all new equipment takes a bit of getting used to . it was some time before one &apos;s spoon became a weapon of relative precision and the pudding finished up in one &apos;s mouth instead of in one &apos;s right ear or on the wall behind one . gloves , hairbrushes , lavatories - pretty well all the accessories of everyday life - were unmanageable to begin with ; but in that distant era one received patient and elaborate coaching in their use . middle age has no mentors ; nobody says , no , not like that , dear . like this . I defy anyone who puts on a pair of spectacles for the first time not to feel that he has done it in a slightly ridiculous way . and so , in all probability , he has , as , grasping the fragile contraption in both hands , he fastens it uncertainly on his face like a man putting on a false beard at some ghastly rout . not since - in something of the same surreptitious , apprehensive manner - he smoked his first cigarette has he been so unexpectedly reminded that there is a right way and a wrong way of doing things . once having lodged upon his nose what he used scornfully to call gig-lamps , he makes a long , searching scrutiny of his reflection in the mirror . there can be no doubt that he looks extremely odd . life has played a practical joke on him , but it is an obscure rather than an unkind practical joke . although he still regards spectacles as per se faintly ridiculous ( why else do we say bespectacled - cf begrimed , bedizened and besotted - and not betrousered or even bebearded ? ) , he persuades himself that he looks no sillier than he looked before . rather , indeed , the reverse . a certain gravitas has been added . he finds himself for the first time wondering whether he might not have had a considerable future as a dentist , or in the Treasury . but he has still to present this new persona to the world , and face the world &apos;s reactions . way back , when similar ordeals were undergone , no pains were spared to allay his misgivings and boost his morale . but , darling , you look so nice in it ! does n&apos;t he , Nanny ? it &apos;s awfully becoming . all the other little boys at the party will be wearing - well , the same sort of thing only I expect not so nice . I promise you they will . none of this nonsense now . he knows what he will get from his children . the spectacles confer , in his view , a patriarchal air ; they delicately underline the eventual need for petits soins ; he can almost feel the rug round his knees , smell the aroma of the cocoa simmering on the hob . ( the blacksmith should be able to knock up a hob . ) but he knows what he will get from his children , and he gets it . daddy ! they scream , convulsed with laughter . what are you up to ? why are you wearing spectacles ? you do look funny ! a rat caught in a gin-trap by one leg will often gnaw the leg off . to disembarrass your face of spectacles involves a simpler , far less drastic process ; but if you have never done it before it is difficult to do it as though to the manner born . you can not lay your ears back ; you do not show the whites of your obsolescent eyes . but your face , emerging from between the shafts , inevitably reflects the part-rebellious , part-apprehensive , part-apologetic expression of an old saddle-horse which has not previously worn harness . once you have expunged from their minds the idea that you are dressing up in order to amuse them , your new gimmick can be explained to your children ; but it can not be airily explained , any more than it can to your over-facetious or over-solicitous contemporaries . I had hardly obtained a pair of spectacles when I ceased to need them , my eyes suddenly getting a second wind . this reprieve ( which for all I know is a common occurrence ) began soon after one of my aunts recommended yeast to me as a cure for failing memory . my memory is appalling . I shovelled down the unexpired portion of my aunt &apos;s yeast-ration - this was at the breakfast-table - and continued for a time to eat the stuff . post , I suspect , rather than propter hoc I threw away my reading glasses ; my memory continued to deteriorate . two or three years later a minor military campaign in Arabia strengthened the delusion that for me spectacles were a thing of the past . so refulgent was the sun , and so few the place-names on our unreliable maps , that I snapped my fingers at Salisbury Plain and the deep misgivings aroused upon it . but now - grateful for a reprieve none the worse for a dummy run - I am once more , when I read , bespectacled . the man we killed . one of us is a cabinet Minister . one of us died of drink last month . one of us is an earl . one committed suicide many years ago . one , I think , is an expert on Russia . one is an admiral . some I have forgotten altogether . several others must be dead . the man we killed was called Mr Jackson . he was a master at our private school towards the end of the first war . I do not remember him as clearly as I should ; one reason for this is that he did not last long . I suppose he was about twenty-five . he had reddish hair which stood up over his forehead in a quiff . he wore spectacles with metal rims and a blazer with a crest on the breast pocket . he was very short-sighted and we believed him to make matters worse by not cleaning his spectacles . he had a plaintive , rather common voice and a lolloping gait . he took the sixth form in ( I think ) Greek ; I am ashamed that I can not remember his subject with certainty . Mr Jackson was , I suppose , fairly typical of the sort of material with which headmasters have to make up their staffs in the closing stages of a major war . all