steepholm

Those of you who read extracts from my great-grandfather's memoir of his schooldays on this Livejournal, may be interested to know that I've now transcribed the whole book and published it through Lulu.com. The complete memoir is rather more than twice the length of the extracts I've already made available, and comes with notes and an introduction by me, and a handsome cover in full colour!

At £5.59 (or £3.99 for digital download), how can you resist?

Time passed slowly, or seemed to do so. The year 1857, in which, according to Dr. Cumming's prophecy, the world was in all probability to come to an end, came and passed.* Nothing special happened. I was thinking about the prophecy when I was in the Cloister before the Hall door, having the Bluecoat School Cap on my head. Mr Brooks inspected us the certify that the cap was used. Two events happened in the years about this time. One was an eclipse of the sun which was invisible to us and disappointing, for a holiday was given to us and we all wasted our time waiting to see it, and spent a penny at Mr Fletcher's shop on a piece of red glass through which to behold it. The other event was the passage through the sky of a large comet with an immense tail, I think in the year 1861.** In this year I became of the 10th of June 15 years of age, which was the date for me to leave Christ's Hospital.

I left the Ancient and Royal Foundation four days before my time for no reason excepting that my Father at my request asked permission, and my desire was granted.

After leaving the School I went to other Schools, had private tutors, and, inspired by a book, "The Student's Guide", studied fervently many subjects.*** By this time, very fortunately for me, the oculist-profession had invented spectacles to suit my sight, and for a short time I went to a Bank. I kept up acquaintance with my Old Blue friends for a time. I saw Green at Boston where he was a Bank Clerk. Jeffery visited me in South Kensington at my Father's house. Sanders called upon me at my College, Highbury, where for three years I was trained in Holy Orders.**** I met him again at Bethnal Green. Afterwards my duties as a clergyman took me to various parts of the country, and in the long time that followed I gradually lost my knowledge of these Bluecoat boys altogether.

It is suggested by a friend that I should make a comparison between Christ's Hospital in my time and Christ's Hospital in the present days, but this I cannot do, as I cannot undertake to re-enter the world and school again in order to have experience of the present. Everything everywhere, I am told, has improved, and therefore at Christ's Hospital. I am quite ready to believe this, if told so by another for it is what I earnestly wish, but general hearsay I cannot state as a matter of my own knowledge. I asked for an instance of improvement, and was told that now Christ's Hospital boys are allowed to wear towny clothes in the Holidays. But I cannot decide that this is an improvement. Does the Christ's Hospital boy of the present generation dislike his dress? It is comfortable. We, Christ's Hospital scholars of the old time, had no objection to the humour of the City Arabs who called after us; it simply amused us. Do the girls of today want to dress like boys? If they do, would the change be an improvement? I must leave these questions for the present generation to decide. A more important question is:- is brutality and selfishness in the world giving place to gentleness and lovingkindness? In spite of exceptions I am glad to think that on the whole there is a gradual improvement which will continue to take place in the great mass of our British nation and those nations which have sprung from her, and that eventually it will be a model for imitation by the rest of the world.






* According to Wikipedia, Dr. John Cumming (1807-81) was less precise, predicting the Final Judgement for somewhere between 1848 and 1867. Either way, he lived to see his ideas disproved.
** Presumably the Great Comet Tebbut.
*** The Student's Guide, designed by Specific directions to aid in forming and strengthening the intellectual and moral character and habits of the student, by the Rev. John Todd with all the Latin quotations translated (1839). Later, abridged versions were published under the title Self-Improvement.
**** Highbury College only became a C of E theological college in 1866, so TRB's education and other work must have taken at least 5 years.





So, there we are. I'm quite sad to have come to the end of TRB's account. But I've only transcribed about half of it, in fact. I plan to finish the job as and when I have a spare moment, and to publish it using Lulu or something similar in the not-too-distant future. Watch this space!

A weekly change from the inside walls was the Sunday Divine Service at the Church, and the Foundation provided every boy with a Bible and Prayer Book bound together. The Church adjoined the School. There was something dubious about this gratification. Everything in the service was conducted in a tedious manner. We knelt on hard wooden benches without any support before or behind, which was painful to the kiddies, especially during the Litany. I never fainted, but the fear that I should faint made me nervous and sometimes lads did faint owing to the severity. There was a Deputy Grecian Monitor, D., sitting in the Church in front of Ward XV, who used to say, "Kneel up" to any lad who showed a sign of fatigue. He told us that he was a High Churchman, and that those who showed signs of fatigue were like Dissenters. "Dissenters" he explained, "are fat persons who do not kneel at prayer." But this foolish youth forgot to observe that he himself did not kneel at all, but sat comfortably in Church in a seat with a back to it. The name of the Incumbent of the Church was the Rev. Michael Gibbs. He was a great authority on the subject of Queen Anne's Bounty. When I had ceased to be a Blue Coat boy, and had become a clergyman I heard him give a lecture at a Ruri-decanal meeting on this subject. Several of his hearers were clergymen of great learning, but after he had spoken, no one ventured to say a word or ask a question. ...

