A traveller's guide to Eton

The playing fields of Britain's most famous public school are hosting some new guests - a group of travellers. But are they aware of the local customs? An old boy offers a few pointers


An Etonian takes his sport very seriously. A huge predominance of the most successful boys there find the route of their success is, indeed, on Wellington's famed "playing fields of Eton" - as well as on the river, where Matthew Pinsent learned his stuff. The travellers may crow that they have "thrashed" some Eton boys 3-1 in an informal football match, but I suspect they have been lulled into a false sense of superiority. It can only be a matter of time before they are challenged to Eton's two peculiar versions of football, and they are not for the faint-hearted.

The Field Game is not a pursuit that even the most widely travelled traveller will have encountered before, because it is played nowhere else in the world. A combination of soccer and rugby, it takes the more punishing aspects of both, and blends them into two halves of rasping lungs and vicious knocks. There is a scrum, but only one side's front row can have its heads down. There is a round ball, but you cannot pass it: you run with it until it is taken off you, or you are taken off it. And if you score, you are awarded a "ram": a hapless defendant stands in his goal mouth with the ball at his feet, buttressed by team mates who hold him and the ball in place, while the three fiercest members of the attacking team run frantically on the spot, one behind the other, until they have built up enough steam to charge at the ball, hoping to carry it and those around it over the goal line.

The Wall Game famously does not produce goals. Two sides flounder in the mud for half an afternoon, hoping that today is going to be the one which will produce a score, idly grinding their opponents' skulls against the wall, or treading it into the oozing quagmire that is the playing field. Play is rarely interrupted by the referee's whistle; although calling for air does result in a brief cessation in hostilities, while lungs are emptied of mortar and mud, and refilled with the air wafting over from neighbouring Slough.


If you have gained the impression that Eton likes its ball games idiosyncratic, then that is as nothing compared with its slang. Masters are "beaks", and the time that you have to be back in your boarding house is known as "lock up". This may not be reassuring to those travellers who have had run-ins with the law.

Any traveller hoping to have fun with the dual interpretation of being a "fag" will be disappointed to learn that the practice of servitude by junior members of the school is long past. I was in that unfortunate generation who fagged for a year, but who found the system was abolished before being able to get someone to disrupt their day for me, polishing shoes, take smutty jokes to my friends in other houses, or any number of other chores which were rewarded with £2 per half (Eton-speak for term).

In the unlikely circumstance that any of the travellers think in the language of Rat Pack musicals, it is as well to point out that the term "dame" does not generally signify a comely young good-time girl, but rather a formidable lady in her middling years, with sensible shoes, an iron will, and an understanding of how to instil terror or respect into her 50 boys.

She is half-matron, and half-sergeant-major. She is unlikely to have much truck with a traveller. Indeed, I imagine that these may be the shock troops that the Eton authorities are already considering unleashing on their unwelcome guests. Their King Charles Spaniels charging before them, their house-coloured umbrellas in their hands, these are modern Boadiceas, eager to drive out the Roman(y) invader.


By saying that the Etonians he had seen "look like a bunch of nancy boys in their tailcoats", one traveller has failed to see through the process that this most patriotic of schools has used over the past 182 years, to engender the martial spirit in its alumni. By insisting that the mourning clothes for the death of George III become the school uniform, Eton's authorities have instilled the sort of toughness in its old boys that the man who named his son Sue was striving for. If you can force your way into those clothes each day, then put up with the derision of outsiders for five years, the heat of battle will hold few fears.

From Wellington to Colonel "H" Jones, Old Etonians have distinguished themselves on the field of battle. Recently, there were more Old Etonians in the SAS than in any other army regiment, and the present and future commanding officers of that elite outfit were contemporaries of mine at Eton (Me? I dodged the Corps, and opted for social services; but please allow me a little reflected glory).

It may be that the travellers will need to be removed by legal process. However, having read this, there is a strong chance that they will quietly slip away, rather than allow themselves to be left at the mercy of an institution that is almost as old as the Romany tradition, and which is certainly as resilient. This may well be the sensible option. It is also clear that there is no shortage of sense in this roving community that has settled in Eton's fields: after all, they have camped a full 100 yards from the main school canteen, and if my memory serves me right, that is a very wise place to be.

· Earl Spencer was at Eton College from 1977 to 1982.