Reminiscences of Christ's Hospital

PROMINENT among the many quaint sights seen in London is that of hatless youngsters, with long blue coats, stockings of a brilliant yellow, red leather girdles, and in place of collars snowy white bands, like those of the old-fashioned parson. They are scholars of Christ’s Hospital, ordinarily known as “ blue-coat boys,” and they form a connecting link with by-gone times than which none is more interesting or more picturesque.

The famous school in which these lads are pupils is situated almost in the centre of London. Its premises are bounded on one side by Newgate Street, on another by Little Britain, on another by St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

Meeting the boys in the street, one will be struck with the quiet dignity and self-possession of their demeanor ; but let the passer-by pause to look through the great iron gates which open from Newgate Street into the “ hall playground,” or, still better, make his way through the entrance a little further on into the premises themselves, and he will see an entirely different picture. The long blue skirt, which, when the wearer is outside, falls so decorously almost down to the well-blacked shoes, is tucked up for the convenience of play, and held in position by the girdle, leaving the full contour of the brown velveteen breeches, with “ silver buttons on the knee,” and the yellow stockings in full view ; so that an uninitiated and near-sighted spectator might suppose himself suddenly introduced to the gambols of a collection of extinct birds of the ostrich species. " Prisoner’s base,” leap-frog, and various other vigorous games will be in progress, until the great bell in a neighboring tower rings for school, dinner, or supper, as the case may be; at the sound of which the coats will fall, as if by magic, into their normal shape, and before the reverberations have ceased the playground will be empty and silent, but for the tread of a chance passenger or a solemn beadle.

The scene thus sketched crowds my mind with personal reminiscences. I am carried back to the reception in my Devonshire home of an official-looking letter, found to contain a “ presentation ” to Christ’s Hospital. I feel again the nervous, but on the whole pleasant, consciousness of increased consequence in the family circle. I see the look of mingled gladness and sorrow upon the faces of mother and sisters; for the earnestly sought boon means leaving home for the first time. I experience once more the intense interest in the manufacture and bringing home of the box, carefully constructed upon certain specified plans, that it may fit in the iron “ settle ” at the foot of the bed at school. And then the loving embraces, the presents, the blessings, as with my father I start for the new life ! The west of England being innocent of railroads, we embark in a coasting steamer. Let us pass over the next thirtysix hours in silence, as I did ; not opening my mouth except, like Lord Tadcaster, " for a purpose which we need not dwell upon.”

Then comes the first sight of London, the bewilderment of which has not subsided when we enter the covered way leading from Newgate Street into a mysterious alley, having Christ Church on one side and its sombre buryingground on the other, through a gateway of portentous darkness, and then at last into the long-thought-of cloisters. There is a colloquy with a gray-headed porter in uniform, and we are passed on to the “counting-house.” Here, in a large room, we find a number of other fathers with boys — nominees — waiting for the medical examination. The names are called by a personage with a red face, who, judging from the sonorous roll of his voice and the deep solemnity of his manner, seems to centre in his single person the dignity which has been accumulating about the officials of the old foundation since the days of the Tudors.

Those of us who are pronounced “ sound in wind and limb ” are then led off to the “clothing-room,” where we manage to get out of the various costumes of the vain outside world, and by the assumption of the venerable garb of King Edward VI. become “ blues.” The process is aided by the attendant fathers ; mine, who is nautical, compares the operation to fitting a “ purser’s shirt to a handspike.” The transformation is accomplished at last, and forms an epoch in life the importance of which is very real and lasting. It enters me upon four years of school life ; and of a kind of school life which, after hearing, reading, observing, and reflecting a good deal upon the subject, I believe to be unique. Tom Brown has told us about Rugby. Many brilliant pens have made us familiar with the vigorous training and exuberant life at Eton. Westminster has had its chroniclers. But, with the exception of occasional glimpses in the lives of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt, I think that the only description which has made the public — or at any rate the American public—familiar with such a school as Christ’s Hospital is the capital account of the boyhood of one of the characters in Henry Kingsley’s Silcotes of Silcote. A book upon the subject, the title of which I have forgotten, was published, I think, in 1846; but I have never seen it since.

