of Sixth Form--was nobody at all in the eyes of the Oppidans. Few of
them indeed knew him by sight, and fewer still felt any curiosity to
do so. As far as I remember he enjoyed no particular privileges except
the right of presenting a new Headmaster with a birch tied up with
ribbon of Eton blue. The captain of the Oppidans held a slightly better
position, a sort of idea prevailing that there must have been something
extraordinary about him or he would not have risen so high in the
school, Oppidans as a rule not being generally considered very clever
or apt to work.
[SN: “SWAGGERS”]
Next to the captain of the boats in popular estimation came the
captain of the eleven, who in his own circle commanded a good deal
of attention, and of course stood infinitely higher than any boy
distinguished only for intellectual attainments. The members of the
eight and eleven followed after, together with a few other “swaggers,”
who on account of their prowess at football, rackets, running, fives,
and sometimes even rifle shooting, were regarded with a certain degree
of reverential awe.
Of late years, however, a more satisfactory state of affairs has
prevailed, not a few prominent athletes and oarsmen having shown
considerable mental capacity.
FOOTNOTE:
[10] This list is the one given in _Nugae Etonenses_.
IX ROWING AND GAMES
The early history of Eton rowing is somewhat obscure, but it is
perfectly clear that the Oppidans have always had control of all rowing
arrangements. In former times, indeed, Collegers only boated below
Bridge, and were rarely seen above; indeed if they did go up stream
they were more than likely to be molested by Oppidans, who claimed that
part of the river as their own watery domain.
[SN: THE BOATS]
Though boating must have gone on at Eton ever since the foundation of
the College, there would appear to have been no attempt at a regular
organisation till the middle of the eighteenth century. In 1762 there
were three long boats, the “Snake,” the “Piper’s Green,” and “My
Guineas Lion.” Then, as now, a captain of the boats presided over the
crews. In the early days of Keate’s reign (1811-1814), however, there
seem to have been six boats--one 10-oar (the “Monarch,” as now), three
8-oars, and two 6-oars, later on changed to four 8-oars and one 6-oar.
At that time, as has been the case in later years, the “Monarch,”
though it stood first on the list, and took precedence of all the other
boats, was by no means the best manned, being, as has been the case
in later years, something of a refuge for swagger boys who might not
be exceptionally fine oars. For this reason, though it was scarcely
regarded with contempt, yet it could never either be looked up to as
affording a pattern for the other crews. A place in it, however, was a
good thing to be secured.
In 1829[11] the Upper boats were the “Monarch,” “Britannia,” and
“Etonian”; the Lower, “Victory,” “Thetis,” “Defiance,” “St. George,”
and “Dreadnought.” The “Thetis,” it should be added, replaced the
“Hibernia,” which disappeared as the “Trafalgar” had done. In 1830,
however, one of the Lower boats was called the “Nelson.” At that time,
it should be added, the Lower boats were made up of Lower boys and
Fifth Form indiscriminately. The revival of the “Nelson” in 1830 was
due to a revolt of the Lower boys in a dame’s house against the Fifth
Form, which ended in the former putting a boat on the river in order
to escape compulsory cricket. The boats used were clinker built, and
either gig or wherry fashion, the eights mostly of the former. They
had rowlocks, but not outriggers, and must have been heavy as compared
with modern clinker-built eights. The oars were of the old type, square
loomed, with a button nailed on.
The original practice in the Lower boats was to employ watermen (known
as “cads”) as strokes and steerers. Jack Haverley, for instance, who
in 1861 became the head waterman employed by the school, steered the
“Defiance” as late as 1830. Another old custom practised on great
occasions was for each boat to have in it some visitor to Eton. When,
as sometimes happened, the honoured guest chanced to be a demure
gentleman in black, he looked singularly out of place amidst the gay
costumes of the crew. In old-fashioned times this “sitter,” as he
was called, sat in the centre of the boat to keep it steady, but in
later years he reclined in the stern, usually with a large hamper of
champagne in front of him, it being the custom for a sitter to make the
boys a present of wine. In those far-distant days little check would
seem to have been placed upon the boys indulging freely in alcohol.
