28 MAY 1932, Page 10

" Rags

BY J. E. S.

"/MANY middle-aged men will have. worked themselves -01 up into a vaguely reminiscent mood over the news that certain unknown Cambridge undergraduates have climbed the roof of King's College Chapel and fixed a pair of open umbrellas to the two western pinnacles.. To reach these pinnacles, which stand more than 100 feet above the ground, was a feat of great physical daring, It .could be accomplished only .at serious risk to life and limb. To many the whole thing will seem a mere senseless act of vandalism and folly. No one ran pretend that the sus- pended umbrellas (one of which has since been shot down by an undergraduate marksman with a sporting rifle) serve any useful purpose, or that they enhance the beauty or the dignity of the famous edifice which we owe to the pious munificence of King Henry VI. The Chapel, beauti- ful as it is in most eyes, has had its detractors before now. Ruskin saw in it a resemblance to an inverted dining-room table ; coarser critics have gone so far as to liken it to a sow lying on her back. But even a dining-room table, even a recumbent sow, may have their feelings. There is no reason to suppose that, if they sought to increase their natural attractions by adventitious aids, they would select open umbrellas for the purpose.

Which exordium is merely to demonstrate (though it needs no demonstration) that the performance of the Cambridge undergraduates was neither useful nor orna- mental. It served no conceivable public end, and con- ferred not 'the smallest benefit upon any single human being. But that is the essence of the "rag" ; it is not meant to confer benefits or to serve public ends. It is just a "rag." When the young are taken that way there is no saying them nay. We elders must just shrug our shoulders and mumble such commonplaces as the occasion suggests. Most of us (let us hope) can still feel a sneaking sympathy with an irresponsibility which increasing age and cares have long since eliminated from our own moral compo- sition.

Who does not remember the story of Dr. Johnson and his midnight " rag " in the company of 'Fortuna Beauekrk ? When they knocked him up at his rooms in the Temple, his first thought was of thieves, and he came to the door with a poker in his hand. He soon saw his mistake. " What, is it you, you (logs ? " he ex- claimed. " I'll have a frisk with you." And off the old fellow went with his jovial companions. Let us hope that they had a good time. His sober friends rallied hint after- wards on his escapade. " I heard of your frolic ratter night," said Garrick ; " you'll be in the Chronicle." Johnson's comment was characteristic : " Ile durst not do such a thing," he observed. "His wife would not let him !" That is perhaps how it stands with most of us ; we should like to—only our wives won't let us. At any rate the cxcusc will serve its turn.

Undergraduate " rags " have been numerous and varied. One cannot claim the same measure of success for them all. Mere audacity is not enough to make a success- ful " rag " ; a certain element of humour, or at least of eccentricity, is also a necessary ingredient. The old obvious things have been done so often. An under- graduate in the Book of Snobs distinguished himself by wadding the insides of his tutor's boots with cobbler's wax, which caused the reverend gentleman "excruciating pain " when he came to undress in the evening. Another (an inveterate ragger) " made away with the college pump- handle, filed St. Boldface's nose smooth with his face, carried off four images of nigger-boys from the tobac- conist's, and painted the senior proctor's horse pea- green." That was how they " ragged " a hundred years ago. Nowadays the science has grown more complicated, and greater originality is required (though perhaps the pea-green horse might still pass muster) to satisfy the critical standards of a sophisticated age. The mere hunt for trophies, once so popular, has lost its vogue. What after all is a policeman's helmet (that used to be regarded as a great prize), a pawn-broker's sign, or even a railway lamp from Liverpool Street Station ? Is it credible that enterprising youth ever contented itself with such tri- vialities ? ,.The umbrellas, fluttering from King Henry's pinnacles; laugh them to scorn.

Cambridge memories that reach back to the early 'nineties will recall a once famous " rag "--a " mock funeral " that brought a certain May term to its close. It differed from sonic of its successors in that it. owed its inception to no idle whim. It had a stern purpose • it. was a " grand remonstrance" against those long-suffering officials, the University Proctors who had been so unfeel- ing as to send down a group of popular undergraduates. The merits of the dispute have long been buried in oblivion; but there are still sonic who remember the cortege of " mourning coaches " that blocked the entire thorough- fare between the station and the centre of the town. More famous still was the episode of the " Sultan of Zanzibar " : an affair so carefully conceived and so well executed that it ran its course without hitch or contretemps throughout the length of a long summer duty. It all happened barely twenty years ago ; but these things pass rapidly into legend, and the story has already acquired certain legendary characteristics. Accounts differ in details ; sonic have it that it was not the " Sultan of 'Zanzibar" who played the titled rae, but another swarthy potentate with a name so unpronounceable that one may well be excused for having forgotten it. lie that as it. may, the main outlines of the story are not in dispute. A telegram reached Cambridge one happy morning I lllll ouneing I hat

His Highness" (of Zanzibar or elsewhere) proposed to visit the University town and would app.ceiate any small attentions during his stay. The city fathers girded up their loins ; and when the " Sultan arrived at the appointed time, he was met. with all due ceremony, banqueted in the Guildhall, shown round the Colleges and finally despatched back to London by the evening train. "His Highness –comported himself with a dignity worthy of his royal descent, and not one breath of doubt or sus- picion marred the amenities of the function. Next morn- ing brought enlightenment ; it appeared from the papers that the real Sultan had spent the day in quite a different part of the eountry.

The lx•rpetators of this classic " rag " were never brought to book. Everybody knew who they were, but it was nobody's business to show them up. The I"niver- sity authorities were in a eurinus position. If the identity of the delinquents had la•en brought to their official notice, they must have taken action. It never was. They remained (many believed that they took good care to remain) in official ignorance of the facts. A pleasant story is told of the Master of Trinity of the day. An incautious visitor, while discussing the affair in the Lodge drawing-room, was on the point of mentioning names, when the Master, with the silken urbanity for which he enjoyed a world-wide renown, blandly diverted the con- versation into less dangerous channels. He was deter- mined not to know.

One other Cambridge incident deserves to he recorded. A post-War incident this time. It concerns II War trophy, at heavy German gun which stood behind locked gates and heavy iron railings in the precinets of .Jesus College. The gun was removed at midnight by a party of undergraduates (for a bet, it is said), carried without detection through the town for the best part of a mile, and placed trium- phantly in the front court of Canis. How the feat WAS accomplished remains a mystery. The removal of the gun from Jesus, its furtive progress along the streets, its mode of entry through the closed portals of (AIM, arc all inexplicable. The fact, remains that the thing was done.

It is difficult for a Canto!), and a middle-aged one at that, to write of Cambridge without quoting Calverley :

When within my veins the blood ran, And the curls were on my brow, 1 did, oh ye undergraduates.

Much AR ye are doing now.

Wherefore bless ye, 0 beloved ones . .."

" Bless ye " sounds like Mr. Vincent Crummles ; but let it stand. If the blessings of the elderly are of any value, they are yours in all abundance. The cheap Press may gibe at your " senseless freaks " ; we are content to smile and wish you luck. To all of you, be it understood ; including the marksman who (let us hope) will soon bring down his second umbrella.