The early history of Eton rowing is somewhat obscure, but it is perfectly clear that the Oppidans have always had control of all rowing arrangements. In former times, indeed, Collegers only boated below Bridge, and were rarely seen above; indeed if they did go up stream they were more than likely to be molested by Oppidans, who claimed that part of the river as their own watery domain.

Though boating must have gone on at Eton ever since the foundation of the College, there would appear to have been no attempt at a regular organisation till the middle of the eighteenth century. In 1762 there were three long boats, the “Snake,” the “Piper’s Green,” and “My Guineas Lion.” Then, as now, a captain of the boats presided over the crews. In the early days of Keate’s reign (1811-1814), however, there seem to have been six boats—one 10-oar (the “Monarch,” as now), three 8-oars, and two 6-oars, later on changed to four 8-oars and one 6-oar. At that time, as has been the case in later years, the “Monarch,” though it stood first on the list, and took precedence of all the other boats, was by no means the best manned, being, as has been the case in later years, something of a refuge for swagger boys who might not be exceptionally fine oars. For this reason, though it was scarcely regarded with contempt, yet it could never either be looked up to as affording a pattern for the other crews. A place in it, however, was a good thing to be secured.

In 1829[11] the Upper boats were the “Monarch,” “Britannia,” and “Etonian”; the Lower, “Victory,” “Thetis,” “Defiance,” “St. George,” and “Dreadnought.” The “Thetis,” it should be added, replaced the “Hibernia,” which disappeared as the “Trafalgar” had done. In 1830, however, one of the Lower boats was called the “Nelson.” At that time, it should be added, the Lower boats were made up of Lower boys and Fifth Form indiscriminately. The revival of the “Nelson” in 1830 was due to a revolt of the Lower boys in a dame’s house against the Fifth Form, which ended in the former putting a boat on the river in order to escape compulsory cricket. The boats used were clinker built, and either gig or wherry fashion, the eights mostly of the former. They had rowlocks, but not outriggers, and must have been heavy as compared with modern clinker-built eights. The oars were of the old type, square loomed, with a button nailed on.

The original practice in the Lower boats was to employ watermen (known as “cads”) as strokes and steerers. Jack Haverley, for instance, who in 1861 became the head waterman employed by the school, steered the “Defiance” as late as 1830. Another old custom practised on great occasions was for each boat to have in it some visitor to Eton. When, as sometimes happened, the honoured guest chanced to be a demure gentleman in black, he looked singularly out of place amidst the gay costumes of the crew. In old-fashioned times this “sitter,” as he was called, sat in the centre of the boat to keep it steady, but in later years he reclined in the stern, usually with a large hamper of champagne in front of him, it being the custom for a sitter to make the boys a present of wine. In those far-distant days little check would seem to have been placed upon the boys indulging freely in alcohol. The writer’s uncle, who as Lord Walpole steered the “Etonian” in 1830, often told of the glorious bowls of punch which he and his friends used to consume. From the account he gave, the Upper boys at least were then allowed in most respects to do pretty much as they liked.

The authorities did not in any way interfere with anything connected with boating, of the very existence of which, however, according to a curious convention, they were supposed to be unaware. Dr. Keate indeed carried the practice of ignoring rowing to such an extent that when Eton beat Westminster at Maidenhead in 1831, he only heard of it because the news of the victory was forced upon him. Dr. Hawtrey, however, did recognise boating as an authorised institution; nevertheless he did nothing to remove the absurd custom of regarding boys going to the river as being out of bounds. In Keate’s day, as has elsewhere been said, the river was really forbidden before Easter, owing to an idea that the cold, chilly weather would produce illness amongst the boys. Some mischievous “wet bobs,” taking advantage of this prohibition, in 1829 played an amusing trick on the masters. The weather just before Easter happened to be very bad, and “the water” in consequence was forbidden. Nevertheless, the boats went up until a grand capture of rebellious spirits was meditated by the authorities. By some means this purpose became known, and the wags masked and dressed up eight “cads” to represent Upper boys. They had not reached Upper Hope before the scheme began to take effect. “Foolish boys! I know you all. Come ashore,” sounded from one bank. “Come here, or you all will be expelled,” re-echoed from the other. At last, after a great deal of shouting and galloping, the masks were dropped and the joke explained.

In old days, on certain evenings chosen by the captain of the boats, the Upper crews had regular feasts at Surly, known as “Duck and Green Pea” nights, where there was much conviviality, the crews being usually elated on the return journey, on which it was the custom to pull leisurely at first. As, however, they passed Boveney Church (there was then no lock) they drew in their oars, and the watermen who pulled stroke were called on for songs, which they sang solo, the boys joining in the chorus. After the watermen were dispensed with, the same customs continued. This entertainment was kept up from Boveney to the Rushes, and then the pulling was “Hard all!” for fear of being late for Absence, or, as it was then called, for fear of being “out afresh.” It was on the voyage up, however, that the rivalry between the boats mostly took place; but whenever they rowed “Hard all!” silence was kept, and each boat tried to make a race of it with the one in front or behind. After the feast at Surly, songs were sung till the time when “Oars” was called, when the crews rushed off to their boats in order to get back before Lock-Up. The Lower boats, which only escorted the Upper ones up to Easy Bridge above the Rushes, met them on their return and took part in the procession down to the Bridge.

