Forty Years Of Spy Part 2

I used to dread these walks together, much as I loved him, and I was so nervous I never ceased to answer unsatisfactorily; so my father, over-looking the possibility of my lack of interest in his observations, and the fact that life was a spectacle to me, for what I saw interested me far more than what I heard, decided I needed the rousing influence of school life, and after a little preparation, sent me to Chase's School at Salt Hill.

Salt Hill was so called from the ceremony of collecting salt in very ancient days by monks as a toll; and in later times by the Eton boys, who collected not "salt"--but money, to form a purse for the captain of the school on commencing his University studies at King's College, Cambridge. Soon after sunrise on the morning of "Montem," as it was called, the Eton boys, dressed in a variety of quaint or amusing costumes, started from the college to extort contributions from all they came across. "They roved as far as Staines Bridge, Hounslow, and Maidenhead, and when 'salt' or money had been collected, the contributors would be presented with a ticket inscribed with the words, '_Nos pro lege_,' which he would fix in his hat, or in some conspicuous part of his dress, and thus secure exemption from all future calls upon his good nature and his purse."

"Montem" is now a matter of history, and was discontinued in 1846, when the Queen turned a deaf ear to her "faithful subjects'" pet.i.tion for its survival.

Amongst my school friends at Salt Hill, Wentworth Hope-Johnstone stands out as an attractive figure, as does that of Mark Wood (now Colonel Lockwood, M.P.). The former became in later life one of the first gentlemen riders of the day. At school he was always upon a horse if he could get one, and he would arrange plays and battle pieces in which we, his schoolfellows, were relegated to the inferior position of the army, while he was _aide-de-camp_, or figured as the equestrian hero performing marvellous feats of horsemans.h.i.+p. He became a steeple-chase rider, and coming to my studio many years after, I remember him telling me with the greatest satisfaction that he had never yet had an accident--ominously enough, for within the week he fell from his horse and sustained severe injuries.

I did not stay long at my school at Salt Hill, for the school was broken up owing to the ill-health of the princ.i.p.al. My preparation thus coming to an end rather too soon, I was sent to Eton much earlier than I otherwise should have been, and my pleasant childhood days began to merge into the wider sphere of a big school and all its unknown possibilities.

CHAPTER II

ETON AND AFTER

Eton days.--Windsor Fair.--My Dame.--Fights and Fun.-- Boveney Court.--Mr. Hall Say.--Boveney.--Professor and Mrs.

Attwell.--I win a useful prize.--Alban Doran.--My father's frescoes.--Battle Abbey.--Gainsborough's Tomb.--Knole.--Our burglar.--Claude Calthrop.--Clayton Calthrop.--The Gardener as Critic.--The Gipsy with an eye for colour.--I attempt sculpture.--The Terry family.--Private theatricals.--Sir John Hare.--Miss Marion Terry.--Miss Ellen Terry.--Miss Kate Terry.--Miss Bateman.--Miss Florence St. John.--Constable.-- Sir Howard Vincent.--I dance with Patti.--Lancaster Gate and Meringues.--Prayers and Pantries.

I have the liveliest recollection of my first day at Eton, when I was accompanied by my mother, who wished to see me safely installed. In her anxiety to make my room comfortable (it was afterwards, by the way, Lord Randolph Churchill's room), she bought small framed and coloured prints of sacred subjects to hang upon the walls, to give it, as she thought, a more homely aspect. These were very soon replaced, on the advice of Tuck, my f.a.g-master (and wicket-keeper in the eleven), by racehorses and bulldogs by Herring.

Next I remember my youthful digestion being put to test by a big boy who "stood me," against my will, "b.u.mpers" of shandy-gaff; and for my first smoke a cheroot of no choice blend, the inevitable results succeeding.

Shortly afterwards I was initiated into the mysteries of school life; I had to collect c.o.c.kroaches to let loose during prayers; and of course the usual fate of a new boy befell me. I was asked the old formula: or something to this effect--

"Who's your tutor, who's your dame?

Where do you board, and what's your name?"

If your reply did not give satisfaction, you were promptly "bonneted,"

and, in Eton phraseology, your new "topper" telescoped over your nose.

I was at first made the victim of a great deal of unpleasant "ragging"

by a bully, who on one occasion playing a game he called "Running Deer!" made me a target for needle darts, one of which lodged tightly in the bone just above my eye; but he was caught in the act by Tuck, who punished the offender by making him hold a pot of boiling tea at arm's length, and each time a drop was spilled, my champion took a running kick at him.

