LORD WILLIAM AT ETON, AGED 11
It is interesting to note that the present-day actor is a relation of Mr. Hawtry of Eton fame. It was through the Eton Hawtry’s persuasions that the Prince Consort founded a prize for modern languages at the College.
Lord Cheylesmore, Sir Simon Lockhart, and Lord Langford were at Dr. Warre’s house with Lord William, the two latter being among the Doctor’s earliest pupils. Lord Langford says, “Bill was never out of rows of different sorts.” While Lord Methuen tells me he remembers seconding a boy named Allen at his tutor’s in a fight with Lord William, adding, “And it was a very hard fight,” but being senior to Lord Bill he saw very little of him while there. Dr. Warre-Cornish, Vice-Provost of Eton, said, “I always liked him. His Eton record is chiefly connected with schoolboy sports and skirmishes with masters at Windsor Fairs, and other places. He kept many bulldogs and was of a turbulent disposition.”
The gas works were close to Dr. Warre’s house, and behind them was the rendezvous of those who had any differences to settle. Lord Langford says, “I think Lord Bill often paid a visit there!” and adds, “On one occasion he captured a polecat and tied it to the leg of a chair in Dr. Warre’s house.” We can well imagine the breathless moments in store for the household. Various surreptitious journeys were taken to feed it and make sure of its safety. Then there was the exciting time of changing the animal’s quarters and attaching it, in spite of protestations, to a certain chair!
History does not relate what happened, but something entertaining, no doubt. After being a year at Eton, Lord Bill heard of the death of his uncle, and that henceforth his home would be at Curraghmore.
While at Eton he seems to have been chiefly conspicuous for his love of sport and fighting, his high spirits, ready wit, and popularity with all. He worked as much as was necessary and no more, for he loved the river, running after beagles, paper, or any other form of sport, more especially a fight. Happily in his time the battles were not so serious as they were in 1825 when Lord Shaftesbury’s brother, Francis Ashley, was carried home to die after fighting for two hours with a boy named Wood.
Like a few other men one could name who have been educated at public schools, and later held important and responsible posts, he could not always depend on his pen carrying out his wishes and spelling properly. Long after having arrived at years of discretion, shall I say? he constantly wrote to an old friend as “My dear Jhon,” meaning John. One day we were talking about certain clever people being unable to spell properly and chaffing him about it; nobody enjoyed a joke against himself better than he did. Somebody asked him, “Bill, why don’t you write the word you are uncertain of down on a piece of paper with all the variations as they occur to you? The look of the word would tell you which was right?” He replied, “I always do write it down on a piece of paper and never doubt its being right.” After which there was nothing more to be said, and we decided it would all be the same a hundred years hence, therefore it did not matter; and at any rate he had my sympathy. He agreed with Yeats, the Dublin poet, who sang:
“Accursed he who brings to light of day