These “Duck and Green Pea” nights afterwards developed into the “Check” nights (supposed to be so called from the shirts of the rowers) which Dr. Goodford abolished in 1860. “Check” nights took place on every alternate Saturday after the 4th of June, at the end of the summer half, and to the last the crews of the Upper boats maintained the traditional fare of duck and green peas for which Surly Hall was celebrated. The old place, which saw so many generations of Etonians swallow copious libations of champagne, though it long survived the abolition of “Check” nights, is now itself but a memory of the past, having been pulled down in 1902.

In former days, on such evenings as boat-racing had taken place, Eton was very lively indeed, the crews on their way home stopping to drink the winners’ healths at the Christopher, and then walking down arm-in-arm until they reached the school, where a crowd had collected. As in later times, the winners were “hoisted” and carried along by the wall amidst cheers. Windsor Bridge was then the winning-post of all races, the starting-point as a rule, it would appear, the Firework Eyot, which in old maps figures as Cooper’s Ait. The races, it should be added, were always for money, a good part of which in all probability was spent in drink.

The 4th of June and Election Saturday were celebrated by the Procession of Boats in gala dress and by fireworks from the Eyot. Previous to 1814 all the rowers in each boat had a fancy dress appropriate to the boat. In after years the crews wore blue jackets with anchors embroidered on the outside arm, clad in which they pulled all the way up to Surly. In 1828 checked shirts were introduced, and this fashion has continued ever since. On special days the boats had tillers fashioned as serpents, and garlanded with oak leaves, instead of the ordinary wooden tiller or the rudder lines and yokes which they used in the races. On the 4th of June and on Election Saturday the crews donned a special costume, the main features of which were a dark-blue jacket with brass buttons, hanging loose in front in order to show the distinctive pattern of the shirt, over which the silken handkerchief worn round the neck hung. Up to about 1828 the coxswains of boats on such great days wore fancy costumes, but after that date every coxswain was dressed as a naval officer, increasing in rank according to the precedence to which his boat was entitled, and this custom is still followed on the 4th of June. A somewhat curious coincidence in connection with the boats is that Lord Rosebery, Lord St. Aldwyn, and Lord Coventry in their Eton days all rowed bow in the Monarch—the ten-oar which seems always to have been one of the boats.

The great event for Eton oarsmen was formerly the annual race against Westminster, which in the early part of the nineteenth century excited the greatest interest. The proceedings in connection with the selection of the eight which was to try conclusions with the London school provoked much the same interest and enthusiasm as that now evoked with regard to the Eton crew to be sent to Henley. The series of contests with Westminster seems to have commenced in 1829 with a race for £100 a side. A regular course of training was always undergone, and for a number of years the match was the great event of the summer half. As time went on, however, it was discontinued, though revived in 1860 as part of certain concessions made by the then headmaster, Dr. Goodford, in consideration of the abolition of “Check” nights and “Oppidan Dinner.”

“Oppidan Dinner” was a survival of the eighteenth century, and seemingly originated at the old Christopher. In later days, however, it was held at the White Hart at Windsor, the number of boys sitting down being usually about fifty, each of whom paid something like eighteen shillings a head, which charge included wine. The time for this dinner was at the end of the summer half, and those who took part in it were members of the Upper boats’ eleven and Sixth Form and a few other Upper boys. The captain of the boats managed everything, and sat at the head of the long table in a room which stretched right through the inn, one end looking out upon the castle. The dinner began at four in the afternoon, an adjournment to Eton taking place for six o’clock Absence, after which, about 6.30, the boys returned to the White Hart for what was called “dessert,” though every one expected to drink rather than to eat. The chief show on the table consisted of decanters and glasses, all of a very cheap sort, it being well understood that few would survive the wholesale breakage which almost invariably followed the annual feast. Toasts were then given, the captain of the boats rising first of all to propose “The Queen.” This was drunk standing, amidst an accompaniment of cheers. “The Prince of Wales and the rest of the Royal Family” followed, after which the boys waited eagerly for the toasts which had more immediate reference to their own particular interests and the songs which formed part of the evening’s programme. The proceedings invariably closed with “Floreat Etona,” the drinking of which was the signal for breaking up. This toast not unnaturally evoked wild enthusiasm, and at one time it was the custom for every one to fling their glasses down and dash them to pieces on the table. About half-past eight the diners returned to Eton in very hilarious mood, the captain of the boats and other popular athletes being generally subjected to a very enthusiastic “hoisting.”

