I did not stay long at my school at Salt Hill, for the school was broken up owing to the ill-health of the principal. 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.
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 fag-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, "bumpers" 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 cockroaches 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.