Dr. Hawtrey did not believe in forcing learning upon boys, and was never unduly severe with laggards. “Somebody must be last,” was a favourite consolatory remark of his when any derisive titter at the last name in an examination met his ears. During his tenure of the Headmastership there was much ease and freedom, for it was not in his nature to be a martinet.
Full of good intentions and over-politeness to the boys, it was no wonder that this pedagogue, a veritable prince amongst schoolmasters, was very popular in the school. Whatever a boy said he professed, if possible, to believe, and although his confidence was often misplaced, this course had a salutary effect in fostering and cultivating a gentlemanly spirit. At the same time his very figure was a caution to evildoers, for he had a droop in his right shoulder which was supposed to have come from a frequent and vigorous use of the birch. Among the Lower boys he was generally called “Plug,” from some peculiarity in his countenance, but the swells, by way of refinement, reversed the name and used “Gulp” instead. The same kind of satirical humour led to their ungallantly christening his two old sisters “Elephantina” and “Rhinocerina.” These ladies had a sedan-chair in which they went to parties—one of the last sedan-chairs probably used. Dr. Hawtrey had a great liking for velvet collars, fine clothes, perfumes, and gold chains; one of the school beliefs was that “Hawtrey stood up in £700,” the stiff figure at which his boys assessed his studs, sleeve-links, watch and chains, gold pencil and rings.
Boys are wonderfully astute judges of whether a master will stand nonsense or not, and having discovered that a man cannot keep order, are apt to bring the art of ingenious torment to a high pitch of perfection. Old Etonians will recall the self-control and good-temper shown by certain masters who had not the knack of making their authority felt. Their divisions indulged in every kind of disorder, such as breaking out into applause at some casual comment, and at a prearranged moment commencing to stamp and sometimes even to sing. The keyholes of their class-rooms were filled with small pebbles or india-rubber, whilst various substances were put amongst the papers upon their desk. The writer well remembers the astonished look on the face of a certain master when, crawling laboriously towards him upon his desk, there appeared a poor ink-soaked tortoise, which, to the intense delight of the division, had at last accomplished the feat of climbing out of the ink-pot, where it had surreptitiously been deposited just as school commenced.
“NASCITUR NON FIT”
Another master, who was very short sighted, was always having jokes played upon him just under his nose. On one occasion it was declared he had continued to dip his pen in the open mouth of a particularly torpid toad, substituted for his inkpot, till the reptile, irritated and aroused, jumped right in the middle of his face. Yet other masters, without being particularly severe, kept order without any difficulty at all, the boys instinctively realising that they would stand no nonsense. Of the perfect schoolmaster, indeed, as of the perfect poet, it may be said, “Nascitur non fit.”
To those men who by nature and disposition were unable to make their authority felt, school hours must have often been a time of veritable torment. Generally well-meaning men of gentle nature, when they did punish they almost invariably punished wrong or in an ineffectual manner, their usual practice being either to set some tremendous “poena,” which they afterwards revoked, or settle upon the wrong boy, to whom in the end they were obliged to accord something very like an apology. In a few rare instances the perfectly legitimate loss of temper by a master led to very grave consequences. Goaded to fury by a long course of deliberate insubordination, some tortured tutor would at last turn upon a pupil and box his ears. Physical chastisement by a master in any form whatever was then strictly forbidden, the infliction of corporal punishment being reserved for the Head and Lower Masters alone. The boys were perfectly aware of this, and instances occurred of grave consequences attending a well-deserved blow. One master, I believe, was more or less compelled to leave the school because he had hit a particularly impertinent boy with a book, and several instances of masters receiving reprimands occurred from time to time. By the irony of fate, the most unsuccessful masters were sometimes the cleverest men, who, however, had begun badly and obtained a reputation which caused them to be tortured by successive generations of boys. Of one of these unfortunate pedagogues it was said that during school hours the first rank of his division talked, the second whistled, and the third sang.