The Eton authorities, though perfectly aware of this somewhat Bacchanalian feast, never took any notice of it till it was abolished in 1860. As, however, old drinking customs decreased, it became clear that Oppidan Dinner was destined to disappear, and its existence was threatened years before it was done away with. It was notorious that as a result of this banquet a number of boys came to Absence in a very fuddled condition, and the headmaster, when calling over the names, had to keep his eyes well fixed on the list for fear of seeing behaviour of which he would have been obliged to take notice. At Lock-Up time things were worse still, and of the reeling crowd who surged down the High Street some occasionally became so violent that it took six or seven boys to get them to bed.

The last Oppidan Dinner of 1859, however, was by all accounts the most sober on record. Indeed an aged waiter at the White Hart was moved almost to tears at the small amount which had been drunk. Those who took part in it were of more serious disposition and mind than their rollicking predecessors of former days, and most people agreed that the dinner had become an anachronism. When, however, in the following year R. H. Blake-Humfrey, captain of the boats, in unison with the present Provost, Mr. Warre (who had then just come to Eton as a master), concurred in its suppression, not a few were taken by surprise, whilst many an old Etonian of the old school shook his head and murmured that Eton was going to the dogs.

In return for the abolition of “Oppidan Dinner” and “Check” nights, it was agreed that the eight should be allowed annually to row at Henley, whilst “boating bills” were instituted so as to put aquatics on the same footing as cricket with respect to exemptions from six o’clock Absence. It was also laid down that, on days in the summer half when there was no five o’clock school, the crews of two eight oars should be excused from “Absence” on condition of their undertaking to row to within sight of Cookham Lock. The “strokes” of the two boats were made responsible, on their words of honour, to see that the conditions were fulfilled. In addition to this, the whole of the High Street, as far as Windsor Bridge, was placed within bounds, so that boys going to the “Brocas” or returning from it were no longer obliged to “shirk” when they met masters. Finally the annual boat race with Westminster was to be revived. That very year a race was duly rowed between Eton and Westminster at Putney, in which Eton won very easily. There was, however, nothing extraordinary about this, for since the old days when Eton and Westminster had been rival schools the former had greatly increased in size. Westminster had in reality barely a chance, for it had been only with considerable difficulty that an eight had been got together at all. Though some of the Westminster oars were good men, the crews that rowed against Eton from 1860 to 1864 were entirely outmatched in weight and strength. In addition to which, in 1861 and 1862 the Eton eight possessed a tower of strength in their captain and stroke, Mr. R. H. Blake-Humfrey, who, it should be added, has, in his introduction to the Eton Boating Book, given such a clear and excellent account of the early history of Eton rowing. The race between the two schools did not take place in 1863; instead, the Westminster boys came down to Eton on Election Saturday and had supper with the Eton crews in the meadow opposite Surly Hall. Rowing back to Windsor, the visitors very nearly became involved in what might have been a serious catastrophe, for the cox of the Westminster eight, not being used to the river, steered the wrong side of the posts above Boveney Lock, and but for the warning shout of the steerer of the Eton eight, the Westminster boat would probably have gone over the Weir. The match of 1864, in which Eton won by 27 seconds, was the last occasion upon which the two eights met. Since then the schools have developed in different directions, with the result that the old cordial relations are now in all probability for ever at an end.

Modern Eton has produced several famous oarsmen—notably Mr. S. D. Muttlebury, whose first triumph was winning the “Lower boy pulling” with S. S. Sharpe in 1881. The present boating colours are the Eight, Upper Boat Choices, Upper Boats, Lower Boat Choices, Lower Boats, the latter of which all adopted the old Defiance colour in 1885. For this and other information I have to thank Mr. F. F. V. Scrulton, the present captain of the boats.

Swimming has always been in great favour with Eton boys, but in old days the authorities paid no attention to it, and no effort was made to check boys who could not swim from risking their lives. There appears, however, to have been some regular bathing-place as long ago as 1529, for it is chronicled that in that year a boy was drowned at “le watering place,” the site of which, however, is unknown. The first teacher apparently was a Frenchman named Champeau, nicknamed by the boys Slipgibbet, who about 1829 taught swimming with corks, which state of affairs continued till all unauthorised teachers of natation were swept away. Champeau, also playfully known as Shampoo, gave his lessons at the spot opposite to “Athens.” The old Frenchman must have been a competent teacher, for three miles was often accomplished by some of his pupils, and headers off Windsor Bridge were not uncommon. Nevertheless, fatal accidents intermittently occurred. In the early part of the nineteenth century a boy was drowned close to Boveney Meads, in the presence of many big schoolfellows, of whom not one could dive to bring up the body, though it could be plainly seen by those who stooped over the sides of the boats—fortunately at that time broad of beam, otherwise more boys would probably have perished. Sixty or seventy years earlier young Barnard (afterwards Dr. Barnard, Headmaster and Provost) had only escaped a watery grave owing to the successful efforts of his schoolfellow, Jacob Bryant, a delicate boy but a good swimmer. In later years Bryant became a scholar and philologist well in advance of his age. The average of deaths from drowning was once, it is said, about one boy in three years. This bad state of affairs was ended in 1840 when George Augustus Selwyn, with William Evans, organised swimming and instituted the “passing” at “Cuckoo Weir,” which has now become one of the regular features of a “wet bob’s” career.