We went to Church also on other days in the week on important Holy Days, and for services of national importance. Among the latter was the 5th of November thanksgiving for the escape from the Gunpowder Treason and the arrival of King William and the 30th January, a Fast of the execution of "the Blessed King Charles the First", in the service for which there is a fabricated Psalm of various scripture texts. This Psalm, though extremely laughable, excites admiration for its ingenuity. It reminds me of an insect cleverly concocted out of the parts of several insects by some entomologists who wished to play a prank on a learned professor. They asked him to name it. He looked at it for a few seconds through a microscope, and said, without smiling, "The name of it is Humbug."

... When Dr Jacobs, who, I believe, was not an Old Blue, became Head Master of the Grammar School, a new School, the Latin School, was formed for Mr White in Christ's Hospital, for it was felt that Mr White ought not to be under Dr Jacobs. Some of the Masters of the various Schools were Ward-visiting Managers. Mr White made it a crime to play at chess (why, I do not know) and threatened the birch for disobedience. Mr Bowker, his successor as Manager of Ward XV, turned the crime into a virtue, and gave the Ward several chess-boards.

After a time there was a general pigging, that is, removal from one Ward to another. Big lads were placed in separate Wards by themselves. The result of this pigging was that the bullying of little boys by big ceased. "Isn't it like heaven now?" said a little lad to me. "... Another good thing in the pigging was the appointment of Latin School monitors for the Latin School wards. The monitors of the Latin School wards were not so stuck-up as the Deputy Grecians, and did not consider it infra dig to speak in a friendly way to the lads they governed.

On entering the Latin School I was taught by Mr Wingfield. I remember nothing about him excepting that he used the cane a good deal. Then Mr White became my master, a venerable-looking old man with a strong likeness to Alexander Cruden, the author of a concordance to the Bible and Apocrypha. Mr White wore spectacles, and had long white hair waving over his shoulders. When he called us into his study, he was supposed to be hearing our lessons, but we were usually doing nothing for most or all of the time, sometimes a whole hour. A lad was placed in front of use with a slate to take down the names of any who made the slightest sound, while Mr White was composing a Dictionary or some other book for the study of Latin. If a boy through nervousness twitched his face or moved his tongue into his cheek, and was caught by the master's eye, Mr White roared at him, accused him of making grimaces at his master, and ordered him to keep on doing the same nervous action for half an hour. On one occasion I was roared at. After the dismissal of the class I returned to the study and said, "I did not mean to offend you." He said "All right," continued his notes, and I retired. Not long afterwards he roared again, and I mentioned the affair to my parents, and it got, through a friend, to the ears of Mr Whitbread, a Governor of Christ's Hospital. This was not what I had intended, but I was not sorry. The reason that schoolboys do not make complaints of ill treatment is not, as is sometimes supposed, a noble hatred of talebearing superior to that which is found in grown-up persons, but it is that they know that complaints will probably do them more harm than good, for it is impossible for boys to obtain a fair hearing. Mr Whitbread called for me on Speech Day, and said, "You are a little donkey." I replied, in my thoughts but not aloud, "And you are a big one, probably not trained to be civil as I have been, so I make allowance for you." I thought again that notwithstanding this rudeness, he might have done me a good turn, and, in that case, I would feel grateful to him. Well, so it turned out, for the next time I went to the Latin School, Mr White said before the class the henceforth he and I were going to be friends; and with a seeming contradiction, that he should not speak to me again. In future, when he heard the class, he should pass me over. He said this with a smiling face, and added that he supposed there was fraternity between the brewer, Mr Whitbread, and me, because my name, Butler, is associated with wine.