The clothing completed, and a dinner discussed at an eating-house opposite the gates of the school, endeared to the recollection of every true “ blue ” by the title of “ the duff shop,” the new boys are once more mustered, the last farewells are exchanged with fathers or friends, — the lump comes up in my throat now, as I think of it ; pride kept the tears back then, — and we are consigned to the care of a benevolent-looking gentleman in spectacles, the steward of the Hertford school.

At that time all new-comers went first, as I believe they do still, to the preparatory establishment at Hertford, about twenty miles from London, and remained there until a certain grade of study was reached, and were then promoted to the Loudon school.

I have always regarded that steward of Hertford as the original of the immortal portrait of Mr. Pickwick. I did not make the acquaintance of the latter gentleman until after my blue-coat days ; but the moment I saw George Cruikshank’s picture — the spectacles, the placid countenance, the comfortable figure, the kindly maimer — I felt that there was the man with whom we rode from Newgate Street to Shoreditch Station, and thence by the Eastern Counties Railroad to Hertford, and from whom we received much kindly care and some application of the rattan.

By the time the old county town is reached, and we are distributed to our respective wards, the supper hour is at hand. The month is May, and the weather pleasant. I am told that It is time to wash, and follow a stream of boys into a paved yard, where we surround several long trays, and enter upon a vigorous application of soap and water to our hands and faces. This operation is superintended by the nurse of the ward. First impressions of this lady are decidedly unfavorable. Tall of figure, sharp of tongue, dictatorial of manner, she directs our proceedings with commands which manifestly admit of no dispute.

But the estimate thus hastily formed, under the strain and stress of unfavorable circumstances, — fifty uproarious boys making confusion worse confounded with soap, water, and towels, — is subsequently much modified. The necessary and frequently assumed sternness covers many excellences.

Then comes supper, — bread, cheese, beer and water; then a saunter in the playground with a west country boy from our neighborhood, who had joined the school a few weeks earlier. During this walk I receive a general initiation into the ways of the place. I learn that the two figures which stand one on each side of the great gateway represent two blue-coat boys, one of whom killed the other in some by-gone time, and is pointing in the direction of the jail to which he was taken ; that the Tuesday plum-pudding is good and the Saturday pea-soup evil; and many other things of deep interest and importance. This conversation is interrupted by the ringing of a bell in the tower over the writing school, which means prayers in the wards, during which Bishop Ken’s evening hymn is sung with great sweetness and beauty, and then we go to bed. The ward consists of three large stories, of equal length. The first floor is sittingroom and lavatory ; the two upper are dormitories.

Those amiable proclivities which often seem to be a necessary element of English school-boy nature, which have their counterpart in the “ hazing ” of our academies, and which, as Mr. Dickens says, gives the situation of a “ new boy ” a strong resemblance to that of an “ early Christian ” found no place at Christ’s Hospital in my day. Sad as it may appear to people who regard the spirit which torments and bullies its fellows at the time they are least able to defend themselves as an evidence of British manliness, no such custom then existed among the “blues.” My first night at school is not made hideous by howlings, nor miserable by knotted sheets, drenchings from water pitchers, or other tokens of these lovely propensities. On the contrary, I sleep soundly, and in the morning, when the risingbell rings, am initiated by my next-bed neighbor, with much kindliness of manner, into the mystery of making my bed. Never has breakfast had so keen a relish as this first one at Hertford. I suppose the excitement of the preceding day had somewhat curtailed my usually excellent powers in this direction, and I come into the dining hall wolfish. The eight ounces of bread and bowl of milk disappear as if by magic.