The Upper Collegers at one time bathed at the oak in the playing fields, the Lower at a spot not far away, which bore the significant name of “Deadman’s Hole.” Near by was the old wharf, done away with in 1840, where the Collegers used to keep their boats. In those days, however, they went but little on the river, preferring to concentrate their energies in preparing for the annual matches at cricket and football with the Oppidans. The rivalry was then very keen, and in winter was even shown by fierce snowball fights, in which both sides often suffered severely. It may seem strange that seventy boys could face six hundred, but some of the biggest boys in the school were Collegers, as they were not superannuated until they were nineteen.

About 1828 the annual matches, both at cricket and football, between the Oppidans and Collegers were done away with. They were always the most stoutly contested games of the year, and put both parties on their mettle far beyond the excitement of any other match. A good deal of bitterness was sometimes displayed, and now and then a smack on the head or a designed “shin” were given and received; but, on the whole, these matches did something to draw Oppidans and Collegers together, and their abolition is to be deplored, though, in the present age, the great excess of Oppidans would, it must be confessed, have rendered their continuance difficult.

Of all the various contests which formerly took place between Collegers and Oppidans the annual match at the wall on St. Andrew’s Day alone survives, and has lost none of its interest, though the two elevens are chosen from seventy Collegers and from close on a thousand Oppidans. In reality the chances of victory are in a great degree equalised owing to the fact that whilst the Collegers have every opportunity of playing the game during the whole of the time—usually about six years—during which they remain at Eton, only a small number of Oppidans play at all till within two years of their leaving school. It would here be superfluous to enter upon any detailed description of the game. "THE “WALL”" Suffice it to say that it is played within a narrow strip of ground some twenty feet wide and close up against the old wall built in 1717, the goals being the tree with a white mark at the end towards Slough, and the door of Weston’s Yard at the Eton end. The origin of this peculiar form of football is very obscure. Mr. E. C. Benthall, K.S., Keeper of the Wall in the present year, 1911, who has most obligingly furnished me with some interesting information, believes that it originated from “passage football,” and doubts if it was ever played very seriously till about one hundred years ago, at which time it was an entirely different game from what it is now. In spite of its quaint terms, it would seem to be of no great antiquity, at least in anything like its present form. The wall itself dates from 1717, but about the earliest record of any regular game there dates from the first decade of the nineteenth century, at which time any one who chose seems to have been allowed to play, with the result that there were usually eighteen or twenty a side. It was then practically the only form of football popular at Eton, though occasionally something approaching to the modern “Field Game” was played in the open. Till 1841, however, such forms of relaxation were discouraged by the masters. Nevertheless, on the piece of grass between the path and the river in Lower Club the Collegers, up till about 1863, played a variety known as “Lower College.” This was probably a link between the field and wall games, for it had “shies” and “goals.” In early days the wall game was played on a much wider strip of ground than is at present the case. The bully was not its essential feature, and the ball was often run down the whole length of the wall. Sixty years or so ago matches of Dames v. Tutors were occasionally played, and during one of these the ball somehow was pitched right on the top of the wall, along which it ran for some eight yards before coming to a dead standstill on the top.

The rules were then, of course, more elastic than those now in use, and since they were drawn up in 1849 the game has undergone various minor changes, including the curtailment of the space at the wall to its present limits and the toleration (about 1851) of “furking” the ball back in calx.

At one time considerable savagery seems to have been displayed by the rival teams, in consequence of which Dr. Hawtrey once suspended all play for three weeks, and in 1851 it was actually proposed to abolish the annual match on St. Andrew’s Day on account of the ill-feeling which was said to be engendered between Oppidans and Collegers. Of late years, however, the historic contest is remarkable for the good-humour shown by both sides. A quaint figure at the annual match from 1847 up to 1888, the year before he fell ill, was old Powell, whose old-fashioned velveteen coat and high top-hat were survivals of another age. During his long superintendence of the wall he had seen many generations of Collegers and Oppidans contending for goals and shies. After ten years of confinement and suffering he died in 1899.

