I must, however, in justice, add that, from the present arrangement of having the cricket-match with Eton played on alternate years at Eton and Winchester, the boys themselves (excepting the eleven) certainly must derive far greater amusement than they did heretofore from the knowledge of the fact that the match was being played at London, where, besides the eleven, there probably would not be half-a-dozen present. Now they get two whole holidays; and when the match is played at Winchester, half the Eton boys come over by railway, and are entertained in Hall, so that the game is carried on in the presence of the two schools. Notwithstanding this, I think that the annual contest of the principal schools in the national game is an affair in which the interests of the majority of Wykehamists ought to be consulted, and should take place in the metropolis.
What a noble game cricket must be, when one loved it so much, notwithstanding the previous training! What genuine excitement when College and Commoners was played; what frantic shouting when Rapid got well hold of a “Barter,” (see [Glossary],) and sent the ball from “Spanish Poplar,” right over Meads wall by “Log pond;” or when Cocky, from the centre of “Turf,” landed one well into the middle of Commoners! They used to hit hard in those days with a bat, as well as with a ground ash. How blasé one gets now-a-days! Oh for a quarter of an hour of genuine boy’s enthusiasm!
Meads is always a pleasant spot to me. I played in a match there not long ago against the garrison; but, alas! where was the fire that used to burn within me! I got one run the first innings, and was bowled out first ball by a slow underhand “Lob” (tice) the second; and when I attempted to throw up the ball, it went ten yards wide of the wicket, my arm nearly out of its socket, and I felt the pain in it for a week after. But I am glad I got out soon, for I strolled round the old place, and inspected all the well remembered nooks and corners; and the stones in the wall so carefully smoothed and neatly carved with the names of past heroes. Happy he who, on his return in after life, can find his unscarred; a sure sign that he had left a respected name behind him. There was Amen Corner still unchanged; I could even discern faint traces of
“S̄alvĕ D̆i|vā P̄o|tens”
that we chalked up years ago in honour of “Young Sadnose’s” powers of scanning. Log pond, with its Champions, still exists, but much shorn in its dimensions, and a row of trees planted in front. “Non Licet gate’s” hinges looked as rusty as ever, (it was supposed only to be opened when a boy was to be expelled.) Spanish Poplar was gone,—blown down by a gale. How well I remember, when a small boy twelve years old, on my first appearance in Meads, seeing “Long John” and ten other men pulling at a condemned limb which was half sawn through, when the rope suddenly snapped, and they all in an instant subsided on their backs in the middle of Turf; how I rolled with delight at the scene! Since then I have often rolled with delight, as well as from other sensations, in the old green Meads; one had one’s trials and difficulties, yet, on the whole, I doubt if I have ever been much happier.
About two acres in the centre of Meads was slightly raised above the rest on a chalk foundation, and covered with turf, which was most carefully kept, and constantly rolled, and in winter fenced all round. This, which was called par excellence “Turf,” was kept sacred for the use of the Præfects and the first eleven, (called Senior Match;) except two corners, which were allotted to Middle and Junior Match,—the former consisting of the second eleven and Senior part, and the latter of the third eleven.
But I must now proceed to Football, a game I like (or rather, used to like) far more than cricket. The reason is simple; I was a tolerably good hand at the former, and rather a muff at the latter. Of all the games of football that I have seen, I think none can compare in interest to the Winchester “Six and Six.”[8] I hate the crowded games of twenty or thirty a-side, where for one kick at the ball you receive a dozen on your shins. In “Six and Six” your powers of pluck, endurance, strength, and speed are constantly called into play; it is not all weight and hustling, but speed and scientific kicking, that win the day. Kicking the ball up into the air was considered very bad play, except when the ball had been previously caught before it had touched the ground, when it was allowed, i.e., if the kicker could get the chance, before one of the other side was down upon him.
Our costume consisted of a jersey, flannel trousers, “Beeswaxers,” (lace-up boots,) or “High-lows,” (low shoes,) with two or three pairs of “Worsteders,” (thick worsted stockings,) the feet of all but one pair being cut off.
Every day, during middle school, the two senior Præfects who intended to play made out the “Roll” (list) of the side,—one was headed “Ad Rubrum Murum” (which meant that that side was to kick towards Sick-house wall,) and the other “Ad Foricam,” (vice versâ.) But Football wasn’t all beer and skittles to the Fags. There was an institution called “Kicking in,” which, while it lasted, was much worse than watching out at cricket, although it had the very great merit of not continuing so long; for even on a whole holiday we seldom had more than two hours of it. It was managed as follows:—The ground for the game was marked out by two rows of Juniors, who were obliged to keep exactly in line and prevent the ball from passing outside them, or if it did, to put it back again. Midway between each of the two ends of the line was stationed another boy, as umpire, (“Goal,” he was called,) who stood with his legs wide apart, and a gown rolled up at each foot: if the ball was kicked directly over his head, or between his legs, without his touching it, it was a “Goal,” and scored three for the party that kicked it; if directly over one of the gowns at his feet (a “Gowner”) which counted two; or if it passed between either of the gowns and the last boy of the line on that side, (a “Schitt,”) one.
We used also to play large games, occasionally with twenty-two a-side, which I did not much admire. The biggest boy on each side stood opposite to each other, the remainder pressing up close round, with their heads and bodies down in a compact mass; then, just to encourage them, the captain would drop his great fist on their backs, with a mild injunction; and the ball being deposited in the middle, the struggle began. This was called a “Hot,” a very appropriate appellation. After surging tumultuously about for a time, some boy would emerge from the mass with the ball before him, when it would be kicked about a little, till it got out of the line, when another “Hot” would be formed, and so on.[9] We used to have annual matches with Commoners, six a-side, and also with twenty-two; one of the proudest moments of my life was when I was first unexpectedly told that I was to play in “Six and Six.”