Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

This resolution was very much applauded, for both Power and Anson were warm advocates of boating. It was now nearly lock-up time, so they had to go back to their tutors. On their way Reginald was accosted by a number of boys, who, in pretty sharp tones, inquired his name.

“Are you at a dame’s house?”

“No; I am in Mr Lindsay’s house,” he answered.

“I say, are you come to school here? What’s your name, then?” asked another. “What house are you in?”

Reginald told him. So on it went till nearly a hundred boys had made the same inquiries, and received the same answer. Reginald was not sorry to get back to Mr Lindsay’s, for he was really beginning to get tired, and be a little hungry, too, in spite of his dinner at the Christopher. Power and Anson came to his room to help him put it in order; but he had a considerable number of other visitors, mostly Fourth-Form boys, who came in to ask him his name, and to make him tell all about himself.

“I knew a Warrender,” said one. “Are you his cousin? He was a fellow with a hooked nose and hawk’s eyes.”

“Warrender you mean,” put in another; “Warrender who was here was a very good-looking fellow, only he squinted with one eye, and never could parse a line of Horace correctly.”

Reginald said that he had no cousin that he knew of, though he might possibly be related to the talented individual spoken of. The answers he made to the very miscellaneous and unexpected questions put to him satisfied them that the new boy was no “muff.” The lower boys especially felt a great respect for him, because he acted in so very different a way from what they had done, and took all things so completely us matters of course. He went into Power’s room to take tea, where Anson and two or three other fellows of Power’s standing joined them. He was in the lower Fifth Form. Shortly before bed-time they went down to the hall to supper. Here he, of course, had again to reply to the various questions put to him by boys he had not before met. Then Mr Lindsay invited him to come and have some conversation, and seemed tolerably satisfied by the answers he made to all the questions put to him. A bell then rang, and the names of all the boys belonging to the house being called over by one of the praepositors, to ascertain that none were missing, prayers were read by Mr Lindsay, after which all the boys retired to their rooms to go to bed. Reginald, as may be supposed, very quickly tumbled into his, and went to sleep. Thus ended the first day at Eton.

At his age we are apt to count time by days, and to note especially the events of each day. As we grow older, we reckon oftener by weeks – advancing, we think it enough to note what has happened during each month, till at last the years themselves slip by with almost the rapidity, we fancy, of our earlier days. Two important things with reference to this remark should be remembered when we are young. One is, that we must prepare for the future, or the future which we have fancied so far off will come suddenly and find us unprepared; another is, that we should learn to wait patiently for events till they occur, being assured that they will occur, and that we should, in the meantime, endeavour to employ ourselves to the best possible advantage. Many a young man fancies that it is not worth while preparing for what cannot happen for so long a time; or again, that the time has already passed for doing a thing, and that it is useless to attempt it. This is especially the case with regard to commencing some useful employment, or preparing for a profession. It is never too late to be employed usefully. Many a man has risen high in a profession into which he has not entered till late in life.

Sunday is truly a day of rest at Eton. Reginald found that he was not expected to get up till nearly nine o’clock. As he was always an early riser, he was dressed before eight, and set to work systematically to unpack his clothes and to put them away. Then he sat down to read, and the book he read every boy will do well to read, not only on Sundays, but on other days in the week. After he had read a couple of chapters, he found that he had still some time to spare, so he arranged the books he had brought on some book-shelves hanging against the wall, and then Power came in and told him that he must come and breakfast with him. Prayer bell next rang, and all the boys in the house assembled in the hall, when, as usual, Mr Lindsay read prayers.

Reginald was much surprised to find so many big fellows either in the sixth form, or in the upper Middle-Fifth – from fifteen years old up to nineteen and even twenty – in every respect full-grown men. As he looked at them he thought to himself, “I suppose that I shall have to be fag to some of those big fellows – clean their boots, and brush their clothes. Well, patience; many a better fellow than I am has done the same thing, and not been the worse for it. Whoever fags me shall not have to complain that I am in a sulky pet – that I’m determined.” Prayers over, they all hurried to breakfast.