Occasionally Mr White was most affable to the boys. Once full of apparent friendliness, he asked a multitude of questions about the things in Mr Fletcher's Tuck-shop, which was in the "Garden". Unlike St Paul, who when he became a man "put away childish things", Mr White became more childish than the boys before him. He expressed a desire to learn from them the exact shape of the cornered tarts, the size and flavour of the High pies, the Low pies, the jumbles, packets of cocoa, sherbet and the rest. When all his questions were fully satisfied, he exclaimed to the class, who were half ashamed and half amused, but obliged to answer, "Well, boys, you certainly show great knowledge of these things. I am surprised at your information; if you took the same interest in your Latin, we should do well!" Sometime he broke the silence of the study by exclaiming over this composition, "There dear little notes! If a boy does not learn from them he ought to be flogged."

Once, when nearing the end of the afternoon school hours, he put down his pen, rubbed his hands together, and fell back in the chair laughing. With a face beaming with smiles he told us that he had finished his day's work, and now was going home to his dinner. And, as if to make all lash, that is, long for what we could not have, he described to us what the items of the dinner would be. "Roast beef and rich gravy. Delicious! Potatoes, either roasted crisp under the meat or if boiled, well done and floury. Very nice! Yorkshire pudding rich and brown. Ah! After that, fruit-pie with light flaky crust and plenty of delightful juice! custard and a glass of wine!" Here he gave us a merry roguish look, which seemed to say, What do you think of that, boys? Wouldn't you like the tuck-in that I'm going to have? When you are at your miserable housy meal, I shall be enjoying myself.

The morality of the Christ's Hospital boys compared favourably with that of another school to which two of my brothers went and with that of a school to which I went when I quitted Christ's Hospital. There was, I confess, a great deal of bad language used at Christ's Hospital, and I underwent a little persecution for being religious, but not very long. I was quite willing to bear it for Christ's sake. On one occasion I took note from the clock of the length of time I was bullied by a crowd of lads in their efforts to make me swear. They would have been satisfied, they said, if I would repeat only one bad word. I found that the period was three quarters of an hour. They punched me, and finally gave me a mock crucifixion in the playground, strapping me up above the ground to some railings. As these efforts were in vain, my Ward, No. XV, got to respect me, and I gained an influence. Even wicked lads would appeal to me for my opinion as to the depravity of those with whom they quarrelled, and I had to be very careful what I said. One of the swearing lads suddenly announced that he was going to lead a new life, and he gave tracts to the boys of the Ward, a thing I had never felt it my duty to do. After a few days of ridicule from his swearing friends, he returned to his old life, and was heard swearing with them again.

Stealing was held in abomination and indeed was very uncommon. If a thief were discovered, their unwritten law against talebearing was broken and they reported him to the Steward, put him in Coventry, or called to him "You are a prig." A prig meant a thief. The word was used only in that sense in Christ's Hospital, it never had the meaning given to it in novels. Snob also meant cad or low-bred person, and nothing else. Even bullies did not steal. There was a lad in one of the Wards who was suspected by certain lads of prigging. They treacherously united in a plot to tempt him to prig cake from a settle, in the night when the fellows were the asleep. One of the plotters was employed to beguile and instruct him. Their trap was successful. The poor prig was caught in the act. Next morning the plotters went in a troop to the Steward, and informed against him. Mr Brooks, after enquiry, told them that they were as bad as the thief, and declined to punish him.

It was a perfectly honourable thing with the boys to shark (ask). There was nothing in common between the voracious animal, the shark, and the sharker. The sharker was, like a missionary collector, contented with what could be spared, however small, and admitted the right to refuse to give anything. The refused sharker merely said, "You are a scaf." (One who does not give to the asker.) "When I have a parcel," said the refused one, "you will shark of me, and I shall give you nothing." This answer seemed reasonable. As if he said, " You have a perfect right to be a scaf to me, but when my turn comes I have the same right to be a scaf to you." Thus the ownership of property was fully recognized. If the reader wants any more light on the subject, the following proverb of the boys of Christ's Hospital may help to give it. "He that asks shan't have, but he that doesn't ask doesn't want." It was not prudent to be a scaf, but on the other hand, there were too many hungry lads sharking for small pieces. A lad with a cake once proclaimed in the Ward, "I am going to see whether you will allow me to have anything myself. I shall give to everyone who asks." At last he said, "I have now only this one mouthful left." A lad replied, "Give us a piece." (Why us instead of me, I do not know.) The poor cakegiver now said, "You have left me nothing at all!" Occasionally, therefore, it was wise to "tuck on the sly" - to wait till everyone in bed was asleep, and then take it from under one's bolio (bolster) and eat it in bed. There might be some lad after all not asleep. It would be prudent to give to him, and to do so with a good grace. Another plan was to go to "Sly Corner", a little beyond "Giff's Cloister", previously hiring one or two lads to watch at convenient distances and signal an approach. When a signal was heard, he who tucked on the sly pocketed his grub, and walked out slowly and unconcernedly before the visitor arrived. When the latter had gone, a return could be made to Sly Corner to finish eating the grub.

