once every week, illustrating various countries as they were in
classical times. Occasionally boys with a turn for drawing would
decorate the margins of their maps with some fanciful device. As a
rule, the masters extended a good-humoured toleration to this practice,
which often bore some reference to current events. At the time when a
coming prize-fight was exciting great interest in sporting circles,
a boy decorated the top of his map with portraits of the two fistic
heroes of the day. This, however, was little appreciated by his master.
A more clever form of decoration was the picture of an eight-oar
manned by masters and steered by Dr. Keate which a clever pupil of the
Doctor drew in the middle of the Mediterranean with _Gens inimica mihi
Tyrrhenum navigat aequor_ inscribed beneath the boat. All the maps were
shown up on the same day, when “Map Morning,” as it was called, filled
the school yard.
The old system of sending mere children to Eton lasted up to about
half a century ago. In 1857 boys went still there as young as nine
or ten, nor was it uncommon to see children of seven or eight in the
Lower School. Many stayed at Eton till they were eighteen, after
having worked their way up from the First Form to Doctor’s Division,
at the rate of two removes a year--a process which, including three
years’ inevitable stoppage in Upper Fifth, required more than ten
years to accomplish. In the school list for Election, 1834, Lower
School has shrunk to a very small number. The first part of it, Third
Form, contains but three boys; the second division, seven. “Sense” and
“Nonsense,” which come next, have but six between them; there is no one
in Second Form, and in First Form only two.
Up to the early ’sixties of the last century, certain divisions of
Third Form retained some quaint old titles--the first sections being
called Upper Greek, Lower Greek, “Sense” and “Nonsense.” Lower Remove,
Upper and Lower Remove in the Second Form and First Form completed the
tail-end of the school. “Sense” and “Nonsense,” it should be added,
received their quaint titles because boys in the latter were doomed to
a sort of “poetical purgatory,” and only wrote “nonsense” verses; that
is, Latin compositions which scanned as verse, but contained no ideas;
in which respect the effusions in question resembled the productions of
some living bards.
[SN: LOWER SCHOOL]
When Mr. John Hawtrey was an Eton master, Lower School, somewhat
altering its constitution, became larger again; the boys in it, mostly
very young, being all together in his house at the corner of Keate’s
Lane, where he kept what was practically a private school apart. His
boys were not allowed the same amount of liberty as those in other
houses: they took breakfast and tea in common, and generally played
their games in Mr. Hawtrey’s private field. On reaching the Upper
School they usually went to other houses.
The curriculum of Lower School was entirely different from that
followed by the Upper Forms. In “Nonsense” the boys, besides being
taught to write nonsense verses, grappled with intricacies of the old
“Eton Latin Grammar.” After this they were promoted to “Sense,” when
the nonsense verses were discarded; Lower Greek and Upper Greek did
very elementary work.
After Mr. John Hawtrey had left Eton to set up a preparatory school
at Aldin House, Slough, Lower School once more became small. In 1868,
just previous to its abolition, it contained 69 boys. The school
list had then ceased to give the old terms, Upper Greek, “Sense,” and
“Nonsense.” Shortly after First and Second Forms were abolished and
Fourth Form placed under control of the Lower Master, the Reverend
Francis Edward Durnford, so well known as “Judy” to several generations
of Etonians. Third Form still continued to exist in the writer’s day
(1879 to 1883); but it then seldom contained more than two or three
boys. Since that time it has varied in number, sometimes amounting to
ten or a dozen, or, as at present (1911), eight. It is interesting to
note that there are now more than sixty assistant masters, as compared
with ten in 1834. In the same time the number of boys at Eton has more
than doubled.
[SN: SHIRKING]
Up to the end of the nineteenth century there was a glaring
inconsistency in various unwritten regulations which ruled the Eton
boy out of school. Certain ordinances were seemingly moulded upon an
Hibernian model, many things being forbidden in theory though allowed
in practice. Up to 1860 everything beyond Barnes Pool Bridge was
considered out of bounds, though the river and terrace of Windsor
Castle were not. The boys, of course, went up town freely, most of
the shops they used being in the High Street beyond the bridge, and
so the ridiculous custom of “shirking” grew up. When an Eton boy up
town perceived a master he would get behind a lamp-post or rush into a
shop, the merest pretext of concealment from view being, as a rule,
sufficient to prevent the “beak” from taking any notice of him, for
it was not etiquette for masters to see boys, provided “shirking” was
observed. A number of extraordinary usages prevailed in connection with
the somewhat senseless custom. For instance, it was not the thing for a
master to turn round to look out for a boy following behind--the whole
system was ludicrous. One boy, seeing a master enter a confectioner’s
shop, where he was eating an ice, escaped notice by shutting one eye
and holding up the spoon in front of the other!
