Postwar Eton

An extract from 'Younger Brother, Younger Son' by Colin Clark

I arrived at Eton in 1945 at the age of 12. Eton was completely run by the boys in those days. 'Beaks', as masters were called, were there to teach and that was all. Going to Eton was like visiting a foreign country and you had to learn the language very quickly in order to survive. On our first day we were given a booklet packed with information which meant absolutely nothing to us - the names of all the houses, which team had which colours on its cap etc - and we were told to learn it all immediately It was as baffling as the Highway Code would be to a non-motorist.

After four days we were given a test on it which, naturally, most boys failed. This was used as an excuse for a beating, but even for those who passed, another excuse for a beating was quickly found. Caning was the accepted way of maintaining discipline in those days and it was felt necessary to beat every boy during his first week so that he would know how painful the punishment would be if he ever misbehaved.

Each house at Eton was ruled by about five prefects - 'Library' as they were known - who had their own study. For their first two years at the school junior boys acted as servants to the boys in Library, running errands, making toast, cleaning their shoes etc. They were known as fags. Any member of Library who wanted a task performed that he was too lazy to do himself simply stuck his head out of his study door and yelled, or rather sang, 'Boy!' at the top of his lungs. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, in no matter what state of undress, all the fags had to run like mad rabbits to where the member of Library was waiting. The last to arrive got the job whilst the rest were dismissed. Any boy who had failed to run in response to the call, and got caught, was punished severely.

A senior Etonian summons the house fags

If you heard the shout of 'Boy!' after supper it could mean only one thing. Someone was going to be beaten. The wretched victim would be called, quaking, before the members of Library. His misdemeanour would be read out - no excuses, no appeal for mercy allowed - and the senior boy, or captain of house, usually chosen for his athletic prowess, would point to a wooden chair in the centre of the room.

The culprit would bend over the back of the chair and grasp the wooden rail below the seat, so that his trousers were stretched over his behind as tight as a drum, while the captain selected a long cane from the rack and gave a few practice swishes in the air. Sometimes he would even run a piece of chalk along the cane, so that he could aim for the same spot with each stroke. The ensuing pain was excruciating, much the most severe that I have ever encountered.