About thirty years ago, Eton boys were seized with a craze for hoaxing the London Press, and some extraordinary letters appeared in various papers. The most extraordinary of all was one bearing the signature of an Eton master which described the writer’s remarkable experiences in the country, where he had witnessed a conflict between a cow and a partridge, in which the cow, after a prolonged chase, had eventually captured and devoured the bird. The master eventually wrote an indignant denial, but he was never able to discover who had taken his name in vain.
The greatest practical joke ever played at Eton was the colossal hoax perpetrated in the early eighties of the last century upon the somewhat ingenuous editor of a newly-started London magazine, who had been struck with the idea of increasing its attractions by publishing authentic news of public-school life. Not unnaturally he began with Eton, and, setting to work to secure contributors at that school, obtained some really astounding information, which afterwards went to the making of an extremely scarce little book called Eton as She is not. More recently an amusing account of the whole affair appeared in the Cornhill Magazine at the end of an excellent article on “College at Eton.” At first the editor’s correspondents merely furnished him with accounts of local events, all of them pure invention; but, emboldened by success, they soon went on to describe some interesting old customs. The first was chronicled thus:—
A curious custom takes place here on certain days in College Dining Hall, called “Passing the Green Stuff.” The second fellow at the big fellows’ table suddenly says, “Pass me that Green Stuff,” referring to a dish of mint placed on the table; then the fellow opposite him stands up, and says “Surgite” (arise), on which all the other fellows get up from their places and run the fellow who “broached” (i.e. asked for) the green stuff round the School Paddocks, shouting out such military commands as “Quick march! Right turn!” etc. They then return to dinner, when a “grace-cup” is partaken by all except him who “broached” the green stuff.
“SLUNCHING” THE PADDOCKS
In the next number readers were informed that at Eton Prisoner’s Base is a great success, and the Paddock is almost always deserted for the Cloisters. The following then appeared:—
Another curious custom at Eton is “Slunching the Paddocks.” On a certain day all the Collegians and Oppidans are provided with a coarse sort of pudding, which is put to the following use. After dinner is over they all go to Weston’s and School Paddocks and throw their pudding all over them. This is “Slunching the Paddocks,” the pudding being called “Slunch.” It is supposed to be derived from the fact that when Queen Elizabeth visited Eton College “she lunched” (s’lunched) in College Hall, and the students sprinkled the paddocks with dry rice in her honour.
In the number published on March 5, 1884, a purely imaginary list of the officials of the various school departments was given. There were the Captains of the “Broach” and the “Slunch,” the two College boats; the Captain of Cricket Tassels, R. J. Lucas;[12] Captain of Fives Tassels, Havager Boroughdale; Captain of the Musical Department, R. A. S. Berry-Young; Captain of the Curling Club, T. T. Vator; Captain of the Spelican Team, Tute Goodhart; Captain of Ushers, J. Goodwin; Steward of the Paddocks, H. Beecham Wolley; Choragus, C. Wofflington. This was followed in the next number by the news that the Spelican team had played their first match of the season on March 11 against the Dorney Dubes. The Collegian Brigade, an admirable corps, which marched out as far as Brocas Hedges, was later on described as having met with a catastrophe, for “a bull loose in Weston’s Paddock, which they passed through on the way, attacked the line, and a boy named Swage was knocked over and slightly bruised.”
This went on for six months, when the Editor wrote and expressed a desire to come down to Eton and see the place for himself. He was duly shown a hockey match between B. Wolley’s “Field Mice” and Flenderbatch’s “Jolly Boys,” the match being played with tassels on the caps and all, which so impressed him that he returned to London and wrote an account of what he had seen, giving at the same time a new and original version of the School Song, addressed to “Pulcra Etona” and praying among other things that:
Slunna fluat,
Semper ruat