times, was the draining of the “Long Glass” at Tap--that curious Eton
institution where the Upper part of the school are still allowed to
obtain chops, steaks, bread and cheese, beer and cider. Though the long
glass is still preserved, I believe it has not been used for many a
long year, a circumstance which can arouse nothing but gratification
amongst all sensible people.
At one time there was “Long-Glass” drinking once or twice a week during
the Summer Half. Nearly a yard long, and holding a quart, the glass
in question somewhat resembles a coach-horn with a bulb instead of
an opening at the large end. Aspirants to the honour of draining it
attended in an upper room of Tap after two, each with a napkin tied
round his neck. The object was to drain the glass without removing it
from the lips, and without spilling any of its contents, which was
extremely hard, for when the contents of the tubular portion of the
glass had been sucked down, the beer in the globe would remain for a
moment as if congealed there; and if the glass was tilted up a little,
and shaken, the beer would give a gurgle and suddenly splutter all over
his face and clothes. Only by holding the Long Glass at a certain angle
could a catastrophe be avoided.
The results of this rather disgusting practice were often to be clearly
discerned on the coats and waistcoats of boys emerging from Tap, and it
is to be hoped that, unlike some other old Eton customs which deserve
revival, it will remain merely a memory of a more intemperate age.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] It seems to have been an old custom for boys who died at Eton to be
buried thus.
III DR. KEATE--FLOGGING AND FIGHTING
At the end of the eighteenth century the Eton boys had become somewhat
difficult to control. Heath and Goodall had both been Headmasters fond
of comfort and ease, and in order to keep things from drifting into
a state of open disorder, ignored many infractions of discipline.
In consequence of this they both enjoyed a fair measure of personal
popularity--the parents would seem to have known little about what was
going on, for, in spite of the continued deterioration in discipline,
the numbers of the school continued to rise.
[SN: DR. KEATE]
When Keate became Headmaster in 1809, he found himself confronted by a
somewhat difficult situation. A man of unflinching character, he had at
first to suffer for the weakness of his predecessors and, owing to his
stern methods, incurred unpopularity which it took some time to efface.
No one who had ever come in contact with Keate ever forgot him, for his
appearance was exceedingly striking. He was a small man, little more
than five feet high, short-necked, short-legged, thick-set, powerful,
and very active, whilst within his small frame was concentrated the
pluck of ten battalions. His countenance resembled that of a bull-dog,
and he also had something of that animal’s mouth. Indeed, it was
said in the school that old Keate could pin and hold a bull with his
teeth. His iron sway was to many a very unpleasant change, after the
long, mild reign of Dr. Goodall, whose temper, character, and conduct
corresponded precisely with his name, and under whom Keate had been
master of the Lower School. He was at first, there can be little doubt,
too severe; discipline, wholesome and necessary in moderation, being
carried by him to an excess; on one morning alone he is said to have
flogged eighty boys. Flogging, indeed, may be said to have been the
head and front, or rather the head and tail, of his system. Like Dr.
Busby, the famous Headmaster of Westminster School, he never spoilt the
child by sparing the rod. According to Dr. Johnson, Busby used to call
that instrument of correction his sieve, and declare that whoever did
not pass through it was no boy for him. Keate, although rigid, rough,
and despotical, was on the whole not unjust, nor devoid of kindness,
a proof of which is that, after twenty-five years, he retired fairly
triumphant, applauded and respected by the vast majority of those with
whom he had come in contact. During one of the frequent visits which he
paid to Eton after his retirement, his grim old face was seen looking
down on the boats in Boveney Lock, whereupon the crews stood up and
cheered their old master with a will.
Much has been written of the curious appearance of the famous
Headmaster, who has been said to have worn a fancy dress partly
resembling the costume of Napoleon and partly that of a widow woman.
This was a great exaggeration. It is true he wore a huge cocked hat;
this was not from eccentricity, but because he was a Conservative and
respected tradition--it had long been the custom for the Head- and
Lower-Masters at Eton to wear such a head-dress, and Keate merely
retained it after it had become obsolete with the rest of the world.
