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.
[Illustration: James Culliford, the last Chief Butler of College to
wear the livery of Eton blue, standing by the College Pump. _Reproduced
by permission of the Earl of Rosebery, K.G._]
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.
[Illustration:
Mr. J. Long (College Porter)
C. Westbrook (Cook)
J. Wagstaffe (Scullion)
H. Atkin (Brewer)
W. Runicles (Photographer)
Bott (Policeman)
W. Perkins (Policeman)
J. Culliford (Butler)
G. Culliford (Son)
Old College Servants. _Photo lent by G. Culliford, Esq._]
[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.
At this time the relations between Collegers and Oppidans were not
very cordial, the Lower boys amongst the latter in particular often
rendering themselves peculiarly objectionable to the King’s scholars,
at whom they were wont to jeer. Sometimes some especially aggressive
little Oppidan would be caught and taken into Long Chamber, and either
soundly thrashed or caned, or else subjected to the blanket-tossing
process which has just been mentioned. When this was the case the
victim for some time after had good reason to remember his half an
hour passed amidst the “Tugs”--which term in those days was far more
opprobrious than is at present the case.
[SN: THE GOWN]
The exact origin of the word “Tug” has never been cleared up. The most
popular explanation has always been that it is derived from the Latin
word _toga_, a gown, and referred to the black gowns they wore, and
still wear, in school. It should here be added that up to 1864 this
indispensable appurtenance of a King’s scholar was made of cloth and
very heavy. In that year, however, the light material at present in
use was introduced, while the length of the gown was somewhat reduced.
The old-fashioned gowns contained pockets, which were often receptacles
for viands and dainties to be smuggled into Long Chamber. A parody of
Gray’s _Ode on Eton College_, written by a King’s scholar in 1798,
alludes to this:--
I know my gown when first it flowed
An awkward majesty bestowed,
When waving fresh each woolly wing
That worn-out elbows serve to hide,
Or else to hold unknown, unspied,
A loaf or pudding in.
As far as the writer has been able to ascertain, the top-hat, or
in earlier times its predecessor, the cocked or three-cornered
one, has always been the head-dress worn by Collegers, though in
an illustration[9] representing the Iron Duke being cheered in the
quadrangle in the middle of the forties of the last century, the King’s
scholars are shown wearing or waving mortar-boards. These, it would
appear, existed only in the imagination of the artist.
The allusion to worn-out elbows in the ditty given above is significant
as to the poverty-stricken appearance of the Collegers, most of whom
were then very sorrily dressed. Almost without exception they were boys
whose parents had but small means. As a matter of fact College was
never intended to be an educational refuge for rich or high-born boys,
and, as a highly competent critic has remarked, “A young aristocrat
in a serge gown is an anomaly not contemplated by the statutes of the
royal founder.”
Before the reforms made in College in 1845 most of the King’s scholars,
it must be confessed, were more of the class intended by Henry VI. than
has since been the case. In latter years many Collegers have belonged
to well-to-do or even rich families, whereas the Foundation was
specially intended for poor boys. In the early part of the nineteenth
century a certain proportion of those in College were the sons of
Eton or Windsor doctors or solicitors, royal servants, or successful
tradesmen. Besides these there were sons of Eton masters and boys of
impoverished country squires. The former class of boys, however, were
in some way made to feel that they were not the equals of the sons
of gentlemen, and subjected to petty humiliations which did their
schoolfellows small honour.
Besides being exposed to physical violence, small boys, especially if
they were clever, were sometimes made to do work for stupid big ones.
A certain lazy lout, however, was once well served out by his victim.
In difficulties as to the composition of a set of verses, the bully one
day got hold of a smaller schoolmate, and under the threat of a severe
licking got him to do the verses for him. When, however, the bully came
to showing up the lines which he had not done, and which he had not
even troubled to read, they were found to be so grossly indecent and
outrageous in tone that the master who looked at them at once declared
the writer should be flogged. At first the bully did not dare admit
that they were not of his own making, but eventually at the block he
admitted the fraud, with the result that the boy who had played him the
trick was also punished. It is to be hoped, however, that the bully
received the more severe thrashing of the two.
When the celebrated Porson was a Colleger, one of his contemporaries
was Charles Simeon, known as “Snowball” Simeon, the ugliest boy in
College, who afterwards became an earnest Evangelical preacher. In
after life he looked back upon the doings in Long Chamber and its
lawless rowdyism with horror, and once told a friend that he would be
tempted even to murder his own son sooner than let him see in College
the sights he had seen.
[SN: A RUNAWAY]
Under such circumstances it is not surprising that small Collegers,
if they were sensitive boys, occasionally made determined attempts
to run away. One did so more than thirteen times, and became so
well known on the road that he was almost sure to be stopped before
he got far. Nevertheless he once got up to town in a very curious
manner. He slunk early, before morning school, into the yard of the
Christopher; the London coach was standing outside, and no one by, so
he was able unobserved to creep into the boot, trusting to luck, which
befriended him, for there chanced to be that morning no passengers, and
consequently no luggage to be stowed away. The runaway was therefore
driven without disturbance in his uneasy berth, which he only vacated
on the arrival of the coach at the White Horse cellars in Piccadilly.