AN UNFORTUNATE MASTER
One of the most ludicrous jokes ever perpetrated upon any Eton master was played some ten years ago. At that time several new masters, not all of whom were Etonians, had been appointed, more or less, I believe, upon probation. One of these, who taught modern languages, though a clever man, was of too confiding and gentle a disposition to cope with the boys, and during school hours a scene of great disorder became the almost invariable rule. Paper darts flew all over the class-room, and every kind of queer noise was heard, though the poor man was always unable to bring the offenders to book. Finally, on the 5th of November a regular pandemonium prevailed, fireworks being exploded in all directions, even under his very nose, with the result that he was driven into a state of rage merging upon despair and determined to adopt stringent measures. On the next occasion, however, when the same set of boys came to take their lesson in the language of Molière, what was his surprise to observe that, contrary to all his former Eton experiences, the greatest decorum prevailed, his remarks and comments being listened to in respectful silence, whilst occasionally subdued murmurs of admiration greeted the expounding of some difficult sentence. At the end of that school it had been his intention to address a few words to the boys referring to the scandalous scene of the previous week, but in face of their changed attitude he felt that it would be churlish to show any undue severity, and merely spoke in a tone of surprised regret, adding that he was much pleased to observe such improved behaviour. Upon this a boy, who on previous occasions had been one of the worst offenders, stepping forward, enquired, “Sir, may I say a few words?” Permission being accorded, the youth made a stately little speech, in which he said that any outbursts of indiscipline were deeply deplored by the whole division, for whom he had been deputed to speak. “They were merely,” added he, “playful ebullitions—proofs, he might add, of the great popularity of a master whom they all respected and loved. The fact was, his friends had been carried away by enthusiasm, which in future would be kept within due bounds, and now he hoped the whole incident might be forgiven and forgotten. Meanwhile he had been requested to crave a favour, the granting of which he felt sure no one acquainted with Eton tradition would care to refuse. It was,” he continued, “an ancient custom of the school, when a master attained to an unusual degree of popularity, for his division to be allowed the honour of hoisting him, and that honour he and his friends now sought from their beloved pedagogue.” The master, though rather surprised, felt very much flattered and pleased at having, as he said in a neat little speech of reply, so quickly gained the confidence and love of his young friends, and at the end of school was carried round the new schools, finally being deposited upon the cannon which all Etonians know so well. As his delighted boys went off to their houses they gave him a final cheer, which filled him with joy. On his way home he met one of the older masters and told him of the demonstration, adding, “Oh, I do so adore your quaint customs!” The astounded old Etonian held his peace, but at the end of that half the newcomer had to betake himself elsewhere, it being clear that the Eton boys were too much for him.
ESCAPADES
The old lawless spirit which had prompted so many poaching expeditions and illicit rambles in the eighteenth century still lingered in the writer’s day, when six or seven boys established a regular club, where they could smoke and play nap, in a room over a Windsor toy-shop. One of the chief organisers—now a Peer who has filled several important public appointments—always took care to provide a rope-ladder by which the party might escape in the event of a raid. Some of the Windsor billiard-rooms were also occasionally frequented by a few older boys, some of whom had a regular arrangement which ensured them the exclusive use of the table on certain days of the week. As far as the present writer’s experience went, no serious harm resulted from these sternly prohibited escapades. Nevertheless, afternoons passed in the consumption of much tobacco and some alcohol did no good to health. The authorities, whenever any rumour of such breaches of the school discipline reached their ears, did everything in their power to set matters right. The wonder was, considering how alert were some of the masters, that more of the culprits were not caught. The writer remembers three—one of whom was his friend Mr. Douglas Ainslie, now a well-known poet and critic—who had a very narrow escape indeed. On such afternoons as they indulged in surreptitious visits to a certain hostelry, these boys used to get into their house after Lock-Up through the room of a small fag, who received careful instructions to look out for their return behind the drawn blind of his window, by which access could be contrived from the street. The signal agreed upon was a pebble thrown gently at the glass. For a time this arrangement worked well enough, but one winter’s evening the party, on reaching their house, were dismayed at obtaining no response. One of them—in after life a gallant officer of Highlanders who fell fighting at the head of his men in South Africa—by climbing up and breaking a pane of glass, managed to effect an entrance; his companions followed, and what was their surprise on relighting the light, which had fallen over in the scuffle, to find, cowering in the corner of the room, a beautiful little girl, who was fairly frightened to death! When at last reassured, this child explained that she was the sister of the owner of the room, who had gone out to borrow some tea-things from a friend. Needless to say, under such circumstances, the Lower boy got no hiding for his delinquency.