Then comes the awful ordeal of school with the assignment to classes. I am almost ten, the latest age for admission, and have been tolerably well drilled at a day school at home, so that both in the grammar and arithmetical departments I find myself among the head boys. The masters are not such terrible fellows, after all. The extent of my scholarship is soon ascertained, and my place assigned. The grammar school is at one end of the quadrangle, the writing school at the other. We alternate the morning and afternoon attendance, week by week. We begin, in the grammar school, with a chapter in the Bible. We read it “ verse and verse,” and the master, a clergyman, explains and comments as we read. Many a noble lesson is impressed upon my memory then, and will remain as long as mind lasts. Then come Latin and Greek. The last half hour is given to a Latin exercise on the slate, which will be examined at the next session, The merit or demerit of this performance decides the position in class with which we commence the day. This is the great trial. If the exercise is not finished by “ closing bell,” we must remain during the play hour until it is. The temptation to write anything that seems to have a probability of accuracy, and trust to Providence for the result, is sometimes too strong to be resisted : then look out for squalls ! The discipline is severe. On one unlucky occasion, I determine to practice this high faith, and the consequence is what we term a “ tight breeching,” which being interpreted means the application of a rattan, with an excruciating combination of muscle and skill, achieved by long practice, to the “ ampler part ” of the velveteens, drawn tight for the purpose.

The routine of the writing school is copy-writing with goose quills, arithmetic, weights and measures, geography, mingled, enforced, and elucidated with rattan.

We have plenty of play. There is the quadrangle, or central playground, and for the summer season a great field, fringed round the edge with trees. Here we fly kites, play cricket, trap, bat and ball, “rounders” (anglicé for base ball), and a number of other sports, with traditional names and methods. Hut the height of the Hertford blue’s ambition is a “ tent,” constructed thus: round the trunk of a tree about three feet from the ground a stout twine is tied ; to this other pieces are fastened, and staked down with bits of stick, close enough together to have grass interwoven between them. The grass is then cut with the pocketknives of those who have them, and plucked up with the fingers of those who have not. It is woven into the tent cords with much ingenuity, and when all is “ grassed ” the tent is complete. It will be about capacious enough, if a large and well-made specimen, to shelter the heads and shoulders of a couple of boys. It is obviously impossible for each of the four hundred to-have one. But each ward will usually possess one or two. The whole-hearted loyalty with which the rank and file tug the grass which is to shelter the “ buck ” of the ward, the esprit de corps, the keen competition that “ our tent ” may be the largest and best made in the school, divide the enjoyment about equally. But alas for the grass that is so green and beautiful on the first day the field is opened for the season ! The busy tent-making soon destroys its glossy sheen. Fortunately, the midsummer vacation gives it a chance to grow again.

Thus in play and work the months pass rapidly. Then comes the first vacation ; the journey home ; the welcome; the smallness of everything that used to look large; the swelling sense of importance with which the “ incidents of travel ” are narrated to stayat-home sisters; the manifold delights of the holidays, which speed away only too quickly ; and then school, lessons, and rattan again.

Then comes another epoch. I am promoted to the London school ; long looked forward to as a step in life, but taken not without regret when it comes at last. The nurse bids us Godspeed ; and cross as we thought her at first, we have now the sense to know her as a good woman and a good friend. Arriving in London, our assignment to wards and classes is soon adjusted. Every detail of life marks the change. We have put away childish things.

If, unluckily, a Hertford expression escapes the lips ; if, for instance, we say that a master is “ passy,” or a monitor “cuddy,” both being Hertford for severe, a startling pinch on the arm may, by immemorial custom, be administered by any one who overhears. The carrying out of this custom must of course depend to some extent upon the respective muscle and pluck of the pincher and the pinched.

In the schools, the Eton grammar takes the place of the Latin Beginner of Hertford. The routine is more strict, the recitations are more exacting. The arrangements of study are much the same. The masters have to deal with us only during actual school hours, unless some more than usually heinous offense brings us under the consideration of the head master. The regulation of our lives, when not learning lessons, is administered by a steward, a set of beadles, who are the playground police, a nurse and two monitors (senior boys) for each ward. These monitors have much to do, and a good deal of patronage is at their command. They assign the boys to the different " trades.” There are " cloth boys,” who set the table ; “ knife ” and “fork” boys, who clean and arrange those articles; " bread boys,” who carry up the bread on their shoulders in large round baskets made for the purpose ; " trencher boys;" " jack boys,” who fill and serve the beer and water ; " platter boys,” who bring up the meat in large, round, wooden platters, borne on their heads, and assist the nurse in the office of carving. All such work is done by the boys. But the washing of the utensils is done by servants.