At one time Sixth Form boys had to be “shirked” like the masters, but
this seems to have been very laxly observed, “liberties,” that is to
say exemptions, being often granted.
Another great inconsistency was that though by the laws of the school,
no Eton boy might enter the Christopher, there were very few Etonians
who were not thoroughly acquainted with the interior of the old town,
where at one time Upper boys had regular dinners which were known to
the whole school.
[SN: WINDSOR FAIR]
Though “shirking” as a general rule ensured a boy’s immunity from
punishment when out of bounds, it ceased to exercise its charm at
Windsor Fair (abolished about 1871), which was strictly prohibited.
Nevertheless, the boys attended it in flocks, part of their amusement
consisting in dodging the masters.
It was highly characteristic of the old-fashioned Eton system, that
though the Fair was strictly forbidden, no efforts at all were made to
prevent boys from going there, though they were often severely punished
if caught. Not a few of the masters, however, almost openly tolerated
such transgressions, and a few even made a point of giving their
pupils double pocket-money in Fair week. It must be remembered that
at that time all the masters were old Etonians, having passed their
lives between the school and King’s. Consequently they were generally
imbued with the old traditions, and had never come across any external
influences likely to alter a point of view adopted when they themselves
were being trained by masters of an old-fashioned Conservative type.
At the Fair a large quantity of pocket-money was expended at the
various booths, the keepers of which, of course, at once recognised an
Eton boy, whom all the professional tricksters of the place looked upon
as their surest game. Every device was put before him, and all sorts of
temptations held out to induce him to stop and have a trial, as they
called it, of his luck. Cards, rings, coins, everything in fact was
made into an instrument for gaining a little money during this harvest
of inexperience.
The rifle gallery, where they gave two shots for a penny, was a
favourite resort, and every stall which the boys passed, whatever
was the sort of trumpery with which it was filled, formed an excuse
for loitering to examine what there was. Dolls and knives and penny
trumpets and rattles, all required attention; boxes and brooches were
haggled over, and rings, and even rags, minutely inspected.
The Fair consisted of a number of booths stretching from the Town Hall
to Castle Yard. There were the usual shows, and in the eighteenth
century a bull bait on Bachelors’ Acre, the place of which, in
latter years, was taken by roulette. This game, of course, run by
doubtful characters, was highly attractive to certain venturesome
Etonians--there was real danger in it, for a boy caught playing was
turned down to a lower form as well as whipped.
Though many boys were flogged for going to this October festival, it
was always a source of great delight to the school, for it gave rise to
many jokes.
It was a common practice for boys to purchase all sorts of mechanical
toys--jumping frogs and the like--there, and surreptitiously introduce
them upon some master’s desk. On one occasion, a perfect menagerie was
successfully planted on the table before Dr. Hawtrey’s very nose, and
all the punishment the culprits received for their tomfoolery was his
withering remark, “Babies!”
As late as the beginning of the nineteenth century the old Windsor
Theatre was often visited by Etonians. The gallery, indeed, seems
to have been more or less reserved for their use. By the middle of
the century, however, the boys had long ceased to indulge in this
amusement, but up to the late seventies a considerable number
frequented Windsor races, at that time an open meeting.
