Although acclaimed as one of the 20th century's greatest dramatists, Beckett's schooldays at Portora in Enniskillen were characterised by his sporting prowess rather than his literary achievements, writes David Robertson

On Friday, March 31st, a plaque was unveiled on the front of Portora Royal School in Enniskillen to one of its most famous sons, Samuel Beckett, who began his school days there in 1920, aged 14. A few feet away, Oscar Wilde, who enrolled at Portora in 1865, is similarly commemorated. Two of the greatest literary figures of the past 150 years, both from prosperous, middle-class Dublin families, spent a significant part of their formative years in Enniskillen.

Those of us who live in Co Fermanagh have the prospect of Portora on our doorstep. We take it for granted. But for a small boy, away from the comforts of the family home for the first time, it must have been a daunting sight. The imposing Georgian buildings, set astride a hill outside Enniskillen, have an imperious air. They command majestic views over the town to the south and over Lower Lough Erne to the north. The mountains of Cuilceagh and Belmore ring the horizon to the west.

The setting is a declaration of intent. Boys who went to Portora 100 years ago were destined for positions of authority. This was a school that sent its sons to the army, the church and the empire. Portora's academic reputation stood high, but the prevailing ethos was one of muscular Christianity. Boys were expected to come to terms with the discipline and to fight their own corner. "They were a pretty rough lot, you know," Beckett said later of his contemporaries.

In 1920, Portora was a fee-paying school of 120 pupils. The great majority were boarders, of whom nearly half came from the south of Ireland. The headmaster of the day was the Rev EG Seale. His portrait, which hangs in the boardroom named after him, presents a stern figure, eagle-eyed and authoritative. The photographs of school groups from this period reflect great expectations. An air of languid superiority wafts over the blazers, badges and boaters.

Samuel Beckett appeared to have one significant advantage as a new boy in the Easter term, 1920. His elder brother, Frank, was a prefect and captain of cricket, positions that gave him authority and prestige. However, in such a school as Portora, there were distinct hierarchies. Frank was three years older, far removed from the rough and tumble of junior boys. As in most boarding schools of this period, it was a world where meagre rations, cold baths, teasing, bullying and corporal punishment were part of school life. Samuel was left to fend for himself.

And fend for himself he did. There are a number of confirmed anecdotes that reveal Beckett's self-reliance, notably how, as an accomplished boxer (a skill he had learnt at his Dublin prep school), he beat the daylights out of one of his principal tormentors. Beckett went on to become light heavy weight boxing champion in the school. Indeed, one of the keys to Beckett's school days is that he was a talented athlete. He often swam in Lough Erne before breakfast. He became captain of rugby.

Douglas Graham, a contemporary (who went on to become headmaster of Portora) recalled him as being "blind without his spectacles, but bold as a lion behind the scrum". Beckett led Portora to the Ulster Schools Cup Final in 1923 against Campbell College. Years later, Beckett recalled that the team was "shit scared" going up to the match.

However, it was at cricket that Beckett excelled. The school magazine records how he made his first appearance for the 1st XI on June 6th 1920, scoring 11 runs against the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. The magazine reported that "Beckett can bat well at times but has an awkward habit of walking across the wicket to all balls. Good field." In 1921, Beckett was credited with "some really stylish strokes". By 1922, he was "an attractive batsman" and "a very good medium-paced bowler with a sharp break-back". In 1923, Beckett "scores freely once he gets set, but takes time to settle down. A dangerous bowler on his day." His highest score in his last season was 40 against St Columba's College.

Cricket was Beckett's passion at Portora. Chess was his past-time. Both have much in common with drama, of which Beckett became the master craftsman. They are based on conflict, guile and deception. They contain lengthy periods of apparent inactivity while the principal actors circle each other, like boxers, watching and waiting. Pawns are sacrificed to entrap key players. Costumes are provided. The players are choreographed into position and posture. The actors make their entrances and exits. Umpires and scorers complete the cast. The stage is set. The world watches, listens and waits . . . the drama unfolds . . .

Athletic prowess undoubtedly gained Beckett not only the acceptance of his contemporaries, but their respect. He further enhanced his reputation by excelling in another field of schoolboy endeavour, that of tormenting incompetent and unpopular teachers.

