Public-supping, subs. (Christ’s Hospital).—See quots.
1870. The Blue, Mar. It is, we believe, certain that T.R.H. the Prince and Princess Teck will grace one of the Lent PUBLIC SUPPERS with their distinguished presence.
1900. Daily Telegraph, Mar. 16, “London Day by Day.” That quaint and historic old custom known as the “public supping” of the children was celebrated last evening at Christ’s Hospital, Newgate Street, in the presence of the Lord Mayor, Alderman Vaughan Morgan (treasurer of the school), and other civic and educational dignitaries.
1900. Pall Mall Gazette, 20th Mar., 3. 2, “A Lenten Supper.” Attention is directed to this festival this year for two reasons—one, that it is a very ancient custom; the other, that this is nearly the last year in which it will be held; for it is clear that when the school has changed its site, its dress, and certain of its officers and masters, it will not care to carry on this quaint old ceremony. And indeed, were the Hospital to hold such revelry at Horsham there would be few to come as guests, if the name of guest can be assigned to one who plays a part so passive as that of seeing other people eat.... The scene of the supping is the Great Hall.... Six hundred boys and more appear as nothing; they are all seated.... At each table sits a matron, according to their wards (of which there are fifteen), and attached to each ward is a matron, who used to be called nurse. Beside the tables are the monitors, responsible for order—biggish boys—not “Grecians,” for Grecians do not appear at the Lent suppers, except to read or pray or sing, having already eaten in their wards. The first performance, probably, is to light the candles on the tables; each ward has four candles, and all are lighted at almost the same moment. The hall is lighted from the roof by gas, so the candlesticks are little more than ornaments. They are of oak, old, and well-weighted at the base, and can count their age by centuries.... Their quaintness is concealed by artificial flowers, which the boys pay for and the matrons arrange, the result more suggestive of suburban bonnets than antiquity and quaintness. Ask a boy Why? he will probably reply that “it always has been done.” Change has come; it used to be held on Sundays during Lent instead of Thursday as to-day, and up to absolutely recent years there were six suppers instead of four. These festivals interfere somewhat with school work, and those who are officially compelled to attend find sameness, even in a public supper, in the course of thirty years or so. As the clock strikes seven there is a rap, the boys stand up, the organ bursts into “God save the Queen,” and up the hall marches the Lord Mayor, preceded by the chief beadle of the Hospital, clad in gorgeous raiment and a mace suggestive of a fish-slice. Behind comes the treasurer of the Hospital, another alderman, and various governors, each bearing a green stick to mark his office. These sit in reserved seats at the far end of the hall, the Lord Mayor in the chair, while on his right hand by the wall are masters and on his left some “officers.” The ceremony—a strange mixture of a religious service, a meal, and a feudal relic—begun with the reading of a passage from the Sermon on the Mount by a Grecian standing in a pulpit, whence he proceeded to read special prayers written for the school by Bishop Compton, ending with the Lord’s Prayer, after which a hymn and “grace” and then the supper, during which the Lord Mayor, with a select few, made the grand tour of the hall. Such a supper was soon over, and it was not long before the boys had gathered up the plates and bowls and cloths and knives, and then came grace and an anthem well sung by a well-trained choir. This was followed by the feudal feature in the evening: the whole school, with the exception of the Grecians, “bows round,” i.e. the boys walk up two and two, marshalled by two beadles, who stand near, and drawing near the chair, then bow the head in reverence to an Authority. Most boys have a “trade,” and in this procession each one carries a symbol of that “trade.” The matron’s special boy carries a bonnet-candle in each hand, the knife-boy carries his knife-basket, and the cloth-boy takes his cloth neatly rolled beneath his wing, while, last of all, the bread-boy hoists the tall bread-basket shoulder-high and “bows round” with it, never failing to raise a laugh as well as a basket. When all have bowed, the boy-marshalling beadles bow also, and the revels are ended. It is believed that the original purpose of these suppers was to rouse interest in the outside public and possibly raise money from their pockets; at all events, collection boxes used to be placed about the hall on those occasions.
Puddex. See Dex.
Puke, verb (Winchester).—To vomit. [A survival.]
Puker, subs. (Shrewsbury).—A good-for-nothing.
Pulling-out, subs. (Charterhouse: obsolete).—Pulling-out took place on Good Fridays. A line was marked from a corner of green to cloisters. On one side of this line stood the first and second forms, i.e. the Uppers, on the other side of it the Unders. The Unders had the right of calling on any unpopular Upper to run the gauntlet between two rows of Unders from cloister doors to a point near the chapel. They armed themselves with implements of all kinds, such as sticks, or stones fastened into stockings, with which to inflict punishment upon the Uppers. The latter naturally resisted; hence there were fierce fights and dangerous rushes. During the PULLING-OUT of 1824, a little fellow called Howard, a younger son of the Earl of Suffolk, was entangled in one of these rushes, dragged along the ground for some distance, with a mass of boys upon him, and received injuries from which he died soon after. This was the end of PULLING-OUT, but the custom was as old as the school.—Mozley. Also Calling-out.
Pulpiteers, subs. (Winchester).—See quot.
1891. Wrench, Word-Book, s.v. Pulpiteers. An arrangement during Cloister-time of Sixth Book and Senior Part V. going up to books together.... Middle and Junior Part taken together were called Cloisters.