In 1879, the writer’s first year at Eton, an idea prevailed that if
we could run there and back without missing Absence, such a visit
was not forbidden. Be this as it may, the writer, with a friend,
did run there and back, the only unpleasant consequence being the
loss of some pocket-money. In the following year, besides the notice
prohibiting boys from being on the Windsor bank of the river during
the races (which, nevertheless, did not prevent a considerable number
from crossing over), drastic measures were taken by the authorities
to prevent Etonians from going there on foot, which, owing to the
vigilance of masters in Windsor, had to be abandoned altogether. It
was no unheard-of thing for a boy in those days to run to Ascot races
and get back in time for Absence--then at six. This, of course, was
contrived by getting lifts on the way, and though some were caught
and punished, quite a number indulged in what was to them an exciting
adventure. Two or three got to the races by assuming a disguise, whilst
others were picked up and hidden in carriages and traps by obliging
elder brothers or old Etonians. One boy--Bathurst by name--according to
current report, so tickled young Lady Savernake by his impersonation of
a nigger-minstrel that she gave him a £5 piece.
[SN: PIG FAIR]
In Eton itself up to the ’thirties of the last century, every Ash
Wednesday there was held a Pig Fair, just outside Upper School; this,
of course, led to great disorder--the boys delighting in letting the
pigs loose, and chasing them in all directions. At the last of these
Fairs in Keate’s time, a boy actually rode a pig from the gate of
Weston’s Yard to the Christopher, at the identical moment when Keate
came out of Keate’s Lane on the way to chapel, his gown flying in the
wind. Keate took little notice of this at the time, merely remarking,
“Pigs will squeak, and boys will laugh; don’t do it again.”
When Gladstone was a boy at Eton, considerable brutality existed in
connection with the Fair. The boys, according to old custom, hustling
the drovers and then cutting off the tails of the pigs. Gladstone
boldly denounced such cruelty, and gave considerable offence by
declaring that the boys who were foremost in this kind of butchery were
the first to quake at the consequences of detection. He dared them, if
they were proud of their work, to sport the trophies of it in their
hats. On the following Ash Wednesday he found three newly amputated
pig-tails hung in a bunch on his door, with a paper inscribed:
“Quisquis amat porcos, porcis amabitur illis;
Cauda sit exemplum ter repetita tibi.”
Underneath these lines the future Prime Minister wrote a challenge to
the pig-torturers, inviting them to come forward and take a receipt
for their offering, which he would mark “in good round hand upon your
faces.” The pig-baiting, however, continued till Dr. Hawtrey did away
with the Fair.
Even in the rough old times the life of the Oppidans was pleasant
enough; a totally different state of affairs prevailing amongst them
from that which flourished in Long Chamber, where small collegers were
so roughly treated that many of them preferred to be Oppidans till such
time as they had attained a place in the school which would guarantee
them against being bullied.
Amongst the Oppidans, indeed, there would seem never to have been any
bullying at all, whilst their health and comfort was looked after
pretty much as it is to-day. Nevertheless, in old days, they had a
far greater knowledge of the stern facts of life than is at present
the case. Their rambles round the slums of Windsor--visits to the
Fair and contact with the rough and undesirable characters of the
vicinity--taught them what human nature really is, while the fighting,
which was then recognised, precluded all trace of namby-pambyism. In
those days Eton sent forth few sentimentalists into the great world,
but it undoubtedly furnished England with the very best type of officer
to meet the enemy in the Peninsular and at Waterloo. It was an era when
the sickening cant of humanitarianism, born of luxury and weakness, had
not yet arisen to emasculate and enfeeble the British race.
[SN: FAGGING]
Fagging at Eton seems never to have degenerated into brutality. In
former times, however, fags had to perform many services which sound
strange to modern ears. An Etonian, for instance, who had been fag
to the future Wellington, it is said, used to declare that the chief
service he had to perform was that of bed-warmer, for the Fifth Form
then made the Lower boys lie for a time in their beds to take off the
chill. This story, however, is probably legendary, fagging amongst
the Oppidans having generally been limited to getting breakfasts from
sock shops, taking messages, and cooking. Fag-masters have seldom been
anything but considerate, and the old joke of sending a green newcomer
(after his first fortnight of immunity from fagging) to Layton’s, the
confectioner on Windsor Hill, for a pennyworth of pigeon milk, has
probably never been put into practice.
As long as a hundred years ago cases of bullying out of College
were sternly repressed by the boys themselves. At that time a great
sensation was caused because a boy high in the Fifth Form flicked with
a wet towel the bare back of his fag, who complained after Absence
to the captain of the school. The circumstances soon got wind, and
nearly the whole school followed the captain to the bully’s dame’s,
which was Raguineau’s. He was pulled out of his room, and most soundly
horsewhipped close by one of the large elms, to the delight of all.