For about half the period of my school-days all our utensils are of wood. We eat our meat and pudding from trenchers, drink our milk from bowls, and beer and water from queer-looking things called " piggins.” Then comes a change. Plates, basins, and mugs of good delf ware, handsomely ornamented with the hospital arms, take the place of the old wooden ware. Various opinions are held with reference to the alteration. The conservatives resent it as an innovation. Others rejoice at the presence of articles which remind them of home. One effect is immediate and marked. The “ trencher boys ” become “ plate boys.” Their office is to convey the plates in long baskets, each carried by two boys, from the ward to the dining-hall, receive the rations from the carvers, and distribute them. After dinner everything must be carried back to the ward and turned over to the washers. Now, in the first place, the trenchers are lighter than plates ; and then if a trip on the stairs, or in the cloister, brings the cargo to grief, the “spill” works no ill to the trenchers, but the like mishap to a basket of earthenware is a serious matter. I take my turn as “ plate boy,” and find the position a nervous one.

The large platters, the jacks, and the spoons remain of wood.

The steward has all the authority of a master. To him beadles, nurses, and monitors are responsible for the conduct of their several departments. The lazy fellow who won’t wash his hands when the “ prep.” rings is brought before him by nurse or monitor. The " prep.” is the preparation bell, which, a quarter of an hour before dinner, calls all blues to get their towels and proceed to the lavatory for an obviously necessary purpose. The rattan comes into action more, perhaps, on this score than on any other. " Smith, did you go to the lavatory to-day ? ” queries the nurse. " Yes, ma’am,” replies Smith, quickly and decidedly, at the same time getting his hands as much mixed up with the tablecloth as possible. " Hold up your hands, Smith.” " Yes, ma’am,” says Smith, who, finding there is no way out of it, exhibits, with cool effrontery, a pair of paws which look as if they had cleaned a chimney.

This division of the labor of government is doubtless an admirable arrangement, but it works ill to the careless and idly disposed, as I soon find. The fact of having come to grief over one’s Cæsar or Cornelius Nepos in the morning has nothing to do with some matter which must he adjusted by the steward at dinner-time ; and neither occurrence is known, or would have any weight if it were known, by the gentleman under whose care the writing and arithmetic are conducted in the afternoon. There must be something well-nigh angelic in the boy who will steer clear of these various rocks and shoals for a whole week. In my day angelic boys were scarce.

The play in London differs materially from that in Hertford. Surrounded as we are by windows, balls cannot be used, but shuttlecocks may. Considerable ingenuity is sometimes exercised to evade this prohibition. For instance, a single feather will be stuck into an india-rubber ball of about the weight and consistency of a grape-shot: and when a vigorous but unlucky stroke of the wooden battledore has sent this innocent missile full into the stomach of a portly beadle, and he proceeds, after he has recovered his breath, to arrest all the parties concerned, he is indignantly reminded that “ shuttlecocks are within the rules.” Certain amusements follow each other in regular and unvarying seasons ; there are others which are in favor all the year round.

I find that the allowance of pocket money must be changed into the coinage of the establishment, known to us as “ houssy ” money, before it is negotiable at either of the two “grub shops” in the cloisters. This currency consists of three coins, — a sixpenny piece, a penny, and a halfpenny, all of copper. Many of the goodies sold at these establishments have titles which are traditional and suggestive. Thus a certain confection is known as “ white parliament ; ” a candy formed into red and white bars is called “ Buonaparte’s ribs.”

