CHAPTER VII

An Amusing Incident—Lady Caroline Murray—An Anecdote of Queen Victoria—Lord Rossmore’s Wager—The Match at the Wall—Practical Jokes—Some Boys at James’s

Boys at Eton rarely made friends outside their respective houses. Therefore, when Hodgson left, I spent most of my spare time with Doyne, who even then was very stout, and, though older than I, below me in the school. When he left Eton, my chief companion was a boy named Harry Gridley, with whom I messed for a short time, and with whom I often went for walks on a Sunday along the playing-fields by the river.

Gridley, who was in the Fifth Form, was a dark-haired boy, very kind and good-natured. He was in the Boats, and a capital oar, and rowed later in the _Monarch_, the ten-oared Upper boat. Sometimes I would go to Windsor with him to play billiards, notwithstanding that this was against the rules. One day, whilst we were playing, I, by way of a joke, began ordering him about and calling him “Peter,” and then, to tease him, told him that some man who was in the room thought he was my fag. He flew into a rage, and, when the man had left the room, rushed at me and caught me by the throat, as though he would strangle me. However, we soon made friends again, but, strange to say, this nickname of “Peter,” which I had given him for the first time in the billiard-room at Windsor, always stuck to him, even in the 5th Lancers, which he joined later. He was very fond of reading, and one day took up “Adam Bede,” by George Eliot; but he told me that he could not finish it, as the hero was a very ugly, red-haired man, and he disliked reading about ugly people. He quite set me against the book, for I never read it after he said this.

[Illustration: Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author.

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[Illustration: Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford.

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Alexander, the Captain of the Oppidans, was a very good-looking boy of eighteen; dark, with black, curly hair. His memory was quite extraordinary, and he could repeat the whole of the _Odyssey_, in the original Greek. Once he had read a book and mastered its contents, he never forgot it. Even Mr. James was astounded at Alexander’s marvellous gift for remembering things. Locke was also clever, but in a different way from Alexander.

Some time after I went to Eton, my tutor got his cousin, Mrs. Bower, to look after the boys instead of the housekeeper, which was a pleasant change for us. She was about thirty-five and a very nice woman, and, having taken rather a fancy to me, used often to invite me to her room at five o’clock and give me tea and cake.

One day some friends of Doyne—a baronet and his three daughters—came from London to see him. As it was a Sunday, I did not get up until late, when I ran into Doyne’s room, clad only in my night-shirt, and with my water-jug in my hand, to get some water to wash with. To my horror, I suddenly found myself confronted by three ladies, who, on catching sight of me, uttered a scream, and then, as I turned round and incontinently fled, burst into fits of laughter. Doyne told me afterwards that his friends were highly amused at this incident, and declared that they should never forget their visit to Eton.

A boy named Charles Balfour was my fag when I was in the Fifth Form. Doyne, who was still in the Lower School, found my having a fag very convenient, as the latter had to cook the steaks and chops for our breakfast. Balfour was a good-looking boy, and I liked him very much; but he could not bear doing anything for Doyne, as the latter was lower down in the school than he was. I met the late Charles Balfour, with his father and family, at Wiesbaden in after years. His sister Hilda, a very pretty girl, subsequently married Lord de Clifford.

With Balfour I met another old schoolfellow, Baldock, who was with his sister at Wiesbaden. He was twelfth man for the Eton Eleven one year, when I was there and Keeper of “Sixpenny,” and was a general favourite with the lower boys. Later on, in town, I recollect going to a ball at his house in Grosvenor Place. He was made a C.B. by King Edward VII., having served thirty-six years in the Yeomanry and reached the rank of colonel.

The present Lord Harris, G.C.S.I., the well-known cricketer, was in the Eton Eleven in my time and afterwards Captain of it. I can recollect him perfectly—a tall, fair-haired and remarkably handsome boy, with merry blue eyes, who always looked the picture of health. Amongst those who made their mark at cricket and football, and, at the same time, distinguished themselves in school, were the late Earl of Pembroke and Montgomery, then the Hon. Sidney Herbert, who was a good-looking boy, with blue eyes and black hair, and the late Earl of Onslow. The latter was at one time in the same division as myself.