Friendship was frequently made by daily contact, and especially by sleeping next to another. Leggate I knew at Hertford. At London he was also with me in Ward No. XV. My bed for a time was by the side of his. As we lay in bed, we read the book of Job by the help of a light at our end of the Ward - each of us a chapter aloud alternately, but in a subdued voice. When a monitor or matron was near, we were silent.

When I went to another bed I slept next to Green. We saved up our pence, and called to the nurse's servant-girl as she passed our beds on an errand to buy her mistress's beer, and the rest, "Please buy us a Coburg loaf and half a pound of cheese." She was very obliging, and when the loaf came Green threw it up two or three times to the ceiling and we had a delightful meal on towny food. A new loaf from outside the School we liked much better than any cake or other sweet food, but usually were not able to purchase it except in the above way.

It was not possible to say one's private evening prayers except in bed, for the same monitor whose function it was to give the word of command, "Kneel", when all instantly fell on their knees, thrashed the unfortunate boy who was last in bed. If one was in danger of being last, it was prudent to get into bed as one was, and finish undressing under the bed clothes. Sometimes it was dubious as to who was last, and then there was no thrashing. Once I heard a monitor say to a big last lad, who was useful to him, "I can't spare you, I must treat you as I do all the rest."

There was no water in the Ward fit to drink. What there was, stagnant rain-water, I was sometimes obliged to drink to ease my suffering. The poor food put my digestive organs out of order, producing what we called water-brash. In the day-time I was better off, for my kind friend the Pump supplied me with a wholesome tonic. After every meal I vomited a white pulp, and then drank plenty of water. Finally I had gastric fever and was doctored at home for a long time. After the holidays, for the first week, I abstained from housey food. I ate every day three halfpenny Abernethy biscuits, one for a meal accompanied by plenty of pump water, and as we all had, after coming from home, something to eat, which was in our school-boxes, we were able to help one another.

The meals in the Hall were preceded by Duty. That was a service of psalm-singing followed by prayers read by a Grecian. The Grecians entered, each one by himself, after all the boys were seated. All eyes were fixed on them as they passed from one end of the Hall to their dining-table at the other end. The boys noticed their style of spadge, how their girdle buckle hung, the colour of their kid-gloves, the whiteness of their bands, how their handkerchief showed from the pocket, and so forth. One Grecian would have a monocle held by the eye, another the same article dangling by a string. I looked with admiration upon a certain Grecian who refrained from following the foolish fashion of his fellows by a studious effort to avoid any appearance of spadging. Now it must not be supposed from the above description that the Grecians were merely young swells. No, they were the most advanced scholars Christ's Hospital possessed. They remained longer in the School than the rest, and had a good classical and mathematical knowledge.

My friend Jeffery for his amusement composed a bogus parliamentary speech about the Corn Laws, and placed it, before the time the Grecians entered, in their path. One of them, supposing that another Grecian had dropped it, picked it up. This was exactly what Jeffery intended, and he was gratified to see all the Grecians having a good laugh over it. It was full of spicy words, an unintelligible jargon, and they tried in vain to find who was the author of it.

An account of our dinner would not be very interesting. In a few words I shall say that on Saturday we always had soup, which was never eaten. It was called "mess". On Tuesday we had pork. This was preferred to the meat of other days. I praise the Christ's Hospital authorities much for providing that the bones that contained marrow should be cracked for the boys, and also that there were plenty of marrow-scoopers at hand for their use. The marrow was spread by us on bread and considered a great delicacy.

One day in the year we had pease pudding and pork. I think the meal was provided by a benefactor. On the occasion the scholars had a double allowance of food. But pease pudding is so nourishing that one could not eat much of it conveniently, and therefore half the amount went back to the kitchen. In summer time salad was provided, the dressing of which was called "jicker." ...

The most interesting affair in the Hall was Supper in Public. The following rhymes about it were known by the scholars. Who was the author? I do not know.

"Gentlemen and ladies, walk up the stairs,
See the hungry lions and the half-starved bears,
The stiff-necked pelican and the over-grown ox,
The squeaking hurdy-gurdy and the sharking money box."