The wall game is as different from any other form of football as it is possible to imagine. To one unacquainted with its intricacies, nothing can be more curious than the bully close up against the wall, and the efforts of those forming it to prevent kicks sending the ball out—that is to say, beyond the line marked as the limit within which play takes place. The rules really amount to a sort of complicated creed, which has been handed on from one generation of Collegers to another. A good deal of the game is mystifying to a spectator unacquainted with its intricacies. A “calx bully,” for instance, is highly difficult to explain, whilst the necessary preliminaries for a “shy” at goals are often, owing to the confusion of the struggle, visible only to the umpire. The summit of a wall-player’s ambition is to throw a “goal,” which feat, in the annual St. Andrew’s Day match, has only been accomplished three times within the last hundred years—in every case by a Colleger. W. Marcon threw one in 1842, when College won by a goal and 19 shies, 17 of which were got by H. Phillott in rapid succession. H. J. Mordaunt, captain of the eleven in 1886, threw another in 1885, when he hit the door just at the bottom. "A HISTORIC GOAL" The name of this fine athlete, the writer (who knew him at Eton) is informed, is still a household word in College, where his goal is held in greater reverence than that scored in 1909. Mordaunt’s was an unaided effort, whilst the latter seems to have been rather lucky. Nevertheless, Finlay and Creasy deserved the greatest credit for their presence of mind. In 1858, it should be added, a throw by Hollingworth was disputed.

Though of all pastimes the wall game is least adapted for summer, time-honoured usage prescribed—and after a discontinuance for four years now once again prescribes—that at six o’clock on the morning of Ascension Day a mixed team of Collegers and Oppidans should meet at the “Wall.” The origin of this custom I have been unable to ascertain. Like the game played on the last evening of last summer half, it probably took its rise from boyish enthusiasm.

In connection with the wall game, the name of James Kenneth Stephen—the gifted J. K. S., who in his prime was so unfortunately snatched away by death—will never be forgotten. Captain of the College team in 1876-1877, he was a great supporter of “noster ludus muralis,” as he has left on record in his “Quo Musa Tendis,” one stanza of which runs—

College, it is pleasant to know, seems unlikely ever to forget this true son of Eton, for on the evening of St. Andrew’s Day each of the wall team in turn drinks “In piam memoriam, J. K. S.,” every raising of the cup as it is passed around being followed by a cheer.

A brilliant young contemporary of J. K. S. who played at the wall in 1880 is happily still left to us. This is Mr. A. C. Benson, whose fine intellect and delightful achievements in the fields of literature have rendered his name well known to that greater public which joins with Etonians in admiration of his work.

College may well be proud of having produced two such men as these.

Till the middle of the fifties in the last century the wall game was also played at the red brick wall in front of the boys’ entrance to the house which about 1790 was built overlooking the Timbralls. For nearly a quarter of a century after play had ceased to take place there, the calces marked in chalk could still be discerned. The field game is a rather modern institution. As has before been said, ordinary football does not seem to have been very popular amongst Etonians of a hundred years ago, though in the last century it gradually rose in favour. A curious character of other days was old Strugnal, who was celebrated for tightening the bladder of a football by means of blowing through a piece of tobacco pipe placed in his mouth. On the whole, the annals of Eton football, a primitive form of which in the eighteenth century was known as “goals,” with the exception of some exciting house matches, do not possess any great interest.

Cricket, unlike football, was popular at Eton over two hundred years ago, having been played as early as 1706, and in high favour in Horace Walpole’s day. About the first great Etonian cricketer was the eighth Lord Winchilsea, who afterwards became chief patron of the famous Hambledon Club. At one time he made an attempt to introduce an innovation by increasing the stumps to four, but the change was never popular, though in the match between the Gentlemen and Players in 1837, in order to equalise the contest, the latter undertook to defend four stumps instead of three. In 1751 three matches for £1500 were played between the Gentlemen of England and Eton College, Past and Present; the former won the stakes, winning two out of the three matches. The players were dressed in silk jackets, trousers, and velvet caps. In 1791 Lord Winchilsea made 54 runs in a contest between Old Etonians versus the Gentlemen of England. This was played at old “Lord’s,” where Dorset Square now stands. In the same year the school beat the Maidenhead Club by four wickets. Keate was one of the seven Collegers playing, and scored 0 and 4, while in the second innings Way “nipped himself out” for 11. Five years later a match seems to have taken place against Westminster on Hounslow Heath, in defiance of the Headmaster’s strict orders; it resulted in the defeat of Eton and the flogging of all the Eleven!