Sir Hubert Parry, so famous as a composer, was at Eton with me, but much higher up in the school than I was. He was at Vidal’s, and a boy in his house told me that he played the violin beautifully. I can remember that he was a good football player, and that I thought him a very fine-looking fellow, but I only knew him by sight.

Craven, when in the Fifth Form, kept his fags dancing attendance on him all their spare time, and used to send them on long errands to Windsor. “Mug” was his fag for one half, and had a very lively time of it at first; but afterwards Craven treated him very much better. I was John Lister-Kaye’s fag at one time, and found him more exacting than Locke, with whom I had had a very easy time; but he became a friend of mine when I was higher up in the school. “Mug” was his fag at the same time, and liked fagging for him very much, as he treated him very kindly. His younger brother, Cecil Lister-Kaye, was a friend of mine from the very first. Both brothers were very good-looking boys, with fair hair. The elder, afterwards Sir John Lister-Kaye, who rowed in the _Victory_ at Eton, subsequently entered the “Blues.” On one occasion, the Lister-Kayes and myself were invited to dine at Upton Park, with Mrs. Adair, a very lovely woman, who, I recollect, was dressed in black velvet, which set off her superb figure and dazzling skin to great advantage. She was a grand-daughter of the Duchess of Roxburghe and a great friend of my cousin, the Hon. Emily Cathcart, maid-of-honour to Queen Victoria.

[Illustration: W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow.

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[Illustration: The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria.

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One day, the Hon. Charles Finch, afterwards Earl of Aylesford, who was in the same division as myself, told me that he had stopped my cousin while she was walking with a lady in Eton, and that a few days later, when he happened to meet her again, she said to him:—

“I have a bone to pick with you. Do you know whom you kept waiting when you spoke to me the other day? It was the Princess Louise (afterwards Duchess of Argyll)!” The Earl of Aylesford, like myself, was a cousin of Emily Cathcart.

While at Eton, I used occasionally to spend the day with my great-aunt, Lady Georgiana Cathcart. She lived near Ascot, and once when I was driving with her and her daughter we called on the Ladies Murray, who had a fine house in the neighbourhood, and Lady Caroline told us that if we had come some minutes earlier, we should have met Queen Victoria, who had lunched with them in quite an informal way, saying:—

“Give me what you have ready, nothing else.”

Lady Caroline told me that, owing to bearing the same name, she had frequently been mistaken for my mother’s aunt at Richmond, who had recently died. She showed me an oak-tree which her brother, the Earl of Mansfield, had planted in his garden the last time he had come to see her. In her younger days, she had been lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of Kent, at which time she was considered a great beauty.

One day, when I was dining at Ascot, I met my cousin Emily, who was wearing a lovely dress of violet velvet, trimmed with white lace, and said:—

“Her Majesty said I was not to wear this dress at Court, and I have only worn it once before, although it cost me a good deal of money.”

Queen Victoria, it seems, would often take a dislike to some dress worn by one of her maids-of-honour.

I frequently went to Windsor Castle to see my cousin. On one occasion, I mistook the room, and had to wait for some time in a drawing-room. Presently, a lady came in, who was very charming in her manner towards me, and had some tea and muffins brought to me by a man-servant in the scarlet livery of the Palace. This lady I afterwards learned was the Countess of Erroll. Once, when I called at the Castle I was received by the Hon. Harriet Phipps, who told me that my cousin had left Windsor and that she had taken her place in waiting. She invited me to have some tea, which was brought in in a solid silver teapot, and served in very fine porcelain cups, on both of which was the Royal crown, and was very kind and amiable.

One day, my cousin Emily asked me to bring the late Lord Alexander Kennedy, son of the Marquis of Ailsa, who was in my division at Eton, to the Castle to tea, which I did. He and I smoked cigarettes in her room, and, when we heard her coming, threw them out of the window. However, she smelt the smoke and said:—

“I hope you have not thrown the cigarettes out of the window, for ‘H.M.’ is coming this way, and I shall get into trouble if she sees them.”

We tried to calm her, but she appeared to be rather annoyed at the time.