The "lions" were the Grecians, the "bears" the rest of the School: the "pelican was the "Treasurer", the "ox" the Steward, the hurdy-gurdy, the Hall's magnificent organ, and "the sharking money box" the box asking money for the Grecians leaving for College.

On a Supper-in-public we ate, in addition to the ordinary meal, "cruggy nailers", that is Captain's biscuits, which were hard, but pleasant to the taste.

At one Supper-in-public I saw the Duke of Wellington, the Waterloo celebrity. As he passed us, he patted the cheeks of one of the lads of our Ward, No. X. Was not that lad honoured to be thus noticed by this great benefactor of the British nation? The Duke of Wellington is one of three worthies that I am glad to have seen. The other two I saw outside Christ's Hospital, Queen Victoria, also a benefactor of our beloved country, by her bright example of righteousness to her subjects, and Dr. Zamenhof, a very modest man, but a benefactor of the whole world by his marvellous invention of the International Language. [TRB became an Esperantist in 1906, one year after his son.]

In the Writing School Mr Griggs, Mr Sharp and Mr Mackay taught us Writing and Arithmetic. Mr Fitzjohn and Mr Sykes, Spelling, Reading and Dictation, and the Royal Genealogy; and in another room Mr Bowker, Geography and English History. ...

Either [Mr Sykes] or Mr Fitzjohn gave the boys an impossible task. I wish I could remember which master of the two it was. The boys were told to copy down the Royal Genealogical Tree from William the Conqueror to Queen Victoria, with its Houses of York and Lancaster and the rest, from a printed card on to a school slate. Of course if writing were sufficiently reduced in size, the thing could be managed, for the whole of the Lord's Prayer has been inscribed on the top of the point of a needle, and I have seen it through a microscope. But ordinarily there is a reasonable limit to capacity. When an omnibus is full, it refuses to take twenty more passengers. Captain Stephens says that the llama will carry a hundred pounds weight, but neither blows nor coaxing will induce it to exceed that amount. I cannot solve the mystery of the master's requirement, and therefore shall pass it by without further comment. ...

Mr Mackey and all the teachers of Writing were careful to maintain a high standard of excellent in penmanship. If a boy looked pleased with himself, expecting praise for a carefully-written second-rate performance, Mr Mackey said, "That would please your mother, but it will not do for me. "...

The next master was Mr Fitzjohn. He generally entered the School panting. He was a big man and of such a weight that his chair creaked under him... On his arrival at school in a gasping condition, he sank into his chair, and thoroughly wiped his face, ears and neck with a large red pocket handkerchief. One day after this cooling process was finished, he addressed the class in a tone of affection. With a mournful glance, he uttered a few tender words, scarcely audible, as if he thought they might be the last words he was about to speak on earth. "Dear boys, be very good and quiet today, for I am feeling ill. Don't give me any trouble: I am too weak to keep you in order. I ask of you a special favour this morning. Be so kind, dear boys, as not to make a noise. I can hardly speak." The last words were repeated in a just audible pianissimo. "I can hardly - speak."

We were sorry. These were kind expressions, and condescending also, and we felt that we must be very hushed and gentle. But one lad was a slight exception. He thought that he might, without harm, drop a pencil or say something. Then the unexpected happened. "You rascal," shouted the master in a tremendous voice probably louder than that of Stentor, whose words could be heard above the din and clang of battle. Mr Fitzjohn had recovered. "You rascal, come down here, and I'll thrash you soundly. Come down here, Sir: I'll teach you your duty. If you can't be persuaded by fair means, you shall by foul. I see that you intend to be master here." We were almost stunned with surprise and fear. Where was our pity now? It was transferred to the little chap he was so unmercifully dressing. ...

Downstairs was Mr Bowker. He had a classroom to himself, where he taught us Geography and English History. This gentleman had great literary knowledge and was a member, I believe, of learned societies.

Geography Mr Bowker did not teach well. He gave us maps to copy, and that was all. We took care to draw and paint our maps well, and to copy correctly a few principal names. One lad executed his work artistically; he spared no time and pains over the name of the country, and he even glazed his map with gum, so that it looked almost as if it had not been drawn by hand. The master could not help admiring the work, but remarked that it had not many names.

Some of us could not see to copy the small names in maps. Astigmatic sight was not then understood by oculists, and the only thing we could do was to invent names, and for our purpose, the Ward List of surnames of boys was most helpful. Once there was danger of being found out. "What is this?" said the master, "there is no such place," but something drew off his attention, and the matter ended. ...