In those days there was a good deal of jollity in connection with the cricket in the playing fields, and the boys were allowed to do many things which would be thought very reprehensible to-day. Up to about 1827, for instance, a beer tent used to be allowed when cricket matches were played. Two or three years later Eton cricket for some reason or other admittedly deteriorated, a disastrous state of affairs which was thus explained by one of the “cads” who used to hover about the shooting fields: “Lord, sir, they never has won a match since the beer tent got the sack, and never will no more.” This tent, where “beer and baccy” were the order of the day before it gave offence to the higher powers, was kept, at every match, by the veteran Jem Miller for the accommodation of the “cads,” Broconalian Club, and other loungers, and loudly and lustily did they cheer the boys with their stentorian lungs. It was from this tent that one of the best bowlers and batters Eton ever produced—in after years a prominent divine at King’s—was encouraged by the deafening shouts of “Goo it, my dear Harding; goo it, my dear boy,” when he scored 86 runs off his own bat against Messrs. Ward, Vigne, Tanner, and others of the Epsom Club. It was on this memorable day, too, that he made a tremendous hit over the shooting-field trees, high in the air, of course, when a bargeman from the tent, lost in amazement at the hit, thundered out, “There she goes for Chessy [Chertsey] Church, by Jingo!” it being a prominent mark on the river for the bargees.

According to all accounts, cricket in those less strenuous days was not taken any too seriously. Boys did not change their clothing to play it, though they did so for football. Once during a match in Upper Club a fight was reported to be going on in the playing fields, and in a few minutes gentlemen, spectators, and cricketers not actually playing scampered over Sheep’s Bridge, eager to witness the contest. Formerly tea in Upper Club was made by fags. The well-known cries of “Water boils!” “Make tea!” originated during this now obsolete state of affairs.

Though all Bacchanalian gaiety had disappeared from the playing fields by the middle of the last century, a somewhat free-and-easy spirit still prevailed, and on the occasion of school matches there was usually a good deal of fun, especially when Billy Boland—a celebrated character and bon vivant of the past, who was supposed to have been the original of Fred Bayham in Thackeray’s novel of The Newcomes—was present. He it was who once, after lunch during a cricket match between the school and I Zingari, presented Dr. Hawtrey, the then headmaster, with the Freedom of the Club in a deal box, and wound up a mock speech with the toast: “Floreat Etona et vivat ‘Nitidissimus’ Hawtrey!” This was peculiarly appropriate, for with his velvet-collared coat the Doctor was the smartest of men and wore the best-varnished boots in the world.

The first regular match played by Eton against a public school appears to have taken place in 1799, when an Eton eleven met Westminster at old Lord’s. On this occasion Eton in their innings made only 47 runs. Westminster then went in and scored 13, when the stumps were drawn, with five wickets to fall. The match was said to be “postponed,” but there is no account to be found of its ever having been resumed. Next year Eton had an easy victory, making a score of 213 in one innings, against Westminster’s 54 and 31. Curiously enough, the Collegers at that time constituted the strength of the eleven and made the biggest scores. Benjamin Drury, afterwards an assistant master, Joseph Thackeray, and Thomas Lloyd, elder brother of the bishop, were the bowlers. Poor Lloyd, who beat the Westminster innings off his own bat, died after the holidays from the effects of a chill which he caught during the match. This would seem to have been the last match with Westminster.

The first Eton and Harrow contest took place in 1805 at Lord’s, when Eton won in a single innings. On this occasion Byron made 7 and 2 for the beaten school. Eight of the winning eleven (among whom was Lord Stratford de Redcliffe) were King’s scholars. After this no authentic record exists of any match till 1818, when Harrow beat Eton. Apparently the whole thing was rather a fiasco; only two of the best Eton men were present at Lord’s, the rest of the eleven being made up of such Etonians as could be collected on the ground. In the following year, however, Eton beat Harrow in one innings; in 1822 Harrow beat Eton. In 1832 Eton scored a great triumph, beating Harrow and Winchester each in one innings. The match of 1841 was remarkable for the great innings of Emilius Bayley, who made 153, up to then the highest score ever achieved by any player in a public school match. Oddly enough, however, that same year Eton was beaten hollow by Winchester. In 1846 Eton repeated the great performance of 1832 and again vanquished Harrow and Winchester each in a single innings. One of the eleven on this occasion was J. W. Chitty (in after life the Rt. Hon. Lord Justice Chitty), who played four years for Eton, in the last of which—1847—he was captain of the eleven.

A great character well known to Eton cricketers of the forties was M’Niven minor, who, Mr. Coleridge declares, in his interesting recollections, was in Sixth Form, the football team, and the eight, as well as in the eleven. Commonly called “Snivey,” this fine athlete seems to have been very notorious for his wild eccentricities and oddities of dress, which, however, in nowise impaired a universal popularity.

During the fifties of the last century Eton cricket was not in a very flourishing state. The smart thing was to be in the boats, and “dry-bobs” were rather looked down upon till 1860, when a strenuous effort began to be made to end the long series of reverses which the school had sustained in its annual matches against Harrow. The engagement of a professional cricketer and improvements in Upper Club aroused great interest, and so much excitement was the result that when in that year Eton made rather a good fight at Lord’s, all sorts of absurd rumours were born of the indignation provoked by defeat. It was said, for instance, that Daniel, the Harrow captain, was really a professional in disguise—this was because he wore whiskers and a straw hat!