Emily Cathcart was very good-looking, with dark eyes and black hair and a fine figure. In her general appearance, she always reminded me very much of the late Empress of Austria. Her manner was charming, and she was always very amiable, and had so pleasant a smile that it seemed as though it would be impossible for her to be angry with anyone. I remember her telling me once that at Windsor she rarely ever spoke English, having to receive so many foreign guests for Her Majesty. On the occasion that Kennedy and I went there, we saw the Duc d’Aumale walking away from the Castle as we arrived.

Queen Victoria liked to be read to by her maids-of-honour, which was sometimes a very trying experience for them, particularly by night. A boy at Eton was one of her pages-of-honour, and, as he was late in coming out of school one day that his services were required, he did not stop to wash his hands, but hurried off to the Castle, in order to be in time for some ceremony. Afterwards, the train which he had to hold was found to have dirty spots on it, so he was immediately dismissed from his office by Her Majesty. This story was told me by Mr. James.

My mother told me that Queen Victoria was once lunching at the house of the Duke of Sussex, and, on being asked if the mutton cutlets were to her liking, replied carelessly:—

“Oh! the chops are not bad.” She also related that once, in her younger days, the Queen was visiting the country-seat of a certain nobleman, where everything imaginable in and out of season had been procured for Her Majesty’s delectation, no matter at what cost. However, on the Queen being asked what she would be pleased to take, to the horror and amazement of her host, she named the only thing which was not in the house, and which there was no possibility of procuring. It was whispered that the Queen had asked for this particular _plat_, which was one of a simple but unusual kind, purposely, as she appeared to be amused at the consternation her request had aroused.

Just after I left Eton, Emily invited me to the Haymarket Theatre, telling me to inquire for the Queen’s box. I arrived, and was duly ushered into the Royal box, which, however, was untenanted. So I sat there in solitary state, to the no small curiosity of the audience, who perhaps imagined that I must be some quite important person, until presently my cousin arrived, accompanied by a very handsome and exquisitely dressed woman, who, I learned, was Lady Churchill. The latter, who was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, was most fascinating, and had all the distinction of a _très grande dame_. She was most kind and gracious to me, even going out of her way to draw me out, so that I was soon quite at my ease in her company.

In winter, if we happened to have a frost hard enough to make Virginia Water safe for skaters, we used to be taken there by Mr. James to skate and play hockey on the ice, a game in which my tutor always took part himself. Windsor Steeplechases were an event always looked forward to by the boys, for, though we were forbidden to go to them, we went all the same. Sometimes we would be attacked by roughs, who tried to prevent us crossing certain ditches to get to the race-course, and on one occasion a man tried to stop me. But I pushed him aside, managed to jump a ditch, and got safely to the course. Windsor Fair was at one time forbidden to the boys, but this did not prevent them all going there. I went once with Craven and saw a circus without paying anything, the man at the entrance having overlooked us as we rushed in. Afterwards, Mr. James happened to mention the Fair, when we all laughed and began to talk about the different shows we had seen. The master took it in good part, merely remarking:—

“It’s lucky for you I did not catch you there.”

The Christopher Inn at Eton was also out of bounds, but at times some of the big boys would invite the smaller ones there. If, however, one of the masters happened to catch sight of them coming out, there would be the devil to pay. I don’t remember ever going to the “Christopher,” though I did most things that were forbidden.

The elder son of General Sir John Douglas, Captain Niel Douglas, who was an Old Etonian and an officer in the Scots Guards, then stationed at Windsor, invited me to lunch at the barracks, where I was introduced to Lord Mark Innes-Ker, who used to ride his own horses in the Windsor Steeplechases. I enjoyed my lunch very much, as it was quite a novelty for me. Eton boys were often invited to the barracks to lunch with officers of the Household Brigade whom they knew, as so many Old Etonians went into the Guards. I remember Blane, who was a pupil of my tutor, once coming down to Eton just after he had left the school, and telling me that he was about to join the Scots Guards, who were then stationed at Windsor. Lord Rossmore, whom I knew very well at Eton, entered the 1st Life Guards, and was killed riding in a steeplechase over the Windsor course in 1874. By a singular coincidence he had fallen at the same jump, while riding the same horse, the previous year. Rossmore, who was in the same division with me, was very popular at Eton. He was perpetually playing practical jokes, and I can recollect that on one occasion he made a bet that he would drive a trap through Eton. He won it, too, by driving through the town on a cart, disguised as a waterman, so that the masters did not recognize him. If one of them had happened to penetrate his disguise, he would perhaps have been expelled.