I shall repeat here some of his instructions. "Boys, it isn't everyone who has had the privilege of travelling in foreign countries. Now you all know, because I have told you, that I have travelled a great deal. ... I have travelled about Switzerland, and have been on some of its high mountains, and have seen so many places that it would take me too much time to name them all; so I have the advantage of knowing the truth of what is reported by travellers. Some of those fellows tell the biggest lies a scoundrel can invent. There's that Arthur ____. You must not believe a word that fellow says. But I can tell you at the same time that I have heard and seen many wonderful things which you would scarcely believe, and which nevertheless you know to be true because they are told to you by me. There's a field of corn in Australia of which I will tell you the history. Once, a long time ago, a gentleman was showing me a mummy. The mummy held in his hand some of that ancient Egyptian corn which grew 2,000 years ago. Fancy! This corn had been held 2,000 years in in the hand of the mummy! Well, I begged a little of this corn, and the gentleman kindly gave me a few grains. These I sowed in my garden. They produced a crop, and that crop a larger one, and so on until at last there was this large field of corn in Australia. All that came from the few grains given me from the mummy's hand.

"... It is now time to serve out the history books. We have today to read about Titus Oates. Ah! he was a knave. He was worse than Marlborough. A most thorough knave that fellow was. Marlborough was avaricious, but he had some good qualities, and he was an able general. Marlborough too was very deceitful. But Titus Oates was not only avaricious and deceitful, he was bloodthirsty. Titus Oates was the greatest scoundrel that ever walked this earth. This infamous scamp had terrible sufferings, but he richly deserved his punishment." ...

These things were interesting and deserved attention and gratitude, and for a time they had it. But, perhaps, Mr Bowker was too long. ... So it happened that a lad, born perhaps like the majority with sluggish brains, was suddenly seen by the master to be woolgathering. Mr Bowker was at once irritated, and when one is irritated, the mind becomes like a distorting looking-glass that takes an ugly view of anything in front of it. In his excited state he called this boy the very name which he had been applying justly to Titus Oates. "See that Knave!" Mr Bowker cried. "I may talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and the fellow doesn't listen to one word I'm saying. Come out here, you scoundrel, you scamp, you infamous rascal, and I'll give you a baker's round dozen."

[The second half of my great-grandfather's account concerns his time at Christ's Hospital's school for older boys at Newgate, London, from 1855 on. As before, I'll be putting up excerpts that seem particularly striking, but this first section is Introductory.]

The Wards of Christ's Hospital, London, were 16 in number containing about 50 boys in each Ward. There was also a Sick Ward. I was placed in Ward XV, the Nurse of which was Mrs Stag, and after the Pigging (Removal to another Ward) in Ward X. Of these two Wards alone I can write, having had no experience of the rest except the Sick Ward. The rooms of Nurse Stag, and the bed and study of the Grecian* of the Ward may first of all be mentioned. The Grecian's study was small and his bed was outside it. The bed had a curtain round it to make it private. The Grecian had a swob (servant), some lad of the Ward, whose social extraction no doubt was plebeian. The swob made the Grecian's bed, blacked his boots, and when called, obeyed his orders. The Grecian had a lofty manner like that of a giraffe, and was a grand being. He took no notice of anyone in the Ward except his swob. It seemed very wonderful to the boys of No. XV that the Grecian in his study had actually condescended to have a pleasant little chat with this servant, and moreover, the swob boasted, "He put some lavender-water upon my handkerchief."

Nurse Stag was able to be more sociable. She told us that she had visited Rome, and that in one of the Churches there the head of John the Baptist was shown to her and to other visitors. The exhibitor was doubtless a wag, for, when she made the objection, "I have already seen the Baptist's head in another Church and he cannot have had two heads!", she received the reply, "O yes, one of the heads belonged to him when he was a young man, and the other when he was older!"

Her sociability also was shown by the following. There was a lad who had a gift for public speaking. He delivered a mock sermon on the words, "They are coming!" which he said he took for his text, meaning that the French were coming to invade England. The Nurse came down from her rooms and listened to the sermon throughout. At that time the mind of the Christ's Hospital boys was much upon the Napoleonic wars. It was the absurd idea of these boys that one British soldier could chase a hundred Frenchmen. Another lad was a good entertainer. He sang "The Cork leg" with perfect action,** and he admirably imitated Mr Keymer, the Grammar School Master of Christ's Hospital, Hertford.

