One of Spankie’s best-known predecessors was a sock cad named Charley Pass, who was to be seen daily stationed at the wall near the gateway with a curious tin apparatus containing pies, kept hot by a charcoal brazier. He had a peculiar cry, somewhat resembling that of the long obsolete pieman. “Ham and Veal; Mutton Eel,” he would call out as the boys were emerging from school. Young Collegers who knew his ways would drive him to fury by shouting “and dog—that’s what I want.” Trotman with his barrow was also a familiar figure in the “forties.”
Another sock cad who had some pretensions to being a rival to Spankie was a hook-nosed little man known as Levi, the Jew. Spankie and he constantly indulged in verbal sparring, in which the Hebrew, who was a man of few words, as a rule got much the worst of it. On one occasion this so infuriated Levi that a battle royal ensued. Goaded to frenzy by some taunt of Spankie’s, Levi challenged him to come on, and an animated tussle ensued, speedily ended only by the appearance of one of the Masters, who, separating the combatants, thoroughly frightened both by declaring that he had a good mind to see that the two of them should be prevented from frequenting the neighbourhood of the wall. The idea of this thoroughly cowed even the irrepressible Spankie, and henceforth Levi and he lived at peace.
A less assertive character than either of the two worthies mentioned above was old Brion or Bryant, a white-headed sock cad whose invariable costume was a grey coat. According to current report he had no less than twenty-one children. His speciality lay in purveying small glasses of cherry jam dashed with cream at fourpence, which must have yielded him a good profit.
Bryant outdid the other sock cads in owning a huge barrow, which every day was wheeled to the wall. A portly, good-natured man, he was not as astute as Spankie, and consequently was frequently imposed upon by his young customers. Sometimes, however, he showed a keen aptitude for business. When, for instance, a little boy complained that he had given him but a small pennyworth of preserve in his jam-bun, he would evince the amiability of his intentions by saying, “I was afraid it might disagree with you, sir.”
Another well-known character in the sixties of the last century was an old lady known as “Missis,” who sat by the entrance to the school-yard selling apples, nuts, bullfinches, and dormice.
During more recent years there have been no sock cads of such marked individuality as those mentioned above, nor do they enjoy the privileges which were accorded to their predecessors of a more easy-going age, their appearance at the wall being discouraged. Some, however, still ply their trade in the playing fields and at the bathing-places. The most original of the modern school was “Hoppie.” Every portion of this worthy’s costume, according to his own account, had belonged to some prominent old Etonian. During the summer half he was a constant frequenter of “Upper Hope,” where perhaps he still parades “the Duke of Wellington’s coat” and “Lord Roberts’ trousers” as of yore.
Thirty years ago there were several individuals known as “Jobey”—a name taken from almost the last of the old Eton characters, “Jobey Joel,” who died not very long ago. He remembered the school when far more latitude was allowed the boys, and had many a queer tale to tell of that vanished institution, the Christopher, now but a fading memory in the minds of a few.
THE CHRISTOPHER
The ancient hostelry in question would seem to have flourished as long ago as the sixteenth century. The mention of a certain Nicholas Williams lodging “ad signum Christoferi” occurs in the Eton Audit Book for 1523. The old inn served as a refuge to the “ever memorable” Eton Fellow, John Hales, who for his unwavering allegiance to the King was deprived of his fellowship.