In 1861, when the late Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell, who afterwards as a master did so much for Eton cricket, was captain, the match was unfinished, and only in the next year did Eton score its first victory against Harrow since 1850. The finish (like that of 1910) gave rise to much excitement, and feeling ran very high, both sides indulging in merciless chaff. The report that the Harrow headmaster—Dr. Butler—had shortly before issued an order that all side-pockets were to be sewn up, with a view to prevent slouching, gave the Eton boys an opportunity of which they were not slow to take advantage, and accordingly the ground resounded with yells of “Pockets” throughout the day. The hero of the day was A. S. Teape, whose bowling did so much to win the match, at the close of which he was accorded an enthusiastic ovation. A large proportion of the spectators were quite carried away by excitement, and several fights took place between members of the rival schools, whilst two well-known Eton and Harrow “cads,” both pretty well “sprung,” started a little mill on their own account, much to the amusement of the onlookers. Probably the encounter was a prearranged affair, for the old rascals took good care not to hurt each other, and reaped a considerable harvest by sending the hat round afterwards. One of the winning team that year was Mr. Alfred Lubbock, the great Eton cricketer who became captain in 1863, in which year he made the magnificent score of 174, not out, against Winchester. Every old Etonian should read the book written by him some little time ago, one chapter of which was contributed by his son, Mr. Robin Lubbock, K.S., a member of the eleven of 1896-1897. A young man of high promise, he most unfortunately met with an early death through a sad accident in the hunting-field. The names of Lubbock, Lyttelton, and Studd will always be associated with the history of Eton cricket. For six successive years—1861 to 1866—there was always a Lubbock in the eleven, whilst three Lytteltons (one of whom was the present Headmaster) played at Lord’s in 1872, and three Studds in 1877.

In former days there was often much rowdiness after an Eton and Harrow match, which, for some unknown reason, seemed to send a certain amount of hot-blooded youngsters almost mad. In the early eighties of the last century the present writer witnessed a curious development of this spirit. Returning to Eton in the evening after the match was over, he found himself in a railway carriage filled with a number of boys he did not know, together with one old Etonian, apparently a newly joined subaltern of some cavalry regiment. For a little time after the train had started the party more or less calmly discussed the match, but all of a sudden the old Etonian, who was in a most excited state, began to smash up the carriage, tearing down the hat-racks and breaking the windows, in which work of destruction he was cheerfully seconded by his companions, who eventually, when the train came to the bridge over the river near Windsor, threw most of the cushions and all the advertisement placards, which they had wrenched off, into the river. The writer was the more struck by this scene on account of the party not in any way suggesting that he should join in it; and as a matter of fact, reading a paper and smoking (nearly every boy then smoked when going to or leaving Eton), he sat undisturbed upon the only cushion not thrown out of window. He was a very small boy at the time, and the wreckers, who were big ones, treated him throughout with great courtesy. The damage, owing to the great crowd of boys returning to Eton, was apparently not discovered by the station officials on the arrival of the train at Windsor, nor was anything heard of it afterwards by the school, though the writer has reason to believe that some other carriages were also wrecked on the same train. In all probability the authorities, aware of the impossibility of detecting the offenders, preferred to let the whole matter rest. It was a curious instance of the passion for destruction which occasionally takes possession of youth.

The first match between Eton and Winchester seems to have been played in 1826, when Winchester won. Afterwards, up to 1854, it was played at Lord’s. Success was pretty evenly divided till 1845, when a tie produced great interest and excitement. In that year the late Provost, Dr. Hornby, was a member of the Eton team. In old days the Winchester boys played in tall white beaver hats, but the Etonians wore straw. In 1856 the match was played at Winchester, neither school being allowed to come to town, and since then the elevens have met on the Eton and Winchester ground alternately.

Sixpenny, which appears to have taken its name from the Sixpenny Club, founded for Lower boys by G. J. Boudier, 1832-1838, captain of the eleven, an Etonian who is said to once have thrashed a bargee three times his own size, was formerly a much-coveted Lower boy colour. It was, however, done away with in 1898, but Upper Sixpenny is still an important cricket colour for Uppers who are also Juniors, as it is now the first colour a young cricketer can obtain at Eton, where, if you once get a name as a promising bat, bowler, or field, it is difficult to lose it, whereas if a boy does not start well, little attention is afterwards paid to him.

A curious modern Eton cricket institution is “Second Upper Club,” nominally the second game in the school, but in reality consisting of Upper boys who are distinguished in the school, mostly in some other line than cricket, though a number of quite good players also belong. A few years ago some of the games played by Second Upper Club degenerated into huge “rags,” ending with an early adjournment to little Brown’s, whence, after a huge tea had been partaken of, every one went off to bathe.

