Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Beard at high port



      Here he ran out of words, and drew himself up, beard at high port, shaking his great head while he clasped my hand, and i meditated on the astonishing ease with which strong men of Victorian vintage could be buffaloed into incoherent embarrassment by the mere mention of feminine frailty. Something to do with public school training, I fancy.


Flashman on the March, p.278, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 28 November 2012

Harrowing preferences



“I wish to have him educated at a great English school, such as one I have heard of . . . Harrah?”
     “Harrow? Certainly not your majesty. Lair of Bestial. Parvenus. Rugby’s the place for your lad . . . ”

Flashman on the March, p.208, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Flashman on toast



“ ‘It’s an English school for you, my son,’ he told me. ‘Hellish places, by all accounts, rations a Siberian moujik wouldn’t touch, and less civilised behaviour than you’d meet in the Congo, but I’m told there’s no education like it − a lifetime’s trainin’ in knavery packed into six years. No wonder they rule half the world. Why, if I’d been to Eton or Harrow, I’d have had Flashman on toast!’ ”


Flashman and the Tiger, p.77, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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Friday, 10 September 2010

Survive and prosper



      There’s no question that a public school education is an advantage. it may not make you a scholar or a gentleman or a Christian, but it does teach you to survive and prosper—and one other invaluable thing: style.

Flashman and the Redskins, p.148, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Tuesday, 8 June 2010

Eton rifles



‘He attended Eton college,’ says Whampoa gravely, ‘but that is not, in itself, necessarily inconsistent with a later life of crime.



Flashman's Lady, p.120, Pan edition, 1979.



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Wednesday, 5 May 2010

No end of a cad



‘Tell the truth,’went on this amazing oaf, ‘when we were youngsters I didn’t care for you above half, Flashman. Well, you treated us fags pretty raw, you know – of course, I guess it was just thoughtlessness, but, well, we thought you no end of a cad, and – and … a coward, too.’ He stirred uncomfortably, and I wondered was he going to fart.




Flashman's Lady, p.16, Pan edition, 1979.

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Tuesday, 4 May 2010

Hulking louts who box



That’s the trouble with those snivelling little sneaks one knocks about at school; they grow up into hulking louts who box, and are always in prime trim.




Flashman's Lady, p.15, Pan edition, 1979.

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Birth of a cricketer



...Rugby taught me only two things really well, survival and cricket, for I saw even at the tender age of eleven that while bribery, fawning, and deceit might ensure the former, they weren’t enough to earn a popular reputation, which is a very necessary thing. for that, you had to shine at games, and cricket was the only one for me.



Flashman's Lady, p.12, Pan edition, 1979.





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Tuesday, 27 April 2010

Harry Flashman's schooldays



I snivelled and bought my way to safety when I was a small boy, [at school] and bullied and tyrannized when I was a big one; how the d---l I’m not in the House of Lords by now, I can’t think.




Flashman's Lady, p.12, Pan edition, 1979.

Thursday, 22 April 2010

And that lot



‘…Flashman’s brutality had disgusted most even of his own intimate friends …’ No, by God, there was one downright, shameful lie – the kind of friends I had at Rugby you couldn’t have disgusted, not Speedicut and Rattle and that lot…



Flashman in the Great Game, p.335, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.

Friday, 19 March 2010

The death of Scud East



     East gave a little ghost of a smile, and his hand tightened and then went loose in mine – and I found I was blubbering and gasping, and thinking about Rugby, and hot murphies at Sally’s shop, and a small fag limping along pathetically after the players at Big Side – because he couldn’t play himself, you see, being lame. I’d hated the little bastard, too, man and boy, for his smug manly piety – but you don’t see a child you’ve known all your life die every day. Maybe that was why I wept, maybe it was the shock and horror of what had being happening. I don’t know. Whatever it was, I’m sure I felt it all the more sincerely for knowing that I was still alive myself, and no bones broken so far.



Flashman in the Great Game, p.233, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.

Thursday, 14 May 2009

Menn like Colonel Flash-mann



‘At Rugby School,’ repeated Albert. ‘That is a great English school, Willy,’ says he to the greenhorn, ‘of the kind which turns younk boys like yourself into menn like Colonel Flash-mann here.’ Well, true enough, I’d found it a fair mixture of jail and knocking-shop; I stood there trying to look like a chap who says his prayers in a cold bath every day.



Flashman at the Charge, p.33, Pan edition, 5th printing, 1979.




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