WELL HIT, SIR!

Press, Volume LXXV, Issue 22769, 22 July 1939, Page 19

WELL HIT, SIR!

(SPECIALLY WHITTEN FOB THE PHSO9.) [By WHIM-WHAM.] . . . After Harrow beat Eton for the first time in 31 years . . . Lord’s became a well- ' dressed bear-garden . . . grey-haired city men and pillars of county society had their toppers kicked from their hands when they took them off to cheer Harrow . . . Distinguished old Etonians punched a clerical old Harrovian . . . noses bled and eyes were ' blacked.—Cable message. I wish I had been there to see When Harrow hit the winning Run, And old Harrovians showed'their Glee And flashed their Toppers in the Sun: Which aggravated luckless Eton, So ignominiously beaten. While Harrow Men exclaimed, “Well played!” The Old Etonians stood dismayed. As if dumbfounded with Surprise Or Strangled with their Old School Ties, They gazed on the abandoned Wicket, Convinced it simply wasn’t Cricket. Till elderly Lord Mistletoe, Ejaculating, “Dirty Gads!” Went Berserk, waving to and fro A Pair of wicket-keeper’s Pads, With which he levelled at a Stroke The Honourable Augustus Noake.

At this'ancestral Wrath uprose In Grey-haired Colonel Whattin-Thunder, He seized Lord Saddle by the Nose And very nearly tore asunder The Picture-Hat of Mrs Green Who happened to be in between. Ah, well might such a Sight appal, When Noses shed the bluest Blood; The Gentry in a Free-for-all, Their Toppers trampled in the Mud— Did no Harrovian blush for Shame, Or Eton Boy cry, “Play the Game”?