, suave, and urbane Giles of Williams’ (afterwards Ingalton Drake’s, and now Spottiswoode’s) will, however, be remembered by many. How this good-natured man managed to book the orders at the beginning of a school-time and keep his temper is a mystery which will never be solved. He had, I remember, a red-headed assistant, who, though a shade more inclined to frivolity than Giles (who was scholastic gravity itself), seemed to have been born to serve out broad rule and derivation paper without being ever in the least perturbed by the chatter of crowds of Lower boys.

[SN: SOLOMON]