One such unfortunate was a master rejoicing in the name of Tackaberry. When it fell to his lot to take the entire school for evening prep in the school hall, a room fully 60 feet long, Tackaberry sat on a raised dais, attempting to keep order. Beckett, with a pre-arranged signal, orchestrated "the Singular Sing Singers", by which the schoolroom broke into a programme of songs that Beckett had distributed before prep began. Enraged beyond endurance, Tackaberry attacked Beckett, slapping him around the head.

When the assault ended, Beckett was heard to mutter: "Hit someone your own size." Prep ended in stunned silence. Tackaberry was slumped over his desk, sobbing uncontrollably. The boys heard his words of despair: "To think I've come to this, a convenient piss-pot for the whole school." Beckett, aware of the irony in the misery he had inflicted, was left with nothing but chagrin.

One would expect to find early evidence of Beckett's literary prowess from his schooldays. Such, however, is hard to find. Articles in the school magazine were traditionally anonymous. Although several have been attributed to Beckett, he subsequently disowned them. The science master, WR Tetley, thought by the boys to have a resemblance to Dr Crippen, was one of Beckett's bêtes noires. The subject disinterested Beckett. He spent one science class drawing lewd caricatures of Tetley. The episode ended with Beckett in the headmaster's study.

When Tetley retired, he was succeeded by a man called Scales. An ode subsequently appeared in the school magazine: "Tetley has gone/ To the mountains of Wales/ Leaving behind His balance and scales."

Gerald Stewart, a contemporary of Beckett's, remembered by heart a ditty written by Beckett while he was at Portora: "Come away, my love, with me/ To the Public Lavatory/ There is an expert there who can/ Encircle twice the glittering pan/ In flawless symmetry to extend/ Neatly pointed at each end." *

Beckett also inscribed a poem in the autograph book of a friend, Tom Cox, while they were both at Portora: "When a bit of sunshine hits you/ After passing of a cloud,/ And a bit of laughter gets you/ And your spine is feeling proud,/ Don't forget to up and fling it/ At a soul that's feeling blue,/ For the moment that you sling it/ It's a boomerang to you."**

Beyond these diverting pieces of trivia, no records can be found in the school of an incipient literary talent. It is stating the obvious that Beckett's academic attainment at Portora was below his true potential. When he left for Trinity College, Dublin, in 1923, unlike four of his contemporaries at Portora, Beckett had not won an award. His name does not feature on the Honours Board beneath that of Oscar Wilde.

For the rest of his life, he eschewed further contact with the school, declining all invitations, despite recording that his time at Portora was the happiest for years to come. Perhaps it was because he felt that to return would be to sully the memories of youth. Perhaps it was because, in spite of the honours that were heaped on him in later life, Beckett distrusted fame. Above all, he retained a horror of being feted or treated as a great man. Beckett's search for self was not to be pigeonholed into speech day rituals. He had long since shed the chrysalis of badges, blazers and boaters. Beckett had emerged into a darker and bleaker world, from which there was no return.

Beckett's contemporaries at Portora, in describing the boy they knew, provide a key to the man. Gen Sir Charles Jones remembered him as "withdrawn and sometimes moody. His eyes, behind his spectacles, were piercing and he often sat quietly assessing, in a thoughtful and even critical way, what was going on around him." Sir Herbert Gamble, later governor of Mauritius, recalled, "I don't remember that he ever contributed to the school magazine. He would have left that to his less talented colleagues - and I don't remember him ever taking part in a school play . . . that would have been quite abhorrent to him."

When one studies the photographs of Beckett at Portora, the evidence for these character traits may be seen. His head slightly lowered, eyes glowering, Beckett has a detached, disdainful expression. He appears resentful of the camera, as if it were an intrusion. He has the air of a loner or of one who would move in a small circle of close friends to whom he would be fiercely loyal. The boy is father to the man. Beckett observes all around him with a searing intensity. He is the bowler, the batsman, the chess player, the boxer watching, listening . . . waiting for the moment to strike . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .

David Robertson is archivist at Portora Royal School, Enniskillen, Co Fermanagh

* Quoted by Anthony Cronin in Samuel Beckett, the Last Modernist

** Quoted by James Knowlson in Damned to Fame, the Life of Samuel Beckett