A feature of modern Eton is “Agar’s Plough,” just across Datchet Lane, well laid out for the purposes of the school games. This large tract of land was saved from the speculative builder by purchase in 1895, and here, eight years later, for the first time was played the Eton and Winchester match. As a cricket ground Agar’s Plough possesses several advantages over the historic Upper Club, known in the distant past as the Upper Shooting Fields. One of the chief gains is, of course, the absence of big trees to confuse the light. Whether, however, Upper Club is discarded for school matches or not, it will always remain a hallowed spot in the recollection of old Etonians who as boys knew it in its summer glory. Full of picturesque associations and shaded by stately elms planted in the days of the Commonwealth, the beautiful old ground has seen many a generation of Eton boys pass o’er its pleasant sward of green. Besides Agar’s Plough modern Eton possesses other facilities for games undreamt of in less luxurious days. Amongst these are the new racquets courts near the gasworks which in 1902-3 took the place of those down Keate’s Lane.

At the present day there is no tennis at Eton, but a tennis court appears to have existed between 1600 and 1603, though, curiously enough, its site has never been ascertained. Near the new racquets courts thirty-eight new fives courts have been built since 1870.

The excellent game of fives, which has now attained a comparatively widespread popularity, originated in the spaces between the Chapel buttresses being utilised for play. The one next the flight of steps, with its so-called pepper-box, is the model from which all modern fives courts are built. The first of these were constructed at Eton in Trotman’s gardens in 1847, and enjoyed great popularity in their early days. Since, however, the number of fives courts has been largely augmented, the old courts seem to have fallen into great disrepute. In the writer’s day, although such new courts as existed were naturally the most in request, boys still ran to obtain one of the old ones. It was a rule that no court could be considered taken unless there was some one actually upon it, to claim it by the right of occupancy. The consequence was that they always became the reward of the swift, or of those who were let out of school earlier than the rest; keen struggles ensued, and the stream of runners flying down Keate’s Lane day after day testified to the eagerness of spirit which could prompt boys to exhaust themselves merely to obtain the chance of getting a game. It was then the custom for the boy first in a court to mark his right of possession by putting down his hat in it. The original fives court between the buttresses of the Chapel had been long unused, though there was sometimes a knock-up between Lower boys waiting to go into school.

Colours at Eton, except those of the eleven and of the eight, which in some form or other probably existed as far back as the eighteenth century, are of modern origin. The parti-coloured scarlet and Eton blue shirt of the field only dates from 1860, and the dark blue and red of the wall from 1861. A year later saw the birth of house colours. About the same time a great craze for wearing colours on every possible occasion made itself felt. In old days boys had been supposed to shirk masters when in change clothes, but now a tendency to run into an opposite extreme produced an agitation in favour of greater laxity regarding dress. The authorities, however, rightly deeming that Eton should retain its old traditions as to tall hats and the like, stood firm, every reasonable concession having long before that date been granted. Only quite recently indeed have boys been allowed to answer their names at Absence in change clothes, an innovation which many an old Etonian, mindful of the ancient traditions of the school, must surely deplore.

This chapter cannot be concluded without some reference to the Eton Hunt, as the beagles have sometimes been facetiously called. The pack in question would appear to have first been started about 1840 under the auspices of Anstruther-Thompson, in after life one of the best-known and most popular Masters of Hounds in England. For some years later its existence was rather precarious, at times resembling that of a contemporary College pack which was once declared to consist of a single long-backed Scotch terrier. From the earliest days of the hunt, however, there appears to have been some attempt at a regular organisation. The whips, for instance, had E.C.H. on the buttons of their coats, which Dr. Hawtrey (Edward Craven), who of course knew of the existence of the hunt, though he did not recognise it, interpreted as a delicate compliment to himself. At one time the Collegers and Oppidans each had a separate pack of their own, but these were amalgamated in 1866.

Drag hunts were formerly rather popular with the followers of the Eton beagles, and sometimes very good runs were enjoyed. One of the “cads” about the wall, known as Polly Green, an active fellow who used to go across country uncommonly well, afforded very good sport. At that time the beagles had not been recognised by the authorities, and were kept more or less secretly a good way out of bounds, in a small kennel at the corner of the Brocas near the river. Eventually, however, the pack became known to every one, including the masters, who, with great good sense, far from discouraging it, gave it encouragement and approval, and thereby raised the character of the sport whilst increasing its popularity in the school. In 1884 the mastership of Lord Newtown-Butler—now Major the Earl of Lanesborough—was particularly successful, this gallant and popular Guardsman having ever been the incarnation of geniality and good-natured fun. There is no need to deal here with the absurd agitation of so-called humanitarians for the pack’s suppression. Suffice it to say that the greatest credit is due to the present Headmaster for having refused to listen to the voice of hysterical sentimentalism. May his successors be equally firm!