It was one of the duties of the Nurse to be present with the lads when they washed. There was no objection to this, for they only washed the head and neck and feet, and she directed them to show the neck to her after it had been washed. "You hav'n't washed your neck," she said to one. "Yes, I have, Mum." "Go and wash it again, I could sow mustard and cress in it." He did not wash it again, but after a time showed it to her once more. Then she said, "It's beautiful now." The place in which the boys washed was a long room called "The Lavatory" containing a row of taps with a gutter underneath. The washing in the Lavatory was a pleasant affair. The boys, bared down to the waist, placed the neck and the head under the row of taps of running warm water, and they helped one another to dry the head, holding a towel tight and drawing it backwards and forwards over the head. The ground of the Lavatory was slimy, but that did not matter, for before drying a foot, they could hold it under a tap, and the slime was removed into the gutter.

Every boy had a face-flannel. It was not really wanted, for he could lather his hands and use them better. But one thing was important. If he took it from its numbered peg in the Ward cupboard, he had to be careful to take it back again. Otherwise he gave trouble to Mrs Stag , and committed what, in her theology, was a grievous sin. This Nurse, not knowing better, did a dangerous thing. She put a nail on to the end of a long stick reaching almost the length of the Ward to give a reminder to anyone at a distance who was not listening to her. It swayed up and came own with a force that she did not intend.

* This is one school term TRB did not seem to think it necessary to translate - and indeed, it's right there in the OED: B.2.b "A boy in the highest class at Christ's Hospital (the Blue-coat School)." But I'd love to know how it arose. Perhaps in the past Greek was taught only to the senior scholars?

** If you, dear reader, wish to emulate him in singing this steampunk version of "The Red Shoes", this is a good place to start.

There were three masters in the Grammar School, the Revd. Nathaniel Keymer, the Revd. Henry Hawkins and Mr Bowry, who took the lowest classes. Mr Bowry was a bulky and dangerous-looking man, and very bearish in his ways towards the poor little kiddies under him. He made unsparing and senseless use of the cane in order to make them learn and recollect the parts of speech in the Latin Grammar, which was to them, and perhaps to him, unintelligible jargon. ...

After a short time Mr Hawkins became my master. He was not coarse in manner and appearance and speech like the former master, and on the first morning after the holidays graciously condescended to say "Good morning" to his scholars. I chiefly recollect him as frequently flapping his arms and gown as if he were imitating a barn fowl when it lifts itself up on its legs and flaps vigorously. This process was to fan the room, and it became a constant habit. Mr Hawkins, by way of punishment, gave a great many titches, that is, canings on the seat of the trousers pulled tight over the form [bench]. Occasionally he gave a brushing (birching). Selecting one of the lads, he would cross-examine him upon some trifle in such a manner that the scholar would, through nervousness, unwittingly contradict himself and apparently tell a lie. Then the guilty one was strapped to a form, and brushed for several minutes, Mr Hawkins, throughout the performance, loudly bewailing his hard lot in having so painful a duty to perform.

I remained with Mr Hawkins some months, and was then removed to the Rev. Nathaniel Keymer. This master had a fine aquiline nose, long face and chin, a mouth curved downwards, expressing the reverse of a smile, and long hair waving concavely and gracefully below the neck [Anyone else see Alan Rickman at this point?]. He wore, at all times, a tall silk hat on the back of his head, his eyes were gravely turned as he spoke, and he jerked out his words with little nods. His study had a window through which he would see his two classes outside, and they could see his nose refracted in the panes and distorted. The Latin lesson was generally the same - "the parts of speech to the end of Audior". This took up a long time. Mr Keymer standing with one foot on the form before the boys, the other on the ground, moved round to every one to hear him in turn say his part. In one hand Mr Keymer held a cane, in the other the wrist of the lad whose turn it was to speak. The master was thus ready to deal at once with a mistake, and to chastise the delay of an instant. He twisted the poor child's wrist backwards and forwards, rapping meanwhile the back and front of the little one's hand so that the child in excruciating pain stood with difficulty on one leg and sometimes fell. ...

[I've left out a lot about Mr Keymer, because he apparently had a strange way of pronouncing things, and TRB insists on writing everything he said out phonetically, which is tedious to transcribe. Fwiw, it reads to me like a Black Country accent, though I've checked and Keymer was actually a Mancunian.]

On one side of Mr Keymer's garden was the Field of the C. H. children, a brick wall forming the division between the garden and the field. One the top of this wall Mr Keymer used to place an apple, and then remain concealed from view with a cane in his hand. Should one of the children in the Field happen to see the apple and try to get it, the master amused himself by defending it. I am sorry to say that some cruel boys had a spite against Mr Keymer's fowls, threw stones at them, and broke a leg of one of them.

