I remember avowing my intention of becoming a parson to one of my more friendly acquaintances at the Shop, and he replied that I wouldn’t set the Thames on fire, because I had such a monotonous voice.

In spite of seeking relief from my uncongenial surroundings in religion and theology, I did not join myself to any one else.  There was a so-called “Pi Squad,” or Bible class, held weekly, but I only went once, and didn’t like it.  I was always peculiarly sensitive about priggishness in those who professed themselves to be religious openly, and generally thought I detected priggishness in any “Bible circle” or similar institution that I came across.  I think my theology mainly consisted in speculations about the future state—­I remember I emphatically declined to believe in hell—­and my religion consisted mainly in fairly regular attendance at Matins and Communion.

Another effect of the intensity with which I hated my surroundings was that I read a lot of good novels—­George Eliot, the Brontes, Scott, Dickens, Jane Austen, Thackeray, Besant, etc.  A book which I read over and over again was Arthur Benson’s Hill of Trouble, and other Stories.  Those legends, with their imaginative setting, charm of language and beautiful religious ideas were more restful to my unquiet spirit than anything else I read.

The actual conditions of life at the Shop were pretty barbaric.  The aim was to make it as much like barracks as possible.  Each term was housed in a different side of the square of buildings which form the Academy, and the fourth term were spread among the houses of the other terms as corporals.  My first term I shared a room with three other fellows.  I think it was the ugliest room I have ever lived in, without exception.  It had high whitewashed brick walls.  In each corner was a bed which folded up against the wall in the day time, and was concealed by a square of print curtains.  There were a deal table, four windsor chairs, a shelf with four basins, and a cupboard with four lockers.  All the woodwork was painted khaki.  The contrast with the little study at Rugby, with its diamond-paned window, its matchboard panelling surmounted by a paper of one’s own choosing, its ledge for photos and ornaments ("bim ledge” so called), its eggshell blue cupboards, baize curtains and window box, was striking.

It used to be the custom to go to and from the bathroom attired in a sponge, in connexion with which an amusing incident once happened.

A cadet in his second year was on the bathroom landing, when he perceived that the mother and sisters of another cadet were coming upstairs.  From sounds in the bathroom he realized that they would meet a naked corporal just as they reached the landing.  The door of the bathroom opened outwards, and with admirable presence of mind he rushed back, and putting his back against the door and his feet against the wall, imprisoned the corporal.  The corporal, in the approved Shop version of Billingsgate, began to blaspheme at the top of his voice, so when the ladies reached the top of the stairs they saw a vision of a cadet with his feet to the wall and his back to a door singing at the top of his voice to drown a Commotion within!