Arthur Conan Doyle writing to his mother from Stonyhurst School in 1872. Conan Doyle was 12 at the time.

Last thursday was the rectors day the following was the order of the day. We got up at 6 and had washing till ½ past 6 then mass till 7 then studies 8 & breakfast of bread and milk till ½ past 8 then we took our skates and went to the recevoir near, and skated till 12 we then had some tarts and other refreshments & went out skating till 5 o'clock we then went home & had dinner of pork & apple sauce & potatoes & then tarts & oranges till ½ past 5 we then went to the playroom and played games till 7 we then said night prayers and had supper of bread & milk we then again took our skates and went to the pond and there we found it all illuminated with Chinese lanterns & torches & blue & red lights so that it was as light as day and there was a band playing rule britannia and other popular songs we then began skating after being all provided with cigars & matches we had barely begun skating when the masters on all sides began throwing crackers & squibs among us & letting off rockets & roman candles & so we enjoyed ourselves till 11 o'clock & then we all got a tumbler of punch to drink the Rector's health & then we took off our skates and went to bed.

I'm trying to imagine the consequences if a kid wrote a letter like that today.

Can you imagine the furore if, in 2010, teachers at a boarding school were to throw fire crackers at skating pupils? Or were to give them punch and cigars!

Oh, I thought you were talking about his grammar - which obviously improved, undoubtedly via his education. Sounds like a great school to me, but you're right: times have changed, and not always for the better.

stevenlmeyer: I get what you're saying. I think that nowdays we are almost too attentive to fewer children and try to control their time and behaviour too much. I remember long, long days before even the age of 10, wandering the bush armed against snakes and whatnot with only a pointy stick. Sometimes my friends and I would come across a dam and or stream and muck about on the water's edge.

Also remember hanging out in paddocks of cattle and horses or unknown temperament. I can think of lots of my happiest times that could well be labeled nowadays as lack of supervision or even neglect.

However, back to Conan Doyle. Apart from his wonderful grammar and spelling, we maybe have to consider that the average life span then was about 42 or so. That means that at 12 he had lived more than 1/4 his probable life span. Taken proportionately, he would be in his late 20s today.

We know that Western society has increasingly extended the period of childhood and dependency on adults. No doubt there are a lot of reasons why that's happened. Maybe in part it's because education has broader content and takes more time; maybe it's because of job skill requirements or competitiveness (to keep competitors out of the market for as long as possible - keep increasing the educational or skill level). Families now are smaller too - in his day the average number of siblings was about 1/2 dozen. Child mortality was high. So maybe we have fewer, healthier children and so we invest more in each individual's growth and development.

In any case I suppose that if a child of 12 nowadays started smoking cigars that they would have a pretty short lifespan too.

Btw - I wonder if girls got cigars too ?

'Btw - I wonder if girls got cigars too ?'

Yep, that right there sums you up pynchme.

Thanks for the chuckle.

Dear Steven,

Thanks for the quote.
Those were the days ...

You'd probably enjoy reading, "The Moon's A
Balloon," by David Niven. "The funniest volume
of reminiscences for ages ... forthright,
bawdy, and often hilarious," Sunday Express.

His experiences of English schools are classic!

However, letters like the one you cited would probably
never be allowed to reach parents. They'd be
censored by at least one private school that I'm
familiar with. The school motto is - their teachers
and faculty are above reproach. We asked for an
explanation once over a certain incident - and were
told via letter in no uncertain terms to mind our own
business (which is what I thought we were doing).
Needless to say - we took our children out of that
school.

Yes, times have changed, and yes, definitely not for
the better!

Foxy, one of my all time favourite quotes came from that book. Attributed by Niven, to I believe, a Hungarian director, of a cavalry charge scene.

To depict the carnage they had riderless horses, & at a stage of filming he gave the instruction "bring on the empty horses". Just tickles my fancy.

Hasbeen,
I believe that particular line became the title for his follow-up book of memoirs. "The Moon is a Balloon" is an absolute classic - I read it years ago, but it's probably time to go and dig it out again.

In 1774 James Hutton, the founder of modern geology, embarked on a solo expedition to collect rocks and other specimens from various parts of the British Isles. Here is an excerpt from a letter he wrote while staying at Bridgnorth.

'I have to ear green goose, but notwithstanding the weather would seem to favour spontaneous generation a slice of cucumber is all I have got in the vocable C, and that as you know is no provocative I have just muddled with brandy & water & so to bed.

In this context:

Green goose = Young maiden. Hutton is expressing his need "eat" a young girl

Spontaneous generation = erection

Slice of cucumber = married woman. Apparently this is all that was available in Bridgnorth.

Vocable of C = c u n t.