[SN: THE ROUGH OLD DAYS]
As a rule the famous Headmaster wore an angry look, whilst ever ready
to explode into a rage, though occasionally flashes of unexpected
good-nature would temper his attitude of unwavering severity. This,
however, was seldom, his command over his good temper being so complete
that he scarcely ever allowed it to appear. On the other hand he could
not be put out of humour, being always in the ill-humour which he
thought fitting for a Headmaster. He had a fine voice, which he could
modulate with great skill; but he had also the power of quacking like
an angry duck, and the latter was his almost invariable way of speaking
to boys to inspire respect. His red shaggy eyebrows were so prominent
that he habitually used them as arms and hands for the purpose of
pointing out any object towards which he wished to direct attention.
The rest of his features were equally striking in their way, and highly
characteristic of the man.
Dr. Keate was not devoid of sense of humour. On one occasion when he
had set a certain form an essay on “_Temere nil facias_,” one boy
named Rashleigh failed to send in any work at all. The Doctor, who of
all men was the last to be trifled with in such matters, sent for the
delinquent, and, glowering with ferocity, demanded the meaning of such
conduct. The culprit, however, was quite undismayed and replied, “Sir,
you told me yourself not to do it.”
“What do you mean?” retorted Keate in tones of thunder.
“Why, sir,” replied the boy, “in setting the theme you said, ‘Do
nothing rashly,’ and I have obeyed you.” This display of ready wit, it
is said, secured the offender’s pardon.
When Keate assumed the Headmastership the whole public-school system
had remained behind the age, and many of the manners and customs of
barbarous times still continued at schools long after home life and
manners had become civilised. There is no reason to suppose that Dr.
Keate was in any way of a brutal disposition or wanting in natural
affections. He had to deal with a very difficult situation, and it is
greatly to his credit that he maintained the prestige and increased the
numbers of Eton in spite of almost insurmountable difficulties.
When, for instance, it became clear to the boys that the easy-going
state of affairs which had prevailed under Dr. Goodall had come to an
end, the school was thrown into a state of latent rebellion. One of
the first innovations imposed by Keate was to impose an “absence” the
evening after what was then known as “long church.”
The first time this was put into force the whole school booed the
Headmaster as he opened his mouth, and it took him two hours to get
through calling the “absence,” though various tutors did all they could
to help him detect the boys who were the ringleaders of the disorder.
After trying to discover the principal culprits and failing, Keate
finally determined to punish the last remove of the Upper Fifth and
the whole of the Lower Fifth (there was then no Middle Division), whom
he considered responsible for the outbreak, by making them attend a
five-o’clock “absence.” Some ninety boys absented themselves, or rather
hid behind the trees in the playing fields where this “absence” was
called, and purposely did not answer their names. The situation was
grave, and at first it seemed likely that all of these rebels would be
expelled; eventually, however, Keate determined to be more lenient and
merely announced that he would “flog the lot.”
[SN: SWISHING WHOLESALE]
When the first batch came up for punishment in the library a scene
of riot took place, and as the first boy knelt down on the block a
shower of eggs smashed round Keate; in fact, after three victims had
suffered, the Headmaster’s clothes had got into such a state owing
to the unsavoury missiles hurled at him, that he had to go home and
change. On his return, however, he was seen to be accompanied by a
number of assistant masters, and owing to their aid in keeping order
he had finished swishing the whole of the ninety boys by eight o’clock
that evening.
The masters must have had their work cut out to subdue the
insubordination of such turbulent boys. Though the number of these
boys was close on 500--later, from 1821 to 1827, it varied between 528
and 612--at no time were there more than nine assistants, including
the Lower Master. While some of the forms in the Lower School only had
twenty or thirty boys, certain divisions in the Upper School were of
quite unwieldy size. In 1820 Dr. Keate’s own division had swelled to
198. He then relieved himself by creating the Middle Division of the
Fifth, but he continued to keep about 100 boys under his own charge at
the end of Upper School, where much disorder prevailed.