The general tone in College was somewhat rough and irreverent, as may
be judged from the following. Every Sunday morning at nine o’clock the
Collegers assembled in Lower School for prayers, the headmaster sitting
in the desk, and a praepostor standing up repeating the Confession
and a prayer or two out of the Winchester Prayer-Book. All joined in
the 100th Psalm, which sometimes, more especially towards the end of
the Half, was made the occasion of a not very seemly demonstration.
During the last Sunday the order went round that every one was to
sing his loudest, and on one occasion the noise was so terrific that
it could almost be heard in the playing fields. Keate, who was at
that time in the desk, did not, however, take any notice of this
irreverent outburst. He had been a youthful Colleger himself, and
probably considered that the whole thing was merely a too enthusiastic
performance of an old Eton tradition, which in his eyes excused a good
deal.
In school work the Collegers then, as now, easily maintained an almost
unchallenged supremacy. Almost without exception the sons of poor
parents, accurately grounded and imbued with the idea that education
was a real preparation for life, they knew that they would have to make
their way in the world by their own exertions, for which reason to be
“a sap” in College was quite an ordinary thing. Besides this, sixty or
seventy years ago the very traditional customs which excluded a King’s
scholar from comparatively expensive amusements, such as the boats, and
made him a member of a separate football and cricket club, served to
protect a boy from drifting into various forms of fashionable idleness.
At one time few boys went into College who had not previously been
Oppidans, and, till Provost Hodgson’s reforms made it possible for
every boy to have a separate cubicle room, Collegers used to have rooms
down town or in their tutor’s houses, where they could escape from fag
masters and the disorder of Long Chamber. In such rooms they could
work, wash, and eat in peace.
[SN: TRONE’S]
Up to 1864 King’s scholars had to wear their gowns out of school,
though they abandoned them before passing over Barnes Pool Bridge. A
sock shop in the High Street called Trone’s was almost exclusively
frequented by King’s scholars because they were allowed to leave their
gowns there when going into Windsor. Oppidans never frequented it, and,
curiously enough, as showing the persistence of traditional usage,
years later, when the shop had changed owners, though no one could give
any particular reason, it was supposed to be “scuggish” to pass its
doors.
Whilst Long Chamber could never have been called an abode of bliss, it
had its pleasures, one of the chief of which was the rat-hunting, in
which Porson is said to have taken so much delight. If the Colleges
lacked food they never lacked game in the shape of rats, which fairly
swarmed about the ancient dormitory. Some of these animals which defied
capture became well known to the boys, who in a sort of way felt a
respect for one veteran--an immense, perfectly gray old rat, which was
supposed to be the ghost of King Henry VI., or at any rate to have been
in being from the very first foundation of the College.
All sorts of food was constantly being smuggled in. According to
tradition, a sow was once captured and stowed away on the leads till
she had farrowed and provided roast sucking-pig in abundance. Hares
and other game surreptitiously caught in Windsor Park furnished many a
hearty feast. The Collegers were anything but particular, and on one
occasion, it is said, actually roasted and ate an unfortunate swan
which they had lured to its doom.
A great College institution was Fire-place--a supper held before a
roaring blaze, carefully set going by Lower boys in one of the two huge
grates in Long Chamber, under the eyes of the captain of the room, who
enjoyed the privilege of granting an extension of revelling time (known
as a half-holiday) beyond the hour of ten, when boys were expected to
be in bed. Five bedsteads were run out in two parallel rows around
the Upper Fire-place, one facing the cheerful glow, and an impromptu
supper took place, the boys consuming such provisions as they had been
able to smuggle in. A certain amount of these were obtained from the
Christopher “on tick,” whilst a common dish was a grill made of scrag
ends of mutton and bones purloined from Hall. Songs followed this
supper, the proceedings, which terminated at eleven, being enlivened by
College songs roared in chorus. These were chiefly of a Bacchanalian
or nautical order; some also dealt with poaching. A favourite song was
“The fine old Eton Colleger--one of the Olden Time.” The last verse of
this ran:--
Now times are changed, and we are changed, and Keate has passed away,
Still College hearts and College hands maintain old Eton’s sway;
And though our chamber is not filled as it was filled of yore,
We still will beat the Oppidans at bat and foot and oar,
Like the fine old Eton Collegers,
Those of the olden time.
[SN: JOHNNY BEAR]
Not infrequently very palatable viands were obtained by the Upper boys
and real banquets held, the pleasures of which were enhanced by the
potations which “Johnny Bear” brought from the Christopher and pushed
through the bars of Lower Chamber, the usual receiving-room of all
smuggled goods, on the ground floor and adjoining the school-yard. The
Lower boy whose turn it was to watch for Johnny’s arrival had pretty
good cause to remember such visits on cold nights.