Gridley and I once went for a bicycle ride in the country, and, happening to be seen, were sent up to the Head Master, Dr. Hornby, who said:—

“It is too grave an offence for me to swish you, so each of you must write out a book of the _Iliad_, with accents, stops and breathings.”

Fortunately for us, Mrs. Bower made Mr. James persuade the Head Master to let us off when we had done a quarter of the work.

When I first went to Eton, the Head Master was Dr. Balston, a very handsome, stately and severe-looking man, whom the masters and boys liked—at a distance. When Dr. Hornby succeeded him, it was feared that he would introduce a great many reforms, which the masters dreaded as much as the boys; but these apprehensions proved to be groundless. While I was at Eton, Dr. Hornby was very much liked by the boys; but I cannot say that his popularity extended to his colleagues, some of whom, I know, regarded him with far from friendly feelings.

There was a “sock”-shop, called Brown’s, near James’s house in those days, where excellent buttered buns were sold. An Old Etonian, Theobald, Viscount Dillon, told me that, on his return to Eton when past sixty, he tried the buns again, and exclaimed:—

“Goodness! how these buns have altered; they aren’t half as good as they used to be!” Then, looking round at the boys, who seemed to be enjoying them just as much as he and his contemporaries had done in days of yore, he added regretfully:—

“After all, it isn’t the buns that have altered. It is simply that I have lost my taste for them.”

I used often to go to Brown’s, generally of a morning, to eat a buttered bun, which I enjoyed immensely. There was another “sock”-shop, called Webber’s, where in summer we used to indulge in strawberry messes. Marmalade was in favour with most of us for breakfast, and I recollect how Craven used always to send for eighteenpenny pots at a time, saying that the others were too small for his appetite.

One Fourth of June my father came down to Eton, and asked at my tutor’s for Charles Douglas, the younger son of General Sir John Douglas, and William Kinglake, who was in a different house and whom I did not then know. We all walked down to the river to see the boats. It was a very pretty sight, and prettier still in the evening, when the fireworks began. I saw several lovely young girls, beautifully dressed, drinking champagne with their brothers, and envied the latter having such pretty sisters. William Kinglake was a nephew of the author of “Eöthen,” who was a first cousin of my father. He was in the Boats the following year, but died soon after he left Eton. Charles Douglas, after leaving Eton, joined his father’s old regiment, the 79th Highlanders, but soon retired from the Service, while still a lieutenant.

I passed my “exam.” in swimming before Mr. Warre at my first try, and often went on the river. But I was a “dry bob,” and generally preferred playing cricket in “Sixpenny,” some of the fields by the river, which in winter were used for football matches. Doyne never went on the river, since, as he was not allowed to bathe, he could not pass the necessary “exam.,” and so was forcibly a “dry bob.” At James’s, only Alexander and one or two others were “dry bobs,” and, as the house was a small one, we had no cricket eleven, like other houses. James’s football colours were a combination of reds of different shades with violet and black, which were not by any means pretty colours. Yonge’s were red and black; Day’s, black and white; Evans’s, scarlet with a black skull and cross-bones; Warre’s, a combination of red, yellow and other colours; and Vidal’s, yellow and black. The well-known cricketer, C. I. Thornton, was at Vidal’s, and was a great friend of Williamson, while the latter was there. Thornton was a tremendously hard hitter at cricket, and I can remember many of his wonderful hits beyond the ropes when he was playing for Eton against Harrow at Lord’s. The colours of the Second Eleven or Twenty-two at cricket were blue and black; the Eton Eleven, of course, wore light blue, as did the Eton Eight.