Reginald accompanied Power to his room, where three or four other fellows were assembled. He was scarcely prepared for the capital repast he found spread. There were a couple of cold chickens and a tongue, some potted meat or other, and his well-known acquaintance, a pot of orange marmalade, one of strawberry jam, and some honey. There were both tea and coffee, a good allowance of butter (there is a regular quantity served out), and a large pile of hot rolls, – three, he found, being served every day to each boy.

Breakfast occupied nearly an hour, and very pleasant Reginald found it. He then had to get ready for morning chapel at eleven.

“I am glad to see that you have brought a couple of good hats,” observed Power. “I was afraid that you might have thought that you could go about Osberton fashion in a cap or tarpaulin. We here, you see, never wear anything but black hats, except with cricketing and boating dresses. Remind me to have a look at your other things to see that they are all right. It’s as well to be particular. If you are, you’ll take a good standing at once in the school among the fellows: better by half be a dandy than a sloven or a muff.”

On their way to chapel Reginald was accosted continually as on the day before by fellows asking his name and all sorts of questions, but he had a ready and a good-natured answer for all.

He did not think that there was much devotion at chapel, especially as a great number of the boys came provided with a store of sacking things, with which they were continually filling their mouths, such as lollipops, sugar-candy, barley-sugar, and other sweet compositions.

It is extraordinary what an amount of these inside-deranging mixtures, supplied by the renowned Spankie and other men at the Wall, lower boys at Eton will consume. The Wall, par excellence, Reginald soon found out is a low wall in front of the upper school, outside the school-yard. “The men at the Wall” are sellers of “sock;” that is, eatables – sweet mixtures generally. They are so called from usually taking their stand there. Old Spankie has been described as a soft-tongued fat old man, who professed to know about everything and about everybody. He carries a tin, and deals mostly in buns and jam. Another man wheels in a hand-cart after every school-time, from which he produces ices, strawberry messes, and sucking-things of all sorts.

“You remember the Squire’s advice,” observed Power; “I adhere to his principles, but all the fellows don’t. It is extraordinary how they will run into debt with those men, and more than anticipate their next half-year’s pocket-money – little geese that they are. It enrages me to see some of them sucking and eating away all the day long, as if that was their chief object in life. I call them sucking babies, but it would be difficult to break them of the practice. I have known fellows at the beginning of the half obliged to dodge those cake-men as if they were bum-bailiffs and they gentlemen in difficulties, either going into the school-yard by the lower school passage, or else sneaking in close behind a master, knowing that they would not attempt to attack them in his presence. It is extraordinary what some of them will eat. I was once fagged by two Fifth-Form boys who were ‘staying out,’ that is, supposed to be too unwell to go into school, and what do you think it was for? You would scarcely believe me when I tell you that these sick fellows, and I suppose that there was something the matter with them, had laid a wager one against the other, that they would eat six dozen oranges a-piece. The one who could not manage it was, of course, to be the loser. The two dozen I got them was, I know, the fifth instalment. One ate rather more than six dozen, the other was very sick when he had finished the fifth; but you may depend on it, both of them had to ‘stay out’ for two or three days after it, and to take no end of medicine.”

“I should think so, nasty pigs!” exclaimed Reginald, who, although he could make very good play with his knife and fork at dinner or breakfast, had a great contempt for sweatmeat and sugar-plum eaters.

“You are right,” said Power. “Those sort of fellows are mere gratifiers of a low animal propensity, like the unlicked cubs of a bear, who will steal sugar wherever they can find it. I never put much confidence in such fellows, and I wish Etonians could be cured of the habit.”

Reginald was very anxious to have an insight into the plan of the school arrangements, and Power undertook to enlighten him.

