The Ritual, Hierarchy, and Pranks of Prince George’s Boarding School Eton

Like Prince George’s first day at a big school, I seem to remember my first week at Eton was a bit drizzly. Or perhaps that was the overall impression of the experience — smart shoes on slippery cobblestones in September and old timey architecture that transported you back into the past. The school is like a microcosm of an outdated reality, where everyone dresses like Victorian gentlemen yet the machinations of contemporary life continue to function in and around the town itself.Between the imposing edifices of College and the School Hall, traffic hums past, on occasion swerving to avoid a huddle of tail-coated figures hurrying across the road to their next class. Expletives flung from car windows by local Berkshire residents who drive through everyday yet remain perplexed as to what actually goes on in the historic, sprawling campus. Things have undoubtedly changed since I graduated in 2010 but I’m sure the integral character of the place resists much of the external pressure to adapt. Prior to the beginning of the term, George would have visited to choose his housemaster, the paternal figure in each of the school’s 25 houses who oversees the progress and welfare of some 55 boys. I remember when I took this particular trip, visiting three options and then immaturely choosing the least appropriate, I actually spotted his uncle Harry, going about his day. He would have visited the tailors to acquire two sets of the recognizable uniform: a black tailcoat, black waistcoat, pinstripe trousers, a tunic shirt with a starched collar affixed with a stud and joined at the front with a white piece of fabric called a tie. A classic prank in one’s early days at Eton was for an older boy to tear off said tie which might trigger a ‘dress-offense’ if you were caught by a master, or ‘beak’ as they are colloquially called. You might then find yourself summoned to sign the ‘tardy book’ in School Office no later than the ungodly hour of 7 o’clock in the morning. One of the various punishments in the establishment arsenal. Hopefully George’s first week will be less turbulent but from my memory, nothing could prepare you for the myopic blur of ritual tradition, esoteric lingo, the unrelenting schedule and hierarchy of age and experience. Above all, a slightly intimidating demand for excellence in all of the above. As you are reminded from the outset, Floreat Etona.On your first day, you meet the lads you’ll spend most of the next five years of your life with, and their parents. In my time, the vast majority were posh and British and lived in places like The Old Rectory or The Lodge, with a handful of sons of European grandees and north American corporate tycoons and a sprinkling of oligarchs from the former-Soviet sphere of influence, south Asian dynasty heirs, and African royalty. It would come as no surprise if the demographic of the student politic had not shifted significantly such that the ilk of high-born Brits are now in the minority. Then the House Captain, the Captain of Games and various other important B-blockers (final year boys) would appear as your new older brothers. These chaps looked like men, towering and well-spoken, with nascent facial hair and 4-years of this place under their belts. At this point George is in F-block, most of them barely pubescent, uniforms oversized and awkward looking, terrified of this new environment, steeped in tradition, with the legacy of 20 prime ministers, celebrated writers, economists, actors, decorated soldiers and royalty dating back to 1440, bearing down on you as you try and remember where your room is. Not to mention where everything else is. The B-blockers guide you on a whirlwind tour of the labyrinthian grounds, past the Burning Bush, the maths school with the 64-pounder captured during the Siege of Sevastopol, the Farrer Theatre and the Arts school, the Fives Courts, Judy’s Passage, Bekynton (where many houses were fed), College Chapel, Lower Chapel, the Design Schools, and the Combined Cadet Force Barracks. Later you will discover the endless playing fields, Dutchman’s, Agar’s, and Mesopotamia, about which the Duke of Wellington spoke his apocryphal words and where George will soon be doing football or rugby trials for the Michaelmas ‘half’ sporting calendar. During this tour, as the head is spinning from information overload, one might spot an old chum from primary school, reminding you that you are not alone. The next day comes around with the morning bell which first sounds at a quarter past seven and then every five minutes until half past, signalling time for breakfast. At this point, I was almost tearfully trying to remember how to put on my ‘tie’ and resorted to knocking tentatively on the door of a neighbouring E-blocker who deftly corrected my technique. That week was a hurricane of first impressions, friendly banter, masters with their swishing gowns, shared by the King Scholars, the morning snack called ‘chambers’, scrubbing off mud in the boot room, scribbling ‘extra work’ down in the little book coloured in ‘Eton blue’ named ‘fixtures’ which contained every conceivable detail your new life: every boy, every master, maps, sports, key dates and societies you might like to join. Gradually, we all got used to it and eventually, started to enjoy it, until all of a sudden, your parents have arrived to pick you up for your first weekend back at home.

The Ritual, Hierarchy, and Pranks of Prince George’s Boarding School Eton

The Ritual, Hierarchy, and Pranks of Prince George’s Boarding School Eton

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