I learned a variety of useful things. Besides catching c.o.c.kroaches, I became an adept in the art of cooking sausages without bursting their skins: if I forgot to p.r.i.c.k them before cooking, I was severely reprimanded by my f.a.g-master, and I considered his anger perfectly justifiable; my resentment only existing where unjustifiable bullying was concerned.

Windsor Fair was an attraction in those days, especially for the small boys, as it was "out of bounds," and therefore forbidden. I remember once being "told off" to go to the fair and bring as many musical and noisy toys as I could carry; which were to be instrumental in a plot against our "dame" ... (the Reverend Dr. Frewer) ... On the great occasion, the boys secreted themselves in their lock-up beds. The rest hid in the housemaid's cupboard, and we started a series of hideous discords upon the whistles and mouth organs from the fair. Presently our "dame" appeared, roused by the concert, and at the door received the water from the "b.o.o.by trap" all over his head, and then, drenched to the skin and looking like a drowned rat, he proceeded to rout us.

We were all innocence with a carefully concocted excuse to the effect that the reception had been intended for Anderson, one of the boys in the house. Notwithstanding that expulsion was threatening us, we were all called to his room next morning, severely reprimanded, but ...

forgiven.

Old Etonians will remember Jobie, who sold buns and jam; and Levy, who tried to cheat us over our "tuck," and was held under the college pump in consequence; and old Silly-Billy, who used to curse the Pope, and, considering himself the head of the Church, was always first in the Chapel at Eton. Then there was the very fat old lady who sold fruit under the archway, and had a face like an apple herself. She sold an apple called a lemon-pippin, that was quite unlike anything I have tasted since, and looked like a lemon.

At "Sixpenny" the mills took place, and there differences were settled. A "s.h.i.+nning-match," which was only resorted to by small boys, was a most serious and carefully managed affair; we shook hands in real duel fas.h.i.+on, and then we proceeded to exchange kicks on one another's s.h.i.+ns until one of us gave in.

I remember having a "s.h.i.+nning-match" to settle some dispute with one of my greatest friends, but we were discovered, taken into Hawtrey's during dinner, and there talked to in serious manner. Our wise lecturer ended his speech with the time-honoured, "'Tis dogs delight to bark and bite," etc.

In 1861 I recollect very well the Queen and Prince Consort reviewing the Eton College Volunteer Corps in the grounds immediately surrounding the Castle, while we boys were permitted to look on from the Terrace.

At the conclusion of the review the volunteers were given luncheon in the orangery, where they were right royally entertained.

Prince Albert, whom I had noticed coughing, retired after the review into the castle, while the Queen and Princess Alice walked together on the slopes.

This was the last time that Prince Albert appeared in public, for he was shortly after seized with an illness from which he never recovered.

From Eton I frequently had "leave" to visit some friends of my parents, the Evans, of Boveney Court, a delightful old country house opposite Surly Hall. Miss Evans married a Mr. Hall-Say, who built Oakley Court, and I was present when he laid the foundation stone.

Mr. Evans, who was a perfectly delightful old man, lent one of his meadows at Boveney (opposite Surly Hall) to the Eton boys for their Fourth of June celebrations. Long tables were spread for them, with every imaginable good thing, including champagne, some bottles of which those in the boats used to secrete for their f.a.gs; and in my day small boys would come reeling home, unable to evade the masters, and the next day the "block" was well occupied, and the "swish" busy.

There were certain unwritten laws in those days as regards flogging; a master was not supposed to give downward strokes, for thus I believe one deals a more powerful sweep of arm and the stroke becomes torture.

In cricket, also, round arm bowling was always the rule; a ball was "no ball" unless bowled on a level with the shoulder, but lob-bowling was, of course, allowed. Nowadays, the bowling has changed. Perhaps the character of the "swis.h.i.+ng" has also altered, but somehow I think the boys are just the same.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR WILLIAM BROADBENT, 1902.

_He was very angry and wrote to a leading Medical Journal to say how greatly he disapproved of this indignity._]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR THOMAS BARLOW. 1903.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR JAMES PAGET, BART. 1876.]

On the occasion of my first holiday, I arrived home from Eton a different boy; imbued with the traditions of my school, I was full of an exaggerated partisans.h.i.+p for everything good or indifferent that existed there. I remember I discovered my sisters in all the glory of Leghorn hats from Paris; they were large with flopping brims as was then the fas.h.i.+on. But to my youthful vision they seemed outrageous, and I refused to go out with the girls in these hats, which I considered, with a small boy's pride in his school, were a disgrace to me ... and consequently to Eton!