The writer’s uncle, who as Lord Walpole steered the “Etonian” in 1830,
often told of the glorious bowls of punch which he and his friends used
to consume. From the account he gave, the Upper boys at least were then
allowed in most respects to do pretty much as they liked.
[SN: A TRICK]
The authorities did not in any way interfere with anything connected
with boating, of the very existence of which, however, according to
a curious convention, they were supposed to be unaware. Dr. Keate
indeed carried the practice of ignoring rowing to such an extent
that when Eton beat Westminster at Maidenhead in 1831, he only heard
of it because the news of the victory was forced upon him. Dr.
Hawtrey, however, did recognise boating as an authorised institution;
nevertheless he did nothing to remove the absurd custom of regarding
boys going to the river as being out of bounds. In Keate’s day, as has
elsewhere been said, the river was really forbidden before Easter,
owing to an idea that the cold, chilly weather would produce illness
amongst the boys. Some mischievous “wet bobs,” taking advantage of
this prohibition, in 1829 played an amusing trick on the masters. The
weather just before Easter happened to be very bad, and “the water”
in consequence was forbidden. Nevertheless, the boats went up until a
grand capture of rebellious spirits was meditated by the authorities.
By some means this purpose became known, and the wags masked and
dressed up eight “cads” to represent Upper boys. They had not reached
Upper Hope before the scheme began to take effect. “Foolish boys! I
know you all. Come ashore,” sounded from one bank. “Come here, or you
all will be expelled,” re-echoed from the other. At last, after a great
deal of shouting and galloping, the masks were dropped and the joke
explained.
[SN: SURLY HALL]
In old days, on certain evenings chosen by the captain of the boats,
the Upper crews had regular feasts at Surly, known as “Duck and
Green Pea” nights, where there was much conviviality, the crews being
usually elated on the return journey, on which it was the custom to
pull leisurely at first. As, however, they passed Boveney Church
(there was then no lock) they drew in their oars, and the watermen who
pulled stroke were called on for songs, which they sang solo, the boys
joining in the chorus. After the watermen were dispensed with, the same
customs continued. This entertainment was kept up from Boveney to the
Rushes, and then the pulling was “Hard all!” for fear of being late for
Absence, or, as it was then called, for fear of being “out afresh.”
It was on the voyage up, however, that the rivalry between the boats
mostly took place; but whenever they rowed “Hard all!” silence was
kept, and each boat tried to make a race of it with the one in front or
behind. After the feast at Surly, songs were sung till the time when
“Oars” was called, when the crews rushed off to their boats in order to
get back before Lock-Up. The Lower boats, which only escorted the Upper
ones up to Easy Bridge above the Rushes, met them on their return and
took part in the procession down to the Bridge.
These “Duck and Green Pea” nights afterwards developed into the “Check”
nights (supposed to be so called from the shirts of the rowers) which
Dr. Goodford abolished in 1860. “Check” nights took place on every
alternate Saturday after the 4th of June, at the end of the summer
half, and to the last the crews of the Upper boats maintained the
traditional fare of duck and green peas for which Surly Hall was
celebrated. The old place, which saw so many generations of Etonians
swallow copious libations of champagne, though it long survived the
abolition of “Check” nights, is now itself but a memory of the past,
having been pulled down in 1902.
In former days, on such evenings as boat-racing had taken place,
Eton was very lively indeed, the crews on their way home stopping to
drink the winners’ healths at the Christopher, and then walking down
arm-in-arm until they reached the school, where a crowd had collected.
As in later times, the winners were “hoisted” and carried along by
the wall amidst cheers. Windsor Bridge was then the winning-post
of all races, the starting-point as a rule, it would appear, the
Firework Eyot, which in old maps figures as Cooper’s Ait. The races,
it should be added, were always for money, a good part of which in all
probability was spent in drink.
The 4th of June and Election Saturday were celebrated by the Procession
of Boats in gala dress and by fireworks from the Eyot. Previous to 1814
all the rowers in each boat had a fancy dress appropriate to the boat.
