Athletic Sports at Eton—A “Scrap”—Lord Newlands—An Old Boy on
Eton of To-day
Henley Regatta was an event which was always eagerly looked forward to
by us boys. I used to go there with Mr. James and Mrs. Bower and some
of the boys in our house. Sometimes we went by river all the way; at
others by rail. One year, while sitting in the Grand Stand, I overheard a
conversation between a boy named Kirklinton-Saul and his mother. Said the
latter:—
“I don’t always expect to hear from you, my dear, but when you want
money, be sure and write, won’t you?”
To which request the young gentleman gave the answer which might be
expected.
I could not help thinking at the time: “What a nice mamma! I wonder
if there are many such mammas about?” The dinner at Henley used to
consist of duck and green peas with beer, which the boys used to enjoy
greatly; but there was such a crowd at the regatta, that there was always
a tremendous scramble to get to the tables. Mr. James did not take
dinner with him when we went to Henley, as it was so far from Eton. The
toilettes of the ladies were very elaborate, though hardly equal to those
one saw at the Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s. Nevertheless, there were
some very pretty dresses, and—what was still more important—some very
pretty faces. For many young girls came with their mothers to see their
friends and relatives compete for the Ladies’ Plate, which in those days
Eton used to win year after year in succession.[13] The light blue of
Eton was worn by the boys and by the pretty girls who accompanied them.
The Athletic Sports at Eton were always interesting to watch. The
steeplechase course was a most severe one, some very big natural jumps
having to be negotiated, ending with the brook, which was the biggest
jump of all. H. M. Ridley was the fastest runner at Eton in my time.
I recollect one day having a try at the brook in the “field,” which I
succeeded in jumping. The late Lord Lonsdale and his brother, the present
Earl, were standing some way off, and must have thought I could not do
it, for the former shouted out when I landed safely on the further bank:—
“Well done, Black-eyed Susan!” _Black-eyed Susan_, I may mention, was
the name of a popular burlesque, by Douglas Jerrold, which had a great
run at that time at the Strand Theatre. One morning, before breakfast, I
ran John Lister-Kaye one hundred yards for a bet of five shillings, he
giving me five yards start, and managed to win, though he had felt very
confident about beating me. I ran one year in the Hundred Yards for boys
under sixteen at the Sports, and Holdsworth, who was acting as umpire,
told me afterwards that I might have won it, had I not stopped a yard
short, through mistaking the boundary line. He often asked me why I had
done so, but the only reason I could give was that I was so short-sighted.
We had a play-room at James’s, where we used to practise the high jump,
and there were some boys who could clear a jump higher than themselves.
In this room stood a large blackboard, upon which all the names of the
boys who had been at James’s were carved, with the year they came and the
year they left.
The cricket match between Eton and Winchester was played in alternate
years at either school. When the match took place at Eton, the band of
the Life Guards or the “Blues” would play on the ground, where there
was always a large attendance of visitors, including a great number of
ladies. But it was never so fine a sight as the Eton and Harrow match
at Lord’s. At one Winchester match I remember seeing Miss Evans (George
Eliot), who had come as the guest of one of the masters, and whose
presence created quite a sensation.
Once at Lord’s, during the Eton and Harrow match, I was invited on to
the drag of a friend of mine named C. N. Ridley, who was in my own
division, where I had an excellent lunch, washed down by champagne.
Ridley was a good-looking boy, with fair, curly hair and blue eyes, and
his two sisters, who were exquisitely dressed on this occasion in light
blue satin dresses with white lace, were considered remarkable beauties
in London. They were quite young and very fair, like their brother,
with the most lovely blue eyes of the shade of the myosotis. They might
often be seen in the season riding in the Park, and were greatly admired
by the Prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward VII., who invited them
to Marlborough House. Unhappily, both these beautiful girls and their
brother were consumptive, and I heard that they all three died of
consumption not very long afterwards.
In those days, the Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s was a far more
pleasant function than it has since become. Only people interested in
Eton or Harrow were there, and a good view of the game could easily be
obtained. Nowadays people go who do not know one school from the other,
and the whole space is reserved for the M.C.C., so that if you do not
happen to be a member, you cannot see the game at all. One constantly
hears people say at Lord’s now:—
“I don’t know anything about cricket and care less, but I have come to
see the ladies’ toilettes.”