Wednesday and Saturday are half holidays ; each alternate Wednesday a whole holiday and “ leave day,” when all who have friends near enough may go and visit them. This matter is arranged between the parents and the steward. The school is divided into two classes. Those who reside in or near London, or who have friends who wish to receive them regularly, are placed on the “ breakfast list,” breakfast being the only meal provided for them by the school on that day. The others constitute the “ friendless list,” — a forlorn title, but not so sad as it sounds. They are boys who live too far from London to reach home on “ leave days,” and are allowed outside the gates only on the written request of friends or acquaintances designated by their parents. As a reward for good behavior, the masters have the power of giving any boy not on the “ friendless list ” permission to “ go out ” on either of the half holidays.

This permission is signified by a small oval brass tablet suspended from the button-hole by a red cord. This we call a “ ticket.” A favorite delinquency of the wickedly inclined is to get a piece of red cord, attach it to the button-hole, slip past the porter through the gates, and if discovered claim to have broken the ticket off the cord by accident.

But the wickedly inclined ought to be few, if religious training and observance have power to check the increase. Besides the Scripture-reading in school, we have a short service with psalm singing and chanting at each meal, and prayers in the ward before bedtime. The Sunday routine is breakfast at eight. The interval between breakfast and the morning service is occupied by walking decorously about the playgrounds. This is the great conversational opportunity. Then chums compare notes as to the delights of the pastvacation, and the yet more glowing anticipations of the next one; the opinions of the result of the coming fight — there are generally one or more on hand — are expressed and debated ; the enormities of tyrannical monitors are anathematized, and the characters of masters criticised. The gossip of school life has full flow until half past ten ; at which time we “fall in ” to our appointed places in the cloisters, so as to be ready to march into Christ Church, situated just outside the gate, at eleven. At this time the caps must be worn, or rather laid on the heads, for they are too small to fit after the fashion of ordinary hats. Except for this short period, they are kept in the Sunday coat pockets.

The morning service in church is a severe ordeal for knees and backs. Every boy has a Bible and Prayer Book bound together, — quite a heavy volume. There is no hymn between the close of the litany and the opening of the ante-communion service, so that from the “ collect for grace ” to the “ epistle ” we kneel upon hard wood, with nothing to lean against, either before or behind, with heavy books in our hands. Occasionally a weak boy faints, topples over, creates intense confusion, and is carried out by his nearest neighbors, who usually regard the interruption as a pleasant break in the service. Not infrequently such faintings are manufactured for the purpose. At one we dine. After dinner we sit in the wards, and recite the catechism and psalms until the afternoon service. Then supper, followed by a sermon in the dining-hall from the head master.

During the Sundays in Lent this routine is varied by the “ public suppers.” The great chandeliers are lighted ; the Lord Mayor and aldermen arrive in procession, accompanied by the governors; an anthem is sung, after which we march round, two and two, the “ trade boys ” carrying their baskets, etc., and make our bow to the “ powers that be.” Sometimes we have more distinguished guests. The Duke of Cambridge is a frequent visitor. He is a splendid-looking old gentleman, with bluff, hearty manners, which have a supreme charm for us. We are especially delighted when, in one instance, the city guests are crowding about him, and he scatters them by the loud exclamation, “ I did n’t come here to see the people ; I came to see the boys.”

Once we have the honor of making our bow to Queen Victoria. This is a great occasion. From the grand entrance to the chair of state carpets are laid. The Grecians conduct her majesty to the hall, and the reception is really a grand sight.

On Easter Monday and Tuesday we go in procession to the Mansion House, and escort the Lord Mayor back to Christ Church to hear a sermon. At this season we wear a paper pinned on the left breast of the coat, bearing the words “ He is risen.” On the Tuesday we receive two buns, a glass of sherry, and a new shilling. This largess is paid by the Lord Mayor himself, arrayed in his robes of office. It is the accumulation of various bequests, some of which date from the days of the Stuarts.

Soon after my arrival from Hertford I am selected to participate in another ancient ceremony, and go with about fifty other boys to All Hallows Church, where we chant. After the service we are each presented with a penny and a paper of raisins. On our way back we are greeted with the derisive shouts of the street cads, who know what we have been doing, and sing at us the following refrain : —

We treat these witticisms with silent contempt, attributing the jeers to envy.

In such doings and misdoings the school years pass away. I leave a couple of years before the regular time, to go to sea.