In after years the crews wore blue jackets with anchors embroidered on
the outside arm, clad in which they pulled all the way up to Surly. In
1828 checked shirts were introduced, and this fashion has continued
ever since. On special days the boats had tillers fashioned as
serpents, and garlanded with oak leaves, instead of the ordinary wooden
tiller or the rudder lines and yokes which they used in the races. On
the 4th of June and on Election Saturday the crews donned a special
costume, the main features of which were a dark-blue jacket with brass
buttons, hanging loose in front in order to show the distinctive
pattern of the shirt, over which the silken handkerchief worn round the
neck hung. Up to about 1828 the coxswains of boats on such great days
wore fancy costumes, but after that date every coxswain was dressed
as a naval officer, increasing in rank according to the precedence to
which his boat was entitled, and this custom is still followed on the
4th of June. A somewhat curious coincidence in connection with the
boats is that Lord Rosebery, Lord St. Aldwyn, and Lord Coventry in
their Eton days all rowed bow in the _Monarch_--the ten-oar which seems
always to have been one of the boats.
The great event for Eton oarsmen was formerly the annual race against
Westminster, which in the early part of the nineteenth century excited
the greatest interest. The proceedings in connection with the selection
of the eight which was to try conclusions with the London school
provoked much the same interest and enthusiasm as that now evoked with
regard to the Eton crew to be sent to Henley. The series of contests
with Westminster seems to have commenced in 1829 with a race for £100
a side. A regular course of training was always undergone, and for a
number of years the match was the great event of the summer half. As
time went on, however, it was discontinued, though revived in 1860 as
part of certain concessions made by the then headmaster, Dr. Goodford,
in consideration of the abolition of “Check” nights and “Oppidan
Dinner.”
[SN: “OPPIDAN DINNER”]
“Oppidan Dinner” was a survival of the eighteenth century, and
seemingly originated at the old Christopher. In later days, however, it
was held at the White Hart at Windsor, the number of boys sitting down
being usually about fifty, each of whom paid something like eighteen
shillings a head, which charge included wine. The time for this dinner
was at the end of the summer half, and those who took part in it were
members of the Upper boats’ eleven and Sixth Form and a few other Upper
boys. The captain of the boats managed everything, and sat at the head
of the long table in a room which stretched right through the inn,
one end looking out upon the castle. The dinner began at four in the
afternoon, an adjournment to Eton taking place for six o’clock Absence,
after which, about 6.30, the boys returned to the White Hart for
what was called “dessert,” though every one expected to drink rather
than to eat. The chief show on the table consisted of decanters and
glasses, all of a very cheap sort, it being well understood that few
would survive the wholesale breakage which almost invariably followed
the annual feast. Toasts were then given, the captain of the boats
rising first of all to propose “The Queen.” This was drunk standing,
amidst an accompaniment of cheers. “The Prince of Wales and the rest
of the Royal Family” followed, after which the boys waited eagerly for
the toasts which had more immediate reference to their own particular
interests and the songs which formed part of the evening’s programme.
The proceedings invariably closed with “Floreat Etona,” the drinking of
which was the signal for breaking up. This toast not unnaturally evoked
wild enthusiasm, and at one time it was the custom for every one to
fling their glasses down and dash them to pieces on the table. About
half-past eight the diners returned to Eton in very hilarious mood,
the captain of the boats and other popular athletes being generally
subjected to a very enthusiastic “hoisting.”
[SN: CHANGES]
The Eton authorities, though perfectly aware of this somewhat
Bacchanalian feast, never took any notice of it till it was abolished
in 1860. As, however, old drinking customs decreased, it became clear
that Oppidan Dinner was destined to disappear, and its existence was
threatened years before it was done away with. It was notorious that
as a result of this banquet a number of boys came to Absence in a very
fuddled condition, and the headmaster, when calling over the names, had
to keep his eyes well fixed on the list for fear of seeing behaviour of
which he would have been obliged to take notice. At Lock-Up time things
were worse still, and of the reeling crowd who surged down the High
Street some occasionally became so violent that it took six or seven
boys to get them to bed.