Though the accommodation was not uncomfortable, the boys’ rooms were
then, as a rule, smaller and less luxurious than is the case to-day,
the windows being often barred like those of a prison or a lunatic
asylum. The furniture was all of the commonest wood, and consisted of a
table, two chairs (well carved by preceding generations), a bureau--a
sort of _multum in parvo_ for books, clothes, and everything else--and
a large press which turned into a bed; this, small boys always regarded
with misgiving, it being a practice for raiding parties to shut the
occupier up in it.
In 1825 some of the rooms were as small as five feet by six, some were
not carpeted, and a few of those on the ground floor were unpleasant
owing to the contents of pails descending from the upper windows.
On the fifth of November the Lower boys revenged their wrongs by making
a bonfire of their Greek grammars in the school-yard; and later in the
year, when the snow came, they would industriously collect it in the
house, in order that in the evening they might overwhelm some little
fellow and his books with a pile of it.
Very early rising was then the rule, and in winter boys got up by
candle-light. The Fourth Form had an infliction called “Long-morning.”
They had to be in school by half-past seven, but when the masters
overslept themselves there was a “run”--_i.e._ no school. At the
beginning of the eighteenth century there was an earlier school still,
at six o’clock.
[SN: NICKNAMES]
Nicknames have always been popular at Eton, many of them enduring in
after-life. Thomas James, who in 1766 wrote an account of the school,
was nicknamed Mordecai and Pasteboard, whilst the three brothers Pott
were called Quart, Pint, and Gill.
About the middle of the eighteenth century nicknames both for masters
and boys were very common. Certain masters were then called Pernypopax
Dampier, Gronkey Graham, Pogy Roberts, Buck Ekins, Bantam Sumner,
and Wigblock Prior. The following are some boys’ nicknames:--Bacchus
Browning (Earl Powis), Square Buckeridge, Tiger Clive, King Cole,
Mother and Hoppy Cotes, Damme Duer, Dapper Dubery, Baboon FitzHugh,
Chob and Chuff Hunter, Toby Liddell, Squashey Pollard, Codger Praed,
Hog Weston, Gobbo Young, and Woglog Calley.
In old days many Eton nicknames were superior, and often elegantly
classical. At one time a boy named M’Guire was well known in the
school, because, if prizes had been given for knock-knees he would have
carried off the first prize anywhere. Homer has a stock of phrases
with which he is apt to fill up his verse, just as lawyers use “common
forms” for their prose. One of these, frequently occurring in the
description of a hero, is _phaidima guia_ (beautiful limbs), and Paddy
M’Guire bore the appropriate name of “Phaidima Guia.”
A peculiarly happy nickname was Lapis Lazuli or Cornelius a lapide,
applied to a boy (Newcastle scholar), in after-life well known to
Etonians as the Rev. E. D. Stone. He recently contributed some most
interesting recollections of Eton to an attractive book written by Mr.
Christopher Stone, his son.
One of the most apt nicknames ever bestowed on any boy was Verd
Antique, applied to the eldest of five brothers Green, who were at Eton
at the same time--the other four being known as Maximus, Major, Minor,
and Minimus.
Slang, though fairly prevalent then, in later years was of a different
kind. It would appear that Eton boys did not then say “burry” for
“bureau,” nor “brolly” for “umbrella,” whilst “footer” for “football”
was unknown. A favourite old Eton colloquialism, “con,” a word
equivalent in its meaning to chum and pal, has now long died out,
whilst “pec” used for money was about obsolete thirty years ago.
“Scug,” an untidy boy, and “scuggish,” bad form, words which were
constantly in the mouths of Etonians of two or three generations back,
are now, I believe, much less used by Upper boys. “Sock,” a term
denoting all kinds of dainties, still exists, but masters are called
“ushers” instead of “beaks.” “Gig,” an old piece of Eton slang which
comprehended all that was ridiculous, all that was to be laughed at and
plagued, has long ceased to be used.