A brief sketch of the origin and progress of the school may not be uninteresting. It is generally supposed to have been founded by King Edward VI., but this is not altogether correct.

Toward the end of his reign, Henry VIII. gave the Gray Friars’ Church — which, since the suppression of the monasteries, had been used as a storehouse for plunder taken from the French—to the city of London, to be devoted to the relief of the poor. After the accession of Edward VI., that monarch confirmed the gift. The parishes of St. Ewin, St. Nicholas, and part of St. Sepulchre’s were united in one, and called Christ Church.

Edward lived about a month after signing the Charter of Incorporation of the Royal Hospitals. The citizens, roused by the king’s fervor and touched by his untimely death, set to work with gold and steel, and in six months the old Gray Friars’ monastery was patched up sufficiently to accommodate three hundred and forty boys.

These examples of bounty were followed, from time to time, by various individuals. Kings, queens, nobles, merchants, and tradesmen have all contributed to enrich the school, improve its buildings, and develop its resources. Valuable openings in life for the conspicuously diligent and bright are in its gift. The boys who are prepared for the sea, upon passing their Trinity House examination, are each presented with a good watch, a sea chest, a full outfit of clothes, books, and mathematical instruments.

Four " Grecians,” as the college scholars are called, are annually sent to Cambridge with an exhibition of eighty pounds a year, and one to Oxford with one hundred pounds a year ; both tenable for four years. There are also the Pitt Club scholarship and the Times scholarship, each of thirty pounds a year, for four years, awarded by competition to the best scholar in classics and mathematics combined, and held by him in addition to his general exhibition. Upon proceeding to the university each Grecian receives twenty pounds for books, ten pounds for apparel, and thirty pounds for caution money and settling fees.

The age of admission to Christ’s Hospital is from seven to ten. Usually, the boys are supposed to leave at fifteen ; but the Grecians and sea boys of course remain until sufficiently advanced in their studies.

The many bequests and the increase in the value of the investments have made the foundation very rich. Its gross income is said to amount to seventy thousand pounds per annum, of which about forty-two thousand pounds are expended in education. The administration of this great trust is receiving its share of the scrutiny to which modern ideas are subjecting all charitable institutions. Whether the wishes of the founders are being fulfilled ; whether the boys receiving the benefits are proper objects of the bounty ; whether all the good is being done which the great expenditure ought to command, are questions which are being earnestly considered.

I have observed from time to time, within the last thirty years, severe criticisms upon the management of the school, which may or may not be just. An accurate judgment upon such a subject cannot be formed without personal knowledge of circumstances and data. If the entire period of its existence be taken into account, it has certainly turned out its fair share of conspicuously successful men. But the history of all such establishments exhibits fluctuations of merit. So much depends upon the personal characteristics and capacities of one or two individuals, and so impossible is it always to make a wise selection of managers, that unvarying excellence can hardly be looked for. Under one head master a school will be strong and flourishing ; under another, feeble and drooping.

Of my own experience at Christ’s Hospital I can speak with more confidence. On the whole, my opinion is decidedly in favor of the school.

The system as then carried out was admirably adapted to develop self-reliance, and fit the boys for any position in life they were likely to occupy. The masters were gentlemen, and, generally succeeded in communicating the tone of their thought and manner to the boys. There was too much caning ; but that was then the common fault of schools everywhere. I recollect only one instance of a master showing himself to be a tyrant and a bully.

Upon the subject of the thoroughness of the teaching, the patient, deliberate, and complete manner in which the foundations of scholarship were laid, I believe there is no question.

In former times there were accounts of dishonest proceedings in the way of appropriating the boys’ rations by some of the lower officials. Nothing of the kind was known in my day. The food was good and the allowance sufficient, as the health of the school abundantly testified.

There are some things, I think, it would be well to alter, — perhaps they are changed now ; but I believe I share the strong feeling of most old " blues ” in hoping that, whatever reforms may be inaugurated, the blue coat and yellow stockings will be held sacred.

J. M. Hillyar.