All sorts of jokes and tricks were indulged in, and about 1810 it
became a regular practice during the Winter Half to try and put out
the candles in the two great chandeliers. There had originally been
three of these, but according to tradition the third had been broken in
the great rebellion some thirty years before. On one occasion a huge
stone that was shied at the chandelier went within an inch of Keate’s
head and cracked the panel behind him. Having somehow got to know the
culprit, Keate let it be known that it was a boy at a certain dame’s,
at the same time declaring that the only chance the boy had was to give
himself up and trust to his leniency; otherwise he would be expelled.
The boy was George Dallas, a straightforward fellow. He immediately
went to Keate, confessed, and solemnly assured the Doctor that he had
never intended to hurt him. Keate said he believed him, but of course
Dallas must know that the lightest punishment he deserved was a good
flogging, and that flogging he got.
A large part of the boys’ time seems to have been spent devising
ingenious forms of annoying Keate, who sat enthroned in a spacious
elevated desk, enclosed on all sides, like a pew, with two doors, one
on each side. One fine morning he entered Upper School, and, going to
his desk, tried to open one door, and found it was fastened. He went
round, grinning, growling, and snarling, to the other side; the door
there had been screwed up too. The desk was up to the breast of a tall
man and as high as Keate’s head; nevertheless, laying his hand on the
top of it, he lightly vaulted in, the feat being saluted with loud
cheers and a hearty laugh. This made the Doctor more angry than ever.
“I will make some of you suffer,” he said, and he did; for the next
day, to the general astonishment, he called up all the boys who had
been concerned in the screwing up and soundly flogged them. The secret
of this was that Cartland, Keate’s servant, suspecting that mischief
was afoot, secreting himself between the ceiling and roof of Upper
School, had witnessed the whole screwing-up process through the rose
from which hung a chandelier, and carefully noted down the names of the
boys concerned.
Another time a huge mastiff was put under Keate’s seat, but the Doctor
was fiercer than the dog, which ran away, frightened at his angry gaze.
[SN: THIS ISN’T A GIRLS’ SCHOOL]
One of the old school, Keate had no sympathy with innovations. Though
he himself is said to have always carried an umbrella in sunshine as
well as rain, he could not bear to see a boy with one. “Wet, sir? Don’t
talk to me of weather, sir,” he would say; “you must make the best of
it. This isn’t a girls’ school.” By way of paying their Headmaster
out for such a remark, a party of boys once made an expedition to the
neighbouring village of Upton, took down a large board inscribed in
smart gilt letters “Seminary for Young Ladies,” and fixed it up over
the great west entrance into the school-yard, where it met the Doctor’s
angry eyes in the morning.
In spite of his stern disposition and rough ways Keate was highly
sensitive as to ridicule, and especially disliked attempts to
caricature his appearance.
When the informer in the celebrated case of the Cato Street
conspirators--an Italian image-man by trade, and a very clever
one--made his appearance at Eton one day with a tray full of plaster
busts of the well-known Doctor, cocked hat and all, Keate was very much
annoyed to find that his likeness was selling like wildfire amongst
the boys. There seemed to be only one way of preventing the wholesale
popularisation of his dumpy figure, so, buying up what was left of the
Italian’s stock, he had the figures taken to his backyard and broken up.
One or two boys had the temerity to personate Keate. Lord Douro, son of
the Iron Duke, dressed in an exact copy of the Doctor’s robes and hat,
actually painted the Headmaster’s door red one night, to the amazement
of a few persons who saw him.
In some verse commemorating this feat, the watchmen were supposed to be
summoned before a conclave of masters the next morning to describe what
they had seen:--
“We both last night
Saw him--the Doctor--in his own cocked-hat,
His bands, his breeches, and his bombasine,
Paint his own door-post red.” Then great the wrath,
And great the marvel of that conclave; all
Turned their cold eyes on him, their dreaded chief,
Convicted on such damning evidence
Of this irreverend deed.
Keate never discovered the culprit till years after when, as a Canon of
Windsor, he was entertaining Lord Douro at dinner. The latter, speaking
of Eton days, alluded to the door-painting incident, and was about to
make a full confession when Keate became so red in the face that he
thought it wiser to desist.