I can recall about his previous career is that it had taken him to Singapore , where , he told us , the natives played football with bare feet . he had served as a special constable during disturbances in the city , and was easily encouraged to relate his memories of those stirring times . they were not sensational ; once Mr Jackson had been on duty all night and it had rained without stopping . it would be interesting to know how many hours or days or weeks in the school year are lost to learning by boys inducing masters to embark on martial or other reminiscences . in my time at Eton there was a French master - and he really looked like a French master - called M Larsonnier , who had served with the French contingent which helped to sack Peking after the Boxer rebellion . if you could only get him started , he had a splendid set-piece . who was ze first into ze forbidden City ? it was I ! who was ze first into ze winter Palace ? it was I ! who was ze first into ze Empress Dowager &apos;s bedroom ? it was I ! and who ( we would wittily chime in ) was ze first into ze Empress Dowager &apos;s bed ? I imagine that less time is wasted in this way at girls &apos; schools . Mr Jackson never had a chance . it was not merely that he had no authority and was easily gulled ; school-masters of this more or less helpless kind generally arouse in their tormentors a sort of mercy or tolerance , based perhaps on the feeling that if they are handled too barbarously they will be replaced by some sterner fellow and there will be no more cakes and ale . but for some reason we actively disliked Mr Jackson , who had a cocksure manner and a grating personality , and we gave him the full treatment . our school was near the coast , and soon after he arrived , Mr Jackson , jaded no doubt by the enervating climate of the tropics , was heard to speak in appreciative terms of the sea-breezes which stole into his bedroom . we took the first opportunity of wedging a bloater under the springs of his mattress . good morning , sir . lovely fresh breeze this morning , is n&apos;t there ? you &apos;d never think we were a mile from the sea , would you , sir ? Mr Jackson would concur in a baffled way . at length masters with adjacent bedrooms were impelled to investigate , and the putrescent bloater was removed . good morning , sir . did you see that perfectly beastly case in the paper , sir ? no , sir , not that one ; after all , there &apos;s nothing specially unpatriotic about murder . we meant the case where the man was fined for hoarding food . I do think that sort of thing is absolutely rotten when there &apos;s a war on , do n&apos;t you , sir ? apparently he used to hide it in his bedroom &amp;hellip; . and so on . our worst excesses are lost in oblivion , but my recollection is that we kept up a relentless pressure and that Mr Jackson ceased to be cocksure and became jumpy , irritable and maladjusted . in the only incident I remember clearly , indeed vividly , I played the leading part . Mr Jackson was the sort of master who impels boys , once they have established an ascendancy over him , to see how much further they can go , and one day I decided to take a grass-snake into his class . we wore , in the summer , grey sweaters and grey flannel shorts . I put the grass-snake , which was about three feet long but used to being handled , in my pocket and kept my hand over it as a precaution . it had had a feed a few days before and at first observed a perfect decorum . after a bit I became over-confident and relaxed my vigilance . the snake got its head up my sleeve and began to climb up my arm . readers who have been in this particular situation will know that , once a serpent has started climbing up your arm under your sleeve , it matters little how much of the serpent is left in your pocket ; you can not get it back into the pocket by using the arm it is climbing up , and you can not bring your other hand into play against it without taking your sweater off , which - leaving snakes and schoolmasters out of it - I defy anyone to do with one hand in his pocket . being at the top of the class , I sat directly underneath Mr Jackson &apos;s beaky nose . I was in a quandary . seventyfive per cent of the snake had not yet passed the start-line and was still in my pocket . I decided to try to stabilise this situation and gripped it convulsively round what , if it had been me , would have corresponded to its chest . the snake can not be blamed for failing to understand my motives . it felt thwarted , and began to hiss . human beings , when they hiss , hiss outwards ; a grass-snake makes a sound exactly like a human being drawing his breath sharply inwards while stitches are being taken out of a wound . Strix , asked Mr Jackson , peering down at me , are you in pain ? no , sir , I said . I thought it prudent to let go of the snake . it stopped hissing but went on climbing . my urgent duty now was to prevent it doing what , if left to itself , it would do , which was to make a bid for freedom by wriggling out through the collar of my sweater . by this time , the snake &apos;s rear echelon having left my pocket , I had both hands free and was easily able , by clasping them to my throat in a rather precious manner , to deny it egress . the snake turned south , towards my midriff . it now had room to manoeuvre and was moving well ; there was nothing to do but to grab it before it escaped from my sweater . I clasped one hand to my stomach and got it round the neck . it started hissing again . what is the matter ? asked Mr Jackson irritably . is something hurting you ? my bosom was heaving convulsively , on account of the snake . 