In the old days this was not so. Lord’s has certainly not improved
since.[14]
The boys at James’s used often to go into the pantry, where William, the
butler, would give them a glass of claret, and water Mr. James’s wine
well for him afterwards. Often the butler would exclaim: “Ha! spider up
there!” and while we were looking for it, he watered the claret. It was
in the butler’s pantry that I had the only fight I ever had at Eton, the
day before I left for good. My opponent was the Hon., afterwards Lord,
Henry Vane-Tempest, a son of the Marquis of Londonderry, who was a little
lower down in the school than I was. I don’t think either of us really
wanted to fight, but we were egged on by others whose respective parts we
had taken in a quarrel, and after a very short “scrap,” which I got the
best of, we shook hands and made friends. When I went down to Eton again,
I met Vane-Tempest at my tutor’s, and he told me that he was then leaving
to enter the “Blues.” He has since joined the majority, quite young in
life.
Of the boys at James’s, I may mention that Sir John Lister-Kaye married
Miss Yznaga, an American lady, one of two sisters celebrated for their
beauty and toilettes in Paris, where I often met them in society. Sir
John was a gentleman in attendance on the late King Edward VII. Lord
Mandeville, who was in the Grenadier Guards, and afterwards became Duke
of Manchester, married the other sister. Cecil Lister-Kaye married
the sister of the Duke of Newcastle, who was himself at Eton. Cecil
Lister-Kaye told me recently that his son was at Eton, and that he often
went down to see him. He, no doubt, on these occasions, thinks with some
regret of the happy days of his youth at James’s. I have come across
some of those who were with me at Eton in quite unexpected places. For
instance, I met the present Earl of Northbrook in Bombay. He was on his
way to visit his uncle, then Viceroy of India, and had come to Bombay, he
told me, to buy Arab horses. He was in the same division with me at Eton,
and afterwards served in the Rifle Brigade and Grenadier Guards. Although
I may have forgotten many of my schoolfellows at Eton, I can never forget
those who were in my division. Among them was Henry de Vere Vane, then a
very clever, fair-haired boy, whom I remember envying because he learned
everything so quickly. He was the late Lord Barnard, and inherited the
Cleveland estates on succeeding to this title. I had been told that in
the hall of Raby Castle, his country-seat, a fire had been lighted two
hundred years ago and had never been extinguished since. But Lord Barnard
informed me that this is a legend, and sent me an account of a similar
one:—
“_Fire kept in for two hundred years._
“One of the loneliest spots in England, where there are
only four cottages in an area of thirty thousand acres,
was described at Brampton (Cumberland) Revision Court. The
Conservative agent, Mr. Mawson, said he had visited the farm,
which was situated on a remote fell between Bewcastle and
Haltwhistle, on the border of Northumberland. Members of the
farmer’s family had lived in this particular cottage for six
hundred years, and there was a tradition that the kitchen fire
had never been out for two hundred years. The claimant slept in
a bedroom eight feet square. There was a child there that had
not seen another child for two years.”
[Illustration: The Duke of Rutland
[_To face p. 98._]
Another who was in my division was the Hon. V. A. Parnell, a good-looking
boy, with black hair with a blueish reflection in it, and fine eyes. He
was a good cricketer and clever in school. At times, when we were up
to Mr. Thackeray, Parnell, as he reminded me recently, would, _faute
de mieux à faire_, be engaged in shinning matches with a boy who sat
next to him called Dobson. The latter was a very good-humoured fellow,
who retaliated without losing his temper, though at times he could with
difficulty refrain from betraying the pain which he endured so stoically
with a smiling face.
The present Duke of Rutland, then Henry F. B. Manners, was at Eton with
me, but higher up in the school, and if my memory does not deceive me,
was in the Boats when in the Fifth Form.
The present Lord Newlands, then known as J. H. C. Hozier, was very high
up in the school, and I can remember when he was in my tutor’s division,
as the latter used to say how clever he was, and he frequently came to
the pupil-room at James’s. Mr. James would often tell us about those who
were up to him, but it was rarely that he bestowed praise on any boy.
When Doyne left Eton, I had his room, which commanded a view of the
fine lime-trees, which in the summer looked very charming. On the wall
hard by the boys used to stand or sit to criticize all the people who
passed along the road running through Eton. This must have been a rather
trying ordeal for some of the latter, for I remember that I used to
find it a very trying experience when I happened to be late for chapel,
particularly when I first came to Eton, to be obliged to run the gauntlet
of a double row of boys, who never failed to pass remarks on everyone.
The choir at Eton, which was the same as that of St. George’s Chapel at
Windsor, was a very good one, and one of the boys who sang in it, named
Hancock, was paid, I was told, one hundred and fifty pounds a year.
