Scouts and Fire Section
The Scouts The Wellington College Scout troop was started in 1926, eighteen years after the birth of the Scout movement. At Wellington, Scouting always took very much second place to the Corps. At first it was decided that ‘a troop should be formed of boys in their last year at school, who were not going to the Services. They would all be boys who had already put in between three and four years in the OTC, and so they would be released from the Corps to serve as Scouts.’ The express purpose of the troop was to train boys to be future Scoutmasters, in the same way that the OTC aimed to turn out future officers. By the time of our study, this purpose was perhaps less emphasised, and Scouts was seen as something of a ‘filling in’ activity for boys too young to join the Corps. For this reason it was known as ‘Tweenies,’ something which happened between arrival and the Corps. The majority of our respondents remembered joining Scouts at this stage, although for differing lengths of time: ‘In one’s first year one joined the Scouts.’ ‘We had to join the CCF at 14.3, before that we could join the Scouts’. Anonymous ‘I had two years in the scouts and then joined the Corps.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) ‘I was a Scout for my first term.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘In my first year I was in the Junior Scouts.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54) However, the option to join (or rejoin) after one’s time in the Corps remained, at least for a while: ‘Membership of the CCF was compulsory until “Cert A” which came after 2 years. After that I immediately opted for the easier route by becoming a Scout.’ Christopher Capron (Benson 1949-54) ‘For the last year at Wellington, I decided to leave the Corps and join the Senior Scouts, which was much more enjoyable.’ Scout leaders Arnold Potter was Scoutmaster of the Junior troop, and was remembered by our older respondents: ‘Mr Potter was the Scoutmaster, and occasionally took parties of Scouts out in his open-top car.’ Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) ‘I had a brief time in the junior Tweenies. Arnold Potter was the Chief and used to challenge the older boys greatly!’ Senior Scouts was run by ‘Bertie’ Kemp until he retired in 1953. After this, both roles were taken on by Derek Angwin, described by Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54) as ‘a young usher, recently married.’ How were they perceived? Perhaps unsurprisingly, most Wellingtonians viewed the Scouts as a poor inferior to the Corps. The nickname of ‘Tweenies’ did not help with this perception. ‘Amongst one’s peers they were rather looked down on, not surprising as they were referred to as “Tweenies.”’ Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54) ‘Scouts (“Tweenies”) was a joke. We merely built underground shelters and taunted the “Crow-cads.”’ John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) ‘I started as a “Tweeny,” a name for junior Scouts which I thought very effeminate!’ ‘The Scouts were not much cop compared to those at my prep school, so I gave up after the first term and cannot remember what I had to do instead for the next two terms.’ Anonymous Nevertheless, both Charles Wade (Lynedoch 1947-50) and Tim Shoosmith (Blucher 1953-57) put it on record that ‘I enjoyed my year in Scouts.’ Activities The Scouts took part in a variety of activities, including the traditional skill of learning to tie knots: ‘I was a Scout for my first term, as a result of which I am still able to tie a bowline.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘I learned all my knots, several of which I have always found useful.’ Some recalled a variety of other activities: ‘Lighting camp fires, etc.’ Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48) ‘We went camping; knots and lashings; learnt a bit about boating; building bridges with ropes; simple cooking.’ Stephen Goodall (Hardinge 1936-40) ‘One memory sticks out – a supervised climb of one of the Wellingtonias on Rhododendron Avenue.’ ‘I greatly enjoyed the Scouts, though as run by Bertie Kemp, it bore little resemblance to the organisation envisaged by Baden Powell. We spent most of the Scout afternoons building “forts” from which radiated long tunnels carved out of the easily workable sandy soil. From time to time these collapsed, and why nobody was ever buried alive remains a mystery.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) There were some more formal activities: ‘In my second (and last) term of doing it, we all took part in some sort of Scouting parade in, I think, Reading – an enjoyable and unusual day out.’ Anonymous ‘I was briefly a Scout, and did attend an international Jamboree.’ The fullest description of the Scouts and their activities was provided by Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43): ‘We did not take ourselves very seriously and we did not study for badges. I believe there was someone who had become a Second Class Scout at his prep school, but the rest of us remained Tenderfeet. Each dormitory had a Patrol. We also, as a Scout event, rode sixteen miles on bicycles over to Henley during the Regatta and back – the only time I have been to the Regatta, and the only time I have ridden a bicycle thirty-two miles in one day! In the summer holidays of 1939 we had a Scout camp on the Isle of Purbeck. The site was on the cliffs west of Swanage. I shared a palatial tent with Hugh Weldon; his father, a colonel in the Dorset Regiment, had used it in the Army and it had a built-in groundsheet. The week finished with a vast campfire in a quarry cave in the cliffs, facing out to sea. The main achievement of the Combermere Patrol in our year was to build a tree house somewhere in the woods. It was a substantial structure, seven or eight feet off the ground, triangular in shape and furnished with ladder access and some form of table and benches. To commission it, we asked the Dormitory Prefects to tea – with disastrous results! Having got some six or so seated upstairs, and will me at the top of the ladder as waiter, sausages etc were cooked on the camp fire at ground level and consumed at high level. Whether all upstairs rose together or what, I do not know, but with a creak one bearer gave way, the floor tipped downwards and all Prefects were decanted to the ground. I remained perched at the top of the ladder and was, inevitably and without reason, blamed for the collapse!’ Robert did not disclose the repercussions of this unfortunate event. John de Grey (Blücher 1938-43) seems actually to have been rewarded for poor behaviour: ‘As a Scout I was late on parade when my troop cut a neighbour’s tree house out of their tree, so I was made Troop Leader (Squirrels).’ But perhaps the most notable achievement was that of Nigell D’Oyly (Benson 1948-53): ‘I was expelled from the Junior Scouts for fighting.’ The Fire Section Wellington College Fire Brigade began in the 1880s, a response to the frequent heath fires which beset the College estate and surrounding areas in the summer months. The Section was reorganised in the summer of 1919, following the serious fire which destroyed the Orange dormitory. Fortunately, its subsequent members never had to deal with such a large conflagration. Its presence on site during the Second World War might have been a source of comfort to some, but according to Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) this would not have been justified: ‘We drilled regularly, exercising our hoses and our two-wheeled wooden Victorian fire cart. It was all a great giggle, especially when the boy supposed to control the nozzle was too weak to tame the wildly-thrashing python that our hose instantly became when swollen with an inrush of water. We, any onlookers, and a number of buildings nowhere near the fire, were then routinely soaked while the squad fell about immobilised by laughter.’ He also described the chief perk of being a member of the Section: ‘We were allowed to own bicycles. I was delighted that my service to Wellington and England was rewarded with a mount which allowed me to arrive punctually at the remoter of our sports fields and, after games, to get towards the front of the queue at Grubbies. It was also useful at weekends in our search for any form of food and clandestine visits to the local nudist colony.’ Fifteen years later, Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) felt much the same: ‘The upside to these not unpleasant duties was the absolute necessity to have a bicycle in close proximity, at all times. Unlike Dormitory Prefects, we had the same privilege as College Prefects and were required to keep our transport at the foot of our dormitory stairs. Likewise, we were obliged to utilise it for reaching all games locations and we were even deprived of the walk to Grubbies! Our machines were identified by having the bottom few inches of the rear mudguard painted bright red; no doubt to ensure no interlopers encroached upon our rights and concessions! I still have the bicycle, complete with adorned rear mudguard.’ Christopher Capron (Benson 1949-54) also appreciated this benefit, and did not take his responsibilities too seriously: ‘I gained a place in the Fire section as it entitled me to have a bicycle, and I remember not being in the slightest ashamed that Reading’s Fire Brigade arrived to extinguish a bush fire in the grounds before we’d even unwound our hosepipe.’ Nor, it seems, did his contemporaries: ‘I got beaten by Mr Kuper for laughing at his fire practice with the College fire cart, manned by his goody-goody boys. If there had been a fire anywhere in College, the fire cart would have achieved very little, although Mr Kuper did not think so.’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) gave a summary of his experience in the Section: ‘At the beginning of my twelfth and final term, the worries of forthcoming “A” Levels were mitigated by a totally unexpected announcement by my tutor, Noel Catterall. He told me that he had appointed me as one of the two nominated Hopetoun Fire Pickets. Each House and Dormitory had to nominate two boys for these duties. They consisted of immediately, whatever one was doing or wherever one was, lessons or games, reporting to the Porters’ Lodge if the college bell was tolled, other than at the usual chapel times. We were then required to proceed as directed and on arrival act in accordance with the person in charge of the scene. This usually involved locating and then using the fire beaters, which were located in racks all around the estate. I believe that we were only called out twice during the term, with neither event being a major conflagration.’ The equipment available, and the system of alarms, were described by Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56): ‘To our immense satisfaction as teenage boys, Wellington had its own fire engine. This had clearly been acquired after the Second World War and consisted of a stout two-wheeled trailer with a Coventry Climax engine driving a pump. The trailer contained coils of four-inch fabric hoses and various nozzles and connectors. Given a generous source of water, the pump could produce a tremendous jet of water at huge power. With two boys pulling it from the front and another two pushing from behind, the pump could be hustled around the grounds at great pace. I have no recollection that we had any kind
Tutors and Dormitory Life
The holding houses Many students began their Wellington experience with one or more terms in a ‘holding house’ such as Upcott or Douro, while they waited for a space to become available in their allotted Dormitory. For most, this allowed a gentler introduction to College life, which they found welcome: ‘With the other “new men”, I went for my first term to Upcott House which gave us a slightly more gentle introduction to College life. Our Tutor was Mr Leakey, a kind and gentle man ideally suited for the job. We had one Prefect from the main college, a senior boy of 17 who, as he looked just like a master, we automatically called “Sir” until we were told that it was surnames only between boys.’ Anonymous ‘For my first 2-3 terms I was in Douro, a “starters” house for Beresford and Orange Dormitories. The Tutor there was Mr Strachan, a physics teacher, who was a really lovely man.’ Christopher Birt (Beresford 1955-60) In retrospect, some identified other benefits too: ‘”New men” were able to find their feet among boys of their own age. Boys destined for one of the other four Houses which stood outside College went straight to them on arrival. They were therefore immediately thrown, often on their own, into the College’s strictly hierarchical and largely unsympathetic and inward-looking society. We Dormitory boys, temporarily held in Upcott, made many lasting friendships with boys destined for other dormitories, so we had a raft of supportive contemporaries across College who we would meet in classrooms and on sports fields over the years.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) ‘During my time, boys were forbidden to enter any other Dormitory or House without good reason. This rule severely restricted a boy’s social contact to those in his own Dormitory or House. One could not mix at meals either. Residence in a holding house provided a boy with companionship from his contemporaries within the other Dormitories whose new boys were lodged there.’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) Although there were disadvantages: ‘For my first term or two I was housed in the Upcott, from which we had to trudge every day to the main College buildings. I found this irksome and was pleased to be able to get into the main Dormitory.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘I started at Heathcote and remember trudging the half a mile or so to College through the snow of one of the coldest winters on record.’ ‘I can certainly recall having to make the journey, along Back Drive and then cutting through the wood at the edge of New Ground, in snow on many occasions and regularly in rain. This would result in boys arriving at the start of a working day in a condition that was anything from damp to drenched! There being no change of clothing available, one just steamed gently through breakfast and completed the procedure when sandwiched like sardines into the overcrowded chapel!’ Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) Richard also recalled the specifics arrangements for the holding houses: ‘Upcott boys had a Day Room in College as they spent the whole day there. Boys in Douro, located next door along the Sandhurst Road, went back to it for lunch, hence they had no in-College room. The Upcott Day Room was situated at the point where the long colonnade from the Combermere Quads met the junction with Front Quad, near the Queen Victoria foundation stone.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) recounted a specific aspect of Upcott: ‘The Tutor, Mr Leakey, was famous for his little sex talk, a requirement for all new boys. In groups of four, we sat in his drawing room and tried not to giggle as he began his tried-and-true monologue which had the same opening we had all been told about in advance: “Now you know that part of the body known as the balls…”’ Dormitory atmosphere, initiation and bullying Once in their main Dormitory or House, ‘new men’ were subjected to its customs and prevailing attitudes, whether good or bad. Initiation ceremonies do not seem to have been common in this period, although a couple of respondents mentioned them: ‘Living conditions were reasonably comfortable once all the initiation ceremonies for “squealers” passed (e.g. being squashed by the main doors).’ Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52) ‘There was a good team spirit in the House which I enjoyed after I survived the rigours of my initiation as a new boy – singing Molly Malone on the mantelpiece in the common room while being pelted with cushions by the Prefects.’ Adrian Stephenson (Talbot 1957-61) The reception from boys immediately senior to the newcomers could be more brutal: ‘I do remember that the boys who had come one or two terms earlier took great exception if we were at all familiar in the way we addressed them!’ ‘We were fairly set upon by the boys from the term before us, a practice that I hesitate to say we continued with our successors of the next term.’ Robert Hirst (Picton 1955-59) Our respondents were not specifically asked to comment on bullying and most did not. Some were explicit about its absence: ‘There was no bullying in the Hardinge, although we were not so sure about the dormitories in the main block, which we considered a bit rough!’ Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) ‘There was a great sense of pride in the Dormitory and, with the mix of ages, care for the younger boys (“squealers”).’ Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52) But others described an uncomfortable atmosphere or, at times, particularly unpleasant incidents or individuals: ‘In the Combermere in your first term or so, some had to sleep in a dormitory and share during the day with the owner of a “tish”. Not a pleasant experience for me as he was rather a bully.’ Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-1955) ‘There was quite a lot of bullying of which the Tutor seemed unaware.’ Michael Trevor-Barnston (Anglesey 1957-60) ‘As to bullying, there was, disgracefully, some, mainly where there were weak Tutors and Prefects.’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48) ‘Often, during evenings, I hid away to avoid some bullying escapades in the Dormitory perpetuated by irresponsible and often dominant senior boys.’ Michael Crumplin (Orange 1956-60) ‘Life in the 1950s was, to me, mostly a matter of survival. A couple of boys from the year above me made life insufferable from time to time but in those days, bullying was part of school life…’ Ross Mallock (Murray 1954-59) ‘There was some nasty bullying, not, I think, by senior boys of their juniors, but by groups of boys who picked on selected victims for very unpleasant humiliations.’ Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) Dormitory games Moving on to happier subjects, generations of Wellingtonians will remember some particular and traditional Dormitory games. Although these might sound rough to modern ears, most of our respondents seem to have enjoyed them: ‘Under my oval window was an upholstered window-seat with a hard-stuffed, apparently indestructible headrest. Agonising when used as a pillow, it proved entirely suitable as the ball for many of our Dormitory games.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) ‘The table for “swipes” was only removed when we played “fug rugby.” There were few rules. It was played with one of the triangular-ended cushions from our window seats, the aim being to wrestle it down to the opponents’ end of the corridor.’ Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54) ‘“Fug rugger” was fairly physical, but not over painful, unless one was hurled against one of the many protruding doorknobs.’ ‘We grew up in a robust physical world in which the main indoor recreation was “fug rugger”, a game played up and down the Dormitory passage, in which there were no rules and no limit to the number of participants. When not engaged in fug rugger, we tested our nerve by swinging precariously on a primitive trapeze erected at the far end of the Dormitory passage. I can’t imagine why nobody was seriously injured.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) ‘Membership of the First XV was all. In my first few days I was amazed that these god-like figures would actually join us squits on a Saturday evening to play “fug rugger”.’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48) ‘I also used to enjoy fug rugger, fug hockey and fug cricket that were all played in the corridor between the two rows of “tishes.” Batting in the poor light was quite a challenge.’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953-57) Those in the Picton had their own speciality, played in the underground tunnel which connected the Picton to the main College: ‘We used to play “tunnel hockey” along its length – that proved interesting, as the ball whipped off the tiled concrete surface at high speed, deflected by the bend halfway down which was the point at which it first became visible. It was rather like blind racquets with a much larger ball. I recall being struck on the bridge of my nose on the last day of term, breaking it and causing a massive bruise in the middle of a tightly swollen face. To make it even more interesting, we sometimes used flaming balls of newspaper instead.’ Anonymous ‘This game was played with ideally three players on each side, an ancient ice hockey puck which was kept in the Picton common room, and some old hockey sticks. It was quick, rough and exhausting. There was a lot of running and body checking and bouncing off the walls, and it was huge fun. A few bumps and bruises were easily put right by a hot shower afterwards. Interestingly, there were hardly any real injuries, due to the narrowness of the tunnel, which limited the amount of kinetic energy a body could generate. Teams could be drawn from the Picton or against other houses or dormitories. I do not believe the existence of tunnel hockey was known to the staff.’ Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) House and Dormitory Tutors Each House or Dormitory was under the charge of a Tutor, or Housemaster as he would now be called. Although day-to-day organisation and discipline were usually left to the Prefects, the Tutor nevertheless had a strong influence on the atmosphere and character of the House, as our contributors attested. Some Tutors were of the ‘old school’, particularly in the years just after the War. This was not surprising, since many had been teachers at Wellington since the 1920s: ‘I was in the Anglesey under the quiet gentlemanly Mr Hughes-Games, who one hardly ever encountered.’ ‘My Dormitory Tutor in the Anglesey was Mr Hughes-Games, a very gallant gentleman who had won two Military Crosses in the First World War. He must have been in his mid-50s; far too old and out of touch.’ Henry Beverley (Anglesey 1949-53) ‘Herbert Wright, my House Tutor, was always kind to me, but I think he was probably a bit too old for the job. If he ever had been willing to get deeply involved with young people, those days were long gone by the time I knew him. He and his wife promoted plays, in some of which I played quite prominent parts, although I now recall them only with embarrassment. That was the limit of his cultural endeavours for us. As was, I suppose, then customary, he left a great deal, almost certainly far too much, to the House Prefects.’ Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) ‘Our Tutor was Mr Kemp who seemed to run the Dormitory through his Prefects, which seemed to work well. Occasionally he would have half a dozen boys down to his flat in their dressing gowns to watch television, a new
Teachers: English and History
Some of these polymaths were definitely larger than life, for example John ‘Jim’ Crow, remembered vividly by those who were here in the 1940s: ‘There was also Jim Crow, who taught us History, and was so extremely corpulent that he needed a special outsize bicycle saddle to accommodate his posterior. Sometimes he sat at his desk with a halo chalked on the blackboard behind him, leaning back in his big chair so that the halo exactly fitted him. He had a fearsome instrument, a kind of pick helve, which he kept by him and crashed down on the desk beside any inattentive pupil, shouting “You boy!”’ Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48) ‘…the outrageous Mr Crow, a round figure dressed in shirts that we thought were made from café tablecloths.’ Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48) ‘Jim Crow, supposedly the greatest authority on Christopher Marlowe. He had a habit of sending postcards to his academic and literary friends containing acerbic comments on contemporary celebrities. I even remember one: Where are you going, you little mouse?I’m off to church to worship Rowse [A L Rowse, a rather publicity-hunting historian]Don’t be silly, you little elf,He’s taken on the job himself.’Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) remembered a rather less high-brow poem, presented to an unidentified English teacher: ‘On one occasion, I did one prep but completely forgot about the other one. It was only when the prep – which turned out to be writing a poem – was being collected at the end of a lesson two days later that I realised my ghastly mistake. The English master expected his preps to be completed with absolutely no excuses – I was terrified and hurriedly scribbled the first thing that came into my head, which was: What means this gory mess?‘Tis Fido more or less,While crossing the roadIn chase of a toad,A car ran over his corpus. You can imagine how surprised and greatly relieved I was when at the next English lesson, the master read my poem out as one of the three he liked best!’ Some were also respected for their skill as Form Masters. One such was Fergus Russell, described thus in his leaving tribute in the 1968 Year Book: ‘During all his years at College, it was his lot — and he with characteristic modesty regarded it as a privilege — to teach the form which once was known as the Lower Fourth. Generations of boys — not, on their arrival at Wellington, the most forward with their studies — found in him the same sympathy and patience, the same good humour and kindness, the same well-stored mind. For Fergus Russell was the archetypal Form Master, a genus which at one time seemed doomed to extinction, though now set for a new lease of life. He taught English, History, French and, for a time, Latin.’ He was similarly remembered by our respondents: ‘Fergie Russell was a classic schoolmaster, down to earth and positive.’ Tim Shoosmith (Blücher 1953-57) ‘I began my career in the Upper Fourth, with Fergie Russell as my Form Master. Fergie was fun, a good teacher, and with the habit of hunching himself down in his gown that I shall never forget.’ John Green (Talbot 1954-58) English English was a subject studied by all Wellingtonians. Depending on the skill of the teacher, and the interest of the pupil, English lessons could be either a trial to be endured, or the inspiration for a life-long love of literature. One of our older respondents, Richard Buckley (Combermere 1941-45), considered that ‘Robin Gordon Walker was an inspirational teacher of English literature in the run-up to the School Certificate,’ and John Stitt (Murray 1940-45) also considered him ‘very special.’ However, his near contemporary, Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46), found lessons with another teacher memorable for a different reason: ‘To Mr Manby for English. We had frequently brought to his attention the presence of a large (mythical) rat that often appeared from a hole by the radiator. He showed no interest, so we planned a punitive action. At an agreed moment during a class, “the rat” was seen and at my command, “Eh, there ‘e is, the bugger,” most of us threw our books at the corner where so cheekily sat the rodent. Of course, we failed to produce a corpse, and indeed the sincerity of our endeavour was brought into question when three boys cast their literary missiles into different corners of the room.’ One teacher remembered by a great many OWs was the ‘delightful eccentric,’ Anthony Sebastian Crawley, known to all by his full name. He was well-known for ‘possibly the most beautiful speaking voice of anyone personally known to me; to hear him read the lesson in Chapel was an absolute joy!’ according to Jeremy Watkins (Blücher 1951-55). Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) described this as: ‘the most extreme of old-fashioned Oxford accents. “Anthony Sebastian Crawley.” Try saying that whilst yawning and trying to take chewing gum off your teeth with your tongue at the same time and you will probably get quite close.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) describes Crawley as ‘A tall, languid figure, a bachelor, had a vintage Rolls-Royce. Taught English, kept me interested.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) outlines a few more of his eccentricities: ‘Time in the First Block brought me under the wing of Anthony Sebastian Crawley, one of those who got by without going the extra mile. He had an obsession about how to treat books, taking care not to break the spine. He was also the man who first made me aware of looking to see the date on which a book was published and whether one was reading the first or the umpteenth edition. Most publishers provide this information, but there was one who never fulfilled their obligations to the satisfaction of ASC. I can see him now dismissing a whole book because of what it said about itself in the introductory pages. “Cassells again!” he said, snapping the book shut, his unforgiving verdict on the publisher confirmed. One was required to ‘tick’ all staff on passing them in the quads. Some always acknowledged, some never, but with Crawley one always had the prospect of hearing him say “Heigh ho!”’ Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55) reported ‘I had no time for, or empathy with, Anthony Sebastian Crawley and must have been the only boy who failed English Literature.’ Others, however, had better memories: ‘Anthony Sebastian Crawley, unforgettably, took me through O Level English Literature with the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales: “Wan that Aprile with his showres soote…”’ John Green (Talbot 1954-58) ‘Mr Crawley (“Anthony Sebastian,” spoken very drawlingly), introduced us to grown-up English, through the medium of The Spectator. For English Literature in the School Cert we had ‘done’ Paradise Lost and Hamlet. Well, Hamlet is not exactly modern, and Paradise Lost certainly isn’t, and while I’d read a bit of Arthur Bryant for history, my modern reading was virtually non-existent, though I was starting to read grown-up novels. So The Spectator got our minds starting to tick over – both in language and politics.’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950) Other teachers were also remembered for incorporating literature beyond the scope of the syllabus:‘In Upper 3A I flourished a little under “Tubby” Aglen, who introduced me to HH Munroe’s Saki stories. Although about twelve years ago I found in a file 100 lines written out in my fairy hand of James Ch 3 v 8 “but the tongue can no man tame, it is an unruly evil…” etc., which fitted on two lines of foolscap and was standard punishment meted out by Tubby for talking in a lesson. I must have had a good four or five of these and obviously did not hand this lot in, on the basis I would probably get another one again.’ Anonymous ‘My favourite subject was English Lit, very well taught especially by “Dip” Pearce, who not only got us interested in the set texts but expanded our interests way beyond them. We read Hay Fever in class while studying Julius Caesar!’ John Armstrong-MacDonnell (Talbot 1952-56) Several OWs remembered learning poetry by heart: ‘Dougie Young taught me English and French; I can still recite Adelstrop.’ Bryan Stevens (Blücher 1948-52) ‘In the Third Form, the master offered half a crown (or five shillings, I forget which) to any boy who could learn Robert Browning’s 140-line Hervé Riel poem by heart, and I was the only one who got the money.’ Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48) Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) enjoyed a different aspect of the subject: ‘I enjoyed English Literature, especially Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Middle English had an appeal in that you could get just enough of an idea to be lured into learning Middle English terms to complete one’s understanding of the text. The tales were also intriguing. I think it was well taught.’ One popular teacher was Peter Comber, described by Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) as ‘a typical example of a Wellington teacher who had served in the War. He had been a Chindit and served under Orde Wingate in Burma, fighting behind the lines and harassing the Japanese. He must have experienced an unbelievably savage war, but never spoke of it. He sought solace in Christianity. He was a kind man and popular with the boys.’ Neil Munro (Talbot 1952-56) also remembered him: ‘Peter Comber, an unassuming man who devoted much of a term in English to those two splendid Milton poems, L’Allegro and Il Penseroso, favourites ever since. I am something of a Hamlet freak, often taking a pocket edition with me wherever I go. This I attribute to a term with “Dog” Baker, not widely seen as particularly inspirational, but who by dint of making us act out the play in class, unlocked its extraordinary universality for me.’ These Milton poems must have been a staple of the syllabus, as others had less fond memories of them: ‘I recall the dullest lessons of my five years involved Philip Letts taking most of a term to drag us through Il Penseroso and L’Allegro… He managed to quash any lingering love of English poetry by dissecting them to a depth that I feel sure Milton never intended, before finding he barely had time for Lycidas. How far he was from leaving me with a yearning to read more.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) However, Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) had a better opinion of Mr Letts: ‘I have vivid memories of being taught Hamlet and Paradise Lost in a brisk and wholly realistic way by Philip Letts for School Certificate English. These books were beyond our capacity to comprehend and no doubt beyond his to expound to any depth, but he made us learn passages by heart in a jolly non-coercive way, helped us at least to follow the plot of Hamlet and to understand Milton’s cosmology by drawing maps of heaven and hell to illustrate the passage of the rebel angels, who fell “thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks of Vallombrosa.” At a more sophisticated level, I do remember some wonderful classes about poetry taught by, I think, Alan Ker, who later taught Classics at Cambridge. These fired in me an adolescent passion for Keats and Tennyson.’ One popular teacher was Mr Annand: ‘The best course I took was Romantic poetry from Mr. Annand.’ Tim Travers (Hopetoun 1952-56) ‘Annand was a nice man, who tried to teach me Ancient History and who once wrote memorably of one of my efforts: “This is more like a bird’s nest than an
Teachers: Maths and Sciences