The last Oppidan Dinner of 1859, however, was by all accounts the most
sober on record. Indeed an aged waiter at the White Hart was moved
almost to tears at the small amount which had been drunk. Those who
took part in it were of more serious disposition and mind than their
rollicking predecessors of former days, and most people agreed that the
dinner had become an anachronism. When, however, in the following year
R. H. Blake-Humfrey, captain of the boats, in unison with the present
Provost, Mr. Warre (who had then just come to Eton as a master),
concurred in its suppression, not a few were taken by surprise, whilst
many an old Etonian of the old school shook his head and murmured that
Eton was going to the dogs.
In return for the abolition of “Oppidan Dinner” and “Check” nights, it
was agreed that the eight should be allowed annually to row at Henley,
whilst “boating bills” were instituted so as to put aquatics on the
same footing as cricket with respect to exemptions from six o’clock
Absence. It was also laid down that, on days in the summer half when
there was no five o’clock school, the crews of two eight oars should
be excused from “Absence” on condition of their undertaking to row to
within sight of Cookham Lock. The “strokes” of the two boats were made
responsible, on their words of honour, to see that the conditions
were fulfilled. In addition to this, the whole of the High Street, as
far as Windsor Bridge, was placed within bounds, so that boys going to
the “Brocas” or returning from it were no longer obliged to “shirk”
when they met masters. Finally the annual boat race with Westminster
was to be revived. That very year a race was duly rowed between Eton
and Westminster at Putney, in which Eton won very easily. There was,
however, nothing extraordinary about this, for since the old days when
Eton and Westminster had been rival schools the former had greatly
increased in size. Westminster had in reality barely a chance, for it
had been only with considerable difficulty that an eight had been got
together at all. Though some of the Westminster oars were good men,
the crews that rowed against Eton from 1860 to 1864 were entirely
outmatched in weight and strength. In addition to which, in 1861 and
1862 the Eton eight possessed a tower of strength in their captain
and stroke, Mr. R. H. Blake-Humfrey, who, it should be added, has, in
his introduction to the _Eton Boating Book_, given such a clear and
excellent account of the early history of Eton rowing. The race between
the two schools did not take place in 1863; instead, the Westminster
boys came down to Eton on Election Saturday and had supper with the
Eton crews in the meadow opposite Surly Hall. Rowing back to Windsor,
the visitors very nearly became involved in what might have been a
serious catastrophe, for the cox of the Westminster eight, not being
used to the river, steered the wrong side of the posts above Boveney
Lock, and but for the warning shout of the steerer of the Eton eight,
the Westminster boat would probably have gone over the Weir. The match
of 1864, in which Eton won by 27 seconds, was the last occasion upon
which the two eights met. Since then the schools have developed in
different directions, with the result that the old cordial relations
are now in all probability for ever at an end.
Modern Eton has produced several famous oarsmen--notably Mr. S. D.
Muttlebury, whose first triumph was winning the “Lower boy pulling”
with S. S. Sharpe in 1881. The present boating colours are the Eight,
Upper Boat Choices, Upper Boats, Lower Boat Choices, Lower Boats,
the latter of which all adopted the old Defiance colour in 1885. For
this and other information I have to thank Mr. F. F. V. Scrulton, the
present captain of the boats.
[SN: SWIMMING]
Swimming has always been in great favour with Eton boys, but in old
days the authorities paid no attention to it, and no effort was made
to check boys who could not swim from risking their lives. There
appears, however, to have been some regular bathing-place as long ago
as 1529, for it is chronicled that in that year a boy was drowned at
“le watering place,” the site of which, however, is unknown. The first
teacher apparently was a Frenchman named Champeau, nicknamed by the
boys Slipgibbet, who about 1829 taught swimming with corks, which
state of affairs continued till all unauthorised teachers of natation
were swept away. Champeau, also playfully known as Shampoo, gave his
lessons at the spot opposite to “Athens.” The old Frenchman must have
been a competent teacher, for three miles was often accomplished by
some of his pupils, and headers off Windsor Bridge were not uncommon.