“In the first place,” he observed, “you must understand that there is the Lower School, and whatever the boys belonging to it may think of themselves, it is but a very insignificant appendage to the establishment of Eton. It is generally composed of small boys, who have been to no other school. It is, indeed, more of a private school with none of the advantages of one, and all the disadvantages of a public school. So I will say no more about it, and you, at all events, will not belong to it. The Upper School, which is really Eton, is divided, in the first place, into Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Forms. The Fourth Form is again separated into two parts – the lowest retains its name, and the other is called the Remove. The Fourth Form is subdivided into Lower, Middle, and Upper, and the Remove into Lower and Upper. The Fifth Form is also divided into Lower, Middle, and Upper, and these divisions are again subdivided according to convenience, usually into three divisions each. The Sixth Form consists of twenty fellows, namely, ten Oppidans and ten Collegers. The boys on the foundation are called Collegers: the management of the College and the Collegers is a very complicated matter. They are the fellows you see going about in heavy black cloth gowns. They go by the name of ‘Tugs,’ which is short for tug muttons, because they used, it is said, to be fed on tough mutton. The lower boys treat Tugs with great contempt, because they look down upon them as belonging to an inferior class. This they should not do, and it is arrant folly into the bargain; for many a Tug has risen to be a Lord Chancellor, or to fill one of the highest offices of the State, while the self-satisfied Oppidan, who has snubbed him as a boy, has ended his days as a sub in a marching regiment, having run through all his property before he was of age. High up in the school there is a good deal of party-feeling indulged in by fellows who ought to know better. It comes out when ‘Collegers and Oppidans’ are being played, either at football or cricket.”

“I do not think that I shall ever be able to remember all about the Fourth and Fifth Forms and Removes,” said Reginald.

“Here you have it in black and white, then,” said Power. They were sitting in his room after chapel, enjoying that otium cum dignitate which an Etonian learns so well to value.

1. Lower School, composed of small boys neither learned nor wise.

Fourth Form: 2. Lower. 3. Middle. 4. Upper.

Remove. 5. Lower. 6. Upper.

Fifth Form.

7. Lower, with about three divisions.

8. Middle, with about three divisions.

9. Upper, with about three divisions.

10. Sixth Form, composed of ten Oppidans and ten Collegers.

“When a fellow like you, for instance, arrives first, if he has been at a good private school, his tutor examines him. If he thinks well of him he is placed in the Upper Fourth, or perhaps in the Remove at once. If he is not above the average, he joins the Lower Fourth, with the rest of the unplaced. He remains in it till ‘Trials,’ which come off about a month after the beginning of the half. According to his knowledge, he is then placed finally in the Lower, Middle, or Upper Fourth. Now you must understand that although Fourth Form is in the Upper School, yet all below Fifth Form, that is, Upper and Lower Remove, and Fourth Form, are called ‘Lower Boys.’ All Lower Boys are liable to be fagged, so that ‘Lower Boy’ is equivalent to ‘Fag.’ Lower Fourth is generally in the hands of a young master, and, like puppies not yet broken in, they are consequently very disorderly. There are also always a few fellows at the top of the division who have come out of Lower School, and take considerable delight in putting the new-comers up to mischief. New-comers have a fortnight’s ‘law’ before they are liable to be fagged. This is to give them time to look about them, and to learn the ways of the school. At the end of that time the captain of their house allots them to some master. As to fagging, I decidedly say in a large school like this it is a very great advantage, and wonderfully assists the governing powers by giving a number of fellows who would otherwise be idle something to do. It teaches, also, fellows to take care of themselves, as well as some accomplishments which they may find very useful in after-life, when they come to knock about the world. After all, too, what are the hardships? A fellow has to lay his master’s cloth for breakfast, get his muffins and eggs, make his tea and his toast, and be ready to cook a mutton chop and anything else he may require. He may also have to clean his shoes and brush his clothes, but in that there is nothing very terrible. The only disagreeable part of house fagging is being sent out at odd hours or in bad weather to get things when a fellow would be rather sitting in his own room. There is no cricket or football fagging here, but out of doors a Fourth Form boy is liable to be fagged by any one in the Upper or Middle Fifth Form, either to run on errands, to buy things for him, or to stand behind a Five’s court, and to pick up the balls, or to carry books for him. This may be called miscellaneous fagging. The captain of Upper Remove is excused fagging by custom. Lower Fifth neither fags nor can be fagged. ‘Upper Lower’ can fag miscellaneously, but cannot own private fags. Middle Fifth seldom have fags ‘of their own,’ as the captain of their house probably appropriates three or four, and gives the second captain two or three, and so on, and thus uses up the ‘Lower boys,’ before they come to the end of the Upper Fifth. The most unpleasant fagging certainly is behind the ‘Five’s walls.’ The old ones, you will find, are between the chapel buttresses in the school yard. You are fortunate in having come up in the middle of the half, because you will have time to become known to fellows, and will be saved a considerable amount of annoyance. If you had come at the beginning of the half, you would have found that the Fifth Form arrived two or three days after you. The next day all the Lower boys are collected together, and are then allotted to the Fifth Form, as I have described. The Fourth Form are made to do the greater part of their lessons under their tutor’s eye, but boys higher up in the school do nearly all their work in their own rooms, and only just go over it with their tutor when it is known. This, of course, is a great advantage, as we can learn all our lessons when we like, and are not tied down in any way.