Mathematics Sadly, Wellington Maths teachers of the 1940s seem to have been remembered more for their weaknesses or peculiarities than their teaching ability. The first of these, Mr Morris, had almost certainly been brought out of retirement to teach during the War, and his students naturally took full advantage: ‘Mr Morris for Maths in “Siberia.” He was small, pink, silver-haired, balding, neat, semi-blind, old and frightened. It seems he also lacked the sense of feeling. Approaching his desk from a flank, we would seek his interpretation of some piece of algebra contained in our text books. While he gave us his guidance, we would place small pieces of foolscap on his thinning pate. He felt nothing and eventually, when his crown was complete, we were so convulsed with laughter that he had to dismiss us.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) After the war another teacher, Major Roy, still felt its effects: ‘He had a glass eye. And the trick, when being taught by him, was to sit on the side of the classroom that was virtually invisible to him.’ Murray Glover (Anglesey 1947-51) ‘I studied Maths under Major “Hosh” Roy, who also ran the CCF. Sadly he had lost an eye, I believe in WW2, but he did not have his glass eye in. As is well known, schoolboys can be very unkind. We found that if the sun was shining from the right direction, one could use a protractor to flash it on his blind eye socket, which would then tickle him. However, if you were too slow when he moved his head and he saw what you were doing, it would inevitably lead to detention at the very least.’ Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54) Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-1955) recalled another unusual teacher: ‘One lesson a week for at least one year, was memorable. I forget what it was meant to be about but all that happened was that the usher, a Mr Lewis, read us a book, usually about the Sahara which he was interested in. We were not required to listen but were permitted to sleep. Curiously, we weren’t allowed to read though one did, covertly.’ A little research suggests that this was R H Lewis, a Maths teacher who went on to spend most of his career as an educator in Nigeria. However, most of those at Wellington in the 1950s had good memories of their Maths teachers, men who the students felt had worked hard and communicated their subjects well: ‘Gethin Hewan rendered calculus and trigonometry facile so that even a not very mathematically minded chap like me could comprehend. He was charismatic, hugely good looking, an incredible ball player and, I am sure, a captivating leader.’ David Nalder (Orange 1949-53) ‘Favourite subject by far: Maths, with “Bloss” Parkes.’ ‘Another master I appreciated was A Potter, whose method of teaching me Maths really clicked and turned Maths from a mystery to a cinch for me.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954-57) ‘Mr Borradaile laboured mightily to get me through O Level Maths, geometry, etc.’ Tim Travers (Hopetoun 1952-56) Several teachers received multiple plaudits, for example Mr Buckley: ‘Mr Buckley, who taught senior Maths, was a real father figure, a really lovely man. His strongest form of disapproval, and one that we tried hard to avoid, was to put the miscreant’s name on the side of his blackboard under the title “P P of D”, short for “Perishing Path of Defaulters”, where it would stay until redeemed.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘Buckley kindled my interest in Mathematics, as he did for many of my fellow students, with a gentle and humorous way of telling us we had the wrong answers; correct answers entered your name on the left-hand side of the blackboard as one of those on “The Primrose Path of Duty”- wrong ones went on the other side of the board only if they were really seriously wrong. Combined with simple and lucid explanations of the difficult bits, I can’t remember any of my fellow students who didn’t enjoy his classes and also hold him in high regard as a person.’ John Berger (Benson 1949-52) ‘For one brief lesson, I think, I was taken for Maths by Buckley. I could understand why he had a reputation as a brilliant teacher. I think he died shortly afterwards.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) Mr Evans’ perseverance with struggling students was remembered by several: ‘The outstanding teacher for me was “Nosey” Evans who got me through O Level Maths.’ Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55) ‘Somehow Evans got me through O Level Maths by one mark. I am still hopeless at it.’ Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) ‘Maths was a weak subject of mine and for a term or two I was moved to the “B side” for the subject. Mr Evans somehow managed to turn my worst subject into one in which to the surprise of many, not least myself, I even scraped an O-Level pass in something called Additional Maths.’ Neil Munro (Talbot 1952-56) Although at the end of his career he could appear somewhat distant: ‘Mr R G Evans, Senior Assistant Master and nearing the end of a long career at College, was noting down the results of a Maths test in his book. One boy announced a particularly poor score, and this was duly recorded. Mr Evans showed no emotion but began to turn back the pages of his book. Eventually he found what he was looking for and directed his gaze at the offending pupil. “Your father wasn’t very good at Maths either,” he said, and without further ado carried on recording the test results.’ Anonymous (1957-60) Likewise, Mr Macdermott was remembered for an idiosyncracy as well as his teaching ability: ‘I do remember my Maths teacher Macdermott who, while introducing us to the intricacies of calculus, was an expert shot with a piece of chalk to wake up any slackers.’ Robert Hirst (Picton 1955-59) ‘For Maths, dear old Mr Macdermott was without doubt a first class teacher who, in retrospect, had a very deep understanding of teenage boys and how to get the best out them. It was of note that the only A Level I achieved was that in Pure Mathematics.’ Jerry Yeoman (Anglesey 1955-59) ‘One valuable piece of advice I received from Mr Macdermott was “THINK BEFORE YOU WRITE!” I still have to say this to myself quite regularly!’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) And the Maths teacher who received most praise was James Wort: ‘My favourite subject was Maths, taught by James Wort who I thought was a good teacher.’ Anonymous (1951-56) ‘Jack Wort taught me Maths and I got 98% at O Level. I don’t know who was more surprised.’ ‘I admired Jack Wort greatly for he succeeded in coaching a very thick young Scottish boy into being able to pass the Army exam and join his father’s and grandfather’s regiment The Black Watch. I was extremely slow and often had an extra ten minutes with him of “private tue.” As the Army exam approached, he told our class, “Bearing in mind the examiner will be marking many papers in the day, try to interest him a bit with your paper. I will give you a tip, if asked for a diagram in algebra, geometry or even Maths, see if you can get out a red crayon or even other colours and illustrate your theory in colour – I bet it will cheer him up and you might get the benefit of the doubt in some cases!”’ Colin Innes (Combermere 1949-54) ‘James Wort stands out as the best of the few Maths teachers I had. He had a philosophy that whatever one was doing it was best to get it done quickly, because life had so much else to offer to which you could then devote your attention.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) Physics Like the Mathematics teachers, many in the Physics Department also seemed to have been affected by their war service – in some cases, the First World War: ‘My earliest form teacher was Mr Tancock, nicknamed Tin John owing (reputedly) to his buttocks having been shot off during the Great War and replaced by a Bakelite prosthesis. This was backed up by the claim that if you put a drawing pin on his seat he would not feel it. This claim was never put to the test. His teaching was forgettable, except for one morning when he brewed us mate tea.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) In fairness, the ownership of a ‘Bakelite bottom’ was attributed to a succession of Wellington teachers over the years, including German teacher Mr Braunholz, and later, Peter Comber. Perhaps we shall never know the truth. Another teacher affected by the war was Mr Strachan, who may well have been the Physics teacher described by Royer Ryall in the Academic Expectations section. John Green (Talbot 1954-58) wrote about ‘Rexie Strachan, whose nerves had been shattered by war, whom we would, meanly, shock by dropping books from height in his Physics class.’ Nevertheless, Michael Southwell (Orange 1955-60) recollected that ‘Mr Strachan (Physics and Maths) was very good.’ By contrast, Robert Moss was obviously accorded respect for his recent and interesting war service, and also for his teaching: ‘Bobby Moss for science and his talks about the sinking of the Bismarck when he was in a shadowing cruiser’s Ops Room.’ ‘Another highly respected usher was Mr Moss, a Physicist and Tutor of the Orange, who had been in the navy during the war and, it was said, as a radar whizz kid, had been the officer who located the Bismark after she had sunk HMS Hood.’ Anonymous Robert Moss, a holder of the Polar Medal and Royal Navy officer. He became my Tutor, mentor, and saviour.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) Chemistry Two Chemistry teachers stood out within our responses, both generating a large number of recollections. The first of these was B C L ‘Bertie’ Kemp: ‘Chemistry – B C L “Bertie’ Kemp – “Kempistry.” Experiments – clouds of smoke – “Hmmm…” from somewhere in the smoke cloud – reputed to have a strong right arm if one incurred his wrath sufficiently to merit a beating (I managed to avoid doing so).’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) ‘Bertie Kemp succeeded in all of us looking forward to his classes because he was adept at making chemicals spectacular – not least on Guy Fawkes Day. The most memorable November 5th for me (and my peers) was the one when he combined two very small amounts of chemical in a test tube while he explained that the reaction between them would take, as I remember it, some eight seconds and would be fairly violent, so he proposed to count to five and throw the test tube out of the door. He did – and it was. So violent indeed that it blew in most of the windows in our laboratory and some of those in several others.’ John Berger (Benson 1949-52) ‘B C L Kemp wrote Chemistry for Schools, the Chemistry text for the national high school curriculum. We were fortunate to have him as our Chemistry master.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘In one of his lessons where we had his Chemistry book as our text book, I recall he was describing some details when one boy put up his hand and said, referring to his book, “Sir, it says here…” He got no further; Mr Kemp came up to him, grabbed him by the ear and said, “My boy, do not refer to me as
Teachers: Classics and Languages
Like most other subjects, Latin was taught in a very traditional way, which in retrospect, some of our respondents felt had been unhelpful: ‘While we boys were turning to stone under a blizzard of datives and ablatives and the dreaded ablative absolute, poor old Caesar endlessly pitched camp having marched ten miles. We learnt nothing of the importance of Rome or the significance of Roman history to the present day, just grammar. I am distinguished by a Latin report which reads: “Ryall, Latin. This boy is an unclassical ass!” You hit the nail on the head, Mr Wright.’ Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) ‘The usher tried hard to teach us, tapping us on the head with a broken billiard cue when declining Latin verbs.’ Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52) In the 40s and early 50s, the senior Classics teacher at Wellington was Herbert ‘Titch’ Wright, a man who made a strong impression on many: ‘He ruled with the proverbial rod of iron and woe betide any boy who hadn’t done his prep or made some stupid mistake. A teacher of the old school, dealing in fear and not going out of his way to be liked.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘He was a master of grammar and syntax and made sure you learnt them.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54) ‘Titch was very tall and somewhat daunting, and his great cry was “Parse,” which was the cause of tears occasionally for those who failed.’ ‘Bobby’ Baddeley (Picton 1948-52) ‘In my first lesson with the 6 ft 2 in “Titch” Wright, he got down the register for the class, looked up to see who Berger was and said “Ah – I beat your father on his first day – I hope I don’t have to do the same to you.” I managed “So do I, Sir” in a very small voice and it seemed to pass muster.’ John Berger (Benson 1949-52) ‘Mr Wright made the fatal mistake of not explaining to me why we should all use the continental pronunciation of Latin instead of the (now clearly ridiculous) English pronunciation that I had grown up with, and for which he mocked and castigated me.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) Some had better memories, as Mr Wright introduced them to a lighter side of the Classics: ‘He delighted us with silly classical puns and risqué homophones … in the pronunciation we were taught, “At least having heard” in Greek sounded just like “He kissed a cow’s arse.”’ Murray Glover (Anglesey 1947-51) ‘H S Wright was taking us as a stand-in – he certainly wasn’t our regular teacher – and he introduced us to a piece of macaronic verse – the Bankolidaiad, which even then I thought very funny, and still do today; I now appreciate not only how funny it is, but how clever it is, both in the content and in its Latin versification (I can, in fact, recite most of it from memory still)’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950) Other Classics teachers included ‘Archie’ Seaton, ‘with a talent for acting in revue’, and according to Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘a strange cove… he always asked for marks to be given to him in Latin. “Mihi numeros date,” he would say. It was the same when we were being taught Greek – the request still came in Latin.’ And subsequent 8th Master of Wellington, ‘Gus’ Stainforth: ‘I hated the subject, could arouse no love for the Romans and had no wish to learn their language… Gus Stainforth ruled his classes with a somewhat dry insistence on accuracy and dedication to his beloved Latin tongue. There was little if any humour in his style of teaching. Most of us were frightened to various extents by the threat of having to stand up and show our ignorance in front of the class. I don’t think that Stainforth set out to humiliate boys, he just had very high standards which he was determined should not be sullied by sloppy work.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) Alan Ker, by contrast, seemed much more popular: ‘During my whole school career, I hated all my Latin teachers except for the very first at my prep school and the very last, Mr Ker at Wellington, who, with private tuition after my fourth failure to pass the School Certificate exam, managed to achieve success with me at the fifth attempt.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘Alan Ker taught the Classical Sixth. He was a don rather than a schoolmaster… His teaching of Horace and Vergil gave me a real love of their poetry. Also, in the summer, he would sometimes take us down to the garden of his house on Back Drive and we would read Homer under the cherry tree. We would also enact impromptu scenes from Greek plays on Rockies. He was a great English teacher too, and introduced us to some of his favourite authors, among them A E Housman, E M Forster and the South African poet Roy Campbell.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54) ‘Alan Ker, an ex-Brasenose don, was an inspiring teacher. Once a week, he would take a group of us for extra tuition in his house down Back Drive, sometimes including some really disgusting Martial epigrams … huge fun. His wife brought us cocoa; I don’t think she realised what we were up to.’ Murray Glover (Anglesey 1947-51) ‘My principal Classics teacher in the Lower Sixth was Alan Ker, the most donnish of those on the staff at Wellington. He seemed incapable of believing that those he was teaching could make mistakes that might be classified as howlers. Instead, he searched his mind for what the pupil might have been trying to say. It could be a flattering way out after a crass error.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) Not as intellectual, but equally liked, was Mr Aglen: ‘‘Fatty’ Aglen attempted to teach me Latin – remarkably patient with my lazy and uninterested approach to the subject.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) ‘Most of the teachers were critical of my effort and scathing of my ability, with the exception of Mr Aglen, who alone made the subject (Latin) interesting to me. No-one else inspired or encouraged me…’ Anthony Collett (Combermere 1953-58) ‘Tubby Aglen, who taught me Latin, and one of whose lessons followed PE, from which we were always let out late. This regularly resulted in 100 lines – ‘Better late than never, better never late!’ I arrived late for one of his lessons, and handed over my previously-prepared lines the instant the words passed his lips. I always thought that the resultant multiplication of lines was rather unjust.’ Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59) ‘Aglen strove to keep control of his classes and just about succeeded… I well recall the time when the school was subjected to an inspection. Aglen was instantly transformed into a nervous mumbling schoolboy who had not really done his prep. We were studying some verse by Horace or Ovid – whichever of the two it was, Aglen muddled them up. “So what Horace is trying to say here…?” he intoned, as we all knew he should have been saying Ovid. So far from tipping him the wink, we let him plough on getting ever deeper into the mire. Years later, I recalled the moment with dear Aglen who remembered it vividly and said, “And you all sat there with no-one helping me out!” Very true!’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) In the later 1950s, some encountered George Macmillan, ‘blessed with a perfect memory which enabled him to teach and correct translations without being able to read owing to a congenital eye condition. George took me on my first and memorable visit to Greece in 1957…’ Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57) ‘When uncertain of anything, Sandy Entwisle would say he would consult the oracle. That meant the much more brilliant George Macmillan.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) French and German As with Latin, some Wellingtonians felt that the teaching of Modern Languages was rather dry: ‘Language teaching dwelt relentlessly on grammar: the present tense, the past tense, the future tense, the pluperfect and the dreaded subjunctive, and at the end of all this we were unable to speal a word of it.’ Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) Those at Wellington in the 1940s did have the advantage of being taught by native speakers, but may not have really appreciated it: ‘M. Noblet was a Frenchman who taught us his native language. He struck us as a sad old gentleman. He had left his wife in occupied France, and suffered from shellshock from his service in the Great War. Perhaps to alleviate these troubles, he almost certainly drank too much. We, insensible rabble, played on his shortcomings, adding to his miseries. Nevertheless, he taught French well. He had written a book of French vocabulary, which consisted of each page given to words connected to some specific place or action – for instance, the kitchen, the drawing room, the railway station, the shop, etc. Our prep was usually to learn the words on a single page. By this means, I found that I acquired quite a good working vocabulary, so then with a basic knowledge of French grammar, I was able to carry out a conversation.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) ‘Monsieur Albert Noblet, Legion d’Honneur, our French master, a Laureate of the Academie Francaise, who was wont to drown his sorrows in whisky after school at The Wellington Arms. The boys invented a game as to how far away they could smell his approach, and sometimes locked him out of the form room. One of his favourite expressions in class was “You are a lounge lizard – lean off that wall!”’ Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48) ‘Our German master, Mr Braunholz, was a pleasant elderly, but vulnerable, man whose nickname was “Bakelite Bottom” on the grounds that he could and would sit on upturned drawing pins with no apparent discomfort or even realisation of their presence. Very unkindly, we would resort to other annoying activity. One concerned the spring door-shutting device, the strength of which was adjustable. Slowly, day by day, we made it very slightly harder for him to open until finally he had to put his shoulder to it. At that point we turned it off altogether and he came bursting in knocking his desk over on the other side of the room. It was his nature not to ask who was responsible.’ Anonymous ‘On one memorable occasion the boys put tin-tacks on Mr Braunholz’s chair. He came in and sat down quite unconcerned. When the boys began giggling, he told them that it was quite all right as his backside had been blown off in the Great War and he had a tin one… This may well have been true, as he joined the staff at Wellington in 1918.’ Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48) ‘To Mr Braunholz’s French class. Entry proved impossible. Yet again, his key could not unlock the door. We waited about, joshing. Arrived a carpenter from the Works Department, removing the blockage, normally chewed paper or gum, inserted by one of us in strict rotation the night before, he threw open the door and we filed in for the few remaining minutes of our lesson.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) ‘Our teacher in German, Mr Braunholz… We once dressed up as College workmen and removed all his furniture while he was in the middle of a lesson. However, he must have been of some good, because I went on to become an unofficial interpreter to my Colonel in my regiment in Germany.’ Richard Godfrey-Faussett
Spare time
How much spare time? Many OWs felt that they had not had much spare time at Wellington, explaining that most time outside the classroom was taken up by sport, runs, choir practice, prep, land-work and so on. John Le Mare (Stanley 1950-55) commented that ‘I think our daily life was intentionally organized so we did not have too much free time,’ and Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) considered ‘Each day was undoubtedly organised to make this a scarce commodity, except at weekends. As Saturday games were compulsory, only Sunday provided available free time. Even this was regulated.’ Several others enlarged on this latter point. Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) wrote that ‘On Sunday afternoons, we had to be out of the House for a couple of hours, unless it was raining really hard,’ and John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) agreed: ‘On Saturday, and Sunday afternoons we had to be out of the College buildings and took lots of walks and long bicycle rides.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) summed it up best: ‘There was very little spare time during the week, but after Saturday lunchtime there was almost too much of it. Crowthorne was a dull little hamlet, and we were forbidden to visit any town within a certain radius of the College. At the time I was frequently bored, particularly on Sunday.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) agreed: ‘Shopping centres were the WH Smith bookshop and the Post Office in Lower Crowthorne, and the occasional walk up to Upper Crow for supplies, but there was little to attract in what was an out-of-the-way village on the verge of Windsor Forest. Local pubs, like the Waterloo opposite the Talbot, were firmly closed to us. It was an age when we were thrown on our own resources for entertainment.’ Overall, many felt that this balanced out to give ‘adequate’ free time, or as Thomas Collett-White (Picton 1950-55) put it, ‘spare time in spasms.’ George Nicholson (Hardinge 1949-54) considered that there had been ‘too much spare time,’, while an anonymous OW enlarged ‘rather too much spare time, I think, or more specifically not enough guidance on how to use it.’ Nick Harding (Combermere 1951-1955) remembered being ‘very bored a lot of the time.’ Simple pastimes At some stage, all Wellingtonians indulged in simple pastimes, such as reading: ‘If I wasn’t doing schoolwork, then I read – I was a voracious reader – I used to go down to the WH Smith’s shop near the railway station, and during my time in college I bought several of P G Wodehouse’s novels – I still have them: Jill the Reckless and Eggs, Beans and Crumpets, to name but two. They cost five shillings for a hardback (other than Penguins, there were no paperbacks then: they started to come in generally in about 1952-3). And I used the College Library on South Front… What I did there was to work my way through the complete run of bound volumes of Punch, from 1841 to 1948; and also the Illustrated London News and the Graphic – so I learned quite a lot of Victorian social and imperial history, and the same for the first half of the 20th century.’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950) Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52) also considered the Library ‘a place of refuge,’ and Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) wrote ‘I spent unforgettable hours in the fine Library, and can list a score or more books from its shelves which made a lasting impression on me. I also spent many a Sunday afternoon in bad weather browsing through the huge set of leather-bound copies of the Illustrated London News housed in Great School.’ ‘I very much enjoyed going to Great School, which was centrally heated in Winter, and reading the magnificent leather-bound copies of Illustrated London News.’ Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55) ‘I read novels, not of the first rank. I don’t remember the opening of Great School, but once it was opened, I regularly went there to read the newspapers.’ Charles Wade (Lynedoch 1947-50) ‘I read almost anything, as long as it was not connected to schoolwork.’ Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58) Other indoor hobbies included making model boats or planes, or stamp-collecting, and Dick Barton (Lynedoch 1938-42) recalled an ‘odd phase of knitting.’ However, many preferred to spend their free time outdoors. Tim Shoosmith (Blücher 1953-57) considered that ‘the best time!’ was ‘walking, chatting to my close friends,’ and many others mentioned walking within the College grounds, or further afield: ‘On Saturday evenings in the winter months, I sometimes went for a walk with a friend outside College; this was not allowed and we were lucky not to have been caught.’ Charles Wade (Lynedoch 1947-50) Older boys and those with special responsibilities were allowed bicycles, which opened up the possibility of longer journeys: ‘When in the General Sixth (successor to the old Army Sixth – referred to by some as the “Bicycle Sixth” as Sixth Formers had the same bicycle privileges as Dormitory Prefects), I used to spend quite a lot of time cycling round Berkshire or visiting Camberley – with one’s Tutor’s permission of course – sometimes with a friend, sometimes on my own.’ Charles Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55) ‘Marston [Tutor] also allowed me to keep a bike as I was not C of E and attended Sunday School in Camberley, which gave me some sense of freedom at weekends. I chafed a bit at Wellington’s confining rules of not being allowed off the College grounds and longed to escape them. I was reading a lot about WW2 at the time and imagined being in a POW camp.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954-57) A lucky few had parents or other relatives who lived close enough to be visited by bicycle at weekends, which provided a welcome change from the atmosphere of College. Fishing, shooting and other outdoor interests Several enjoyed the traditional outdoor pursuit of fishing: ‘Spare time was often spent walking, cycling or coarse fishing on the College Lake. I actually used a bamboo, piece of cast and a proper hook which I borrowed from Father; I caught some nice perch up to a pound but put them back.’ Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53)‘James Wort, our Tutor, allowed two of us to go fishing in local streams in the summer between morning and evening Chapel. We ranged as far as the River Hart.’ Richard Buckley (Combermere 1941-45) ‘A happier moment in those early days was turning out to watch my friend Nigell D`Oyly, a fine fisherman, casting a fly on to a handkerchief forty yards away.’ Peter Cullinan (Benson 1948-52) While a few were able to indulge in shooting: ‘What is interesting to note is that there was the possibility for two boys to have shotguns in order to keep the squirrel population under control. My friend, Bill Robertson, and I were used to rough shooting together during the holidays on farms and game shooting. R G Evans was the Tutor whose responsibility it was to approve us as being safe to wander the grounds with our guns in the early mornings before breakfast. We shot many squirrels, and we were able to claim two shillings and six pence per squirrel tail if they were sent to the pest office as proof.’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953-57) ‘The College gun was a 12-bore shotgun and was kept in the office of the Head Porter, Mr Price, at the main gate. There were boys at Wellington who had grown up on farms or estates, or overseas, who had been familiar with the use of guns from an early age. There was some sort of registration system, and boys had to be approved to use the gun. On light summer mornings, loud bangs could be heard in the grounds as various denizens met their ends.’ Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) And William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) remembered that ‘As a member of the Beagling Society, on Saturday afternoons during the season, when meets were within bicycling range, I used to go out with the Farley Hill Beagles.’ Some of those in the Houses had the opportunity to take up gardening: ‘During our last summer in 1953, my contemporaries and I took up the tarmac of the little yard behind the Stanley, where we constructed a fine garden, with lawn, flowerbeds, trellis and pond. We called it “Toll” garden – I fancy the House seniors were known as “Toll” for some forgotten reason. Titch Wright strongly approved of this operation, believing correctly that it kept us out of mischief.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘Mr Horsley encouraged some of us to try gardening in part of his garden, where we were allotted a small area of ground. I found this to be a pleasant pastime, which probably accounts for my love of gardening, especially if the product is edible!’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) Sports Some sport at Wellington was of course compulsory, but enthusiasts spent much of their free time training or playing sport with friends: ‘Much of my spare time was spent in the nets or on the squash, fives or tennis courts.’ John Watson (Benson 1946-51) ‘We played soccer, House yard hockey, swam in the outdoor pool, fencing.’ John Ormrod (Stanley 1946-50) ‘I used much of my spare time for extra sport. After the obligatory afternoon games, such as rugby, hockey etc., I opted to do athletics training, including weight training in the gym for shotput and discus conditioning, or would play a game of Eton or Rugby fives with friends.’ Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) ‘Shooting was my favourite pastime as not only did it get me away from school (Bisley, Sandhurst etc.) but I was also allowed a bicycle to reach these venues.’ Michael Trevor-Barnston (Anglesey 1957-60) The Talbot had its own special sport. John Green (Talbot 1954-58) explained ‘we had a gravelled quadrangle, where “Quad Hockey” could be played, a tennis court and, in the summer, we played bowls on the House Tutor’s lawn.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) likewise mentioned ‘dangerous games of hockey on the gravel court.’ The Talbot’s proximity to the lake was also significant, as both recalled the ’exciting ice hockey on the lake.’ Another Talbot denizen, Stuart Dowding (Talbot 1957-61) wrote: ‘In January and February, we would often skate on the lake, which froze enough to allow fifty or so boys on at once. No Health and Safety rules, and if we fell through we just got cold and wet. Skates in my case were skates screwed on to my Corps boots.’ While in the summer, there was swimming: ‘A great asset was the substantially sized [outdoor] swimming pool. This started pretty cold but gradually warmed up as the season progressed. We could not avoid being invigorated by the initial plunge into sub-zero water. However, in the warmth of the summer months it came into its own with inter-House competitions. My average swimming skill was enhanced by a skill I found I unknowingly had for picking up plates which, for some reason, I was able to come up with the complete set without bursting my lungs.’ Colin Mattingley (Talbot 1952-56) ‘Other pastimes included a love of swimming, but the English climate sorely tested this. I remember getting so hypothermic that it would take me several hours to stop shivering.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954-57) Journalism Some took advantage of the plethora of dormitory magazines to develop skills of writing, drawing or editing: ‘I contributed to a dormitory magazine. Not one of your typed and photocopied productions – the typewriter had not yet reached our age group – and all contributions were
Visits, VIPs and Royalty
The visit of Field Marshal Montgomery Visiting speakers were not unusual at Wellington – the visit of John Betjeman is mentioned on the ‘Spare Time’ page – but one visitor was mentioned in more detail than any other by our respondents. This was Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery. That ‘Monty’ should arouse strong interest is not surprising – at the time he was a nationally-known and very popular figure. On the other hand, he was an Old Pauline, and rivalry between Wellington and St Paul’s had only increased when the latter school evacuated to Easthampstead Park during the War, sharing some of Wellington’s facilities. This occasioned ‘Monty’s first visit, described by Peter Bell (Blucher 1943-48) in a letter home in November 1944: ‘There was enormous excitement recently when Montgomery came down to College. He arrived in just about the poshest car I’ve ever seen in my life, a huge Rolls Royce covered all over with Union Jacks and badges etc. He was accompanied by lots of his aides and staff officers. He went into the PT Palace to watch the boxing, St Paul’s (his old school) v the RAC pre-OCTU. I got a wonderful view just opposite him…’ A year or two later, while St Paul’s was still in residence, he made another visit: ‘Shortly after the war, St Paul’s invited Field Marshal Montgomery, an Old Pauline, to give a lecture in our gym. Wellington Prefects were also invited. We were rather resentful. It was OUR gym, not theirs. All I remember of his speech was that he repeated everything three times. We were an arrogant lot!’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) also witnessed this event, from outside the gym: ‘The announcement that Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery of Alamein was to talk to St Paul’s in the Wellington gym went down like a ton of bricks, and was regarded by us boys as a major insult. Not only did he have a reputation amongst our age group for pomposity, but, even worse, he was a Pauline! Accordingly, our Prefects were determined to make sure he did not feel welcome within Wellington surroundings. A large group of boys were told to assemble outside the gym while Montogomery was talking to the Paulines inside, and his official car, with a large notice saying ‘PRIORITY’ mounted on its roof, waited on the other side of the road. Eventually Montgomery emerged from the Gym and, seeing the large group below him, stopped and stood upright in anticipation of acknowledging a large round of applause. Silence Not even a shuffle. Absolute silence. Clearly angered, Montgomery rapidly descended the steps and strode across the road to his car which was immediately driven away.’ As Christopher continues, this less-than-friendly reception resulted in another visit, in November 1946: ‘Instead of being severely reprimanded for our appalling behaviour, we were told that Montgomery wished to speak to the whole school in Old Hall. It was also made clear that no indication of disrespect would be tolerated. In due course the whole College was assembled, and as Montgomery entered the Hall we all stood as one would expect. Though in fact, none of us was sure quite what to expect. Montgomery started with a short opening statement. I cannot even remember what he said but, whatever it was, it immediately drew our whole attention. From then on, we were all glued to our seats, spellbound and following every word. At the end we all rose in spontaneous and absolutely genuine applause. It was clear that we had experienced something almost unique, and been completely won over by an incredible man-manager and really outstanding leader. Never since have I come across any other senior officer who even approached his calibre in this respect.’ Although this clearly made a lasting impression on Christopher, his contemporary John Ormrod (Stanley 1946-50) remembered the occasion for a different reason: ‘The only visit I remember was when Field Marshal Montgomery came and spoke to the whole school, and asked the Master to give us an extra half day!’ The opening of Great School A far more regular visitor was Field Marshal Claude Auchinleck, an Old Wellingtonian with outstanding loyalty to his old school. As the highest-ranking OW of the time, he was the natural choice to be guest of honour when the refurbished Great School was opened as a War Memorial and Reading Room in 1949. ‘Bobby’ Baddeley (Picton 1948-52) described this as ‘an historic event, with Field Marshal Auchinleck.’ Others mentioned it too: ‘I remember the opening of Great School, which I thought had been restored with excellent good taste in those austere times.’ ‘The visit by Field Marshal Auchinleck was an event I do remember. I was honoured to be appointed his runner and spent the whole day with him, an amazing experience.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) The funeral of King George VI The death of the king in February 1952 came as a shock and a sadness to Wellingtonians, as described on the ‘World Events’ page. It swiftly led to an event much closer to home: the king’s burial at Windsor, in which members of the Wellington College Combined Cadet Force were invited to take part. ‘A few days later we heard that the Wellington CCF was one of those chosen for the honour of lining part of the route of the funeral procession, in our case the Long Walk up to Windsor Castle. Time was short and almost all schoolwork ceased for a week for those of us in the Corps, whilst we prepared with endless drill practices, lining the Kilometre at College under the supervision of some formidable NCO instructors from Sandhurst. We had to learn that most complicated drill movement “Rest on your Arms Reversed,” only performed at funerals; it involved slowly lowering your .303 rifle so that the muzzle rested on your left boot, with your hand folded on the butt and head lowered.’ Tim Thompson (Lynedoch 1950-54) ‘We were invited, along with Eton, as the two local schools with royal foundation. The invitation was welcomed in the school as a show of respect for a popular and dutiful monarch. The affair involved nearly two weeks of morning drill training on the Kilometre by fierce Guards sergeants from Sandhurst, teaching us how to “Rest on your Arms Reversed” – quite an experience.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘We were drilled by the fearsome RSM Brittain of the Coldstream Guards; an imposing figure (to say the least) with a voice that sounded as if it could shatter glass at 50 paces!!’ ‘Our instructor on South Front was none other than the famous RSM Brittain of Mons Officer Cadet School, popularly known as The Voice.’ Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54) ‘I recall being drilled hard for two or three days by the famous RSM Brittain…’ Christopher Capron (Benson 1949-54) ‘We had to be drill-perfect, and spent hours in uniform lining the Kilometre at College, being drilled by regular drill NCOs under the supervision of the Army’s two senior RSMs – Jackie Lord from Sandhurst and Tibby Britain from Mons OCS. Since they both thought they were the best, they used to stride up and down beside each other without speaking. A new drill was to learn how to “Rest on your Arms Reversed” as the coffin went past.’ Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53) ‘The Royal Navy section was trained by Chief Gunnery Instructor Jones from HMS Excellent. RSM Brittain from Sandhurst masterminded the dress rehearsal when we lined the route on the Kilometre. We were dressed as seamen, with Naval greatcoats.’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) At last, the great day arrived. The route liners had to be in position for several hours before the procession passed: ‘We were necessarily there for some time and nature called, so our CO, Colonel Roy, ordered us to ground arms, about turn and march into the rhododendrons behind.’ Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53) When the cortege actually went past, some of the Wellington contingent managed to obey their orders better than others: ‘The eyes are down for “Rest on your Arms Reversed,” so I have little visual memory of the cortege. I have a vivid memory of the sounds – the crunch of 150 sailors’ boots drawing the gun carriage, the remorseless grind of the gun carriage wheels, the haunting sound of “Over the sea to Skye” as a slow march.’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) ‘Our view of that most impressive procession was rather restricted with bowed head; as the gun carriage approached, drawn by a contingent of the Royal Navy, we presented arms and the coffin passed, followed by a closed carriage bearing the Queen with her mother and sister, totally in black and heavily veiled. Then back to Arms Reversed while male members of the royal family and many foreign dignitaries processed past on their way to St George’s Chapel.’ Tim Thompson (Lynedoch 1950-54) ‘Despite being ordered to keep our heads bowed, I managed to peep at the world’s royalty and other VIPs marching past.’ ‘We were enjoined not to raise our heads as the sombre cortege passed us, but I could not resist a peek, and found myself facing the stern gaze of the Duke of Windsor, on his only visit to England since his abdication in 1936.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) But all felt that it was an honour to take part: ‘I must say I recall feeling rather proud and privileged to be involved, albeit in a very minor way, in what was, after all, an important state occasion.’ Jeremy Watkins (Blucher 1951-55) ‘What a very memorable day for the fifteen-year-old Thompson and his colleagues!’ The visit of Her Majesty the Queen Mother In November the same year, the King’s widow, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, paid a visit to Wellington, an event remembered by many: ‘We also had one visit from the Queen Mother, whom everybody liked, as everybody at Wellington was very pro-royal in those days.’ Anonymous ‘I remember one royal visit, the Queen Mum. I “willed” her to stop and chat to me, and she DID! I felt like curtseying!’ The official purpose of the visit was the dedication of the new Hugh Easton windows in the Chapel Apse, replacing those damaged and removed during the War. However, Wellingtonians attributed a variety of other reasons to the occasion: ‘Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother attended College Chapel to thank us for our part in her husband’s funeral. She sat in the Master’s stall and watched each of us as we left the service: amazing blue eyes.’ ‘One of my last memories of my time at Wellington was when the Queen Mother visited us in November 1952, marking the centenary of the death of the Duke of Wellington in 1852. How proud I was to be at the “top of the tree” with my close friend John Previte to welcome Her Majesty.’ Bryan Stevens (Blucher 1948-52) ‘We all received instructions on how to address the Queen Mother, should she speak to any of us. In retrospect, this was probably a recce to see if Wellington was suitable for Prince Charles. It presumably wasn’t!’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) According to the report in the Wellingtonian, ‘Finally, the Queen Mother drove slowly down the Rhododendron Drive, whose sides were packed with boys of Wellington College…’ However, David Nalder (Orange 1949-53) described this memorable sight as: ‘the Queen Mother bowling along Rhododendron Drive in her Daimler after a visit.’ The Coronation The death of the king was, of course, followed a year later by the coronation of his daughter as Queen
Snacks, Treats & Grubbies
‘Swipes’, brew-ups and tuck boxes ‘Swipes’ is a peculiarly Wellingtonian phrase, and one known to generations. Originating as a supper of bread, cheese and small beer, it takes its name from a 19th century term for poor-quality or stale beer. By the 1940s, ‘swipes’ was firmly established as a daily ration of bread, margarine and jam, which was collected from the kitchens and taken back to the dormitories, there to be toasted by means of various ingenious contraptions. ‘We had “swipes” (bread and marge) to take back to the dormitory, to fill any gaps, providing there was enough bread to toast for prefects at breakfast!’ Anonymous (1951-56) “I remember “swipes” being brought up to the dorm at 9 o’clock each evening – sliced bread with some sort of spread, and milk which I would use to make chicken noodle soup from a packet… there was a gas ring outside the dorm on the stairwell. Salubrious?’ Vernon Phillips (Murray 1951-54) ‘The toast fag made toast over crossed wires in an old biscuit tin over a single gas ring.’ ‘”Swipes” (a bin of bread, margarine and jam) would be delivered to the end of the dormitory corridor each evening, but in the early years there was little chance of getting one’s teeth into any of it. My mother claimed that a PS to my weekly letter home once read “Please send some bread, however stale.”’ Ross Mallock (Murray 1954-59) And one anonymous student (1950-54) remembered an additional ration: ‘In the evenings, before bedtime, a fag could be sent to the kitchens to collect a lidded pail of thick, brown soup which was always exactly the same and which was nice and warming on a cold evening.’ Most students received from home, or were able to buy, simple tinned foods with which they supplemented their ‘swipes’ and elevated them to the level of a ‘brew-up’ by means of the dormitory’s solitary gas ring. Baked beans, powdered eggs, and sometimes Spam seem to have been favourites here. ‘The gas brew-ring was popular for preparing extra rations and must have heated up many tins of baked beans per term.’ John Watson (Benson 1946-51) ‘We also used to brew up omelettes made from powdered egg on a gas-ring just outside the dormitory.’ Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) ‘On a Sunday afternoon, we were allowed to use a gas ring, and in my case I made porridge and ate it with black treacle.’ John Ormrod (Stanley 1946-50) ‘Hall meals were supplemented with tins of baked beans brought from home and toasted “swipes” bread, thanks to the dormitory brew ring. One budding chef wanted to see what would happen if the tin were not punched as per the instructions. The resulting explosion was most satisfactory, but there was an awful lot of cleaning up!’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) ‘Each dormitory had a solitary gas ring outside its doors, at the head of its staircase. Black with the congealed fat of ages, it was a temperamental as well as unhygienic device, but it served to brew watery, powdered-milk cocoa and occasionally a powdered egg scramble, sometimes with beans in brine on the side. Fags were employed to scrape out the burnt saucepans which our culinary efforts usually produced.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) ‘The custom was to “brew” with friends on Saturday evenings on a small gas ring in a brew room downstairs. Baked beans, spaghetti, fried eggs, sausages and fried bread were the main staples.’ ‘Baked beans and Spam became a favourite of mine.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) ‘Cheese toasties cooked in a clamp over a gas ring were a regular snack between meals and there were experiments with ginger beer, which eventually blew up despite strict supervision.’ Adrian Stephenson (Talbot 1957-61) ‘I used to have Bird’s custard to cook or a haggis sent from Scotland. Some cooked condensed milk to make a sort of fudge as a sweet.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54) ‘Food OK, but not enough, so a couple of us regularly bought a sack of oats from the kitchen which we ate in the evening.’ Tim Travers (Hopetoun 1952-56) Some even foraged to supplement their diet. Charles Enderby (Picton 1953-57) wrote: ‘In summer, I would collect moorhens’ eggs from the Blackwater and eat them hardboiled.’ Sometimes the cooking initiatives were carried outside the dormitory: ‘I do remember one exceptionally cold winter when oil-fired stoves were set up in the laboratory where we were learning Physics. A couple of us brought tins of baked beans into class and heated them up on the stoves. We then managed to consume them while our teacher had turned round to write on the blackboard.’ Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951-56) As mentioned, many relied on foodstuffs sent from home for the ingredients for their brew-ups. Most had a lockable tuck box, which would be brought to College full at the beginning of each term. All too soon, its contents would be finished. How frequently they might be topped up by parcels from home depended on the generosity and, in some cases, the financial status of each boy’s parents, not to mention availability due to rationing. However, little luxuries were often shared with those less fortunate. ‘My salvation was the tuck box which my mother filled for me at the start of a term. That kept me going for half a term – thereafter I bought snacks from Grubbies.’ John Hornibrook (Murray 1942-46) “I used to be sent back with a 48 pack of Penguin or something similar that might last three weeks.’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘My mother also sent me by post a weekly sponge cake that was ordered from a supplier as I was always hungry.’ ‘I mentioned to my parents about always being hungry, so my mother arranged with her butcher to send me packages of bacon every week, which I could fry up on the gas ring in dormitory. This worked well until one summer I opened the package to find a wriggling mass of maggots. My bacon subscription was cancelled for the rest of that term.’ Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954-57) ‘I received a weekly parcel from the Army and Navy Stores in London; a packet of bacon, butter, sausages, and savoury biscuits. This made me very popular!’ William Young (Anglesey 1954-58) ‘Most tuck boxes were empty after the first week, and any subsequent replenishment was welcomed as much by friends as by the recipient since, by custom, he was bound to share it. Some boys returned to school with tins of orange marmalade, peanut butter, and even Spam.’ Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) ‘We shared occasional luxuries (I recall my grandmother once sending me a parcel of Bath buns!) One high point was the occasional arrival of a food parcel sent by a sister school in New Zealand. Lots were drawn across the house for the contents, one could be lucky enough to win a tin of meat or even butter.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) Grubbies A Wellington institution, Grubbies was fondly remembered by almost all our respondents as a rare source of edible treats, as well as a congenial place to relax with friends. Only a handful stated that they seldom or rarely visited. Those at College in the 40s remember how sweet rationing was handled: “We had coupons for 12 oz of sweets a month, 4 oz one week and only 2oz the next.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) ‘Initially, it was a matter of going there to use our sweet coupons, and thanks to our parents there was money in our accounts there, so that cash was not needed. I remember well when rationing ended, sometime in 1953, I think, and we could buy extra sweets – no doubt boosting tooth decay in the young population!’ Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56) ‘In February 1953, sweets came off the ration. For the previous 10 years, the allowance had been 12 oz per person per month, which at Wellington we claimed with coupons, which were highly negotiable currency, and were issued at the beginning of each term. When rationing ended, Grubbies was overwhelmed.’ Anonymous Most boys seemed to have visited Grubbies around once a week – more if they could afford it, but most could not. As Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46) commented ‘It was usually our pockets, not rationing, that limited our custom at Grubbies.’ He explained that pocket money was deposited with Tutors at the beginning of each term, and ‘only on his authority could it be withdrawn. For this purpose, we concocted fanciful and barely plausible needs. A few were believed.’ ‘I was on short pocket money as my dad knew I would just spend it, and I applied the same for my son forty years later.’ Not surprisingly, many OWs could recall the exact amount of their pocket money, and how far it went: ‘Even a few years after the war, ice-creams were a luxury and our weekly pocket money was one shilling! Not much even in those days. My father used to give us ten shillings and that would last a term.’ Bertram Rope (Picton 1949-54) ‘Our one shilling a week pocket money barely covered a single ice-cream. Still, that was a treat. The pocket money limit was rigorously enforced, and with hindsight I feel this was an excellent rule. I had no idea about the financial background of any of my friends and others…’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘My parents gave me £20 each term that was deposited at Grubbies, and each time I purchased something a chit was raised to cover payment against my account. £20 on top of the school fees was significant in those days, but I still had to ask my parents for a top up each term.’ Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953-57) ‘I ate mainly ice-cream, pink ones most of the time. I think they cost 4d each. I know my money didn’t stretch as far as I would have wished, and how grateful I was for a ten bob note to swell resources in my first term. My great aunt used to take me out and once gave me half a crown. This was real money, seven ice-creams!’ Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56) ‘My passion was McVities chocolate digestive biscuits – and they still are!! In those days I found it difficult to avoid eating a whole packet in one sitting! Those biscuits were quite expensive – 12½ old pence a pack. As proof of my regularity at Grubbies, I feature in the London Illustrated News article on Wellington in 1958!’ John Alexander (Talbot 1954-58) ‘For sixpence, you could get a pie and a coke. But the weekly pocket money was only sixpence, so it was a rare but wonderful experience.’ Because of the perceived expense, Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52) recalled that ‘there was a custom that you paid for what you ate and did not expect to be treated by a friend.’ Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52) remembered ‘Once, on an unexpectedly hot day, Mr Allen gave the boys 2/6d to buy extra ice-cream.’ The bill of fare At different times, Grubbies seems to have sold a remarkable variety of foodstuffs, but some were mentioned again and again. During the war, hungry boys bought bread to fill them up: ‘Grubbies kept us going on bread rolls.’ David Simonds (Orange 1941-46) ‘In particular I remember the newly-baked rolls with a Spam filling. Loaves of bread were also available (bread was not rationed till after the war). We used to buy a complete loaf and eat it as we made our way back
