In Smith Street, at the corner of Durham Mews, stood Durham House School, a large, square, rambling old building, without any pretence to architectural design, apparently built at different times. It contained over forty rooms and dormitories, with a large playground at the back extending the whole length of the mews. It was strictly a boarding school, and must have had nearly one hundred boys training for Eton and Harrow and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, mostly the sons of the aristocracy and the leading families. Some of our most eminent men were trained there. Some of the younger boys on the fourth form were allowed out with the usher on the Wednesday afternoons in the summer time, from two till six, to wander in the fields and lanes to gather wild flowers and to receive instruction in botany. I became acquainted with them at the tuck shop in Queen Street, kept by an old crippled shoemaker, where we used to gamble for sweets by an apparatus called a “doley.” You dropped a marble down a spiral column on to a tray at the bottom with a lot of indents for the marble to lodge in, all numbered, and the highest number took the prize.

There were two ushers to the fourth form who took duty in turns. One a stout, sombre-looking man, whose sole enjoyment appeared to be to sit out on the riverside of the Thames and smoke, drink beer, and read. I think I became rather useful to the boys as I could always find them bait, and knew where the best fishing was to be had, and would get them white mice. The other usher was a very much younger man, and better liked, as he would bring the boys to certain places and leave us to ourselves, with strict instructions to meet him at six. Usually the place of meeting was the Monster Tavern, at the end of the Willow Walk. We very soon found out that he was courting a young lady at a tavern in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. I recollect one Wednesday before Palm Sunday we had been left at the ferry to go over to Battersea fields for the afternoon. We wandered about amusing ourselves till we got to Latchmere, at the bottom of Pig Hill. They were then building the South Western Railway, and the land was all open so we wandered along by the side of the stream, about six feet wide, that bounded the long gardens of the large houses in the Wandsworth Road. It had willow trees on the banks on each side, and we began to gather palm, when we came to one tree on the opposite bank that had some exceptionally fine bits, but out of our reach. So we tied our handkerchiefs together, placed a large stone in the end and threw them as a lasso over the end of the branch and drew it to us. Four or five of us pulled it over and held it while the others were to gather. I was at the end pulling with all my strength, when all at once I found myself lying on my face on the other side of the stream in the garden, with the old gardener standing over me. I was tolerably scared. He collared me and took me up the garden into a sort of paved yard, and placed me between a dog kennel, occupied by a tremendous mastiff, and a pump, just outside the reach of the dog’s chain. The dog seemed to treat me with the most utter contempt. I do not think he would have hurt me, as he simply walked up and down and sniffed a bit, and then laid down and went to sleep. As I stood on one side I had a view of the kitchen or scullery with the servants, and on the other side through an open doorway in the wall, I had a view of the lawn and flower garden, and the glass casements of the dining room.

I was kept standing there for more than two hours, when my captor, the old gardener, came and had a look at me, and went into the house and returned with a stout red-faced man, with no hat and a white handkerchief round his neck, who went into the house. It had got dark by this time, and the lights were lit; he presently returned, and the cowardly old brute, took me by the collar and almost choked me, and pressed his great coarse knuckles into my neck, and tried to hurt me as much as he could. I should have liked to have had him to myself for a little time. I know his poor old shins would have known it. He fairly dragged me into the house and through a glass door into the dining room, where there were at least ten or twelve ladies and gentlemen at dessert. I was taken to the end of the table, where a tall, white-haired old gentleman sat who was very deaf, and I was questioned by two or three of them, and one gentleman who looked like a clergyman, began to lecture me and said how wicked it was to come into a gentleman’s garden to steal the fruit. One young lady said, “Oh, Pa, that cannot be, there is no fruit now.” From questions by one and the other I had to tell them everything; the usher’s going courting seemed to rather amuse the young people. After being seriously talked to I was allowed to go, and was taken out into the front hall, when one of the young ladies came out with a bunch of grapes and some figs and thrust into my hand, and at the side door by the stables I was met by one of the maid servants with a lump of pudding. I very soon made my way down Falcon Lane to the High Street and turned into Church Street, and as I passed old Battersea Church I knew it was nine o’clock, as the bells began to ring—as they did every evening at that time. I think that was about the last of our Wednesday afternoon outings alone, as it came to the knowledge of the usher, and he was afraid it might get to the school authorities.