Is no provocative = did not arouse

In other words, he wanted to "eat" a young girl but all that was available was a married woman whose c u n t failed to arouse him. So he settled for brandy and water.

You can read about Hutton here:

http://www.amnh.org/education/resources/rfl/web/essaybooks/earth/p_hutton.html

Dear Hasbeen,

I remember laughing out loud at so many
things in that book - from Niven's first
sexual experience with Nessie, to the ball
in Malta where they squatted and left the
olives behind (as sheep droppings). Niven
certainly had charm, wit, and daredevilry.

Dear Poirot,

You're absolutely right, "Bring On the Empty
Horses," was a sequel to "The Moon's A Balloon."
And I certainly would recommend a re-read!

Dear Steven,

Thanks for another interesting quote and
explanation. Keep them coming...

I hope James Hutton wasn't sending that letter to his mother. He sounds like a perfect grub.

I went to find the letter and couldn't but did look at some others. I take it he might have been a bit at odds with polite society because in one he refers to people "shitten snowballs" (s'cuse the French) or words to that effect. It did give me a laugh. Thanks.

I hope it's ok to contribute excerpts as well. I like the writings of Charles Lamb (alias Elia). His essays are a wonderful window to his world. He was an old bachelor. Had one sister Charlotte who was also a writer. During an episode of illness she killed their mother. He looked after her. Anyway, pieces to recommend for now:

MODERN GALLANTRY (1823)
A DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG and
GRACE BEFORE MEAT.

http://www.ucs.louisiana.edu/~jer6616/elia%281823%29.htm#GRACE%20BEFORE

When I have sate (a rarus hospes) at rich men's tables, with the savoury soup and messes steaming up the nostrils, and moistening the lips of the guests with desire and a distracted choice, I have felt the introduction of that ceremony to be unseasonable. With the ravenous orgasm upon you, it seems impertinent to interpose a religious sentiment. It is a confusion of purpose to mutter out praises from a mouth that waters. The heats of epicurism put out the gentle flame of devotion. The incense which rises round is pagan, and the

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belly-god intercepts it for his own. The very excess of the provision beyond the needs, takes away all sense of proportion between the end and means. The giver is veiled by his gifts. You are startled at the injustice of returning thanks -- for what? -- for having too much, while so many starve. It is to praise the Gods amiss.

I have observed this awkwardness felt, scarce consciously perhaps, by the good man who says the grace. I have seen it in clergymen and others -- a sort of shame -- a sense of the co-presence of circumstances which unhallow the blessing.

After a devotional tone put on for a few seconds, how rapidly the speaker will fall into his common voice, helping himself or his neighbour, as if to get rid of some uneasy sensation of hypocrisy. Not that the good man was a hypocrite, or was not most conscientious in the discharge of the duty; but he felt in his inmost mind the incompatibility of the scene and the viands before him with the exercise of a calm and rational gratitude.

I hear somebody exclaim, -- Would you have Christians sit down at table, like hogs to their troughs, without remembering the Giver? no -- I would have them sit down as Christians, remembering the Giver, and less like hogs. Or if their

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appetites must run riot, and they must pamper themselves with delicacies for which east and west are ransacked, I would have them postpone their benediction to a fitter season, when appetite is laid; when the still small voice can be heard, and the reason of the grace returns -- with temperate diet and restricted dishes. Gluttony and surfeiting are no proper occasions for thanksgiving.

Dear Pynch,

Thanks for your quotes - enjoyed them very much.

I've now got one as well that will fit in with -
Steven's
Cicero quote of - "O tempora! O mores!"

The chief rabbi of Jerusalem is visiting the pope
at the Vatican when he spots a golden telephone on
the pontiff's desk. "Excuse me, your holiness,"
he says, "But I've never seen a telephone like that
before. What is it for?"

"That," replies the pope, "is my direct line to God."
"That's incredible," says the rabbi. "Do you mind if I
make a call?"
"Not at all," smiles the pope.

A few minutes later, the rabbi hangs up then says, "Wow,
that was amazing. What do I owe you for the call?"
"Five dollars will be fine," says the pope.

The rabbi happily hands over the money and a few months
later finds himself entertaining the pope in his
Jerusalem office. The pope laughs and says, "I see you
also got one of those gold phones. Is it too a line to
God?"
"Of course," says the rabbi. "Would you like to make a call?"

The pope does so and hanging up after a few minutes decides
to emulate the rabbi's manners by asking if he can pay
for the call.

"Fifty cents will be fine," replies the rabbi.
The pope counters with, "My dear Rabbi, I must confess to
feeling a little embarrassed. I charged you five dollars
to telephone God from my office and you are only
charging me fifty cents."

"Relax," says the rabbi. "From here it's a local call."