What I Remember, Volume 1Trollope, Thomas Adolphus
History
What I Remember, Volume 1
Trollope, Thomas Adolphus
Authors, English -- 19th century -- Biography; Trollope, Thomas Adolphus, 1810-1892
My favourite game was fives. We had a splendid fives court, and the game
was played in a manner altogether peculiar to Winchester; now I
believe--like so much else--abandoned. We used a very small ball, hardly
bigger than a good-sized walnut, and as hard as if made of wood, called
a “snack.” And this was driven against the wall by a bat of quite
peculiar construction. It was made, I think, of ash, and there were only
two men, rivals, who could make it. It was about a yard long, the handle
round, and somewhat less than an inch in diameter. It then became
gradually thinner and wider, till at about the distance of six inches
from the extremity it was perhaps an inch and a half wide, and not
thicker than half-a-crown. Then it expanded and thickened again into a
head somewhat of the shape of an ace of spades, some three inches across
and half an inch thick. The thin part was kept continually well
oiled--in such sort that it became so elastic, that the heavy head might
almost be doubled back so as to touch the part nearer the hand. It will
be understood both that the difficulty of striking a bounding ball with
this instrument was considerable, and that the momentum imparted to the
small hard ball by the blow was very great indeed. It is true that
accidents occasionally, though very rarely, happened from a misdirected
blow. But it does not seem necessary that the old bat should be
abandoned, for our judicious grandsons might play with great comfort and
safety in helmets!
Of course I, like most of my contemporaries, left Winchester--and indeed
subsequently left Oxford--as ignorant of any modern language, save
English, as of Chinese! And as for music--though Oxford and Cambridge
are the only universities in Europe which give degrees in music--it is
hardly an exaggeration to say that, with very rare exceptions, to have
taught an undergraduate, or a boy at a public school, music, would have
been thought much on a par with teaching him to hem a
pocket-handkerchief. And here the present generation has the pull to a
degree which it perhaps hardly sufficiently recognises!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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