World Events
Aware or unaware? Many OWs reported that they had not been particularly aware of world events during their Wellington years: ‘During my earlier years we did not pay too much attention to current affairs – too busy just surviving all the pressures put upon us.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) ‘I think we were rather insulated from outside events.’ Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52) ‘At that time my focus was entirely domestic: survival, food, and College life.’ Anonymous ‘I wasn’t aware of any world events. I was very uncritical and accepted everything without concern.’ Michael Hedgecoe (Combermere 1951-54) ‘World events meant nothing to me.’ ‘I cannot really remember being impinged by world affairs, which is a sad reflection upon me and, to some extent, College.’ Stuart Dowding (Talbot 1957-61) Some did recall certain events which made an impact, but said that these had still felt rather distant: ‘Despite the tensions of Cold War confrontation, we were somewhat insulated from world affairs. We took it for granted that Britain still had a significant part to play in world security and a colonial empire to defend; large areas of the globes in our geography lessons were, after all, coloured red. There was little interest in the countries of continental Europe, still picking themselves up from the War.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘I have few memories of major world events while I was there. The ‘space race’ was just starting, with exciting photographs and diagrams, but I don’t remember having any current affairs lessons or lectures. Films in the theatre, newspapers in the common room, but we seemed strangely distant from the real world outside. Perhaps typical of public schools at that time.’ Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) Others reported more awareness and interest in the outside world: ‘We were aware of the socialist government. In my later years there was much more teaching about current affairs and the international situation. As I neared the time when I would join the Army for National Service, I became very interested in the Korean War.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) ‘In the main, the world outside had little direct impact on our lives, but family business and military connections and the international perspectives of our school population ensured that we maintained a keen interest in world affairs.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘We were all very involved with current events, and read the daily newspapers avidly.’ ‘I was very interested in national and world events, and was reprimanded for speaking out in favour of the Royal Air Force and air power in an “Army school.”’ Hardy Stroud (Combermere 1950-55) ‘I always followed current affairs on the radio and in newspapers. On them I was very knowledgeable.’ Tim Shoosmith (Blucher 1953-57) ‘I always kept well informed. In the World Affairs paper in my selection for Sandhurst, I got 95%. The Brigadier was horrified. I got it all from the Daily Express and he thought I was taking the piss out of him.’ Michael Campbell (Hill 1954-59) What media? The main ways of keeping up with the news during the 1940s and 1950s were newspapers and the radio, and these were mentioned by many. Some could recall when or what they read: ‘There was a House subscription to a few papers, including the Telegraph, Daily Sketch and also the Spectator.’ ‘We had some of the broadsheets every day in House, but no tabloids as I recall. We always had a copy of the Illustrated London News, and there was great excitement when Wellington College featured in one edition, together with a (posed) photo of us Talbot boys studiously reading the daily papers.’ Stuart Dowding (Talbot 1957-61) ‘I used to read the newspapers whilst everyone was in Chapel (as a Roman Catholic I did not attend the daily service).’ Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) Television was just starting to have an impact, but was still a novelty: ‘There were the Olympic Games in London in 1948, but despite my interest in athletics, they didn’t impinge much on my consciousness – things were much quieter in a world without TV. In fact, during the summer holiday, I saw TV for the first time – some of my parents’ friends had a set, and invited all their neighbours to come and watch some of the Olympic events as they happened.’ Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950) ‘We were rather cocooned from world news due to lack of TV. On special occasions we were allowed to watch the TV in James Wort’s drawing room, flickering black-and-white.’ ‘We bought a television. Only one programme, the BBC, and that twice a day, midday and evening. Before we had it, I occasionally watched that of a friend and recall that the National Anthem was always played at the end of each session. My friend’s father would insist we stood up when it was played.’ Nick Harding (Combermere) 1951-1955 The Second World War Those at College during the Second World War could not escape its impact, as described elsewhere within this project. For some, this meant taking an interest in news reports: ‘We followed the progress of the War avidly in the newspapers and on the wireless.’ ‘We plotted the progress of the War on a map, but it was a bit remote for smaller boys unless they had a relative fighting.’ John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) But sometimes the events came much closer: ‘I was there at school for Dunkirk and was very concerned. We saw loads of evacuees coming through Crowthorne station, as the railway line ran through the school grounds.’ Stephen Goodall (Hardinge 1936-40) ‘A memory of the “phoney war” of late 1939 was a talk by two Polish officers about their experiences in the Polish campaign which brought us into the War. They were horsed cavalrymen, and one of their more hair-raising, and pathetic, stories was of charging German tanks on their horses. A sadder moment occurred on the night in May 1940 when France surrendered. I was coming back to the Combermere through the Quad in the evening darkness, and as I approached the door to the ushers’ Common Room, a rather pathetic figure lurched out alone. It was Monseiur Alfred Noblet, dressed in his French Reserve officer’s uniform of blue tunic and trousers with red stripe and kepi. He was I think drunk and certainly in tears, so distressed and ashamed was he of France’s predicament. The episode impressed me at the time and remains a sad memory.’ Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) One event in particular made an impression on many: ‘I do recall seeing the air armada flying over College to France on D-Day.’ John Hornibrook (Murray 1942-46) ‘The most memorable day, without doubt, was D-Day, when we stood on South Front and saw hundreds of troop-carrying planes flying overhead. The feeling that the War was at last coming to an end was palpable.’ ‘I remember seeing the RAF planes going overhead on D-Day, with the white and black stripes on their wings.’ Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48) ‘The most notable thing I remember on D-Day morning is the mass of spirals of aircraft rising into the air that one saw in almost every direction. Until then I had taken the comparatively small numbers of both hostile and friendly aircraft for granted and had not realised quite how many airfields there were nearby. It was a really amazing sight that has always stuck in my mind.’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) On the other hand, Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48) seems to speak for the majority when he writes: ‘I don’t remember anything about VE Day. I suppose we were given a half-holiday, but I don’t remember anything.’ The Korean War and others Although not on the scale of the Second World War, the Korean War still had a considerable impact at Wellington, as many pupils had relatives involved and faced the prospect of fighting there themselves. ‘There was considerable interest in the UK’s military role in the Korean War, in particular a savage battle with Chinese forces involving the “Glorious Gloucesters.”’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘The only world event which really affected me was the Korean War, in which I had two much-liked cousins killed with the Argylls early in that conflict.’ ‘I remember the outbreak of the Korean War well, and being firmly hostile to Bolshevism, was much concerned with our relations towards the Soviet Union and Communist China.’ Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53) ‘The Korean War had little impact on my age group, although I do recall a visit by a former Dormitory member who had lost a leg there. The Mau Mau uprising also had little impact, although one Dormitory contemporary had parents in Kenya.’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) ‘The Korean War was in full swing… Many of us who had chosen a military career realized that we might have to take part in this conflict. Previous OWs were already in action.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52) ‘With National Service in full swing, we all knew that soon after leaving College we would be called up and could be required to serve in an active service area. It was particularly on my mind as my elder brother was serving in Malaya.’ Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54) ‘At that time the Korean War was in progress, and I remember thinking that what I learnt in the Corps might be of more practical value than what I learnt in the classroom!’ Some were aware of other conflicts: ‘A number of us had relatives fighting in troublesome spots around the world. My uncle, a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Lancashire Fusiliers, was on the front of the Daily Mail for quelling a riot of Egyptian police and disarming them in Ismailia. He was quite short and was described as “diminutive but dynamic.”’ Anonymous ‘Our relationship with the USA was soured over the lack of progress in the formation of a two-state solution to the “Palestine question”. We were shocked by activities of the Israeli terrorist gangs Irgun, Hagannah and the Stern Gang. They were blowing up British military installations and terrorizing the Palestinians.’ Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52 The Suez Crisis The next event to make a strong impression on most Wellingtonians was the Suez crisis of 1956. An attempt to preserve British interests in the Middle East, the ultimate failure of this venture was later seen as a significant point in the decline of Britain’s global power. ‘I remember Suez, and a friend whose father was a senior Foreign Office worker told us how serious it was.’ ‘There was certainly a great hoo-ha around Suez and some very opinionated comments from various ‘ushers’, which I now realize were rather prejudiced, although of their time.’ David Ward (Hopetoun 1954-58) ‘We took little interest in outside events. Suez was the main exception: I seem to remember most of us were in favour of British and French intervention and rather proud, in a jingoistic sort of way, of its initial success.’ Anthony Goodenough (Stanley 1954-59) Some remembered that the event influenced Corps activity: ‘I remember Suez because we were well briefed for the CCF, and in my case the Naval Section, and I followed the crisis closely.’ Roger Pinhey (Hopetoun 1952-57) ‘During the Suez crisis the Corps was marched into the Duke of Wellington Barracks to replace some of the regulars who had been sent to the Middle East. Was this to confuse possible spies?’ Randal Stewart (Anglesey 1953-56) The Canal was very important for the transport of oil. John Berkley-Matthews (Combermere 1954-58) recalled that ‘before Suez, there was an oil shortage and baths were
Speech Day
Although following a time-honoured tradition, the Speech Days of the 1940s and 1950s were products of their rather austere era, by no means as grand or lavish as those seen in Edwardian times or today. Nevertheless, they were a high point in the College calendar and memorable for many. The Concert The proceedings began with a school concert, held on the Friday evening before Speech Day. Then, as now, this was very popular. ‘A concert by the school orchestra and the singing (in dog Latin and with irreverent adaptations) of the College song.’ Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53) ‘There was a concert, often quite entertaining. The College Prefects usually put on an amusing spoof act of some sort.’ Some more musical respondents had detailed memories of the event: ‘It was a big day for the orchestra, of which I was a member, and talented musical pupils often played the solo part in sometimes major classical works. On one occasion a boy violinist performed Svendsen’s Romance, a noteworthy event for me especially, owing to the fact that the boy was my brother John, four years my senior. At another year’s Speech Day Concert, César Franck’s Symphonic Variations was performed by one of the boys. The most noteworthy soloist, though, was Courtney Kenney, Mr Timberley’s star pupil, who played Beethoven’s 4th Piano Concerto. Another major feature of the concert was the College Prefects’ song, with a short solo being sung by each Prefect. Those Prefects that couldn’t sing were eagerly anticipated and hilariously greeted. One such song that I particularly remember was for my final year when I (as I claim) suggested Dem Bones (“… dem bones gonna walk around…”). Courtney Kenney graciously agreed to accompany us, and we skipped across the stage for the upward connection and back the other way for the downward one. I remember it as well received.’ Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51) ‘One year Royalton Kisch, a wealthy music lover who conducted occasional concerts by the big London orchestras without quite making the ranks of the eminent, took the baton from Maurice Allen and conducted us in the Radetsky March by Strauss. In other years I was the soloist in The Lark Ascending, and in the first movement of the Mozart Concerto in A major. In another, John Le Mare and I played the first movement of Fauré’s Dolly Suite. The concert ended with a rousing rendition of the College Song: “Nomen in Principio Carminis cantator Semper quod in hac domo Perstet et amator …..Semper domus floreat Wellingtoniensis.” “Praise to the egregious Duke,” we sang.’ Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57) But one OW recounted something even more special: ‘I have one great and wonderful memory of Speech Day which has stayed in my mind for more than sixty years. There was always a concert the night before Speech Day, and in about 1952, there in the programme I saw that there was to be a piano performance by Mrs Potter. Now Mrs Potter was the wife of Arnold, and a very hands-on mother of about six young children. She was usually to be seen around their flat in Front Quad looking exhausted and fairly old. We knew the sight of her well. Then, at the concert, up stepped on the stage a beautiful young girl with long hair over her shoulders. Her hands touched the keyboard, and suddenly there was young life personified. The transformation was amazing and thrilling and I will never forget it.’ Mike Bolton (Hopetoun 1947-53) A family occasion It is probably hard for today’s Wellingtonians to appreciate that in the mid-20th century, parents rarely visited during term-time, and many students travelled to Wellington by train rather than being dropped off by car. Thus, Speech Day might be the only time that most parents saw the College from one year to the next. It was this aspect which made the day memorable for many respondents: ‘Speech Day was always popular because you saw your parents… Mine used to come down once in the summer term, once in the autumn and not at all in the winter.’ Bertram Rope (Picton 1949-54) ‘Speech Day was usually the only day in the year I saw my parents at school, when they came down from Scotland.’ ‘My main memory is that it was the one day in the year my parents visited.’ Thomas Collett-White (Picton 1950-55) ‘During the War there were no exeats or half term holidays. For most of us, Speech Day was the only time that we ever saw a parent during term time. For that reason, it was a treat that we looked forward to with the utmost anticipation of pleasure.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) John Alexander (Talbot 1954-58) also enjoyed the ‘opportunity to show off your school to your parents. We visited all the exhibitions and watched the cricket on Turf,’ and added, ‘I don’t remember ever winning a prize, so probably never attended the speeches, but I never felt I had missed out.’ Likewise, Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53) thought that ‘the students certainly liked having the chance to see their parents, and to show them where they lived and what they did.’ Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51) called the day ‘a nice occasion to see my parents and to be taken out to lunch.’ This aspect was remembered by others too: ‘Lunch was taken at a somewhat seedy hotel called the Iron Duke, or the Duke of Wellington, or some similar name. My impression is that the whole place was decorated in shades of brown, and that the food mirrored the décor.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) ‘On Speech Day weekend my parents would stay locally. I was taken out for lunch on Saturday and Sunday, and tea.’ However, more people remembered their parents arriving with a picnic lunch, to be eaten on a rug on Turf: ‘I chiefly remember Speech Day for wonderful picnics on the edge of Turf, except once it rained so we picnicked in a classroom.’ John Watson (Benson 1946-51) ‘Speech Day was a great event, with parents and picnic lunch in the lovely grounds, and meeting friends’ parents.’ ‘…seeing lines of picnics down the Kilometre.’ Stuart Dowding (Talbot 1957-61) Richard Godfrey-Faussett (Anglesey 1946-50) recalled that the picnics were ‘as lavish as possible…’ Some boys were perhaps sensitive to the social differences on display here, as Adrian Stephenson (Talbot 1957-61) described ‘a picnic which was never particularly elaborate in our case!’ Likewise Rodney Fletcher (Combermere 1949-53)’s main memory of the event was ‘My parents arriving late in the oldest car,’ and Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56) wrote that ‘My main concern at Speech Day was what my mother would be wearing, especially her hat, and would it cause me embarrassment?’ Others had more confidence in the impression made by their parents: ‘I remember the mothers’ hats, as it was always the last day of Ascot week, so everyone looked so smart.’ David Simonds (Orange 1941-46) ‘…Mother, dressed up to kill and driving her Armstrong Siddeley!’ Parents were not the only guests who attracted attention: ‘For some reason, it was important for one’s sister to be dressed in the height of fashion.’ Richard Godfrey-Faussett (Anglesey 1946-50) ‘Families visited – some of us used to try to spot the prettiest sisters!’ ‘Speech Day was parentless for me [his parents being overseas], and the main occupation was checking out the sisters of my friends.’ William Young (Anglesey 1954-58) However, it was a younger sister who was remembered by Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56) in this amusing anecdote: ‘My mother and my friend George’s mother got together on one of those wet tedious Speech Days that we endured in the 1950s. This one was greatly enlivened by George’s sister, who must have been about twelve years old at the time. She attended a school run by nuns. Somehow, to George’s mother’s horror, she manipulated the conversation to the subject of what the nuns wore under their habits. Now, twelve-year-olds are quick to sense when they are winning, and George’s sister knew that she was on top. The more dismayed her mother became, the more loudly she expounded on the subject of the nuns’ underwear. She really was very funny indeed and everyone in hearing range was in fits of laughter, including my own mother. We are often told that the benefit of attending a school like Wellington is that it gives you a broad education. It also explains how I, who went to a robust boys’ school in the 1950s, can expound with considerable expertise on the subject of nuns’ knickers.’ Not enjoyed by all Although a majority had positive memories, a sizeable group of respondents were less than enthusiastic about Speech Day: ‘I don’t recall Speech Day as being memorable.’ Nick Harding (Combermere) 1951-1955 ‘It never seemed particularly special.’ Adrian Stephenson (Talbot 1957-61) ‘A pretty dull affair at that time.’ Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52) ‘I found Speech Days very boring.’ A “jolly,” but probably more fun for OWs.’ John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) For some, this lack of enthusiasm was, understandably, due to the absence of their parents: ‘I don’t remember any particular Speech Days. My parents rarely came, due to petrol rationing.’ John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50) ‘I remember only one Speech Day. My parents did not come. I volunteered to be a waiter for afternoon teas in a marquee on Turf.’ Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53) One anonymous OW gave more thought to this feeling: ‘I never much enjoyed Speech Days – they were a bit “clannish,” and therefore no doubt more fun for those with living relations who had been at the school, and could come back and get together with their old pals. For those of us with few, or dead, OW relations, it was a bit alienating.’ In these years following the Second World War, others also found this to be true: ‘On one occasion my father (OW), after wandering round the various memorials with my godfather (also OW), rejoined my mother and myself and said gloomily about their contemporaries, “They are all dead.”’ VIPs and the Guard of Honour Speech Day was usually attended by a guest of honour. Often in the 1950s this was the College President, the Duke of Gloucester. The Duke’s mode of arrival was an unusual one for the time: ‘I seem to remember one Speech Day where the Duke of Gloucester arrived on Turf by helicopter.’ Anthony Collett (Combermere 1953-58) ‘One highlight was the arrival of the Duke of Gloucester, sometimes by helicopter, which was allowed to land on Turf.’ The guest of honour would then proceed to inspect the Corps: ‘We [the Corps] were good on parade and smart for Speech Day, when a rather bored Duke of Gloucester would inspect after a late night at the Ascot Ball! ‘Bobby’ Baddeley (Picton 1948-52) ‘There was endless drill practice before this event, and we were all scared of dropping our rifle or turning left instead of right.’ ‘I remember taking part in the guard of honour for the Duke of Gloucester on Speech Day 1943. For this, we had to learn the esoteric art of forming fours, long since out-of-date as far as we were concerned. There is one photograph of that guard, taken from an upper balcony on the South Front and therefore looking down on the guard from behind, which I completely spoil! Being tall I found myself right-hand man of the rear rank; being stone deaf in my left ear, I was terrified of missing the words of command coming from the centre front, to my
The War and its Legacy
Preparing for war Our oldest respondents remembered the preparations for the War, when air raid shelters were constructed: ‘We dug out the Blücher air raid shelter, as a biweekly “change,” for months…’ John de Grey (Blücher 1938-43) ‘One memory of my first term is of the whole dormitory turning out to dig the vast pit for the Combermere’s air raid shelter. The Munich crisis had only recently passed and precautions were being taken. We dug the hole – at a guess 60 x 40 x 10 feet deep. It was hard yellow sand, pick-and-shovel work. This was just on the north side of what were then the ushers’ garages, off to the left from the road to the gym. Once dug, we forgot about it for a year or so.’ Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) Other measures were also put in place: ‘Glass ceilings (e.g. in lavatories) were painted blue, and light bulbs red, which satisfied blackout requirements. Blackout curtains in our cubicles were checked every evening and taken very seriously.’ Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) ‘Respirators or gas masks had to be carried at all times away from the College buildings. ARP (Air Raid Precautions) and the Home Guard affected many of the senior boys.’ Jock Brazier (Hill 1941-45) ‘A watch was kept in one of the towers when air raids were forecast. I do remember that lonely vigil.’ ‘At night, the Armoury held a posse of boys from the JTC (Junior Training Corps), with rifles but no ammunition, at immediate readiness to dash out and confront any German parachutists spotted in the area. One boy at a time was also stationed at the top of the ornamental turret above the Blücher dormitory, made accessible by means of a wooden ladder. The ornamental white acorn-lidded blister at the top was just big enough to hold a seat with a small shelf in front, with a panorama of the surrounding territory with place names on stalks, painted by the Art Master. It was very well done, and must have taken quite a bit of his valuable time. The field telephone in the turret was connected to the Armoury, where the gallant JTC reinforcements were closeted, and you reported a successful change of observers when you got up there (2 hours on duty) after shouting up to call the previous guard down. Comically, the field telephone line laid above ground survived when the underground one from the ARP Headquarters to the Armoury was blown up. It had gone round the other side of the brick gatepost.’ John de Grey (Blücher 1938-43) ‘I found myself in charge of the ARP Section. We inhabited a shelter under one of the Science blocks, the entrance to which led out onto the short drive running from the kitchens down to the Kilometre. We were equipped with dark blue boiler suits (I had yellow sergeant’s stripes) and blue tin hats, and did fire and first aid drill.’ Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) ‘I was asked to join the Auxiliary Fire Service and operate a trailer pump. This was marvellous, because members of the team had to have a bicycle so that they could quickly man the pump.’ Richard Buckley (Combermere 1941-45) Life in the shelters From the summer of 1940 onwards, the air raid shelters were in regular use: ‘Whenever the air raid sirens blew, we had to traipse off to air raid shelters dotted across College, and spend the night on lilos.’ Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) ‘In an orderly fashion and thick sweaters, we trooped down, clasping our blankets and inflatable lilos, and remained on our wooden slatted bunks till dawn.’ These lilos and their shortcomings were mentioned by many OWs. Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) explained: ‘The shelters had been fitted out with bunks, each with a lilo for us to sleep on. Unfortunately, the carpentry had obviously been done in a hurry and none of the wood had been planed. Lilos and un-planed wood did not go well together, and the hiss of escaping air when punctured by splinters was frequent!’ ‘We were handed a lilo each… unfortunately I was the last in the queue and mine had a puncture, so my first night I slept on a flat lilo on duck boards!’ Jock Brazier (Hill 1941-45) ‘I well remember the sound of the hiss of air, followed by a stream of abuse as some poor soul’s lilo deflated.’ John de Grey (Blücher 1938-43) recalled the humorous side of shelter life: ‘A retired Chemistry master had been rounded up to sleep there and maintain discipline. He must have been over sixty-five, which to us boys was impossibly old. His voice had lost some of its vigour, so his nickname was soon “Rusty Balls.” I don’t think he ever found out. We were quite good at preserving our confidentialities, but every night every boy was enjoying the joke each time he spoke. Boys needing to relieve themselves during the night (most of them) would go out to the edge of the wood, so we planned to pick a single tree and see if we could kill it with salt. And we could. I think it took about six months.’ The bombing of College Several OWs remembered the fateful night of 8 October 1940, when bombs dropped on College. ‘I was in the Upcott air raid shelter when the bomb fell which killed Bobby Longden, and can whistle the very noise it made as it fell.’ ‘On the night that the bombs actually fell, I remember a boy member of the ARP Unit poking his nose into our shelter and asking whether the Master was with us; the answer was of course “No.” We heard no more that night, but the next morning the school was addressed by Mr Gould and given the sad news of the Master’s death at the Lodge.’ Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) ‘When the bombs fell, the ARP HQ rang their fellow nighthawks in the Armoury, probably for reassurance that someone was left alive – and could get no answer. They decided to send a boy out on his bicycle to re-establish communication with the Armoury… He had a torch, but did not switch it on as he cycled along, for fear of giving his position away to the enemy! As he cycled through Combermere Quad, all the busts of generals had been sucked out their niches by the blast and were scattered around the quad. When he rode into one, he switched on and thought it was a body, and in the dim light there appeared to be many. Dauntless, he rode on, and found the JTC contingent in good spirits and enjoying an extra mug of Bovril each, to steady them.’ John de Grey (Blücher 1938-43) ‘We were in the shelter one night when we heard the bomb explode. In the morning we were told that our headmaster had been killed. This was a horrid killing. Mr Longden was so young and respected. The bomb damage was evident on the surrounding walls and boys could be seen collecting bits of metal. It was a sombre moment at College but life went on.’ Anonymous After the Master’s death, the boys spent every night in the air raid shelter for the next year, whether or not the siren had sounded. Robert Longmore (Combermere 1938-43) remembered ‘an obligatory cold bath every morning. If this was meant to clean us after a night in the shelter, I cannot believe that it did so, as we all fifty-odd of us went in and out of the same two baths without a change of water!’ By October 1941 the threat of bombing had receded, and boys only went to the shelters when the alarm sounded. Nevertheless, this could still result in disruption, especially when the V1 and V2 rockets came into use. Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48) wrote home in October 1943: ‘We are having lots more air raids recently. On Thursday night we had an awful time. At about 9 o’clock we were just starting second prep when the College siren sounded, so we collected our blankets and bundled down to the shelter outside. There we blew up our lilos, made up the best beds that we could under the circumstances, and we were just getting to sleep when the “all clear” went. So we got up again, it was now about 10 o’clock, and tramped back to College. There we made up our beds again and were just feeling nice and cosy, and that after all it was worthwhile having come up from the shelter, when what should we hear outside but the siren again! So once more we went down to the shelter, made our beds, and the end of it was that we spent a thoroughly cold and uncomfortable night there. ‘ Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48) also recalled ‘getting little sleep. This was particularly irksome during the doodlebug (V1 rocket) offensive in 1944 as they did not come over in regular waves.’ Eventually the threat receded, and John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49) wrote: ‘I recall going to the shelters only once.’ Cultural impact What impact did the War have on the mindset of Wellington students? Although it was little talked about, all must have been aware that theirs and others’ lives could be cut short. Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47) came to this realisation in a striking way: ‘My journey out to Canada had involved the sinking of our accompanying ship, the Arandora Star, and on the return journey I learned a lot from the British merchant seamen who had been rescued by the ship on which I was travelling. This, in addition to having seen for myself the tremendous damage caused by torpedoes when a British cruiser with much of its stern missing limped into Ponta Delgada in the Azores, followed by a destroyer with a dangerously steep list and a huge gaping hole in its port bow. It was a very sobering sight… Only a few days later, shortly after returning to England, I was shaken to hear that the well-known actor Leslie Howard had died, because I could have been on the same flight as him.’ Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48) wrote that ‘Our fathers and elder brothers were all in uniform, mostly serving as officers in the fighting arms. News of deaths was not uncommon,’ and yet, ‘the most remarkable thing about our wartime experiences is how we accepted them as being quite normal.’ Likewise David Simonds (Orange 1941-46) had two elder brothers, Guy and Pat, serving during his time at College. Guy was killed while flying with the RAF in 1943. Nevertheless, David wrote, ‘We did what we could, and did not complain.’ Even after the War, students were aware of this legacy of sacrifice, largely due to the physical reminders present: ‘The Chapel had plain windows on the South side where the bomb had landed, killing the Master in his Lodge.’ Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54) ‘The aftermath of war, even though it had ended five years previously, was always in our minds… The Longden Memorial Gate was a constant reminder of tragedies and horrors.’ ‘When I arrived at College, the new boys that term (around sixty) were taken round the Chapel by the Chaplain who, pausing before the memorial to those killed in the Wars, informed us that these amounted to about one in six of the former pupils. Inevitably I could not help wondering which ten of us would join their numbers.’ William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56) Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52)
The College Centenary