[SN: AMATEUR FLOGGING]
Lord Abingdon was another Eton boy noted for his mimicry of Keate;
indeed, dressed up in a cocked hat and gown made expressly for him,
his disguise was so perfect that he actually went round one night and
called “Absence” at the different dames’ houses without being detected.
Years later, after a dinner-party at his home in Oxfordshire, his
Lordship would dress up as Keate, and, birch in hand, enact a scene
in the “library” for the edification of visitors. On one of these
occasions he persuaded one of them to “go down” on a block, made in
exact imitation of that at Eton, which stood in the room, whilst two
others “held him down,” and the story goes that the noble host pitched
into his guest with such hearty goodwill that, when allowed to get up,
the latter was so sore in more ways than one that he called for his
carriage and drove off in a great rage.
Though boys mimicked and laughed at Keate behind his back, very few had
the courage to stand up to him face to face. One of the few, however,
who did so was Charles Fox Townshend, the founder of “Pop,” who,
“staying out” on account of indisposition, refused to write out and
translate the lessons of the day, in consequence of which he was in due
course summoned to the awful presence of the redoubtable Headmaster. In
the well-known tones of thunder which made four generations of Etonians
tremble, Keate demanded the meaning of such conduct. “Don’t speak so
loud, Dr. Keate,” replied Townshend, “or you will make my head ache.
If I had felt fit to write out and translate the lesson I should have
gone into school, but I did not feel well enough, so I stayed out.” The
famous Headmaster, it is said, was so dumbfoundered by the readiness of
the delinquent’s reply that he let him go without any punishment.
On the whole, Keate does not seem to have been an ill-natured man,
for, in spite of his occasional fits of ferocity, he was held in
considerable esteem by a large number of the boys. They bore him no
ill-will for the floggings he had caused them to undergo, and, when
he left Eton in 1834, presented him with a gift testifying their
appreciation of his merits. This consisted of a silver reproduction of
the Warwick Vase, on the pedestal of which was inscribed--
PRESENTED
BY THE EXISTING MEMBERS OF ETON SCHOOL
TO THE REVD. JOHN KEATE, D.D.
ON HIS RETIREMENT FROM THE HEADMASTERSHIP
JULY 30, 1834,
AS A TESTIMONY OF THE HIGH SENSE THEY ENTERTAIN
OF HIS EXQUISITE TASTE AND ACCURATE SCHOLARSHIP
SO LONG AND SO SUCCESSFULLY DEVOTED
TO THEIR IMPROVEMENT
AND OF THE FIRM YET PARENTAL EXERCISE
OF HIS AUTHORITY
WHICH HAS CONCILIATED THE AFFECTION
WHILE IT HAS COMMANDED THE RESPECT OF
HIS SCHOLARS.
[SN: AN AMUSING DINNER]
Keate was in Paris soon after Waterloo, and there he met a number
of old pupils to whom he had administered castigations. The latter
determined to give their former pedagogue a dinner, which in due
course took place at the Restaurant Beauvilliers, then one of the
best dining-places in Paris, the hosts being Lord Sunderland, Lord
James Stuart, and other scions of the aristocracy. The banquet was
a most jovial one, and Keate did full justice to its excellence,
drinking every kind of toast, and making a most suitable speech, which
appropriately ended with “Floreat Etona.” After dinner a good deal of
chaff began to fly around the table, and the guest of the evening was
told of many Eton happenings which he had never heard before. For the
first time he learnt of how two of his masters had secretly contrived
to go up to London every Saturday in order to dine with Arnold and
Kean at Drury Lane, surreptitious suppers at the “Christopher” were
described, whilst tales of tandem expeditions, fights with bargees, and
poaching excursions in Windsor Park reached his somewhat astonished
ears. The old man, however, took everything in excellent part, merely
remarking that all he had heard but inspired him with regrets that
he had not flogged the assembled company as much as they appeared to
have deserved. On leaving, he thanked his hosts in a few well-turned
phrases, and, parting from them on excellent terms, went home amidst
loud cheers.