“There are two examinations – one from Upper Fourth into Lower Remove; and the second, which is the hardest, from Lower Fifth into Upper and Lower Fifth. A boy takes a step upwards twice a year, unless he should be plucked at one of these examinations; so that suppose he is placed in the Middle Fourth – about the average place occupied by a new boy – it will take him two years to get into Lower Fifth, the ambition of every one, as he is then, as I have said, exempted from fagging.

“Every saint’s day here is a whole holiday. Saturday is always a half-holiday, and there is one other half-holiday every week; so that the number of hours we are in school is very limited. Yet it is so contrived that we have at no time but a little over two hours to ourselves. On whole holidays there are two chapels – one at eleven o’clock, and another at three o’clock. There is a roll-call at two o’clock, just before dinner, and another at six o’clock.

“Generally speaking, we get up at half-past seven. There is school for three-quarters of an hour. We have repetition usually for most days in the week. Breakfast always at nine. School at eleven, as also at three, and a quarter-past five. School lasts only about three-quarters of an hour at a time. Dinner always at two. Lock-up at night varies from five to a quarter to nine. We have supper at nine, and go to bed at ten. So you see, in the natural order of events, we have no very overpoweringly hard work. The time from morning school to breakfast is known as ‘After Eight,’ because, you see, we come out of school at eight. From breakfast till school again, ‘After Ten,’ because breakfast is supposed to be over at ten; and for the same reason from school to dinner is called ‘After Twelve,’ from dinner to school ‘After Two,’ from school to school ‘After Four,’ and in summer from school till lock-up ‘After Six.’ There is, I should have said, also every week one play after four, which means three o’clock school, but none at five o’clock. On half-holidays there is ‘absence,’ that is, calling over names at two o’clock, and in summer at six; and on half-holidays there is church at three instead of school. On whole holidays there is ‘absence’ at a quarter-past nine, and church at eleven as well as at three.

“Of late years, mathematics, which used to be neglected entirely, have, with great advantage, been introduced at Eton. There are several mathematical masters, who have their different schools. Each division goes to the mathematical school three times a week. At first the fellows set their faces very much against the system, and even the classical masters didn’t seem much to approve of the innovation; but they now all see the importance of it, and mathematical studies are now as popular as any other. The Reverend Stephen Hawtrey is the principal. Donkeys may sneer and bray at him, which donkeys always find it very easy to do; but a more philanthropical, kind-hearted, sensible, and religious man is not to be found. I remember when the mathematical schools were first opened, the fellows tried to cough down the masters when they began to lecture. They got also cat-calls, penny-trumpets, and all sorts of things to make a noise, and then had strings made fast to them, which they carried up their sleeves. Scarcely had the masters begun to speak than they commenced their row. Now one of the masters was an old naval officer who had been to Cambridge, and not at all a sort of person to play tricks with. They tried it on once or twice with him, and he seemed not to take much notice of their proceedings. His eye, however, was marking those who were making most noise, and in the midst of the greatest row down he pounced upon them, and, feeling for the strings inside their waistcoats, made a grand seizure of penny-trumpets, whistles, cat-calls, and similar musical instruments. He told them quietly that he did not wish to have any of them flogged, but that if it occurred again he should desire the praepositor to put them ‘in the bill.’ This is, as you will find, for a fellow to have his name written on a slip of paper, and sent up to the Head Master. The fellow whose name is in the bill is told ‘to wait,’ which means that he is to go to the Head Master’s room after school to be flogged. It is an unpleasant operation, and a fellow looks thoroughly foolish when he comes down after it, and his friends kindly ask him how he likes it – what he thinks of it – how he feels? On the occasion I am speaking of, the fellows did try it on again the very next day of attendance, and half a dozen of them got a good flogging for their pains. After that they behaved with much more quietness.”