Hancock sang occasionally the solo part in Mendelssohn’s anthem, “O,
for the wings of a dove,” in a marvellous manner, his high notes being
wonderfully clear; but his voice lacked expression, and, as boys and
girls generally regard certain things purely from an æsthetic point of
view, the impression it made upon us was one rather of surprise than of
admiration. Some of us used to go on Sundays to St. George’s, Windsor,
and sit in the organ loft, where Dr. Elvey, who was a remarkably fine
organist, played most beautifully.
After Dr. Hornby became Head Master, the custom of giving leaving books
was abolished. Personally, I regretted this innovation, not because I did
not receive any, but because I liked to make presents to my friends who
were leaving Eton; and the expense was a small one, to which, I am sure,
none of our parents objected.
Most of us look back upon our school days as the happiest part of our
lives, for, to the schoolboy, the cares and anxieties which weigh upon
us as we grow older are unknown, and, given good health, an Eton boy’s
life ought to be _par excellence_ the very sum of earthly happiness.
Lord Rathdonnell, late of the Scots Greys, who, when at Eton, as
McClintock-Bunbury, stroked the Eight at Henley, and excelled at football
and at most games, besides being very high up in the school and very
popular, wrote to me some years ago, saying that the years he spent at
Eton were by far the happiest of his life, and that he always looked back
to them with intense pleasure. The Captain of the Boats at that time
was Edwards-Moss, now a baronet. Horace Ricardo (now Colonel Ricardo,
C.V.O.), whom I remember quite well, was then in the _Monarch_, and his
brother Cecil rowed in the _Victory_ and was Captain of the Boats in
1871. After leaving Eton, both brothers entered the Grenadier Guards, and
each of them commanded a battalion before retiring from the Service. I
remember that Doyne, who was never high up in the school and for whom
Latin and Greek were somewhat of a torture, telling me years afterwards
that he looked back with regret to the happy days he had spent at Eton,
which, all things considered, were perhaps the happiest of his life. Yet
Doyne was not one of those who had any trouble in after life; on the
contrary, he had everything which a man could possibly desire, besides
enjoying good health. But the joyous, irresponsible days of school life
were gone for ever, and, as he confessed to me, he would only too gladly
have returned to them and lived them over again.
In regard to Eton at the present day, I heard not long ago from an old
schoolfellow, the late Colonel Sir Josceline Bagot, a distinguished
officer of the Guards and author, who had had a boy there, and who wrote
as follows:—
“It all seems much the same, though, to my mind, not improved
in some ways. They have got more room certainly, but, for such
a big place as it has become, I think the traditional freedom
of the boys is overdone altogether. Much too much importance
is given to boys in ‘Pop,’ and allowing them and Captains of
Houses to smack boys with canes for certain offences more or
less officially is, to my mind, a great mistake, and starts
the rotten system of many public schools of ‘monitors,’
‘prefects,’ etc. No boys should have that power, and it is much
worse for them to have it than for the boys who get smacked.
It all comes from the masters thinking themselves too grand
to swish boys as in the old days; and the Head Master smacks
them on rare occasions with a stick, whereupon they put on two
pairs of trousers, etc., and merely laugh at it and him, and
they barely touch their hats at all to the masters. They all
smoke now to a great extent, far more than we ever did, and,
though the Head Master is wild about it, he is powerless to do
anything sensible to stop it; and some of these rich Jew boys
and foreigners have far too much money and spoil things. If I
were Head Master, I wouldn’t have them at the school at all. I
was next to Lyttelton in school for a year or so, and like him,
but he has no respect and control at all for such a position.
Still, if drawbacks have crept in, it is still the best school
in the world.”
As time goes on, one hears everywhere, and always in a louder whisper,
the serious, dangerous word, “decadence.” But let us allow the evil
question whether our culture is really going to ground to rest, and
rather attempt a very naïve example: Suppose a true son of classical
Greece—Socrates, for instance—were conducted in a dream into the midst of
our modern culture. He would look with amazement at the marvellous means
of locomotion, the production of the factories, the luxurious comfort of
private houses, the magnificence of our theatres and so forth; but the
question whether we ought to be proud and happy he would answer in his
usual way:—
“In my country I knew Pericles and heard the dramas of Sophocles. I knew
Alcibiades and saw Phidias at work, and my pupil was Plato. Now show me
your living masters.”
The next day Socrates would relate:—
“I dreamt this night I was in Persia. Everything is greater there
than you can imagine. Immensely great are the treasures, the armies
and navies, the towns and houses, the machinery employed. In short,
everything is inconceivably great; only the people are very small....”