Nevertheless, fatal accidents intermittently occurred. In the early
part of the nineteenth century a boy was drowned close to Boveney
Meads, in the presence of many big schoolfellows, of whom not one could
dive to bring up the body, though it could be plainly seen by those who
stooped over the sides of the boats--fortunately at that time broad
of beam, otherwise more boys would probably have perished. Sixty or
seventy years earlier young Barnard (afterwards Dr. Barnard, Headmaster
and Provost) had only escaped a watery grave owing to the successful
efforts of his schoolfellow, Jacob Bryant, a delicate boy but a good
swimmer. In later years Bryant became a scholar and philologist well in
advance of his age. The average of deaths from drowning was once, it is
said, about one boy in three years. This bad state of affairs was ended
in 1840 when George Augustus Selwyn, with William Evans, organised
swimming and instituted the “passing” at “Cuckoo Weir,” which has now
become one of the regular features of a “wet bob’s” career.
The Upper Collegers at one time bathed at the oak in the playing
fields, the Lower at a spot not far away, which bore the significant
name of “Deadman’s Hole.” Near by was the old wharf, done away with
in 1840, where the Collegers used to keep their boats. In those days,
however, they went but little on the river, preferring to concentrate
their energies in preparing for the annual matches at cricket and
football with the Oppidans. The rivalry was then very keen, and in
winter was even shown by fierce snowball fights, in which both sides
often suffered severely. It may seem strange that seventy boys could
face six hundred, but some of the biggest boys in the school were
Collegers, as they were not superannuated until they were nineteen.
About 1828 the annual matches, both at cricket and football, between
the Oppidans and Collegers were done away with. They were always the
most stoutly contested games of the year, and put both parties on their
mettle far beyond the excitement of any other match. A good deal of
bitterness was sometimes displayed, and now and then a smack on the
head or a designed “shin” were given and received; but, on the whole,
these matches did something to draw Oppidans and Collegers together,
and their abolition is to be deplored, though, in the present age, the
great excess of Oppidans would, it must be confessed, have rendered
their continuance difficult.
[SN: ST. ANDREW’S DAY]
Of all the various contests which formerly took place between Collegers
and Oppidans the annual match at the wall on St. Andrew’s Day alone
survives, and has lost none of its interest, though the two elevens are
chosen from seventy Collegers and from close on a thousand Oppidans. In
reality the chances of victory are in a great degree equalised owing to
the fact that whilst the Collegers have every opportunity of playing
the game during the whole of the time--usually about six years--during
which they remain at Eton, only a small number of Oppidans play at
all till within two years of their leaving school. It would here be
superfluous to enter upon any detailed description of the game. [SN:
THE “WALL”] Suffice it to say that it is played within a narrow strip
of ground some twenty feet wide and close up against the old wall built
in 1717, the goals being the tree with a white mark at the end towards
Slough, and the door of Weston’s Yard at the Eton end. The origin of
this peculiar form of football is very obscure. Mr. E. C. Benthall,
K.S., Keeper of the Wall in the present year, 1911, who has most
obligingly furnished me with some interesting information, believes
that it originated from “passage football,” and doubts if it was ever
played very seriously till about one hundred years ago, at which time
it was an entirely different game from what it is now. In spite of its
quaint terms, it would seem to be of no great antiquity, at least in
anything like its present form. The wall itself dates from 1717, but
about the earliest record of any regular game there dates from the
first decade of the nineteenth century, at which time any one who
chose seems to have been allowed to play, with the result that there
were usually eighteen or twenty a side. It was then practically the
only form of football popular at Eton, though occasionally something
approaching to the modern “Field Game” was played in the open. Till
1841, however, such forms of relaxation were discouraged by the
masters. Nevertheless, on the piece of grass between the path and the
river in Lower Club the Collegers, up till about 1863, played a variety
known as “Lower College.” This was probably a link between the field
and wall games, for it had “shies” and “goals.” In early days the wall
game was played on a much wider strip of ground than is at present the
case. The bully was not its essential feature, and the ball was often
run down the whole length of the wall. Sixty years or so ago matches of
Dames _v._ Tutors were occasionally played, and during one of these the
ball somehow was pitched right on the top of the wall, along which it
ran for some eight yards before coming to a dead standstill on the top.
The rules were then, of course, more elastic than those now in use, and
since they were drawn up in 1849 the game has undergone various minor
changes, including the curtailment of the space at the wall to its
present limits and the toleration (about 1851) of “furking” the ball
back in calx.