On St. Andrew’s Day a football match—the game at the Wall—was played between Oppidans and Collegers, in which the latter were generally successful, so far as I can recollect. This match always drew a large crowd, but, for a spectator, I cannot imagine anything more tedious to watch, unless he be interested in the final result, and even then he must be gifted with an uncommon stock of patience to be able to watch it from start to finish. For those engaged in it it is, of course, different, as some players prefer the wall to the field game, and I have heard that it affords them more excitement, besides being a far greater strain on the nerves and muscles. A lady who would enjoy watching the game at the Wall would in all probability find pleasure in a Spanish bull-fight, though both would be distasteful to a really nervous, sensitive girl. A young Spanish lady once told me at Seville that to look at a girl performing on the trapeze made her feel faint, whereas she never failed to attend a bull-fight on a Sunday, in which she took a keener pleasure than in any other form of amusement. This shows how strangely one’s nerves are constituted, and that this kind of thing is, after all, merely a matter of habit.

In the summer, Mr. James would often take us with Mrs. Bower on the river, when we would bring our dinner with us, and would often go as far as Monkey Island, or even to Maidenhead, returning at night by moonlight. We all rowed in turn and had dinner in the beautiful woods of Cliveden, which was at that time the property of the Duke of Sutherland, but now belongs to Lord Astor, whose father subsequently bought the estate. The late Duke of Sutherland, who was then the Marquis of Stafford, was with me at Eton, but higher up in the school, and I can remember him very well. He was a good-looking boy with fair hair.

Lord Astor (formerly Mr. Waldorf Astor), the present owner of Cliveden, was at Eton also, though very many years after my time, where he was Captain of the Boats, and gained the Prince Consort’s Prize for French one year. His father belonged to one of the best families in the United States, and the son became a naturalized Englishman.

These river excursions were most enjoyable, and, when coming home, we sang songs in chorus, which sounded well in the stillness of the summer night. I was nearly always taken by Mr. James, as I was one of Mrs. Bower’s favourites, and she insisted on my being invited. A boy named H. B. Walker, who was then high up in the school, was also generally one of the party. Walker was very amusing, and used to chaff me to annoy Mrs. Bower, but all in jest, as we were very good friends. Mr. James was very pleasant during these outings, and would sometimes indulge his propensity for making jokes, which at times the boys would appreciate, though at others they found the wit a trifle strained. One day, Walker said:—

“That joke you made I think I could improve upon, sir.”

“I did not mean it for one; you always see a joke where I cannot see anything,” replied Mr. James.

“Charles, you know you meant it for a joke,” exclaimed Mrs. Bower.

“Well, if I did, I apologize,” said her cousin, laughing; “but you boys always appreciate my jokes better in school hours.”

“Because there is generally more point in them, sir,” remarked Walker.

“But the best of it is I never can see any joke in some of the things I say which provoke fits of laughter, and that always annoys me considerably.”

“It’s quite a habit of yours, Charles, to make these jokes,” said Mrs. Bower; “I confess I don’t care for them at any time.”

“Ladies never do,” retorted Mr. James.

And he laughed and looked very pleased at his remark, to which Mrs. Bower vouchsafed no reply.

[Illustration: Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with the Author.

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[Illustration: The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present Speaker of the House of Commons.

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Another boy who often went on these river excursions was a nephew of Mrs. Bower, named Holdsworth. He was a fine-looking fellow, older than I was and much higher up in the school. He was a very good oar, rowing in the _Victory_ and also in the Eight; but he over-exerted himself in the latter and died shortly after leaving Eton. His father was a wealthy man, and his mother was called at one time the “Pocket Venus.” He had a sister, a pretty, fair-haired girl, who in after years married the late Sir James Dimsdale, Lord Mayor of London, who was also an Etonian.

Walker also died shortly after leaving school, when he was barely eighteen. He died of a brain disease at his mother’s house in Palmeira Square, Brighton. I happened to be at Brighton a few weeks before, and he came to see me.

One First of April, at Eton, I delivered a message to Walker, which was supposed to have come from Lord Rossmore, asking him to lunch at the “Christopher” at one o’clock. Rossmore, who had been very friendly with Walker at school, had lately joined the 1st Life Guards, who were stationed at Windsor Barracks, and often invited Walker there. And so the latter, suspecting nothing, went to the “Christopher,” and waited there for some time for Rossmore, with the result that he was not only disappointed of his expected lunch, but missed his dinner at James’s. He was very angry with me at the time, but he often laughed afterwards at this practical joke.

