Nothing could have been prettier or more animated than the old school-yard the morning of a Montem, filled as it was with the boys in their military uniforms of blue and red, or in fancy dresses, for the most part of a rich and tasteful kind. Fantastically attired Turks, Albanians, and Highlanders mingled with courtiers and pages of every age, an additional note of colour being furnished by the bright dresses of numerous female relatives and friends who had come down to Eton to see the show. In addition to the boys in uniform and fancy dress, a considerable number of Lower School who followed at the end of the procession wore the old Eton costume of blue jacket and white trousers, only abandoned after the death of George III. Such boys carried long thin wands about five feet long, which after the ceremonial were, according to immemorial usage, cut in two by the corporals with their swords. Occasionally, however, some of the “polemen,” as they were called, contrived to keep their wands intact to the end of the day--a rare and difficult feat.
At the close of the eighteenth century Montem was often attended by Royalty. The College flag, of rich crimson silk emblazoned with the Eton arms and the motto _Mos pro Lege_ within a wreath of oak and laurel, would on the great day be displayed at one of the Long Chamber windows early in the morning, and at eleven o’clock George III. would generally appear with his family, and be received by the boys with a long-continued roar of huzzas. The King would then be met by the Headmaster at the entrance to the school-yard and conducted to an elaborate breakfast, after which the Royal party would move with the procession towards Salt Hill, the principal scene of the day’s display. A breakfast given by the Captain of Montem in the College Hall continued to be one of the features of the day right up to the last celebration in 1844. In the _Illustrated London News_ of that year can be seen, amongst other interesting pictures of the last Montem, a cut of this banquet. The unrestored Hall is filled with guests, the College flag being suspended above the High Table. After the feast general exhilaration prevailed. My cousin, Sir Algernon West--a survivor of the last Montem, which he attended as a “poleman”--tells me that he has an unpleasant memory of a schoolfellow, who had partaken of the pleasures of the table too freely, prodding him with a sword.