General impressions Michael Crumplin (Orange 1956-60) spoke for many when he described the events of summer 1959 as: ‘Fantastic – parades, royal visits, fireworks, concerts and games, and leave-out.’ Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) felt the same: ‘This was undoubtedly the most memorable and enjoyable term of the five years I experienced at Wellington, when there was so much to celebrate in what turned out to be an exceptionally warm and sunny summer, with the College buildings and grounds looking so magnificent.’ He had a special reason for finding the term memorable: ‘I had a bicycle accident at the beginning of the summer term, which resulted in my right wrist being in plaster. This meant I could not play in the College band, nor take part in Guards of Honour for a while, but it gave me the opportunity to borrow my father’s 8mm Kodak cine camera. This precious piece of equipment enabled me to take some interesting film during that summer, as I was a spectator at various events at Wellington.’ Tony’s film, with footage of the royal visit, CCF annual inspection, and Speech Day, can be viewed on the ‘Films’ page of this website. The royal visit For most people, the highlight of the celebrations was the visit to College by Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip on 8th May 1959. On this, the longest of all the Queen’s visits to Wellington, the royal couple spent the whole day meeting staff and students, and getting an insight into College life. After arriving at Great Gate and being greeted by the assembled VIPs, the Queen inspected the Guard of Honour provided by the CCF. Several of those involved recalled the details of this: ‘I was a Lance Corporal and part of the Guard of Honour. We were drilled in advance by the mighty RSM Lord from Sandhurst – at first a shambles as we couldn’t understand his parade ground commands, but all well on the day.’ Robert Hirst (Picton 1955-59) ‘I was a drummer in the band, and the band leader when the Queen and Prince Philip visited. I got to wear a red sash and carry the silver-tipped baton. I was very nervous about having to play God Save The Queen in front of the actual Queen. The fife players were not the greatest, and I knew they were nervous too and not likely to pipe with gusto. And I was right. I gave the signal to start, and the fifes feebly began, thankfully picking up steam in a few seconds. When the royals did their inspection, the Queen stopped in front of me and was about to speak when the Colonel moved her on. “Hosch,” as the one-eyed Colonel was called, was not very impressed with me and presumably felt I was not worthy of a chat with Her Majesty.’ Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59) But Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59) felt that the Queen’s visit was the highlight of his CCF career: ‘Much spit and polish and rehearsal, and a wonderful day.’ After this the Queen went into Front Quad, where she unveiled the stone plaques on either side of the door of Great School, commemorating her own visit and that of her great-great-grandmother, Queen Victoria. Michael Southwell (Orange 1955-60) recalled that she then ‘made a speech from a covered dais as she was not very tall.’ This was followed by a fanfare, specially composed for the occasion: ‘For the Queen’s visit, Mr Jarvis, the ex-bandmaster wind tutor, composed a three-trumpet fanfare, which was to be played by Monty Bissell, our brilliant American exchange student (on cornet, but nobody could tell the difference), Brian Preston, who had joined me in the horn section of the orchestra, and me. The Queen stood in front of the doors to Great School, while we three serenaded her from outside the Porter’s Lodge. To this day, I gasp at the sheer cheek of my entertaining the Queen on an instrument that I had never played before or since!’ Ross Mallock (Murray 1954-59) The royal party was then introduced to the teaching staff over sherry in Great School, before proceeding to lunch in the Dining Hall. After this they embarked on a tour of the College, starting with Old Hall: ‘I did briefly meet the Queen; there were a few of us, maybe three or four, rehearsing something with Maurice Allen, the Director of Music, as the Queen walked in.’ Christopher Birt (Beresford 1955-60) This was a rehearsal for the specially composed centenary opera, Music From Mars. A recording of it and a podcast dedicated to it can both be found on the ‘Podcasts and Audio’ page. The Library and Chapel followed, then a visit to a dormitory: the Beresford, ‘swept and garnished as never before,’ according to the Year Book. Christopher Miers (Beresford 1955-59) explains why his room was the one chosen for the party to see: ‘I took a great deal of trouble making my room attractive, with paintings and things of interest. In the Summer term I had a window box with geraniums! When the Queen and Prince Philip visited College for the Centenary, the Master decreed that they should visit the Beresford and in particular, my room. It was incredible to recall that night that earlier in the day, she had been standing within an arm’s length of where I now lay in bed. Not many men can say that!’ After this, the royal party visited the science laboratories: ‘I remember being spoken to in the Physics lab by HM the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh.’ Christopher Napper (Lynedoch 1955-60) They then drove along the Kilometre, before visiting Grubbies and finally the Sanatorium. The official film of the whole visit can also be viewed in the ‘Films’ section of this site. The CCF Annual Inspection Although this was an annual event, the CCF inspection in 1959 was especially memorable to some, perhaps because it was conducted by famous Old Wellingtonian Sir Claude Auchinleck. ‘After I had been promoted from Company Sergeant Major to Regimental Quartermaster Sergeant, I became the Junior Leaders’ instructor, and led the March Past on Speech Day in 1959. Field Marshall Sir Claude Auchinleck took the salute.’ Robin Ballard (Orange 1955-59) It is not known whether it was in rehearsal for this, or one of the Guards of Honour during that term, that the following incident occurred: ‘There was so much happening at Wellington throughout this final term of mine, but if I am asked whether I have an amusing memory, I recall a shambolic private in the CCF who seemed to be permanently in a state of chaos. He had a bit of a speech impediment which meant he found it difficult to pronounce his “R”s, which came out as “W”s. This meant that his rifle was referred to as his “wifel.” On arriving on parade one day, this individual did not have his weapon with him. The sergeant in command bawled at him, asking why he had not got his rifle. In an unusually quick response, the reply came out “It was missing, so it seems that someone has committed adultery with my wifel, Sir!” Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59) Centenary Week The celebrations culminated in a week-long programme of events, beginning on 15th June. The accompanying illustration, showing the list of activities in the souvenir programme, shows the scale and scope of what was on offer. Old Wellingtonians returned to College for many of these events, as Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52) remembered: ‘It was rather like a super Speech Day, to return to College and meet old friends.’ The Year Book reported that over five thousand Old Wellingtonians and guests were served tea on Turf on 20th June, an amazing achievement. Another event of the week was the first showing of A Visitor from the Past, a film made entirely by College students under the guidance of Mr Waghorn. This 14-minute film, complete with soundtrack, imagines a visit by the first Duke of Wellington to the College that bears his name, and contains footage of a year’s events in the life of the school. It too can be watched on the ‘Films’ page of this website. Other celebrations included a Reception at Apsley House in June, hosted by the Duke of Gloucester, and a Centenary Dinner for OWs at College in December. The Exhibition Planned for eighteen months in advance, a central part of the week was an exhibition in both Great School and Waterloo Hall, showcasing the College’s history and its connection with the Great Duke. Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61) found that this left ‘a much more memorable impression’ than some of the other events, continuing, ‘The Director of Art, A C Eccott (ACE), had made a very large model of the Lying-in-State of the Great Duke, which occupied most of Great School. There were many other exhibitions, including I recall the display of the Schneider Trophy, lent by an OW. I believe that the Duke of Wellington loaned a number of personal items from his family’s collections.’ In fact, the Year Book tells us that the model had been created by ‘Mr and Mrs Eccott and a team of over 80 boys,’ and according to one press report, it was fifteen feet long and eight feet wide! The artistic Christopher Miers (Beresford 1955-59) was in charge of another exhibit, with rather dubious results: ‘For the Centenary exhibition I made a diorama of the laying of the foundation stone by Queen Victoria, and helped with some of the other exhibits. These activities distracted me from concentration on my ‘A’-level exams.’ The Centenary Concert The Centenary Concerts took place in the Dining Hall on 18th and 19th June, and both students and OWs took part. It is not surprising that the second evening’s finale was particularly memorable: ‘A great piece de resistance was the Centenary Concert in Hall, climaxing with two “armies,” approaching from the Combermere Quad and the kitchens, firing blanks and thunderflashes in the finale of Beethoven’s Wellington’s Victory at the Battle of Vittoria.’ Although one participant remembered it for a different reason: ‘Concert conducted by a well-known German [OW Royalton Kisch] who came down to conduct the school Orchestra, and I had to play the triangle in Beethoven’s something. Sounds funny, but the timing was tricky and he stopped the rehearsal – “who is playing ze triangle – you haf not got it right, vot is your name?” Luckily, the Assistant Music Master took my place. Horrific – I still shudder.’ Michael Moore (Lynedoch 1955-60) Not only Royalton Kisch but several other Old Wellingtonian musicians were involved with the concert, including successful film composer John Addison, who wrote a special piece for it. Ross Mallock and his friend Brian Preston were the two horn players selected to perform the piece, an experience which made a lasting impression: ‘The Centenary Concert was extraordinary. A decision had been made that there should be a ‘Wellington connection’ with both the programme and the performers. For Brian Preston and me, the most significant item was a piece by John Addison for piano, horn duet and orchestra. An OW, Addison was best known for his film scores for some of the Ealing comedies and later for blockbusters like Tom Jones, The Entertainer and A Bridge Too Far. The excitement of performing a world premiere at our Centenary Concert was almost overwhelming, and to give us a head start, Brian and I bought new instruments on which to play our precious solos. As the date for the
Wellington Through The Decades
We began with our oldest cohort of Old Wellingtonians, those who were at College in the 1940s and 1950s. We drafted a questionnaire, designed to spark memories of many aspects of College life, and sent it to over 700 individuals. We are incredibly grateful to the 130 who took the time and trouble to respond. All submissions, long or short, are appreciated; all have been read, collated and distilled to form the material here. We also want to thank those who sent in wonderful original material such as photographs, school reports and play programmes. Together with material from the College archives, they make up the wealth of illustrations on the following pages. This website will be the first and fullest outcome of the project. We hope that browsing it will prove an enjoyable trip down memory lane for those who remember the decades in question, and a vivid insight into a different time for those who do not. In time, some of the material may be published in physical form. All submissions to the project will be preserved in full in the Wellington College Archives, providing an invaluable resource for future historians. One of our aims is to show life at Wellington in the broader context of national and international history and culture. For this reason, we asked our respondents for their memories of world events, to see how much these, along with the popular culture of the time, made an impact at Wellington. We hope that you will enjoy reading their Wellington memories in the context of the political and social changes of the later twentieth century. Once all the material from the 1940s and 1950s has been added to the website, we hope to repeat the process with the next cohort – those at College during the 1960s – and in due course to cover the rest of the 20th century. To explore the Decades pages, please hover your mouse over the ‘Decades Project’ title at the top of the page, and a menu will appear from the left. When you select a decade from this menu, the full list of topics available in that decade will appear. You can also browse through the pages from one to the next, using the links at the top and bottom of each page.Some of our participants from the 1950s can be seen in conversation with College Archivist Caroline Jones, here. Several archive films from the 1950s can also be found in the ‘Films’ section of this website. Please send any comments or questions about the project to Decades@wellingtoncollege.org.uk or to the address on the Contacts page. Click here to go to the 1940s and 1950s. NOTE: Opinions expressed in the ‘Wellington Through The Decades’ pages are those of the individual contributors and not of Wellington College. Some practices and attitudes acceptable at Wellington in the past, recorded in these pages, are unacceptable by today’s standards and are in no way condoned by the College.
Contributors 1940s and 1950s
David Alexander (Orange 1954-59)John Alexander (Talbot 1954-58)John Armstrong-MacDonnell (Talbot 1952-56)Robert ‘Bobby’ Baddeley (Picton 1948-52)Robin Ballard (Orange 1955-59)Dick Barton (Lynedoch 1938-42)Christopher Beeton (Talbot 1943-47)John Beckwith (Blücher 1947-51)Peter Bell (Blücher 1943-48)John Berger (Benson 1949-52)John Berkley-Matthews (Combermere 1954-58)Henry Beverley (Anglesey 1949-53)Christopher Birt (Beresford 1955-60)Mike Bolton (Hopetoun 1947-53)Leslie Bond (Lynedoch 1948-53)Peter ‘Jock’ Brazier (Hill 1941-45)Anthony Bruce (Benson 1951-56)Richard Buckley (Combermere 1941-45)Michael Campbell (Hill 1954-59)Christopher (at Wellington known as George) Capron (Benson 1949-54)Robin Carr (Blücher 1955-60)John Clarke (Benson 1949-54)Anthony Collett (Combermere 1953-58)Thomas Collett-White (Picton 1950-55)David Cooke (Hopetoun 1955-59)Thomas Courtenay-Clack (Hardinge 1954-59)Richard Craven (Hill 1950-54)Michael Crumplin (Orange 1956-60)Peter Cullinan (Benson 1948-52)Peter Davison (Beresford 1948-52)Andrew Dewar-Durie (Talbot 1953-56)Stuart Dowding (Talbot 1957-61)Charles Enderby (Picton 1953-57)William Field (Lynedoch 1952-56)Peter Firth (Hardinge 1941-46)Rodney Fletcher (Combermere 1949-53)John Flinn (Combermere 1944-49)Peter Gardner (Hardinge 1946-51)Murray Glover (Anglesey 1947-51)Tony Glyn-Jones (Picton 1954-59)Richard Godfrey-Faussett (Anglesey 1946-50)Stephen Goodall (Hardinge 1936-40)Anthony Goodenough (Stanley 1954-59)John Green (Talbot 1954-58)Nigel Gripper (Hopetoun 1945-49)Nigel Hamley (Hill 1952-55)Nick Harding (Combermere) 1951-1955Richard Harries (Baron Harries of Pentregarth) (Hill 1949-54)Rufus Heald (Stanley 1939-42)Chris Heath (Beresford 1948-53)Michael Hedgecoe (Combermere 1951-54)Robert Hirst (Picton 1955-59)John Hoblyn (Hardinge 1945-50)John Hornibrook (Murray 1942-46)Colin Innes (Combermere 1949-54)William King (Beresford 1956-61)Martin Kinna (Murray 1953-58)Robin Lake (Benson 1952-57)John Le Mare (Stanley 1950-55)Michael Llewellyn-Smith (Orange 1952-57)Colin Mackinnon (Hardinge 1951-56)Ross Mallock (Murray 1954-59)Peter Marshall (Stanley 1947-51)Michael Mathew (Murray 1956-60) Colin Mattingley (Talbot 1952-56)Richard May-Hill (Hopetoun 1957-61)Richard Merritt (Picton 1954-59)Christopher Miers (Beresford 1955-59)Douglas Miller (Benson 1951-56)Allen Molesworth (Blücher 1945-48)Michael Moore (Lynedoch 1955-60)Alan Munro (Talbot 1948-53)Neil Munro (Talbot 1952-56)David Nalder (Orange 1949-53)Christopher Napper (Lynedoch 1955-60)Ian Nason (Orange 1950-54)George Nicholson (Hardinge 1949-54)John Ormrod (Stanley 1946-50)Sam Osmond (Hill 1946-51)Michael Peck (Anglesey 1954-59)Vernon Phillips (Murray 1951-54)Roger Pinhey (Hopetoun 1952-57)John Ravenhill (Orange 1953-56)Tim Reeder (Picton 1949-53)Peter Rickards (Murray 1947-52)Bertram Rope (Picton 1949-54)Roger Ryall (Picton 1951-56)Richard Sarson (Hardinge 1943-48)Alan Saunders (Orange 1957-60)Graeme Shelford (Hardinge 1954-57)William Shine (Hill 1956-60)Tim Shoosmith (Blücher 1953-57)David Simonds (Orange 1941-46)Michael Southwell (Orange 1955-60)Ambrose Spong (Stanley 1950-51)Pat Stacpoole (Combermere 1944-48)Adrian Stephenson (Talbot 1957-61)Christopher Stephenson (Hill 1949-54)Graham Stephenson (Combermere 1953-57)Bryan Stevens (Blücher 1948-52)Randal Stewart (Anglesey 1953-56)John Stitt (Murray 1940-45)Hardy Stroud (Combermere 1950-55)Bob Terry (Hopetoun 1954-57)Tim Thompson (Lynedoch 1950-54)John Thorneycroft (Benson 1953-58)Count Nikolai Tolstoy-Miloslavsky (Stanley 1949-53)David Trafford-Roberts (Anglesey 1943-45)Tim Travers (Hopetoun 1952-56)Hugh Trevor (Hopetoun 1943-48)Michael Trevor-Barnston (Anglesey 1957-60)Norman Tyler (Hill 1947-52)Charles Wade (Lynedoch 1947-50)Robert Waight (Orange 1942-46)John de Grey, Lord Walsingham (Blücher 1938-43)Charles (at Wellington known as Christopher) Ward (Hopetoun 1951-55)David Ward (Hopetoun 1954-58)Jeremy Watkins (Blücher 1951-55)John Watson (Benson 1946-51)Richard Wellesley (Benson 1948-53)Hugo White (Hardinge 1944-48)Robert Wilkinson (Anglesey 1947-50)Alastair Wilson (Talbot 1948-1950)Jerry Yeoman (Anglesey 1955-59)Mark Yorke (Combermere 1950-55)William Young (Anglesey 1954-58)