I also wrote a note to a boy named Lewin C. Cholmeley, purporting to come from a person living in a street at the farther end of Windsor, where I had never been, to say that if he called there he would hear of something to his advantage. He, too, fell into the trap, went to the street mentioned, and hunted a long time for the house, but was unable to find it, as there was no such number there. When he got back to James’s he found that dinner was over, and I don’t think he ever quite forgave me for the joke I had played upon him; certainly he never forgot it. Cholmeley was lower in school than I was at that time. When in the Fifth Form, he was in the Boats. I heard that, after I left Eton, he fell out with my tutor one Fourth of June, and was one of those who nearly drowned him in Chalvey. This affair might have entailed serious consequences for Cholmeley, had not Mr. James forgiven him and interceded in his favour with the Head Master. Cholmeley is now a wealthy solicitor in London.

When I had nothing better to do of an evening, I often used to go to Leyton’s, at Windsor, which was famous for its pastry, and where a good many Eton boys were always to be found. My companion on these occasions was usually Lord Edward Somerset, who was in my division. On leaving Eton, Lord Edward Somerset entered the 23rd Welsh Fusiliers, from which he subsequently exchanged into the “Blues.” He died soon after his marriage, while still quite young.

The German master at Eton was Herr Griebel, from whom I took private lessons at the same time as Count Bentinck. We read together Goethe’s _Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_ and Auerbach’s _Das Landhaus am Rhein_. Herr Griebel told me that after he had been in England some time he forgot German entirely. Then he went back to Germany, and entirely forgot English. “But now,” he added, “I shall never forget either language, as I am far too old.” I was in the select one year for the Prince Consort’s German Prize, and the year following next in marks to the boy who won it. For the French Prize I was also rather high up in marks. Mr. Frank Tarver and his brother were the French masters at Eton then. One half the former got up a performance of Molière’s _le Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, which was acted by the boys and himself. Molière is said to have portrayed himself in _le Misanthrope_. It is well known that he used to read his comedies, first of all, to his old housekeeper, and when she smiled at certain passages, he felt sure that they would amuse the public also.

Gridley’s younger brother, Reginald Gridley, after I had left Eton, rowed in the _Victory_ and the Eight, and was a well-known oar at Cambridge, where he rowed for the University Eight against Oxford. Gridley himself, after holding a commission in the 5th Lancers and subsequently in the 78th Highlanders, was called to the Bar, but died soon afterwards. George Baird, who rowed in the Eight in 1873, was also at James’s, and was my fag for a short time. When he was in the Fifth Form, Arthur Cavendish-Bentinck, now Duke of Portland, fagged for him. George Baird, after leaving Eton, joined the 16th Lancers, and is now a colonel. I saw a good deal of him at my tutor’s, but all I remember about him is that he was a very nice fellow and that he messed with Blagrove. He had a cousin, Douglas Baird, who was also at James’s. Craven, on leaving Eton, entered the Grenadier Guards, from which he retired as captain. He married soon afterwards, and died at twenty-two. Holdsworth messed with Thomas Wood, who was also in the Boats (the _Thetis_), and distinguished himself in school. I met him in after years at Aldershot, where he was in the Grenadier Guards, and I remember that he behaved very generously to Temple—“Mug,” as we used to call him at Eton—when he was in bad health and poor circumstances, assisting him and seeing that he had the best medical advice in his illness, of which, however, he died when he was barely twenty years old.

Two other boys who were with me at James’s were Percy Aylmer and Augustus Ralli. Aylmer, who was a very good-looking and exceedingly nice fellow, travelled with Colvin in after years, and now resides on his property in Durham. Ralli was a bright-looking boy, with very dark eyes, and was very popular in the house. Unhappily, he died of rheumatic fever at Eton in March 1872. There were, of course, many other boys at James’s besides those whom I have mentioned, but I cannot now recall anything about them worth recording here. Doyne left Eton long before I did, and died of influenza some years ago in Ireland.