Guy Fawkes day was a holiday, but of course everyone went to Church in the morning. The boys came to Mr Keymer's house to remind him of the horrible treason. He came out smiling and was quite prepared for the occasion. "Yo must all prass as close as yow can to the railing and have yo're hands ready" said he, "Because I want yer all to have a fair chance." Mr Keymer then beat their hands with prickly sticks which he had gathered out of his garden. Then he scrambled windfall apples, water and cinders. Some lads went away soaked with the water. The master was having a lark.

After morning school was over, there was an hour to spend before dinner, either in the playground or in the Ward, and then the Hall bell rang twice, and all the scholars and Nurses ascended the Hall-staircase for the midday meal. As we were ascending, I heard Mrs Graham of No. VII Ward and Mrs Meredith of No. VIII Ward talking and laughing about my hair. It was very long, and in time past at my home had been curled with curling-tongs, and in a day or two would have to be cut short. I myself had no objection to part with my curls, but I did feel grieved when, on Sunday Evening, the girls of the Bluecoats Girls' School close by, came into the Hall, and I saw that their heads had been cropped like those of the boys. ...

Mr Ludlow, during dinner, walked about the Hall, and if any Nurse or boy wished to speak to him, now was the opportunity. A lad, for example, complained to him that the meat was high. Mr Ludlow tasted it, spat it out of his mouth, and said it was very good.

After dinner at a separate table, beer was given to delicate boys, of whom I was one. In old-fashioned times beer was believed to convey strength just as nowadays meat is supposed to give it. And indeed for those poor little wretches, whatever may be said now, a stimulant seemed to be necessary. "Give strong drink, says King Lemuel, unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto the bitter in soul." A small mug of sweet ale was a slight comfort to such a one, and did him no harm. When the beer was flat and sharp, it was a disappointment. Flesh is also a stimulant. There was always in each Ward one boy who got nothing of it, and that was the unfortunate to whom was laid the bladebone. No one ate the bladebone, or what was on it, for it was considered unclean. If one ate it in ignorance, he was "poled" (polluted) and no boy spoke to him. ...

The belief was held [among the boys] that everyone dies from slow poisoning. For all food, said they, contains poison except carrots, and gradually produces death. And it would be of no avail to eat nothing but carrots, even if one could do so, for then death by starvation would follow, carrots not having by themselves sufficient nourishment to preserve life.

Dinner was followed by after-meal duty [prayers], and then we were dismissed or occasionally detained to witness a brushing in public. That is a flogging with a birch-rod on the bare back of some sinful boy. The culprit was hung on the back of a beadle, and another beadle furrowed the flesh with the rod. ... During a brushing if the one who was chastised groaned from excessive pain, the boys who witnessed involuntarily cried "shame". The beadle in pity gave less vigorous strokes. Then Mr Ludlow called to him, "Do your duty, Sir," and if the beadle became loath, took the rod out of the beadle's hand and administered the strokes himself. ...




Note - the birch is quite different from a cane, and designed to break the skin.

It was the duty of Mr Crossman [a friendly beadle] nightly to walk about Christ's Hospital with a bell and a dog and at each half hour to proclaim loudly the time of night. The boys imagined that he guarded the Hospital from highwaymen, and sometimes it was rumoured that he had shot one of them. The boys greatly admired this faithful beadle's valour and bore no ill will against him because he was employed by Mr Ludlow to do the birching. He was a kind-hearted man and evidently did not like that business, for it was horribly cruel and especially for young children.

There was a shop in one of the playgrounds which was kept by Mr Allen, a very stout man. He was a beadle, but not liked as Mr Crossman was, for he took no interest in the children, was irritable and devoid of humour. The scholars were obliged to buy from his shop, for there was no other. Nothing was allowed to be bought outside the school, and housy coin alone was permitted, the sixpence of which was copper and in shape a hexagon. ... Unfortunately Mr Ludlow also had no sense of humour. A child, sent by his companions to the shop for some "pigeon's milk" was reported to the Steward, and mercilessly punished. Another lad requested Mrs Allen to sell him a pennyworth of what she hadn't got: whereupon Mr Allen rose in great anger to seize him. The little boy got fairly away, but the fat man fell forward over the door-step, and was laid up for some time. The children of Christ's Hospital did not pity him and regarded his accident as a punishment for his stupidity. ...