No doubt he owed a good part of the popularity which, in spite of his
sternness, he eventually obtained to the attractions of Mrs. Keate, who
was a very fascinating woman. In the year 1814, during a match with
Epsom, the Eton champion, John Harding, scored 74--an extraordinary
number in those days, when the bowling generally beat the bat. It
called forth a poem from a clever Colleger (“Marshal” Stone), in which
were the following lines. The Doctor saw them and was vastly amused:--
No vulgar wood was the bat of might
That swung in the grasp of Harding wight;
No vulgar maker’s name it wore,
Nor vulgar was the name it bore.
It was a bat full fair to see,
And it drove the balls right lustily;
Without a flaw, without a speck,
Smoothe as fair Hebe’s ivory neck--
It was withal so light, so neat,
The Harding called it--Mrs. Keate.
When the allied sovereigns were present at a fête in the gardens at
Frogmore in 1815, the King of Prussia is said to have gone up and
kissed Mrs. Keate, making the excuse of her remarkable likeness to his
Queen.
All sorts of stories have been told of Keate’s fondness for wielding
the birch. “Remember, boys,” he is once supposed to have said, “you are
to be pure in heart, or I’ll flog you till you are.”
He certainly did castigate an enormous number of Etonians, amongst
them, it is said, half the Ministers, Secretaries, Bishops, Generals,
and Dukes of the earlier portion of the nineteenth century; but,
nevertheless, the boys in his own division were usually punished by
having to write out impositions, and were not flogged except for some
very flagrant offence, such as intoxication.
Keate, as Headmaster of Eton, it must be remembered, was chief
executioner, and had to do justice when a boy was complained of by any
assistant master.
The school had drifted into very slack ways, and Keate, who possessed
a very intimate knowledge of Eton, realised that leniency would merely
make matters worse. Consequently he rather favoured drastic measures,
and in spite of adverse criticism his system had a good effect. It has
often been urged that it failed because the boys at times openly defied
his authority. In the earlier days of his rule this was occasionally
the case, and gross insubordination prevailed, though it never reached
such a point as it had attained in the days of Keate’s predecessors.
On the other hand, when the stern old Headmaster handed over the reins
of power to Dr. Hawtrey, the school had become quite orderly and
controlled.
[SN: NAPOLEONIC METHODS]
Though, as has already been said, not much given to flogging boys
under his immediate control, he was a firm believer in the efficacy
of the birch for almost every kind of offence, and was quite ready
to be a ruthless executioner in order to facilitate the work of his
subordinates.
His methods were entirely Napoleonic, and when flogging boys who
had committed some unusually heinous offence, by way of making
an impression on their minds as well as their bodies, he used to
accompany his infliction of punishment with a number of cutting remarks
punctuated by strokes of the birch: “A disgrace to your friends”
(swish, swish), “Ruin to your parents” (swish, swish, swish, swish),
“You’ll come to the gallows at last!” and so forth.
Flogging at Eton was once described by the _Edinburgh Review_ as “an
operation performed on the naked back by the Headmaster himself, who is
always a gentleman, and sometimes a high dignitary of the Church.”
The Eton boys of the past took their floggings very lightly. One of
them having, it is said, been flogged by the Headmaster by mistake for
another boy, though he knew that he had done nothing to deserve his
castigation, made no attempt whatever to escape it. When, however,
the real culprit was discovered an investigation took place, and
the flogged one’s tutor then asked, “Why did you not explain to the
Headmaster that you had never been complained of?”
“Well, sir,” was the reply, “I have been complained of so often that
once more or less didn’t seem to matter much; besides, I thought that
very likely some master I had forgotten about might have complained of
me after all.”
[Illustration: Headmaster’s Room, showing Swishing Block and Birches.]
Like many others, Fielding, a typical Englishman of a long-past age,
was in after life proud of having been flogged. Alluding to Eton in his
introduction to the thirteenth book of _Tom Jones_ he says, “Thee in
thy favourite fields, where the limpid, gently rolling Thames washes
thy Etonian banks, in early youth I have worshipped. To thee, at thy
birchen altar, with true Spartan devotion, I have sacrificed my blood.”
[SN: REFUSING TO GO DOWN]