While they were talking, Anson came in.

“There is one more point I have to tell you about,” said he, “and very important too: it is as to the rules of ‘shirking.’ You must know that everywhere except just in college, – that is, about the school, and in the playing-fields, or on the way to your dame’s or tutor’s, – is ‘out of bounds.’ Therefore, if you meet a master, you have to get out of his way into some hiding-place. In the country you get under a hedge or behind a wall. In the town you run into a shop, and if you do this at once, so as to show respect to the master, very few will say anything to you, though they see you as clearly as possible, and know perfectly well who you are. The Sixth Form need not shirk, as they may go anywhere. Of course, there are certain places if a fellow is seen in, a master will follow him, otherwise he never attempts to do so.

“There is a small house just outside the bounds, where the people are licensed to sell beer. It is called the Tap. It is used almost exclusively by us. If a fellow is caught going in or out, he is pretty severely punished, and yet no master ever thinks of coming in to look for us. Not long, ago a number of our fellows were in the passage, when who should walk in but one of the masters to order some beer for himself. He couldn’t with a very good conscience punish us, so he took not the slightest notice of us, though we made sure he would. To our great satisfaction, away he walked again as if we had not been there. They keep there a long glass, which is brought out and emptied on important occasions by certain fellows, such as the winners of the pulling or sculling races – the eleven who have gained a well-contested match. It is a long tube with a bulb at the bottom, and holds about a pint and a half. Its contents must be drunk off without stopping to take breath, and the difficulty is when one gets down to the bulb to prevent it all rushing out at once, and running over one: a fellow stands by and marks the time one takes to drink the contents. I must take you there some day. There are several places of the sort up the river, where we are pretty well known. I must introduce you also to our favourite liquor, and I think that you will agree with me that it is first-rate. We call it ‘Shandy Gaff.’ It’s a mixture of beer and ginger-beer in equal portions, and on a hot day I know nothing more refreshing.”

“I feel as if I knew all about Eton already,” said Reginald; “you have told me so much.”

His friends laughed. “There are a good many more things which you will have to learn not yet dreamed of in your philosophy,” answered Power. “I haven’t told you anything yet about our games – football, cricket, running, jumping, steeple-chasing. They are very different from those at most private schools. It will take you the best part of a year to learn all the rules of football alone. It will take you nearly as long before you know all the regulations about boating. However, now, when Eton is in its glory, is the time of the year to pick up all that sort of information. We think more of play than lessons, and even the masters never expect to get more than the regular schoolwork out of the boys. You’ll probably stay on till you have worked your way up to Sixth Form, which just now perhaps looks at a very unapproachable distance. I forgot to tell you that the Sixth Form have the power of setting ‘poenas;’ Collegers sometimes do it, and are thought great ‘brutes’ for so doing. Oppidans rarely ever use their power. It assists them somewhat in keeping the Lower boys in order. You’ll observe, too, how particular we are about our costume. Those who wear jackets always keep to black ties, and those who have taken to tail-coats invariably appear in white ties. These sorts of customs may appear trifles, but they all contribute to keep up discipline and order in the school. I, at first, thought them very nonsensical; I now see their use.”

Reginald, when he went to his snug little room that night, thought that he knew a great deal more about Eton than he did in the morning; and though he was glad to be there, he felt altogether thankful that he had not come at an earlier age.