[SN: DAMES AND TUTORS]
A curious and old-fashioned word once in constant use amongst Eton
boys, but now quite obsolete, was “brozier”--this indicated a boy who
had spent his pocket-money, and was without means of obtaining “sock.”
Brozier was also used in connection with a disconcerting manœuvre
sometimes executed by boys at the expense of a dame. When one of these
ladies had gained the reputation of not providing sufficient food at
the usual meals, and of keeping an ill-stocked larder, an organised
attempt would be made to eat her “out of house and home”--as the supply
of provisions became exhausted, more would be demanded in the most
pointed manner--this was known as “Brozier my dame.”
One of these ladies, possessed of great strength of mind and resource,
being exposed to a determined attempt of this kind, turned the tide
just as her boys--though nearly choked in the moment of victory--were
winning the battle. Whispering two words to her maid, the latter
disappeared only to return with an enormous cheese, as strong as it
was big. This the dame cut away liberally, saying with a smile, that
it must not be spared, for there was another bigger one handy. The
boys never tried a brozier with her again. This lady had a happy knack
of managing her boys, and after getting them flogged relentlessly on
slight provocation, would, in spite of themselves, laugh them out of
all ill-humour.
The earliest “Tutor’s” house on record seems to have been kept by W. H.
Roberts, a master who took a few pupils in 1760. When the eighteenth
century had got fairly under way, the Oppidans were in all probability
distributed amongst “dames” and tutors in much the same way as has
prevailed in recent times.
Of late, however, a dame has come to be merely the technical name of a
house-master who has no regular “division” or class in the school. They
are often mathematical masters, or teachers of special subjects. In old
days many ladies used to keep boarding-houses for the boys, which of
course gave rise to the name of “dame.” Miss Evans, who died in 1906,
was the last of these. She was universally respected and beloved, and
occupied a unique position in Eton life,--her name will long survive.
One of the most celebrated dames of other days was Miss Angelo, a
pretty woman who, it is said, was made an Eton dame owing to the
good offices of George the Fourth when Prince of Wales. This lady’s
pony chaise and fur tippet were familiar to several generations of
Etonians, among whom she bore the nickname of the Duchess of Eton.
She belonged to the famous family which furnished four generations of
fencing-masters to the school.
[SN: LEAVING BOOKS]
Old Eton was full of peculiar customs--bad, good, and indifferent.
Amongst the latter was the giving of Leaving-Books. Often a popular
boy would go away from Eton with quite a fine little library of these,
and towards the end of each school-time there was some rivalry and
excitement about these collections. Williams’ (the bookseller) shop
became resplendent at such times, the books being all handsomely
bound and mostly gilt, and varying in price from a guinea upwards.
Eventually, however, the gifts became absurdly numerous, and in 1868
the custom was abolished by Dr. Hornby--mainly, I believe, on the
score of economy. It might have been better, perhaps, to have limited
the price of the books, for these gifts were productive of kindly
feelings. The receiver always shook hands with the donor and requested
him to write his name in the book, and the collection formed a pleasant
remembrance of Eton in after years, and a memorial of friendship with
schoolfellows.
Every boy who gave a leaving-book had to be thanked and shaken hands
with. And in the last week of the Half boys came and wrote their names
in their respective books “after two,” when those leaving Eton were
expected to be in their rooms, where various dainties were provided.
After the names had been signed there was more shaking of hands.
Another old usage, now very rightly abolished, was “Leaving-Money.” In
former days an Oppidan, as he said good-bye to the Headmaster, would
leave, in an envelope, a sum, the amount of which depended upon the
generosity of his parents.
The recognised method for a boy to present this donation was to hold
the envelope inside his hat, which he would place for a moment on the
table, and so unostentatiously deposit his offering.
The position of a Headmaster receiving such gifts was rather awkward,
and Dr. Hawtrey, a man of great delicacy and refinement of manner,
used to ignore them as far as was possible. At the end of the Summer
Half, he would observe, “It’s rather warm, I think I’ll open the
window,” and as he did so, the envelope was furtively laid upon the
table. When the next boy who was leaving was ushered in, the same
process was gone through, except that the Doctor would observe, “Don’t
you think it’s rather cold? I think I’d better shut the window.”
[SN: THE LONG GLASS]