SOON after I was seven years old, I went to what was then,and is still, one of the most favoured of preparatory schools- Temple Grove - at East Sheen, then kept by Dr. Pinkney. Iwas taken thither from Holkham by a great friend of myfather's, General Sir Ronald Ferguson, whose statue nowadorns one of the niches in the facade of Wellington College.
The school contained about 120 boys; but I cannot name anyone of the lot who afterwards achieved distinction. Therewere three Macaulays there, nephews of the historian - Aulay,Kenneth, and Hector. But I have lost sight of all.
Temple Grove was a typical private school of that period.
The type is familiar to everyone in its photograph asDotheboys Hall. The progress of the last century in manydirections is great indeed; but in few is it greater than inthe comfort and the cleanliness of our modern schools. Theluxury enjoyed by the present boy is a constant source ofastonishment to us grandfathers. We were half starved, wewere exceedingly dirty, we were systematically bullied, andwe were flogged and caned as though the master's pleasure wasin inverse ratio to ours. The inscription on the thresholdshould have been 'Cave canem.'
We began our day as at Dotheboys Hall with two largespoonfuls of sulphur and treacle. After an hour's lessons webreakfasted on one bowl of milk - 'Skyblue' we called it -and one hunch of buttered bread, unbuttered at discretion.
Our dinner began with pudding - generally rice - to save thebutcher's bill. Then mutton - which was quite capable oftaking care of itself. Our only other meal was a basin of'Skyblue' and bread as before.
As to cleanliness, I never had a bath, never bathed (at theschool) during the two years I was there. On Saturdaynights, before bed, our feet were washed by the housemaids,in tubs round which half a dozen of us sat at a time. Woe tothe last comers! for the water was never changed. How wesurvived the food, or rather the want of it, is a marvel.
Fortunately for me, I used to discover, when I got into bed,a thickly buttered crust under my pillow. I believed, Inever quite made sure, (for the act was not admissible), thatmy good fairy was a fiery-haired lassie (we called her'Carrots,' though I had my doubts as to this being herChristian name) who hailed from Norfolk. I see her now: herjolly, round, shining face, her extensive mouth, her ampleperson. I recall, with more pleasure than I then endured,the cordial hugs she surreptitiously bestowed upon me when wemet by accident in the passages. Kind, affectionate'Carrots'! Thy heart was as bounteous as thy bosom. May thetenderness of both have met with their earthly deserts; andmayest thou have shared to the full the pleasures thou wastever ready to impart!
There were no railways in those times. It amuses me to seepeople nowadays travelling by coach, for pleasure. How manylives must have been shortened by long winter journeys inthose horrible coaches. The inside passengers were hardlybetter off than the outside. The corpulent and heavyoccupied the scanty space allotted to the weak and small -crushed them, slept on them, snored over them, andmonopolised the straw which was supposed to keep their feetwarm.
A pachydermatous old lady would insist upon an open window.
A wheezy consumptive invalid would insist on a closed one.
Everybody's legs were in their own, and in every otherbody's, way. So that when the distance was great and timeprecious, people avoided coaching, and remained where theywere.
For this reason, if a short holiday was given - less than aweek say - Norfolk was too far off; and I was not permittedto spend it at Holkham. I generally went to Charles Fox's atAddison Road, or to Holland House. Lord Holland was a greatfriend of my father's; but, if Creevey is to be trusted -which, as a rule, my recollection of him would permit me todoubt, though perhaps not in this instance - Lord Holland didnot go to Holkham because of my father's dislike to LadyHolland.
I speak here of my introduction to Holland House, foralthough Lady Holland was then in the zenith of herascendency, (it was she who was the Cabinet Minister, not hertoo amiable husband,) although Holland House was then theresort of all the potentates of Whig statecraft, and Whigliterature, and Whig wit, in the persons of Lord Grey,Brougham, Jeffrey, Macaulay, Sydney Smith, and others, it wasnot till eight or ten years later that I knew, when I metthem there, who and what her Ladyship's brilliant satelliteswere. I shall not return to Lady Holland, so I will say aparting word of her forthwith.
The woman who corresponded with Buonaparte, and consoled theprisoner of St. Helena with black currant jam, was noordinary personage. Most people, I fancy, were afraid ofher. Her stature, her voice, her beard, were obtrusive marksof her masculine attributes. It is questionable whether heramity or her enmity was most to be dreaded. She liked thosebest whom she could most easily tyrannise over. Those in theother category might possibly keep aloof. For my part Ifeared her patronage. I remember when I was about seventeen- a self-conscious hobbledehoy - Mr. Ellice took me to one ofher large receptions. She received her guests from a sort ofelevated dais. When I came up - very shy - to make mysalute, she asked me how old I was. 'Seventeen,' was theanswer. 'That means next birthday,' she grunted. 'Come andgive me a kiss, my dear.' I, a man! - a man whose voice was(sometimes) as gruff as hers! - a man who was beginning toshave for a moustache! Oh! the indignity of it!
But it was not Lady Holland, or her court, that concerned mein my school days, it was Holland Park, or the extensivegrounds about Charles Fox's house (there were no other housesat Addison Road then), that I loved to roam in. It was thebirds'-nesting; it was the golden carp I used to fish for onthe sly with a pin; the shying at the swans, the hunt forcockchafers, the freedom of mischief generally, and theexcellent food - which I was so much in need of - that madethe holiday delightful.
Some years later, when dining at Holland House, I happened tosit near the hostess. It was a large dinner party. LordHolland, in his bath-chair (he nearly always had the gout),sat at the far end of the table a long way off. But my ladykept an eye on him, for she had caught him drinkingchampagne. She beckoned to the groom of the chambers, whostood behind her; and in a gruff and angry voice shouted:
'Go to my Lord. Take away his wine, and tell him if hedrinks any more you have my orders to wheel him into the nextroom.' If this was a joke it was certainly a practical one.
And yet affection was behind it. There's a tender place inevery heart.
Like all despots, she was subject to fits of cowardice -especially, it was said, with regard to a future state, whichshe professed to disbelieve in. Mr. Ellice told me thatonce, in some country house, while a fearful storm wasraging, and the claps of thunder made the windows rattle,Lady Holland was so terrified that she changed dresses withher maid, and hid herself in the cellar. Whether the storybe a calumny or not, it is at least characteristic.
After all, it was mainly due to her that Holland House becamethe focus of all that was brilliant in Europe. In thememoirs of her father - Sydney Smith - Mrs. Austin writes:
'The world has rarely seen, and will rarely, if ever, seeagain all that was to be found within the walls of HollandHouse. Genius and merit, in whatever rank of life, became apassport there; and all that was choicest and rarest inEurope seemed attracted to that spot as their natural soil.'
Did we learn much at Temple Grove? Let others answer forthemselves. Acquaintance with the classics was the staple ofa liberal education in those times. Temple Grove was theATRIUM to Eton, and gerund-grinding was its RAISON D'ETRE.
Before I was nine years old I daresay I could repeat -parrot, that is - several hundreds of lines of the AEneid.
This, and some elementary arithmetic, geography, and drawing,which last I took to kindly, were dearly paid for by manytears, and by temporarily impaired health. It was due to mypallid cheeks that I was removed. It was due to thefollowing six months - summer months - of a happy life thatmy health was completely restored.