My regard for the honour and glory of this time-honoured inst.i.tution did not prevent me sallying forth on several occasions with a school friend to antic.i.p.ate the Suffragettes by breaking windows; although I was not the proposer of this scheme, I was an accessory to the act, and my friend (who seemed to have an obsessive love of breaking for its own sake) and I successfully smashed several old (but worthless) windows, both of the Eton Parish Church and also Boveney Church.

Although I have made this confession of guilt, I feel safe against the law both of the school and the London magistrates.

In most respects I was the average schoolboy, neither very good, or very bad. Running, jumping, and football I was pretty "nippy" at, until a severe strain prevented (under doctor's orders) the pursuance of any violent exercises for some time.

Previous to this I had won a special prize for my prowess in certain sports when I arrived second in every event. I won a telescope, which seemed a meaningless sort of thing until I went home for the holidays, when I gave an experimental quiz through it from my bedroom window and discovered the infinite possibilities of the girls' school next door.

Finally I was noticed by a portly old mistress who complained of my telescopic attentions, never dreaming, from what I could gather, of my undivided interest in other quarters, and my prize was confiscated by my father.

During my enforced rest from all exercise of any importance, I spent my time in compiling a book of autographs and in sketching anything I fancied. My apt.i.tude and love for drawing were not encouraged at school at the request of my father, but I was always caricaturing the masters, and having the result confiscated. It was inevitable, living as I did in an atmosphere of art, loving the profession, and sitting to my parents, that I should grow more and more interested and more determined to become a painter myself, although strangely enough I never had a lesson from either my father or mother.

The boy is indeed the father of the man, for just as I antic.i.p.ated my future by becoming the school caricaturist, so Alban Doran, one of my schoolfellows (and the son of my father's friend, Dr. Doran), spent the time usually occupied by the average schoolboy in play or sport, in searching for animal-cul or bottling strange insects, the result of his tedious discoveries. I believe he kept an aquarium even in his nursery, and was more interested in microscopes than cricket. The clever boy became a brilliant man, distinguis.h.i.+ng himself at "Bart's," was joint compiler with Sir James Paget and Dr. Goodhart of the current edition of the Catalogues of the Pathological series in the Museum of the College of Surgeons. His success as a surgeon and a woman's specialist was all the more wonderful, when we remember his nervous shaking hands, which might have been expected to render his touch uncertain; but when an operation demands his skill the nervousness vanishes, and his hand steadies. He is noted for a remarkable collection of the ear-bones from every type of living creature in this country, and especially for his literary contributions to the study of surgery.

When I was at home on my holidays I spent a great deal of my time in a temporary studio erected on the terrace of the House of Lords. Here I watched my father paint his frescoes for the Houses of Parliament.

Fresco painting would not endure the humidity of our climate, and several of these historical paintings which hung in the corridor of the House of Commons began to mildew. Other important frescoes were completely destroyed by the damp; but my father restored his works, and they were placed under gla.s.s, which preserved them. With his last two or three frescoes he adopted a then new process called "water-gla.s.s," which was a decided success.

Another holiday was spent at Hastings, where my father occupied much of his time restoring frescoes which he discovered, half-obliterated, in the old Parish Church at Battle. He intended eventually to complete his task; but on his return to London he found that the great pressure of work and engagements rendered this impossible. The dean of the parish wrote in consequence to say that the restorations looked so patchy that it would be better to whitewash them over!

The Archological Society met that year at Hastings, and my father, who intended to prepare me for an architectural career, thought it would encourage me if we attended their meetings, at which Planch, the President, presided. We visited all the places of interest near, and I heard many edifying discourses upon their histories, while I watched the members, who were rather antiquities themselves, and thoroughly enjoyed the many excellent luncheons spread for us at our various halting places.

_ propos_ of restoration, my father visited Kew Church in 1865, and found in the churchyard Gainsborough's tomb, which was in a deplorable state of neglect. Near to Gainsborough are buried Zoffany,[1] R.A., Jeremiah Meyer, R.A., miniature painter and enamellist (the former's great friend), and Joshua Kirby, F.S.A., also a contemporary. My father at once took steps to have the tomb restored at his own expense, and as the result of his inquiries and efforts in that direction, received the following letter which is interesting in its quaint diction as well as in reference to the subject.

Petersham, Surrey, August 24th, 1865.

MY DEAR SIR,

It is with much pleasure that I learn that one great man is intending to do Honor to the Memory of another. In reply to your note, I beg that you will consider that my Rights, as the Holder of the Freehold, are to be subservient by all means to the laudable object of paying our Honor to the Memory of the great Gainsborough.

I am, My dear Sir, Yours very truly, R. B. BYAM, ESQ.